#i got a sketchbook and colored pencils for Christmas so i can share what i make too

[5t0rm2]

Epic: The Musical has consumed me. Here's Odysseus, loosely based on gigi's version

[sams-sass]

Secrets Seen

GIF not mine

Hi! I got another idea :) I hadn't written a Dean fic in a while and I didn’t want to leave my Dean girls hanging. Hope you enjoy. Thanks for all the love! 

Summary: Dean finds something of yours and secrets are revealed. This takes place in early seasons, like one or two. 

Warnings: Language, fluff, slight angst, discussion of injuries. 

Characters: You, Dean, Sam 

Pairings: Dean x reader

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You were curled against the back door of the impala. Your hair was blowing slightly from Sam’s cracked window as you drew in your sketchbook. Dean was humming softly to Metallica that was playing in the otherwise quiet car. The trees were flying by the window against the warm blue sky. You felt at peace with these two men. You had always loved both of them, but lately something was changing between you and Dean and it was scaring you. You found yourself day dreaming about him, whispering his name against the stillness of night. You didn’t know what to do, you didn’t want to ruin what you had now but it was becoming harder to ignore.

“Anyone hungry?” Dean spoke over the music.

“Me!” You shot up causing Dean to laugh and Sam to turn in his seat and send a smirk your way.

“In the mood for anything in particular?” Dean asked, looking at you in the rearview mirror. You placed your pencil against your lips and looked up in thought.

“Pancakes.” You said, with a smile.

“Looks like its breakfast for dinner then.” Dean licked his lips and took one last look at you in the mirror. You went back to drawing, biting your lip in concentration. Dean almost lost himself in staring at you, your hair blowing slightly, your lip stuck between your teeth. He cleared his throat and tried to shake the thoughts from his head, focusing on the road once again.

Dean pulled the impala into a diner parking lot in about an hour. You got out of the car and stretched, taking a large gulp of fresh air into your lungs. Dean had to stop and breathe as he looked at you. You raised your arms above your head causing your shirt to ride up slightly. Dean caught himself staring at the scar that ran across your hip, he was the one who had stitched you up. He will never forget running his hands across your smooth skin, watching the pain flash in your eyes hurt him more than you. Dean was so upset to leave a scar across your perfect skin. You assured him that it made you look like a hunter and that you didn’t mind any of his scars. If only you knew how much that one sentence had meant to him. Your eyes were closed as you pulled in a large breath through your nose, a look of peace crossing your beautiful face. You licked your lips and let your arms fall back down by your sides.

“Hey, you guys go get a table, I’m gonna fill up baby.” Dean called to you and Sam. You and Sam nodded and made your way into the diner. Dean crossed over to the gas station, filling up the impala before you set out on the road again. When he was putting the gas nozzle back he saw your sketch book in the backseat. He knew he shouldn’t, but the temptation won. He opened the door and grabbed it into his hands. It was a leather bound journal that he had gotten you for Christmas. Every hunter needed a journal, the smile you had given him was all he needed that day. You were his saving grace. His partner. He opened the journal and immediately took a sharp breath through his teeth. You were incredibly talented, you captured such small details that it made the picture look almost like a photograph. A snap of time captured by your hands. The first drawing was of a lake that Dean didn’t recognize. There was snow and evergreens surrounding the large body of water. Dean wondered if this was from your life before being a hunter, before you knew them and left everything behind. He turned the page and saw a drawing of your perspective from the backseat of the impala. He saw himself in front, one hand on the wheel as the other put a cassette tape into the radio. Sam beside him, his face was turned slightly and a small smile sat on his face, his eyes light and happy. Dean saw that he also had a small smile on his face, you captured everything. The way his jacket moved with him, the freckles on his face, his ring. Everything was there, he let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding and turned the page. This one was of Sam sitting at a table. His hands resting on a book, a look of concentration on his face that you had shown perfectly again. His shaggy hair hung across his furrowed brow, his eyes narrowed slightly in thought. When Dean turned the page again he had to sit down. The picture was of him. He was leaning against a chair, beer in hand. He had a smile on his face and one hand in his pocket. He remembered this night immediately. The three of you solved a case and took a much needed day off. You ordered pizza, watched westerns, and drank until you all passed out. What really shocked Dean though, was how you had made him looking right at you. In the drawing he was staring directly at you, smiling at you. Dean saw happiness in his eyes for the first time in a long time. He saw what he wanted, he saw how he looked at you. How could you not know how he felt about you? Dean continued to turn the pages. There were some drawings of different scenes from all your cases. There was another one of Sam, but the rest were of Dean. He was sitting on a motel bed, his elbow resting on his leg as he took a drink from a whiskey bottle. Another, he was looking in the trunk for a weapon. More and more of him. The last one was of just his eyes looking through the rearview mirror. He knew he was looking directly at you because he did it all the time. He found himself taking glances at you more and more. It was becoming hard for him to ever take his eyes off you. He closed the journal and went back to the diner. He walked in and sat down with you and Sam.

“Everything ok?” Sam asked, his brow furrowed.

“Yeah, why?” Dean asked, trying to sound as normal as possible.

“You were gone for a while.” Sam said, titling his head slightly. Dean looked over at you, you were looking right at him, waiting for an answer.

“Right, slow gas pump. Did you guys order?” Dean took a sip from his soda, hoping it would stop them from pressing further.

“Yeah, I got you a cheeseburger.” You said, smiling at him. He stiffened under his jacket and smiled back at you.

“Thank you, sweetheart.” He said to you. You blinked a few times before you collected yourself.

“Yeah, of course.” Your voice was slightly higher than usual, nervous you took a big gulp of water. Thankfully your food came, giving you a break. You scarfed down your chocolate chip pancakes and made your way back to the impala to continue driving. You climbed in the backseat and immediately picked up your sketchbook again, starting where you left off. Sam’s phone rang about a half hour later.

“Yeah. Ok, were like three hours from there, we can take it.” He said into the phone, giving Dean a sideways glance. There was a defeated tone to his voice and the whole mood of the car changed from happy and carefree to serious in a matter of seconds.

“That was Bobby. Werewolves about three hours from here.” He turned to Dean again. Dean looked over at his brother and nodded before turning the music up, drowning everything else out. Dean couldn’t stop staring at you. He found himself gazing longingly at you once every ten minuets it felt like. The way you touched the pencil to your lips. How you tucked your hair behind your ear when pieces fell around your face, how you squinted at the page like you wanted it to talk. He couldn’t help but wonder if you were still drawing him or if you had moved on. He hoped it was still him. He loved that you took time to perfectly replicate his face into your journal. Something he gave you that you obsessively took everywhere. He loved the fact that he was always with you. You kept him close throughout the day and all through the night.

The drive was becoming daunting as you got closer. You all had just wanted a day off. To relax and maybe get more than three hours of sleep. The sun was setting around you, painting the sky in purples, pinks, and oranges. You were hanging in between the boys, looking out the window at the sunset when you caught a glimpse of Dean’s eyes in the light. The jade in them bounced against the darkening blue of the sky. The pink swirls dancing among the clouds brought out the orange specks jumping with his black pupils. You smiled to yourself.

“What?” He asked you, moving his eyes to look at you. He wasn’t annoyed, seemed more entertained if anything. You shook your head in embarrassment and cleared your throat.

“Sorry! The sky is just really pretty.” You said, biting your lip. He tried to contain his smile, you let out a breath and sunk into the backseat again. Shit.

The heavy clouds blended with the colors as the sun took its resting place for the night. As the cloak of night drew nearer it made it impossible for you to keep drawing so you placed your journal on the seat and once again lost yourself in looking out the window. Dean pulled into a motel and the three of you piled out. Dean went to go get a room leaving you and Sam with the bags. You walked into the room and all did an assessment. Definitely had worse places. You took the top sheet off one of the beds and laid it over the couch. You usually slept on the couch much to the boys protest, but you were smaller and didn’t move much in your sleep so you didn’t mind. You were tucking the sheet into the couch when Dean spoke behind you.

“You know, I wouldn’t mind if you wanted to share a bed.” Your stomach flipped and you tried to keep your face composed as you walked over and sat down on the bed next to him.

“Dean shameless flirting Winchester.” You tilted your head to look him in the eyes.

“It’s not shameless if I mean it.” He looked back at you. There was something in his eyes that took you by surprise. You couldn’t put your finger on it, but something told you this was just more than playful banter.

“I-“ You were cut off by the bathroom door opening and Sam walking in front of you two.

“You guys ready to go?” He asked, slipping a jacket over his flannel.

“Yeah.” You and Dean both said at the same time, leaping off the bed. Sam looked between the two of you, his eyebrows came together.

“Cool.” He said, clearly still confused. The three of you went back to the impala and once again climbed in.

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The werewolf howled as you charged at it with you gun. You could hear your blood pumping in your ears, frantically moving around. The wolf grabbed Sam by the shirt and tossed him aside, he hit the wall creating a loud bang. Dean’s gun went off next to you, but it was too late. The wolf’s claw came down on Dean, tearing his skin open. You shot at the wolf until it went down in front of you. Panting you ran to Dean’s side while screaming Sam’s name. Sam groaned against the floor and made his way to a sitting position. You looked at Dean’s wound and shuttered. Blood. There was so much fucking blood. The claw marks ran across his bicep, not fatal but bleeding out was a real possibility. You quickly ripped your shirt off and tied it tight around Dean’s arm. Sam limped his way over to you and helped you lift Dean, making your way to the impala. You were laid across the back, holding Dean against you. Sam drove like a mad man back to the motel. You and Sam carried Dean into the motel room and laid him down on the couch.

“You got it?” Sam asked, holding the back of his head.

“Yeah, Sam you go take care of yourself. I got Dean.”

“Thanks, Y/N.” Sam closed the bathroom door and turned to shower on. You grabbed the kit and threaded the floss into the needle before getting to work on Dean, pouring whiskey over the wound. He shot up and tried to grab his arm, seeing you in just a bra and jeans covered in blood. You sat up and gently laid him back down again, you looked into his eyes and smiled. He looked at the claw marks and let out a shaky breath.

“I’m going to take care of you, Dean.” You said as you threaded the needle and floss through his skin. He hissed but tried his best to stay still.

“Ya know, this isn’t how I pictured getting you topless.” He joked, his face contorting against the pulling of his skin. You laughed, looking at him for a second.

“Really? What did you think, just some wild drunken night?” You asked, ignoring the buzzing starting to grow across your skin from his eyes on you.

“Of course not. I would romance you first.” He was being weird. He had been weird since the diner. You didn’t really know how to respond, but you were highly curious.

“How would you romance me?” You asked, hoping you weren’t pushing too far, but he seemed like he wanted you to ask.

“I would make you breakfast for dinner, I would watch Y/F/M with you and let you eat all the popcorn. I would tell you how I think about you all the time. That you’re my favorite person in the whole world and that every time I’m near you I feel a sense of peace I was never given. I would tell you that…that I saw your journal and the fact that you carry me around with you all the time brings me so much joy.” He was looking right at you now. His eyes were searching yours for any kind of answer, yes, no, shut up. Anything. You licked your lips and blinked trying to concentrate on what he just said. He had just said that, right? Maybe the werewolf took a swing at you too and this was all a coma dream. You were surprised about how you weren’t mad he looked at your journal. Embarrassed sure, but not mad.

“I…I’m so embarrassed you saw my journal. Its just like 50 drawings of you.” You were trying desperately to distract yourself with wrapping his arm in gauze.

“I’m not embarrassed. God, Y/N I have been crazy about you for so long now.” Um…WHAT? You were absolutely taken aback. You looked directly into his eyes and saw nothing but adoration for you. Your lips parted and you felt your heart rate spike.

“I’m crazy about you too, Dean. I mean obviously, I draw you all the time.” You smiled at him and nervously tucked your hair behind your ear. His hand came over your face, his fingertips lightly touching your cheek before twisting into your hair. He pulled you to him, your hands laying across his chest. Your lips touched and heat immediately flowed throughout your body. Like someone poured warm honey all over you, the fire spread. You broke apart and stared into each other’s eyes for a moment, Dean smiled at you.

“So, this is why you guys have been so weird? Whatever, I just want to go to sleep. I’ll get my own room.” Sam’s voice came from behind you. You turned to face him, shooting him an apologetic look. His face softened and he walked over to you, placing a hand on your shoulder. “I’m happy for you guys.” He said, looking at you. He grabbed his duffel and walked towards the door. You smiled after him and turned back around to Dean.

“As much as I want to keep kissing you, I am still covered in your blood.” You said, gesturing to yourself.

“Right, yeah! You shower, I’ll get myself changed out here.” He said. You nodded and walked into the bathroom. You closed the door and touched your lips, still tasting Dean on them. You took off your blood stained clothes and stepped under the warm water. You felt the warm water wash away all the pain from this hunt and replace it with happiness, until only Dean was left. You grabbed the towel and made your way back into the room.

“Looks like I got you in my bed after all.” Dean said with a sideways grin. You laughed and ran your fingers through your wet hair. You slipped on your pajamas and crawled under the covers with Dean, he was so warm. His skin was smooth against yours as you curled into him. He laid his injured arm out and wrapped his other arm around you. He kissed your hairline and made small patterns on your shoulder. His finger tips lightly trailed up your neck and back down again, relaxing you completely.

“I’m so happy to be here with you. Is all that stuff you said earlier true? Do you really think about me all the time?” You said against his chest.

“Me too. Of course its all true! How could I think about anything but you. You are gorgeous, sexy, brilliant, and one of the best hunters I have ever seen.” You smiled shyly, turning your head into his chest. “Are you mad I looked at your journal?” He asked you.

“I thought I would be, but I was just embarrassed. I just kept drawing you and soon I realized I had this creepy little book of just you.” You giggled, rubbing your cheek against him.

“Like I said, I love that you carried me with you through everything. I love that I’m the one you chose to draw.” He looked down at you, raising his eyebrows.

“Thanks, Dean, for not being weird about it.” You began to trace patterns over his skin too. He hummed in response, exhaustion taking him. The two of you fell into a restful sleep, entwined in each other.

You woke to the sunlight streaming through the window. You groaned and tried to roll over, but felt Dean’s body pressed against yours, effectively caging you to him. You smiled and burrowed down further into his hot skin. You felt his lips on your back, his nose trailing behind them leaving goosebumps in their wake.

“Good morning.” You whispered into the quiet room.

“Hey baby.” He mumbled back, his voice deep and rough.

“Baby?” You said back, turning to face him.

“You’re mine now.” He said, leaving kisses all over your shoulder and back. You smiled, you were his.

“Does that mean you’re going to romance me?” You asked, biting your lip.

“Hell yes. I’m going to spoil you rotten.” He laughed wrapping his arm around you and squeezing you tight, and he did. Dean was the most giving man to you. He told you everyday how much you meant to him. He kissed you to sleep every night, his breath fanning over your skin in the morning. He was always there for you, he was everything. Everything you ever wanted and more.

[idreamofplaid]

A Longing for Home

Summary: The reader has made a home for herself, but it isn’t complete without Sam.

Characters: Sam x Reader; Dean

Word Count: 1641

A/N: It’s another fic from along the way on my journey as a writer. It’s Part 1 of a two parter.

Raindrops hit the window pane gently soothing your worn and bruised heart. You opened your sketchbook and took your favorite drawing pencil in your hand. The sound of the graphite scratching across the page was the only noise in the room. With each line, an image of Sam began to materialize. This was your own kind of art therapy. 

When you were done, the result was a good likeness. Anyone would recognize it as Sam, but you hadn’t been able to capture the warmth in his eyes the way you wanted. Who he had been was still perfectly clear in your mind. You still heard his voice whispering to you in the dark of a motel room in Nebraska, Indiana, or Tennessee. It had never mattered to you where you were as long as you were with him. That was when Sam had a soul.

He had no feelings for you anymore, you or anyone else. You’d reached your breaking point and told Dean you needed to get away. It was too hard for you to be around the man who looked so much like Sam but clearly wasn’t him. Your Sam would have never flirted with other women right in front of your face, not that you could even call it flirting. It was too calculated. What Sam did, he did with purpose. And that purpose was to...

You slammed the sketchbook closed and tossed it on the bed next to you. Rain was still hitting the roof in a steady rhythm that should have been calming. You closed your eyes and hugged yourself. The flannel of the shirt you were wearing was soft and warm to your touch. There was a time you had worn Sam’s shirts, and he’d smiled every time he saw you in one of them. Sometimes you’d worn them just to see his dimples, but this wasn’t one of Sam’s shirts.

You shook your head to clear away the memory and dropped your hands to your sides. You scooted across the bed and stood up taking a minute to stretch before heading to the small kitchen. This cabin had always been your refuge. Your aunt had brought you and your cousin, Brianne, here when you were little girls. It was your aunt who had raised you and taught you to draw. She’d also taught you how important it was to take care of yourself. Self care was her legacy to you, and you needed it now more than you ever had.

You wished Aunt Laura was here now to offer her advice or give you a shoulder to cry on. It had been nine years since the heart defect she’d been born with had taken her from you, eleven since Bri had gone to France to be a pastry chef. When her mother had passed on, Bri told you the cabin was all yours. You were, after all, the sentimental one.

It was that part of you that longed for a home. So, you’d made this cabin as cozy as you could and let it serve as the representation of that dream for you. You filled it with your favorite things. There were bookshelves overflowing with every kind of title to suit any of your moods and a big overstuffed chair where you could sit and read by the window. There was a soft wine colored throw draped over that chair that you could wrap around you when you felt the need to be held. The kitchen was stocked with every flavor of coffee and tea you liked best. In the cupboard, there was a supply of your favorite shortbread cookies to have with your warm beverage of choice.

Today, you decided some peppermint mocha coffee was what you needed. You poured some water into the coffee maker and put a filter in the chamber. You opened the bag of coffee and inhaled the rich scent, one of your favorite smells in the world. You emptied some out of the bag onto the filter without measuring. You never measured. The sound of the coffee brewing filled the tiny cabin. 

Steaming mug of coffee in hand, you positioned the pillows on the sofa just the way you wanted them and snuggled in with your throw over your lap. The first taste of chocolatey richness was warm and comforting. You picked up a favorite book from the end table with the hope of losing yourself in another world for awhile to take the edge off the pain you were feeling in your own. It wasn’t long before your eyes began to droop, and you lay your head down allowing memories of a better time to invade your dreams.

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Seeing Sam smile gave you the same feeling you had on the night before Christmas when you were a little girl. It felt like being on the verge of something wonderful and not knowing exactly what it was, but having him here in the cabin, in this place that was so special to you gave you a very good idea of what that something wonderful was for you. It was Sam, being with him, having him as a part of your life. 

More and more, you were certain that you wanted him in your life forever. That’s why you’d brought him here. You wanted to let him into your past by opening up this part of you. You’d never brought anyone here. It was your refuge, and you were letting Sam in hoping he would want it to be his too. It was a new feeling for you, wanting to share yourself like this. 

You handed Sam a mug of the hot chocolate you’d made and sat down next to him on the sofa tucking your leg beneath you. Sam took a sip then gave a little shake of his head and almost smiled. “I don’t remember the last time I had hot chocolate.” 

“If you don’t like it, I can make coffee.” You pulled your leg from beneath you and started to sit up.

Sam reached out and put his hand on your thigh stopping you. “No, I do. It’s perfect.” 

He took another sip as if to prove his point. When he finished, this time his smile was big. For right now at least, Sam didn’t look like he carried the weight of the world on his shoulders. His dimples softened his face taking away the hard edge that was there too often from carrying the burden of knowing too much.

Sam took your cup from you and put both mugs down then cupped your cheek in his hand. He brushed his lips softly over yours, barely touching them before he kissed you with such an intense and tender passion you saw your life flash before your eyes, not as it was but as it could be. You saw the way it could be with Sam in it and how you could show him a little of the normal he had never known. You could feel Sam’s hand resting just below your waist on your hip. It was warm, solid, and strong. 

He stopped kissing you to look in your eyes slipping his fingers up into your hair. When he kissed you again, it was even slower and more deliberate. Sam’s tongue pushed against your lips seeking entrance, and you let him in. He held you and kissed away every doubt you’d ever had that you could be happy. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The sound of your cell phone ringing pulled you from your dream. You rubbed a finger over your lower lip, the feel of Sam’s mouth on yours still so real. The phone kept ringing pulling you back to now. You pulled it from your pocket. It was Dean. You dragged your finger across the screen to answer it. 

Dean got right to the point. “I think I know how to get Sam’s soul back.” 

“Sam’s soul is in hell, Dean. In...Lucifer’s cage.” Your voice broke on the words. “It’s not like we can just walk in there and get it.”

“We can’t, but Death can.” Dean outlined his plan. He was going to have someone stop his heart so he could see Death and make a deal. It was a long shot, but it was the only one you had. “I want you to meet me at Bobby’s, Y/N.”

When you ended the call, you sat staring at the phone for several seconds before you moved. Hope stirred in your heart, fueled by the vision of Sam sitting next to you on that sofa with that same hope lighting his eyes. You could hear him saying, “Thank you for bringing me here.” It has eased his pain if only for a little while, helping him forget the apocalypse loomed. 

Your hand reached out to the empty place next to you remembering how he’d looked with the firelight reflected in his golden hazel eyes. You whispered the words you wished you’d said to him. “I love you, Sam.” You could feel the prickling of determined tears behind your eyes, and you spoke again to the emptiness. “I’m going to tell you. You’re going to know.” 

You walked back to the bed and picked up your sketchbook. You picked it up and looked at the likeness of Sam you had drawn. “You are going to know. This is going to be okay somehow, and I’m going to bring you back here. You will know something besides struggle and pain. I swear it.” 

You tore the picture from the pad, folded it, and put it in your pocket. Your rain jacket was hanging on a hook by the door. You put it on and pulled the hood over your head. Then you walked out into the storm. You were going to bring Sam back, bring him home to you.

Everything Forever: @gambitwinchester @princessmisery666 @onethirstyunicorn @peridottea91 @logical-princey @emilyshurley @beenlovingromansincedayoneish @fangirlxwritesx67​ @waywardbaby​ @atc74​ @ledzeppelinsbonzo​ @shaniquacynthia​ @mariekoukie6661​ @tumbler-tidbits​ @67-chevy-baby​ @fandom-princess-forevermore​ @terrarium-jpeg​ @emoryhemsworth​ @crashdevlin​ @heycasbutt​ @jules-1999​ @mrsdeannafuckingwinchester​ @cosicas-cuquis​ @sammyimpala-67​ @queenoftheunderdark​ @dean-winchesters-bacon​ @mrs-meghan-winchester​ @timelordy-fangirl2​ @sweetness47​ @hobby27​ @awesomesusiebstuff​ @kickingitwithkirk​ @gh0stgurl​ @neveratease​ @becs-bunker​ @sandlee44​ @supernaturalgrandma​ @lonewolf471​ @sea040561​ @dawnie1988​ @maddiepants​ @volleyballer519​ @outcastedangel​ @iknowwheremytowelis​ @kdfrqqg​ @lizette50​ @daisymoder72​ @sorenmarie87​ @oldfreakything​ @triiitoo​

Sam/Jared Love: @girl-next-door-writes​ @stunudo​ @feelmyroarrrr​ @winchesterxfamilybusiness​ @idabbleincrazy​ @evansrogerskitten​ @focusonspn​ @i-joined-social-media-finally​ @wingledsam​ @autumninavonlea​ @spnxbsessed​ @durinsbride​ @deansyahtzee​ @wendibird​ @fantasy-shadows​ @team-free-will-you-idjiot​ @waywardnerd67​ @neii3n​ @fullmooner​ @supernatural-took-me-over​ @julesthequirky​

[ahatintimestorybook]

AHIT Twin AU- Magic Twins

Okay enough with the angst...for now. Let’s get into some sweet fluff. Yes, I said for now because I’m writing a three part angst story and it may make you cry!!

Enjoy ^^

@winterpower98

It was night time and MJ and Luka just finished celebrating their 8th birthday. However, they weren’t done celebrating just yet their dad had one more surprise for them and they were excited. “I wonder what dad has for us?” MJ asked holding on to his white wolf like plushie.

“Maybe we get to have ice cream before bed! Or we can stay up till 7:00 am in the morning!” Luka exclaimed, guessing what their father, Richard had for them.

MJ shook his head. “I don’t think we’ll be allowed to stay up till 7 in the morning.” He disagreed.

Luka leaned in close to his brother. “You may never know.” He sang. MJ grabbed his brother and ruffled his hair as Luka tried to push his brother off, but his older twin brother held him tight continuing to ruffle his little twin brother’s hair.

The brothers shared a laugh as Richard came in smiling at his little boys. “I see my boys are excited for their surprise.” Richard said. The twins let go of each other and got comfortable ready for the gift. Richard gave a chuckle and sat down between his sons. “Now ready to see your last gift of the night?” He asked.

“We’ve been waiting!” Luka wined. “Tell us! Tell us!” Luka bounced on the bed with his hand on his dad’s shoulder.

Richard chuckled and pulled his sons close to him. “I am. I am.” He repeated. Richard took a deep breath and told his story. “Well now that your 8 years old I think it's time we had a talk about something, well something in my family.” He started. MJ and Luka looked at each other confused at what their father was going to tell him.

“W-what is dad?” Luka asked.

Richard sighed. “You two know about magic, right?” He asked.

Luka and MJ looked at each other shocked and nodded. “Yeah! We do!” They both shouted. “Like the magician we saw at the Christmas Party?” Luke asked.

“Well not exactly.” Richard  replied. “You see magic is real, and your now 8 years old, which is the age you guys might be experiencing magic.” He explained.

Luka and MJ looked at their father in shock before smiling. This was just like in their favorite super hero TV shows! “Like on TV?” MJ asked. Richard nodded. “Awesome!” MJ beamed. “We can finally be super heroes Lulu!”

Luka chuckled. “Yeah! Using our magic to fight bad guys and steal their souls!” Luka beamed.

“Eh, let’s not steal souls.” MJ replied.

Luka chuckled. “I was kidding.” The boys shared a laugh over their fantasy of being a pair of super twins saving Subcon from trouble.

“Boys may I-” Richard was cut off as his sons still continued to talk about their magic superhero fantasies.

“We can find other kids with magic as well make a super hero team!” MJ beamed.

“And we can wear cool costumes so no one can know its us!” Luka added.

“Luka! Michael!” Richard spoke up louder. The twins stopped their fantasy and nervously chuckled realizing their dad still hasn’t finished with her story.

“Sorry dad.” The twins apologized.

Richard chuckled. “You're forgiven.” He replied. “Now, before you boys decide to go superhero. I’m sorry to have to say this, but magic doesn’t work that way, it's taboo.”

“What does that mean?” Luka asked.

“It means: it's banned to talk about.” Richard answered. “Well we’re talking about it because I know a few people who had magic and I figured you need to know.”

“Who dad?” MJ asked.

“Well, my grandfather, your great-grandfather had magic and my aunt had it.”

“What were their powers?” Luka asked.

Richard sighed and frowned. “I didn’t know what my grandfather’s power was.” He whispered. “He died due to his magic.”

MJ frowned and held his father’s hand tight. “D-did the magic kill him?” He asked.

“No.” Richard paused for a bit before continuing. “Its because he had magic that he was killed.” MJ gulped and looked at his little brother, who looked scared too. They were just about to ask before Richard told them more. “You see not a lot of people accept magic and well they either get killed or sent away because of it.”

“Sent away?” MJ gasped.

“K-killed.” Luka stuttered.

Richard sighed, he didn’t want to scare his boys, but its the harsh truth when it comes to magic. “Sorry to scare you boys, but its true.”

“But why? Has anyone tried to fight for it?” MJ asked. “There’s no way people can be this blind to magic users!”

Richard sighed again. “I don’t know why either, but people are just blind to those who are...different.” That was the only straight answer he can give his boys. The boys frowned and still wondered if being twin super heroes was a bad thing. Richard needed to think of something positive about magic and fast. “But, my aunt’s power had to do with air and wind and during the hottest of summer days she’d knew how to make things cool.”

MJ and Luka smiled, which is what Richard wanted to see. He ruffled the boys hair making them laugh before hugging them tight. “So magic doesn’t sound so bad.” Luka commented.

Richard chuckled. “Not at all Lu, its just you need to be careful with it and keep it a secret.” He reassured. “But like I said there is a low chance you guys may not have magic at all.”

“Well magic or not! That was a great story dad!” Luka beamed. “Even though it did get sad.” he mumbled.

Richard chuckled and ruffled Luka’s hair before picking him up. “Well its getting late, and you two need your sleep.” MJ yawned and got under the covers holding his white wolf-like plushie tight. Richard tucked Luka into bed ruffling his hair once more. “Night Luka.”

“Night dad!” Luka replied.

Richard walked over to MJ’s bed and ruffled his hair too. “Night Michael.”

“Night dad.” MJ replied.

Richard turned off the lights and left his son’s room to let them get some sleep. A few minutes passed and Luka opened his eyes. “MJ. MJ.” He whispered. MJ groaned and opened his eyes turning to his little brother. “Are you asleep?”

“No.” MJ groaned. MJ moved a bit on his bed, and Luka jumped out of his bed and laid down next to his twin brother.

“What did you think of the magic story?” Luka asked.

MJ sighed. “Its interesting.” He replied. “I can’t believe we have a chance to withhold magic!”

Luka chuckled. “I know!” He smiled and wondered what kinds of powers they’ll gave. “What power do you think we’ll have?” He asked.

MJ turned and faced his little brother. “I’m not sure.” He replied. “There’s so many endless powers we can have, but I want us to have the same magic.”

Luka smiled agreeing with his older twin brother. “I hope so too!” He hoped. Soon Luka yawned and his eyes fluttered before closing and falling asleep.

MJ smiled and tucked him and his brother. “Night, Lulu.” MJ whispered before falling asleep hugging his little brother.

Two years have passed, and now the twins were 10 years old. Summer has finally came and that gave the twins a ton of fun things to do together. They went to the water park twice, gone on hikes, and today they just did some paintings with their dad. Now the twins were in their room relaxing; MJ decided to draw in his sketchbook while Luka picked up a video game to play.

MJ smiled at his drawing and thought it would be nice to color it, and went to look for his colored pencils. He checked his desk and saw his colored pencils was no where to be found. He spotted them in his bag next to Luka. “Lulu, could you get my colored pencils?” He asked.

“After this level, Mikey! I’m in first place!” Luka beamed. MJ sighed, but something surprising happened.

His hands then released red string that tied around his bag as he was able to grab it. MJ’s eyes, now glowing red was surprised Luka got it for him. “Thanks Lulu!” MJ beamed.

“For what?” Luka asked still focusing on his game. MJ froze and looked at his hands seeing strings on them. Luka paused his game and turned to his brother and looked scared seeing MJ’s eyes. “Uh...MJ your...eyes.” He nervously said.

“W-what’s wrong with them?” He asked getting up from his seat. Luka grabbed his twin brother’s hand and took him to the bathroom and made him face the mirror. MJ stepped back scared at his eyes. MJ’s eyes were blood red and glowing. “M-mom! Dad!” MJ screamed.

Footsteps ran upstairs as Angela and Richard rushed into the bathroom to see what the boys were yelling about it and froze seeing red strings from their older son’s fingers as well as glowing red eyes. “Oh boy.” Richard whispered.

“M-mom! D-dad what’s happening to me?!” MJ yelled.

Richard went over to his son and put his hands on his son’s shoulder. “Michael. Take deep breaths.” He said in a reassuring voice. “This is your magic, and you need to be calm.” MJ blinked surprised this was his magic taking over.

MJ listened to what his father told him and tried to calm down. Soon the strings started to disappear and MJ’s eyes went back to normal. Richard smiled and hugged his son seeing he’s alright. “D-dad was that really my magic?” He asked.

Richard nodded, but was confused. “Though I never heard of someone with puppeteer magic?”

Angela chuckled. “Thankfully I have.” She responded.

“You know magic too mom?” Luka asked.

Angela nodded. “ I may be a lawyer, but I’m a lawyer who has clients that have magic, and MJ I helped with two clients who too have puppeteer magic.” She explained.

This peeked MJ and Luka’s interest. “Really?” They both asked. Angela nodded and hugged her two boys. Luka and MJ looked at each other and smiled.

The rest of the night, MJ was having fun with his magic as well as using it to help his mother with setting up dinner. While MJ was setting up the table with his magic, Luka tried to see if he too got his magic as well, but nothing happened. The younger twin frowned and glanced at his older twin brother who was able to grab the glasses with his strings without breaking them.

Later, the boys were asleep well MJ was asleep but Luka wasn’t. Luka looked at his hands and saw he didn’t have his powers yet. He wondered why. If his older twin got it shouldn’t he have gotten his powers too. “MJ?” Luka asked hoping his brother would wake up. Luka sighed and turned around and tried to get some sleep.

Summer came and went and still Luka didn’t have his powers. The younger twin wasn’t jealous of his older brother, just disappointed that they didn’t get it at the same time as they hoped.  It was already September and starting Monday would be the first day of school for the twins.

To make sure the last few days of summer were the best the twins went to the park to play till sunset. MJ brought over a purple ball they bought at the store to play with. They had the whole baseball field to themselves today so no one would bother them as they kicked and threw the ball around.

“Luka! Think fast!” MJ yelled as he kicked the ball high in the air. Luka looked up and held his hand out ready to grab the ball. Luka stepped back and caught it loosing his balance in the process.

“Got it!” Luka shouted. MJ chuckled and went far ready to catch the ball. What the older twin didn’t notice was Luka’s hands turning a dark purple color as blue flames started to appear from his hands. Luka threw the ball, but as MJ saw the ball in flames he got out of the way. MJ looked up and saw Luka’s eyes glowing yellow. With a smile he went over to his brother in joy.

“Luka! You got your powers!” MJ shouted.

Luka blinked and smiled. “I did?” He asked. MJ nodded. Luka looked at his hands and saw they were engulfed in blue flames. Luka and MJ smiled at each other picked up their ball, which surprisingly didn’t turn to ashes and ran home to tell their dad before anyone else caught them.

“Dad! Dad!” The twins shouted running home. Richard was finishing up a painting and saw his twin sons running towards them in joy. “Dad!” MJ started. “Luka got his magic!”

“He did?” Richard asked. MJ nodded. “Well what is it?” He asked. MJ and Luka didn’t say it, but showed it. Luka’s eyes glowed yellow as blue flames appeared from his hands again. Richard’s eyes widen seeing the flames on his youngest son.

“ANGELA!” Richard screamed caring Luka carefully so he would not get burned or at least burn the house down. Angela turned to her husband and saw her youngest son smiling in glee.

Angela chuckled. “Well looks like we are dealing with super magic twins.” She joked.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Author’s Note: The plushie MJ has is based off a beta design of Moonjumper that looked plush like.

[romansleftshoulderpad]

Almost Had You (But I Guess That Doesn’t Cut It)

Tags: @fandermom @my-analogical-romance @patchworkofstars @poisonedapples @hogwarts-my-love @opaque-puppet 

Words: 1,706

Warnings: Swearing, mentions of doing drugs, the word “slut” used in lyrics, weed, Deceit and Remus mentioned but not by name

Ship: Prinxiety

Quick note: the formatting might be a little off on mobile, but it works fine on AO3!

---

I almost got drunk at school at 14 Where I almost made out with the homecoming queen.

It had been 12 years since Roman and Virgil met. It had been 10 since they became friends. It had been 8 since they started dancing around each other like pining, gay ballerinas.

Who almost went off to be Ms. Texas, But lost to a slut with much bigger breastes.

Roman could remember the exact moment he started to fall in love. It was the end of their senior year. They had been messing around in Virgil’s “studio”, an extra walk-in closet in his dad’s apartment. Virgil was painting a stormy sky while Roman played around with an old guitar that hadn’t been touched in years (save for specks of paint and purple storm clouds painted on the wood). Roman had been messing around with different chords but he found himself enchanted by Virgil. His bangs were tied back into a bun and his arms were covered in white, lilac, and navy blue. His tongue stuck out between his lips in concentration as he tried to paint the moon just right.

That’s when it hit Roman. He could easily see them doing just the same in 20, 30, or 40 years. Maybe in a different town, maybe with different hairstyles or clothes, but still them. Still happy. Still soft and domestic.

Married. He could see them together and in love. It was terrifying, but as he closed his eyes, he played a love song.

I almost dropped out to move to LA Where I was Almost famous for Almost a day.

It was college that separated them. Roman was going to a fancy music school and Virgil wasn’t going anywhere. It was one of the worst fights they’d ever had.

“Come on, Virge! It’ll be perfect!” Roman pleaded.

“Perfect for you, maybe,” Logan muttered.

“Oh shut up, nerdy wolverine,” Roman snapped.

“Even combined, how are we supposed to afford an apartment in L.A?” Virgil asked, not looking up from his sketchbook.

“We’ll figure it out!”

“You mean I’ll figure it out while you get a degree.”

“Just forget about rent,” Roman said. “We’d have so much fun! We can watch Tim Burton movies every week and cook together and go on adventures!”

“Roman, if I may add some input-“

“Logan,” Virgil said quietly, “can you give us a moment alone, please?”

“Don’t sign any contracts without a lawyer present,” Logan said, and with that, he left.

“Roman, I can’t just pack up and leave because you need a roommate,” Virgil said. “I’m not even sure why you’re asking me anyway. Obviously, there are better options.”

“Better options?”

“Yes! Like Logan-“ Roman scoffed. “Or Remy! Or even your brother!”

“I’ve lived with my brother for far too long, thank you very much,” Roman said. “But why do you think there’s better options? Why is it so hard to imagine me wanting to be closer to you?” Virgil chewed on his lip, visibly becoming more anxious. “Virgil, you’re my friend. I care about you.”

“You shouldn’t!” Virgil yelled but it echoed like a scream. Tears pricked at his eyes and as Roman took a step forward he took a step back. “I gotta go.” He grabbed his backpack and ran out of the door before Roman could go after him.

I almost held up a grocery store Where I almost did five years and then seven more

Virgil was 22 and living with a friend of the brother of a friend. It sucked. He spent most of his nights' painting and wondering how much better his life would be if he had said “yes” to Roman’s offer. He picked up a drawn on canvas he had titled “Two Lovers” And began to paint as his thoughts spiraled.

Instead of loud music and loud... other sounds coming from his roommate’s bedroom, he’d at least only have to deal with Disney songs and rapping along to Hamilton. And yes, Virgil would have to admit, watching The Nightmare Before Christmas would be a lot more enjoyable than airing out the living room to get rid of the smell of weed.

He looked at the painting. The two lovers were still just a sketch. He took a pencil and adjusted one of the lovers to be male instead of female. “Could be gayer,” he mumbled to himself as he did so.

What would watching movies with Roman be like anyway? Virgil grabbed a clean brush and started painting in the couch the lovers sat on. He’d be annoying and talk through the whole film, of course. Probably eats popcorn way too loudly. Of course, he would have been the one insistent on making popcorn. Probably homemade because he would insist that it’s superior to the bagged stuff.

He’d probably fall asleep during the movie. It’d be far too much of ask of the arrogant asshole to actually appreciate art. He’d lean onto Virgil as he’d begin to doze off. He’d pretend to yawn and put his arm sound Virgil’s shoulders, holding him tight. Virgil chewed his lip as he painted. He worked on the lovers’ clothes and skin. Roman was always a deep sleeper; he’d be impossible to wake up. This would, of course, keep Virgil trapped on the couch. Virgil hated being trapped.

But would being stuck with Roman even be a bad thing? Virgil had slept on plenty of couches before, surely it wouldn’t be worse to share that space with someone warm holding you tight. Roman’s heartbeat would be calming and lull Virgil to sleep.

Cause I almost got popped for a fight with a thug Cause he almost ran off with a bunch of the drugs That I almost got hooked on cause you ran away.

Virgil looked at the two lovers holding each other tight and dressed in red and purple.

And I wish I would have had the nerve to ask you to stay.

Roman dropped out of that college after two years. It was a tough choice, but it was for the best. He’d looked at a picture from his high school graduation. He wasn’t the same anymore, but that wasn’t a bad thing. He just had new interests and passions.

And at 26 he was going back to a new college to pursue a writing degree. But he kept drifting back to that graduation photo. He hadn’t seen Virgil in 5 years, but he still had a soft spot for him. He still had so many things left to say.

Here I go thinking ‘bout all the things I could’ve done.

He pulled out his laptop.

I’m gonna need a forklift cause all the baggage weighs a ton.

Virgil pulled the rest of his boxes out of the moving truck. He finally got away from roommates and memories of the past. He was free.

He opened a box labeled “Paintings” and saw it staring back at him. The two lovers.

I know we had our problems. I can’t remember one.

Roman kept typing. It was a stupid email to write to someone he hadn’t seen in years but getting all of these feelings out was pure ecstasy.

I almost forgot to say something else And if I can’t fit it in I’ll keep it all to myself.

Virgil put the painting in a frame and hung it up in his unfurnished living room.

I almost wrote a song about you today. But I tore it all up and then I threw it away.

Roman deleted the email.

And I Almost had you, But I guess that doesn’t cut it.

Both of them sat, miles apart, staring at their screens and silently begging for contact. For nostalgia. For a second chance.

Virgil hated risk. He hated change. Yet, as he looked around at the unpacked boxes, he knew a tiny bit of change between him and Roman wouldn’t make that much of a difference. He picked up his phone and scrolled through his contacts.

Almost had you.

Ringing. And ringing. And ringing.

“Hello? Who is this?”

Virgil’s heart raced. He hated phone calls and Roman probably didn’t want to talk to him anyway and- oh this was such a bad idea. “R- Roman?” he asked, his mouth dry. “It’s Virgil. You still live in L.A right?”

“Virgil,” Roman repeated. His heart was beating just as fast. “It’s been a while. And yeah- yeah I still live here.” He took a deep breath. “How are you?”

“I, uh, just moved to California. Exciting, right? Uh, and I- I was wondering...” He took a deep breath and tried to steady his shaking hands. He exhaled slowly. “Do you want to grab coffee?”

And I didn’t even know it.

“Coffee,” Roman said with a smile. “Coffee would be great. You can tell me where you’re near and I can meet you somewhere. You must be tired.”

“You have no idea,” Virgil said with a laugh. He glanced to the painting and let his anxieties melt away. He smiled. “I’ve missed you.”

“I- I’ve missed you too,” Roman said, barely above a whisper. He wondered if Virgil could hear his smile.

“Meet me at 4?”

“4,” Roman said. “See you there.”

You kept me guessin’ And now I’m destined To spend my time missing you.

He looked the same way he did six years ago. He had his hair pulled back into a bun with colors on his arms, only now they were stray tattoos and not paint splatters. He looked more tired and spaced out. Surely from the stress of moving, but Roman was one hundred percent ready to take this man home and properly lull him to sleep.

Roman was different though. Dressed to impress as if meeting a stranger and not an ex-best friend. It was appropriate, almost. They had become strangers. Almost. Strangers didn’t spend years thinking of one another.

“Virgil,” Roman said with a smile and open arms.

“Princey,” Virgil said with a smile, falling into his open arms and holding him tight. Past fights and years of regrets faded away. They were together now, and Virgil knew he’d have his chance.

I almost wish you would have loved me

Wish you would have loved me too.

[yourdeepestfathoms]

In Our Bedroom After The War

[Broadway Kids]

Prompt: “Fuck what they think. I respect you and if they don’t, I’ll break their knees.”

Word count: 2944

-----------------------

Tommy can’t quite remember when Carrie stopped speaking. Some people said it was in the third grade after she brought that Bible to school and started praying in the middle of lunch, others said after the Christian Youth Camp incident and she swallowed so much water that she “permanently clogged her vocal cords” or something stupid. Whatever happened, something had made Carrie White go silent, and she’s been a target of mockery since.

Deaf and dumb. That’s what the other kids liked to call her. But she isn’t deaf, Tommy knows, because she always reacts to what is said about her with great offense and pain, and she certainly isn’t dumb because Tommy has seen her grades when her report cards are stolen and passed around by bullies. She’s a smart girl, very smart. If anything, he was the dumb one, because the amount of times he’s almost given away their little get-togethers was unbelievable.

It started a month into the school year, he believed. He went into senior year, while Carrie just started high school. He can’t quite remember what caused them to start meeting up in the hidden bathroom under the staircase in the C hall stair well, and he’ll admit that he had never imagined himself hanging out with the city’s resident freak and actually enjoy it, but he would seriously miss their reclusive meetings every Friday after school if they were to ever stop.

Today in particular was very special. 1) because he was finally going to try and teach Carrie about video games (she was fourteen! she should at least know the basics like Pokemon and Mario!) and 2) he had noticed that Carrie seemed a little off the past week and he wanted to ask her about it.

When you saw someone like Carrie White, you would assume that she was constantly in a state of anxiety and depression, but Tommy has learned to pick up on little ticks she does over time. Like how lately, she’s been tugging on her hair and biting her knuckles more often, something she only does if something is really bothering her. Because of their social status in the high school hierarchy, he was never able to ask her if she was alright, so non verbal forms of communication would have to do until their weekly meetup.

There’s the way he tried to avoid letting her out of sight, and if it isn’t that, then it's the way they move around each other in natural synchronicity in the hallway, like celestial bodies that have been caught in orbit for millennia. It's the way he makes excuses to walk alone to class just to make sure she doesn’t get any trouble on the way to her own. It's the silent conversations, an inquisitive look (“You okay?”) answered by a minute nod (“All good.”). It’s everything he wishes he had done for her before his final year of high school.

He tried not to think about it. Tried not to think about how Carrie would soon be all alone again after he graduates. Tried not to think about what would happen to her when he isn’t there as her silent guardian. Tried not to think about how sad he would be without seeing her every day anymore.

Tommy slipped inside the bathroom, shutting the door as quietly as possible to avoid alerting anyone who may have been lurking around, and turned to face the rest of the space. Carrie is sitting at the sink counter on one of two stools Tommy had smuggled in there for them. She turned her head to look at him sideways, but she’s still got her nose buried in a sketchbook, which she still hasn't let him look at. He wondered what she's drawing. Maybe it's a treasure map. Or a secret code. Or that deer they saw earlier. Or him.

  “The party has arrived!” Tommy has announced, his voice rebounding loudly off of the silent bathroom walls. He dropped his backpack on the floor, unlike Carrie had done, as hers was hung up on one of the hooks on the wall.

Carrie finally put her pencil down and swiveled around completely in her stool to smile at him. She doesn’t show any teeth with her grin, and it’s slightly wry, but it’s a smile nonetheless and Tommy is honored to get such a thing from her. He examined her quickly, luckily finding no new wounds from bullying, then crossed over. She hastily closed her sketchbook.

  “One day,” He said. “One day I will see your masterpiece.”

Carrie gave him an apologetic look, her smile becoming a little more tight. She grabbed a nearby whiteboard to write on, but stopped when Tommy waved a hand.

  “No, no,” He said. “No need for that! I’ve been doing really well in my ASL class- you can sign to me!”

Carrie looked skeptical, but Tommy doesn’t miss the flash of excitement in her warm honey eyes. It’s not often that someone understands her when she uses sign language.

  “Come on, I’m smarter than I look! Don’t doubt my abilities to learn a new language!”

Carrie nodded. She held up her hands, shaking down the frayed sleeves of her shirt, and began to sign.

  “What (something) we (something) today?”

Okay, maybe he wasn’t AS fluent as he thought, but Carrie looked so much more comfortable being able to sign! He could just use his context clues!

  “Something very fun!” Tommy assured her. He took out his phone and turned on a playlist that they’ve been progressively adding more and more songs to (with Carrie having to write hers down and give the list to him, seeing as she didn’t own any electronics). You can tell who added what like this: if it’s Christian related or something grungy-chill, Carrie probably added it; if it has folk music vibes and/or a lot of acoustic guitars, it was probably Tommy, surprisingly enough; if it just generally sounds like it’s ripped from an indie movie, it’s kind of a toss up.

He took out the Nintendo Switch he got last Christmas next and set it up on the sink counter. Carrie tilted her head at it as if it were a peculiar flower that had just sprouted out of the porcelain countertop. 

  “Ever played before?” Tommy asked, although he already knew the answer.

  “No. (something) I’ve seen (something) (something).”

  “You’ve seen it before?” Tommy repeated, guessing just by the way Carrie had pointed to her eyes.

Carrie nodded.

  “Well, now you get to play it!” Tommy beamed at her and she smiled back, but it seems a little forced. Something is definitely on her mind- he’ll have to ask once she’s a little more relaxed. “Hmm… How about Minecraft?”

  “M-I-N-E-C-R-A-F-T. I’ve heard (something) (something).”

  “It’s fun!” Tommy assured her, selecting the game. “Trust me, you’ll like it.” He put the controllers in her hands and she rubs her thumbs over the rubber protectors. “So the main goal is surviving,” He went on. “There's a lot of objectives actually, but surviving is always the first one. Once you get used to it, you can play in Survival mode and start making a good base and start getting tools and armor and stuff, then you can move on to other objectives. But for now you can just play in Creative. What should we name the world?”

Carrie thought for a few moments, and Tommy could practically see all the random names cycling through her brain. After a moment, she signed, “(something)”

Tommy blinked.

  “One more time.”

  “(something)”

  “Can you fingerspell it, please?”

  “V-E-N-U-S.”

  “Oh! Venus! We haven’t learned planets yet.” Tommy said. “Wait- Venus?”

  “V-E-N-U-S (something) (something) (something) cool place (something) live.”

Tommy laughed. “Can’t argue with that logic!” He helped Carrie type in the name and clicked through a couple of other settings before hitting “create world”. Within a few moments the world was up and running. Carrie’s character was off in no time, exploring the blocky landscape and sifting through her colorful inventory, although her movements were sporadic and jerky since it was her first time playing.

Decorating the base was by far Carrie’s favorite part. There were so many different flowers for the outside and wood types for flooring and even COLORED glass. The only thing that would make it better was if you could have animals and OH MY GOODNESS YOU COULD HAVE ANIMALS!!!!!!!!

For a moment, Tommy debated just leaving Carrie there and allowing her to design the base and play around however she wanted, but he couldn't. He was so worried that someone may waltz in and see her in the boy’s bathroom and then do something to her. Carrie being nearly drowned in one of the toilets, Carrie getting her head smashed against the sink counter, Carrie being raped, Carrie getting beaten into a bloody pulp- so many horrible scenarios forced their way into his head. Carrie getting her throat slit, Carrie getting her body stuffed in the air vent, Carrie getting sodomized with a mop stick.

Why? Why were kids so cruel to her? Why couldn’t Tommy protect her from everything? Why does he know he can’t?

There was a soft touch on his hand and he jolted out of his thoughts. Carrie flinched away, too, then signed something he couldn’t understand, but knew she was asking if he was okay by the pinched expression on her face.

  “I’m okay,” He assured her. “Just thinking.”

She made the gesture of “what” and tilted her head. Then she pointed to herself.

About me?

  “Yeah,” Tommy admitted.

That made Carrie’s nose scrunch up in a giggle.

  “Don’t (something) S-U-E know.”

  “If you think that I would cheat on my girlfriend with a fish, then you are very much wrong.” Tommy said. “What about you? What’s been on your mind?”

Carrie put the Switch controllers down and shrugged her shoulders. She began to play with the cuff of her sleeve, not really making eye contact anymore.

  “Come on,” Tommy urged. “You can tell me!”

  “People,” Carrie signed vaguely.

  “People?” Tommy echoed. “People being rude to you?”

Carrie shrugged again, and it was clear she didn’t really want to talk about this anymore, nor did she seem to be in a mood to continue playing. Tommy packed up the Nintendo Switch and paused their shared playlist. He gave Carrie her backpack and they started to walk out of the school in mutual silence.

  “Sorry,” Tommy said as they neared the parking lot. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

Carrie shook her head, then signed, “You didn’t. Don’t worry.”

  “Yeah, but-”

  “Well if it isn’t praying Carrie!”

Carrie went rigid, like she had been struck by lightning. She stopped mid-step and didn’t move as a group of seniors trot over, their faces alight with mischief and cruelty.

  “Ross!” One of them called. “What are you doing with this freak?”

  “Is she holding you hostage?” Another guessed, casting a look at Carrie.

  “I bet she’s leading him out to his car to force him to let her ride him.” A third said. The group howled with diseased laughter at that. Tommy is appalled. Carrie looked ill. “Is that it, church girl? The need for sex has finally broken into you and you’re ready to sin?”

  “Back off!” Tommy growled, shoving the boy away. He put himself between him and Carrie, becoming a barricade of sorts. “Leave her alone.”

  “I wonder how loud she’ll moan,” A fourth member of the group mused.

  “Can she even moan?” The second wondered out loud.

  “If you plowed into her hard enough I bet she’ll make some sort of sound.” The first said.

Carrie darted left and sprinted for the nearby line of trees edging the campus. Tommy glared at the group of seniors, then followed, concerned. 

The darkness of the forest quickly closes around them. Carrie is fast on her feet, but Tommy was an athlete and he caught up quickly. He snagged the back of her jacket in a loose grip. They stumbled together over uneven ground and exposed tree roots until Carrie collapsed in a hollow between two moss-covered rocks. Tommy slotted himself in front of her so that she’s shielded from all sides- the rocks and Tommy forming a barrier from the world.

He said nothing. He listened to the girl’s gasping breaths and knew that it’s nothing that words can cure- not anymore. Not after years of having no one, being stabbed in the back and spoon fed lies. He closed his eyes and immersed himself in the rustling of oak leaves, the distant calls of birds, the persistent harmony of crickets.

He wondered what Carrie used to ground herself.

He wondered if she grounded herself at all.

Slowly, softly, Carrie calmed to some degree. It comes faster than Tommy expected, but he assumed that’s just because she’s grown used to the treatment she gets. She shifted, wiggling her shoes beneath Tommy’s thigh. Tommy doesn’t shift. He won’t leave until she does.

  “It’s okay,” He finally whispered. “I’m here. I won’t let them hurt you.”

Carrie whimpered and made a sloppy gesture- Why?

  “Because I care about you.” Tommy said. “Fuck what they think. I respect you and if they don’t, I’ll break their knees.”

He wanted to make her laugh or smile or at least stop crying, but Carrie just whimpered again. She swiveled around to face him, eyes flashing with tears. 

  “Why?” She signed again, sniffling miserably.

  “We’re friends.” Tommy told her. “You know that, don’t you?” The look he got said that she didn’t believe it. “Come on. Tell me some things you know about me. You’d be surprised how well you know me.”

Carrie hesitated, then began to sign, “Your name is Tommy Ross.” She winced at how bland it was, but Tommy only nodded, brushing a bit of his dark brown hair out of his eyes. Carrie’s face scrunched up like she’s memorizing her timestaple in front of him, struggling to bring that gridded mess of numbers to mind. 

  “You’re the tallest (something) (something) everyone (something) your team,” She continued. The sky overhead is eye-wateringly blue, with crisply white cotton clouds scudding along the horizon. A light breeze shakes the leaves of a nearby oak tree that has the initials of some high school sweethearts carved into the base of its trunk. They’re a little crooked from where someone’s hand had slipped, the flat of a switchblade arcing a little too close to the bark, and making a J thicker, almost a U when you looked at it dead on. 

  “That’s right,” Tommy said. He knows his role here is only background noise. That’s his job, whether Carrie knows it or not, and he’s more than happy to fulfill it. He doesn’t mind being subject to the scrutiny of befriending ol’ praying Carrie because of it. Not if it’s what she needs to feel better.

  “Your eyes (something) like a (something) green-brown, (something) (something) like slimy algae. You always have (something) stupid red sports jacket on. Your sneakers (something) (something) white, once upon a time.” She managed to tease him, uttering out a tiny giggle.

  “What can I say, Carrie, I’m a filthy gremlin, like all boys are-” He joked, and she swatted him lightly on the arm. She bit back a laugh, and Tommy wished that she wouldn’t- Carrie tips her head back when she laughs, unabashed and on the edge of hysterical, giggling and snorting, shoulders shaking with mirth until she’s brought her gaze back down again, cheeks flushed from the exertion of being host to that much joy despite everything that she’s been through. No one holds the weight of trauma and mistreatment as heavily on their shoulders as Carrie White does- Carrieta, the library to all of those scattered instances of would-be’s-could-be’s-shouldn’t-be’s. And still, there is a smidge joy. It’s beautiful. He thought that she’s most beautiful when she’s laughing (don’t tell Sue, and if you do, make sure you let her know it’s completely platonic. but just don’t tell her at all).

  “You have, like, (something) favorite red shirt, with a light brown hood on it. And S-U-E thinks it’s hideous.” Carrie continued. She’s tapping her foot against his leg, a gentle soothing gesture, and he lets her. He knew that it’s more for herself than him.

  “You have a golden ring (something) onto a necklace.” Carrie signed. “But you don’t wear it (something) you think it (something) you look silly. But it’s really pretty.” Pause, and when she signed again, it wasn't about the necklace anymore. “It’s (something) (something) like having a sibling.” Pause. Carrie looked up at him with glittering eyes. “You’re Tommy Ross.”

The weight that she placed on his name makes his heart stutter, catching in his chest- the warmth that he felt towards her is almost unbearable, and he found himself grinning, mouth gone crooked in the gesture.

  “I’m Tommy Ross, that’s right,” He repeated to her, as if they’re introducing themselves at some shitty college icebreaker. “And I’m not going anywhere, Carrie.” He went on, a touch of urgency in his voice- and she smiles, eyes closing, though hers are more reserved than his, somehow. There’s a tear bright in the corner of her right eye, and it traced a thin path down her face. More come. They pool at her chin, dripping off of her face, and soaking into the softness of the earth. His chest ached.

  “And you’re not going anywhere,” She whispered, voice hitching a little halfway through. He swiped a thumb over her cheek, flicked the tear off into the green grass behind them. 

  “I’m not,” He promised. “I’m not leaving you, Carrie.” And his voice had gone soft, her name cradled gently in his mouth, like he’s afraid of breaking something precious.

[aliypop]

Apatia

Word Count: 3,235

Character Count: 17,58

Warning: Slight murder?

A/N: this is the third part to Empatia and Simpatia so I really hope you guys enjoys and please let me know if you do!

"Seems you're home early.." Hannibal said a soft smile on his face, "It would seem so if this were my home," the lawyer grumbled her leg resting on one of his pillows, the doctor had told her that resting would give herself a bit more strength than when she had entered the hospital, but as always she was reluctant and hard-headed, staring out the window in the living room she focused on the raindrops something she had been doing lately other than trying to cook in Hannibals unexplainably Sweedish supplied kitchen, 

"Have you taken what the doctors prescribed you yet.."  he sat next to her on the couch, watching the way the dim lamp lighting made her glow as if she were heaven-sent.

" Madness can be a medicine for the modern world. You take it in moderation, "  mumbling as eyes focused on the case trying to read Wills chicken scratch handwriting, "Is that not what you've always told me, " Shanel asked, her tone of voice blunt and oozing with sarcasm,  "It is but it's best if you take them in this case to heal," trying not to get aggravated with her although she had only been out the hospital for a week, he still couldn't hide his concern for what he found in her file, "You should leave me alone .." she mumbled under her breath trying to verbally push him away, 

"You feel like you're sinking, " he looked at her,

"I'm fine.." she looked away from his shark-like gaze.

"You barely come out of your room, " he sighed, watching her avoid his eye contact, "Why is that?"

"Well, Doctor Lector.. if we're playing a game of doctor-patient.." she tried not to lash out at him, her fingers fidgeting around the fabric under her, "This isn't my home, I question why I agreed with you to stay, nothing I own is even here," Shanel sighed, attending to her note again Hannibal closing her notepad, 

"You've been awfully rude lately.. " he growled much as a lion would growl to get a lamb to grovel at its feet, dark honey eyes glared at his amber ones, 

"Maybe I would enjoy it if I was home in my apartment, or if I didn't have nightmares every night, or if I wasn't such a!" she covered her mouth, turning away from him quickly, Hannibal could sense and smell what was going on with her he could practically taste her sleepless nights the stench of her depression her aching bones from working herself too hard let alone the way she startled around him lately, he'd only seen this in a few older clients, but never this close, 

"How long have you been surviving post-traumatic stress disorder," he sat down on his chase, sketchbook open, "If you must know.. I've been suffering from this since I was little.." she mumbled, focusing on his hands, his face the way it no longer blurred, instead, he stood out among the darkness surrounding him, 

"You've gone through quite an awful lot of psychiatrists have you not..' he looked up, catching the lighting from above her head as she continued to talk, 

"I have, even a few mental hospitals.." she laughed, "I bit my doctor a few times got punished for bad behavior ."  her eye's now on him as she rests her head on the arm of the couch her dark hair framing her face landing on her shoulder, the dark circles under her eyes definitely indicated her lack of sleep, much like Will Graham who too seemed to almost suffer from something slightly similar, but that was neither here nor there in the matter, 

"Quid pro quo Doctor Lector.,"  she suggested, 

"I beg your pardon.," he responded, stopping in his tracks of sketching. 

"I tell you things, you tell me things," she smirked, placing her head in the palm of her hands, "nothing has to deal with my case file," she suggested as he nodded. A little game with the young lawyer wouldn't hurt at least he had hoped it wouldn't, 

"How long have you been orphaned," she asked, "If you lie, I will uncomfortably lick you.." she stared deep into his ever so changing soul, pencil now on paper, besides she was always told it's best to know the person you live with then break bread to a stranger, " I was 8 years old," he looked directly at Shanel, not knowing the first question would be such a big blow to his oh so secretive past that not many knew about it, his own secrets to the grave he'd say, 

"Your aunt was she a.. nice lady?" she watched the tension in his back, and how it made him stiffen up, "She taught me a few tricks.." he laughed playing off the stings one by one,  

"Quid pro quo, tell me about your boarding  school years," 

" Quid pro quo, why did you leave Florence but yet forget me.," her voice turning into a small tremble, there wasn't a sleepless night when she was a young girl that she didn't think of her perfect stranger in the museum, after all, her mind palace was modeled after it, the silence between them felt as if someone had died and was never coming back, neither party wanted to break it they didn't know-how, the air was deathly still as she collected her thoughts, her phone ringing the caller idea flashing Will Graham's number, "Duty call's" getting up from the couch using her crutch limping about to the front door,

"Jack wants to see you in his office," Will said, "How soon can you get here?" 

"Well, need I remind you I am an hour away and injured?"  she stated behind gritted teeth as she got into her car, "Patience is virtue Graham .. but clearly it's not enough," she mumbled under breath, the headquarters, unlike Hannibal's home, was brighter and a lot less bleak in the mix, though the odd aroma caused by decaying evidence, however, leave a trace in her naval cavity it wasn't as bad as,

 "You and your ship bottle aftershave.." she laughed, 

"I keep getting it for Christmas.." he shrugged, noticing something off about her. 

"Remind me to buy something else, perhaps Dolce and Gabbana?" she patted him on the back a snicker leaving her lips, walking towards Crawford's office never felt that long of a walk it was usually five minutes but with crutches and a limp it was five hours or so it seemed in her head, 

 "Will you've changed .." Shanel pointed out, "you've been irritable .. lately losing lack of sleep... " she looked at his tired blue eyes his curls still springing to life on his head unlike him, "First, Lector now you..." he kept his gaze off of hers a thing he usually did, 

"And since when did you become so wise with psychology .." 

"Damn it, Will, last time you got close you almost died I sat there every day in your hospital room waiting for you to breathe or.. or move you're my friend, and I can't let you suffer!"  she growled, throwing her crutches down out of anger,  

he only laughed at the way she reacted, "And yet you can," he snarled walking inside, seeing Alana and Jack who were like usual discussing Will Graham with his shaky mental health, Shanel only sighed looking at the scruffy consultant's reaction as he pulled at a seat for his favorite lawyer, Shanel could only feel discomfort in herself and around her, never truly understanding why they called in a lawyer from another state she sat there dreaming off until they mentioned her name which never really happened,  

"Are you going to let his love go to waste?" Hannibal asked as his voice echoed through the gallery halls longer than ones in a cathedral, Shanel knew where she was though still getting used to transporting herself there and getting out was the hard parts, " You ask me questions and, never answered mine, why is that," she asked looking down seeing that her suit was now a pink dress sheer showing her vulnerability but with solid silk showing all she was hiding, flowing behind her was long fabric making her look so well put together even when she felt that she wasn't, standing before her was Hannibal, and as usual, he was in white a color that suits him very well, "You're a challenging one," he said offering his hand out to hers waiting for her to take it,

 "Am I..."  she asked him, watching the way her hands came to her side, " And what's this about love going to waste.." her response snappy, 

"The way you look at Graham.." 

"What about it.."  she walked by his side, "You think I love.. " she saw him nod as she laughed, knowing he wasn't her type at all, instead of Will her interest was more on someone who was intellectually competent skilled in the arts and a lover among many things, 

"Well do you, Ms. Mahone," 

"Ms. Mahone.."

"Ms. Mahone.." Jack sighed, "Are you sure you're able to take on this case.." watching how she reacted, Shanel had understood most of what Jack asked of her, " As her appointed lawyer you want me to consult with Hobbs seek out that her wishes have been fulfilled and keep her record clean," she recited back to him her head feeling like it could pop off at any moment, however, she wasn't the only one feeling the same way, Hannibal watched the move in company as they emptied the truck of his new roommate per se items scuffing up her pure gold headboard and nearly ripping her king-sized mattress, 

"Do be.. careful with that," he grumbled seeing how rude they were made him want to smash the very blood and brains in their heads against the walls, he wanted her return to their now shared home to be breathtaking and impressive even though she drove him up a wall with her condition that she'd been avoiding to talk about, walking into what was now her closet he took notice of what she had made the hidden compartment into, stocked with her guns, knives, and sedation medication along with several embalming fluids that not even he could get his hands on anymore without his license, but what caught him off guard the most was her pink suit that almost resembled a two-piece rain set, which made him feel two things, curious and slightly scared of what a short woman like her was capable of doing,

"Hannibal, I'm here.." she said announcing herself through the door, scraping off the access blood off her hands, as well as the leftover brains that were now on her heels, "That'll teach you lot not to go for the cookie jar," she raised her heel up pressing it into one of the victim's necks, rotating the point on his sternocleidomastoids,

 "Do you eat vocal cords," she asked hearing Hannibal  come across the steps,

"Should I perhaps be worried as to why you asked.." he looked down seeing blood on his wood floors and barley any on Shanel, "If so I'll be sure not injure them if not.." she began pressing the pressure deep into the man's neck hearing him gargle blood as the bones snapped one by one like a button on a shirt, "They were entirely rude, he scuffed your beautiful furniture, and If I'm not mistaken, he smells of tortured children..," he pointed towards the man under her foot as she took her finger tasting the pure sweat from the works face,

 "I believe you're correct! " she laughed, eyes almost a pitch-black from the lust she received from killing, this was the side he had wanted to see, how she committed her art of personal treason the faces made, and how the trophies were made if any were even kept, to see the true her was knowing everything he needed to see, 

"Did you want a piece of the action?" she turned to him watching how he carried the bodies over his shoulders like pigs left to slaughter, "I've got it from here," he smiled walking through the kitchen and into another forbidden door across from the wine pantry, standing like a deer in headlights she remained still and never once moved, "You don't have to be scared little lion," he said  hearing her bare feet on the ground, from her soft walk he could sense she was a ballerina almost a pro, heading down the many flights of steps limping down, she could feel the breeze of trust pass her way, along with an unfamiliar sensation crossed, that she'd almost call it admiration for the slightly older man, 

"Well, isn't this adorable a torture basement, you know.." she began, placing the bodies on the surgical table as she took a needle out from the heel of her shoe connecting it to the victim's arm and IV, 

"Yes, nurse Mahone," he joked, looking at the way she played doctor with him, "My father had one of these when I was little, installed it himself, so many times I walk and.. he was cutting a finger or an eye," she sighed almost flashing back to those times, he took the plastic tube from her, caressing her finger a way to remind her that her scars were a reminder that past was real, a lesson she had tended to forget,  "How was your day back on the field," his hand finding his favorite surgical tool, 

"Crawford wants me on the case around, Hobbs at most times, meanwhile Bloom thinks I'm not ready to be back, and Graham thinks everyone's attacking him," she sighed,  stitching the eyes aggressively together pricking herself, "Merda," she grumbled Hannibal took her finger, placing it to his lips taking a bit of the sweet, decadent taste on his tongue, not paying any attention to how flustered he made Shanel he could smell the scent which was just enough for him to know he was on the right track.,  "Such language ..," commenting on what she had muttered under her breath,

 "You speak Italian .." she questioned, removing her hand from near his mouth " The might be a safer bet, he has liver, pancreatic, and lung cancer not what you'd want to serve to your guest tonight," she mentioned waiting for his answer as he nodded, " My mother was Italian  Simonetta Sforza-Lecter," he studied her reaction to the name seeing how she froze in her tracks, the name was so familiar, but couldn't place where she had heard it, 

"And yours?" he asked, "Only finishing our little game from earlier," he smirked, giving her a wink.

"Rosetta Leoni Addorio Mahone" he looked at her in shock but saw how the resemblance was uncanny, it had been so many years since he had last seen yet even been in Italy that he didn't even think twice to names, "Perhaps we'll talk after dinner, our guest will be here any moment, " he said seeing Shanel leave up the steps ascending like an angel, soaking in the tub her mind couldn't help but wonder about what she experienced from lector, one moment they're nearly at each other's throats, and the next moment he's trying to doctor her up and butter her up to get her to trust him, as she looked at the bubbles around her they seemed to have been showing her a new her the suds began getting dark,  the feeling of something tugging at her feet weighing her down while the water was as black as blood in the moonlight, she kept gasping for air, but she couldn't breathe scream or even shout, trapped watching her past float around while the taste of Iron scaped into her mouth, 

"Shanel..." a voice said calling out to her,

"Shanel.." She sank deeper the water becoming thicker seeing a bright light at the end, 

"Shanel, are you alright?" Hannibal wrapped her in a towel, checking for her pulse feeling her shiver much like a helpless kitten, "Can you hear me..." he asked opening her mouth, wheezing and coughing occurred but it was a sign that she was alive and well, frazzled from what she saw she hid her face deep into his neck knowing that what she once was becoming came to return to her,  he sat her down on her bed as Shanel kept clinging on to Hannibal his scent calming her down, 

"What did you see.." 

She shook her head not wanting to talk,

"Please cooperate with me.." he sighed, sitting her down, "If we don't talk about these things, they eat at us and turn us into crazies," he tried getting her to talk, giving up shortly he turned his back to walk away, 

"I sa-saw bla-bla-blood," she stuttered, " An-an-an-and, I saw h-h-h," she began shaking the moment of Christopher grabbing her foot the sound of the zipper played over, and over again in her mind,  he could only cradle her like he once did someone else long ago,

 "The mirrors in your mind can only reflect the best of yourself not the worst of someone else,"  he tilted her chin up with his index finger, the puddles of tears clouding her eyes like a river, she looked down as he brought her eyes to face his, "You are no more a monster than what he is," he kissed the bridge of her nose, 

"I'll be down in a minute.." she whispered as he nodded exciting out of her room, she took her time applying her makeup and adding garnet clips in her hair to match her red dinner dress and heels, she could hear the chattering downstairs almost like a group of screaming lambs carrying, but now it was her time to carry on amongst them as the lion he knows her to be, "Bloom, Abigal lovely to have you both for dinner at his - our humble estate," Shanel gazed, over at Hannibal who wore a matching garnet tie. 

 "It's our pleasure really,"  Alana smiled, "I figured we'd check on your well being and dinner,"  she joked as Hannibal pulled the seat out for Shanel, 

"Must we talk about me, and not Ms. Hobbs" she looked over at Abigal who gave her a soft smile full of nerves, " I promise you I don't bite though,  Hannibal I can't  speak for him," she laughed yet again hearing the table enjoy her joke,  Dinner like always had been great, company laughs and of course surrounded by fake smiles and fake love, Shanel sighed washing the dishes humming a slight tune as she heard Hannibal walk beside her listening to the melody from her mouth, it made him think a woman with so many gifts had so many talents, "I hope dinner was to your liking," he began making small talk, 

"You fit in quite very well out there, " he got closer towards her, "You put on the mask so that no one sees the true you it becomes buried deep inside you instead," he watched her  body language, 

"Suppose we keep it up then what.." she asked him getting irritable,

"People will think we're in love," he took her lips with his own walking away,

"You make me want to murder you..." she grumbled.

"Dito.." 

[anythingyoucanimagine]

Footsteps. Who's? His. No, no, not his. You're safe, remember? Things are safe. But why would his footsteps be so close then…?

Aya's thoughts echo for a moment, before her mind finally allows her to reenter the world of consciousness… Immediately aware of the short, bespectacled boy currently holding her phone.

"... Aki? What… What're you doing?" Aya asks quietly, before clearing her throat and actually sitting up.

Aki looks over with a jolt, his ears tilting back slightly when he realizes he woke Aya up. "O-oh- sorry, I didn't mean to wake you…" He says, smiling apologetically.

"It's fine, Aki…" Aya says, then does a double take. "Why're you holding my phone…?"

Aki pales a bit, before a blush rushes to his cheeks. "U-um, well… I wanted to call and get you a day off… I-it's your birthday, after all… Um- happy birthday, by the way!" He says, trying to change the subject with a sweet smile.

"Shit, that's today? I'd forgotten… Thanks, Aki, but I still need to work. I can't just randomly take a day off…" She says, shaking her head as she gets out of bed.

She's wearing what she usually does while she sleeps, a tank top with her hair loose on her shoulders, but she immediately goes to get the button up and pants she wears for work.

"I- okay…" Aki sighs, putting her phone down.

"Hey, I love you. Thanks for trying to look out for me, but I'll be back after work…" Aya says, smiling at Aki.

Aki smiles back, his usual cheerful demeanor returning without a hint of his previous expression. "I love you too! I hope you have a really good day at work…" He says.

"I will. Now shoo, I need to get dressed." Aya says, laughing a bit as Aki rushes for the door with an "Oh- sorry!"

Aya pulls off her tank top, revealing the light bruise on her rib with clear scarring around it. "Damn… Must've rolled onto it at some point and aggravated things…" She mutters, slipping her arms into her shirt and starting to button it up to hide the markings.

She finishes getting dressed pretty quickly, heading out and immediately met by the sweet scent of something cooking in the kitchen. Naturally, it draws her attention, and a smile tugs at the corners of her mouth as she walks to the kitchen with quiet steps.

Of course, the cook still looks back when Aya enters, bright red hair pulled back into a ponytail that bounces as she moves. "Oh, good- you're up!" Laura smiles warmly at Aya, although she's still working on… What looks like pancakes, but there's definitely something else cooking in the kitchen.

"Good morning…" Aya says with a smile, walking up to Laura to wrap her arms around her waist loosely and give her a sweet kiss.

The kiss can only last for a few moments before Laura reluctantly pulls away to return to making the pancakes, already to the point of using the plates she'd pulled out ahead of time. Aya lets her go and backs up just enough to be out of the way, although Laura isn't avoiding 'accidentally' brushing up against her as she goes.

"Here you are. Happy birthday, darling~" Laura says, and Aya replies with a warm smile as she takes the plate from Laura, although she's interrupted by a kiss before Laura makes the rest of the pancakes. Aya stays nearby as she eats all she can, her curiosity about the other thing cooking clear as she glances towards the stove, realizing that it must be in the oven.

Laura giggles, looking over at Aya before looking back at the food she's dishing up as Aki walks in.

When they finish, Aya walks out with a hug from Aki and a slightly longer than normal kiss from Laura before heading to her car and driving to work… She doesn't expect what she finds when she gets there, though.

"Happy birthday, Aya!" Her coworkers and even the manager got together to wish her a happy birthday, along with getting her one of the good brownies. Altogether it was almost enough to make her cry… Who am I kidding? We all know she cried.

After they had sufficient time to congratulate her at another year, her manager sent her home with the untouched brownie. The first thing she noticed was Brie's car in the parking lot beside where she usually parks. Aya doesn't think too hard on it, assuming Aki had yet again meddled and gotten Brie here for her birthday.

As Aya opens the door, Laura greets her with another kiss as she pulls her inside, Aki going to close the door behind them while Brie, sitting on the couch, averts her eyes for multiple reasons. Laura only releases her from the kiss when she realizes the others are simply averting their eyes and trying to keep their awkward energy at bay without luck.

"Happy birthday, darling." Laura says quietly once they part, a thin trail of saliva connecting their lips for a moment before they actually separate and Laura goes to the kitchen to fetch something.

"Ah- y-yeah, happy birthday, Aya!" Brie says, standing up and kind of awkwardly smiling at Aya, only able to keep her eyes on her for a few moments before looking away.

"Happy birthday big sis!" Aki adds on, smiling brightly as he subtly glances over at Brie to see if she's okay.

Laura returns before Aya can say anything, carrying a pie in her hands with gently flickering candles topping it. As soon as she's in view she starts to sing, and the other two join in very quickly.

It's easy for Aya to pick out each voice, even though they actually harmonize rather well… Needless to say, she didn't realize she knew so many people that could sing well. After the candles are blown out, they divide the pie into several pieces to share with the others. With how little Aya naturally eats, and how much she's had, they'll have more. She still tries to eat as much as she can of the pie, although that still isn't much…

Once they're finished, Brie reveals a present she'd bought a while ago just to give to Aya once she discovered her birthday… Neatly wrapped in paper decorated with flowers, a pair of sketchbooks and a large pack of colored pencils. Something she'd decided on when hearing Aya offhandedly comment that she missed drawing but would always run out of materials too quick and it got expensive. 

Aki… Well, he started by organizing all this, and continued with setting everything up, but he also made her a card and actively collects trinkets all year to give her on her birthday and on Christmas, since he doesn't really get many opportunities to buy things.

And I'm not sure what Laura would get for Aya so I'll just-

All in all, Aya cries multiple times making both Brie and Aki panic because Aya isn't exactly known for happy tears…

The rest of the day is filled with actual joy in the house, which is something that really wasn't common. Brie leaves soon after the presents, however, saying something about how she had to get back home or her mother would get upset.

And thus ends my only happy story~

There's a project I'm working on on my main (@purplexiasphinx) that has the link to a lot of Picrews, including this one, but I'm not sure which link this is... (Look for 🗡)

[andytfish]

FREELANCE GUiDANCE: A 10 Part Series - #3 Setting Up Work Parameters

One of the benefits of Freelancing is the FREEDOM but sometimes too much freedom leads to disorganization and chaos.  Possibly the biggest challenger a Freelancer faces is the ability to be his own boss-- with no one constantly over your shoulder, no fear of a walk thru by the uppity mucks there's plenty of opportunity to slack off, and that will kill your career.

1. ESTABLISH YOUR WORK HOURS - This should be a "general" guide because as I've already covered sometimes creativity cannot be caged. Sometimes that great idea or inspiration comes at 2 in the morning rather than at 9. Everyone is different and this is a find your way kind of rule. During a week of working freelance take occasion to jot down notes of the time and productivity-- you'll likely see a pattern emerge. In my own case I like to get an early start but seldom do. But after years of study I've discovered my peak productivity blocks in the day- 5am-8am and 2pm to 10pm. We'll get into this a bit further below.

2. ESTABLISH A WORK AREA - This is the BIGGEST key for me. I don't allow my work to spread out all over the house. I work ONLY in my studio space. The entire third floor of my house is my office area. It houses my computers, drawing tables, easels, supplies and reference material. I DON'T spend ANY time in there NOT working. You wouldn't drive to your corporate office job so you can search eBay would you? I treat my work area with the same respect.

3. KNOW WHEN A JOB IS NOT THE RIGHT FIT - It’s hard when you're just starting out to turn down a job, but sometimes (especially early on) things come along that are not right for you. I can't draw cute. I can't. Bunnies might start KIND OF cute but eventually they're going to look depraved. It's not in my makeup. Early in my career I would have taken that gig and kept at it killing myself and doing four times the work to make it right for the client. Now I know better. You turn down the WRONG job so you're available when the RIGHT job comes along.

4. DEADLINES TRUMP EVERYTHING - My kids from an early age knew the phrase "Dad's on a deadline" -- which meant I'm a phantom that might pop up out of my studio 2-3 times a week. The Deadline is the thing. I don't miss deadlines. This should not be your every week routine— you need to have a life, but those deadline crunch times are special circumstances.

5. SET UP PRODUCTIVITY - Da Vinci used a similar schedule and I've found this works; 45-90 minute working sessions with breaks in between makes me MUCH more productive.

LET'S GET A LITTLE FURTHER IN-DEPTH to my talking points

1- Establishing Your Work Hours-- I would suggest you even buy yourself an OPEN/CLOSED sign that you can put outside your workroom door.  It doesn't have to be a fancy neon one, it can be a simple cardboard one.  In my studio I use to blowmold ghosts that sit at the edge of my desk-- when they're on I'm working.  It not only lets other people know you're "at work" it gets yourself into the right frame of mind.

Share your working hours with significant others.  Let them know you're going to be struggling to "work from home" and you'll need their help.  They wouldn't walk into your office on Park Avenue with your co-workers all around and your boss down the hall clutching the light bill and saying we need to talk about that neon beer sign you must have on 24 hours a day-- they would wait until you're home from work, and just because work is now home there should be no difference.

They need to understand that work from home does NOT mean you don't work.  It does not mean every elderly relative can expect you to shuttle them around to doctor appointments, it doesn't mean you're instantly the chaperone at juniors Zoo trip.  YOU ARE STILL WORKING just AT HOME.

You’ll need to decide if you are going to follow a standard Monday-Friday work week or will you take Mondays and Tuesdays off?  Resist the urge to not take days off because money is coming in. I strongly advocate days off for your own mental health.   It's easy to swing the opposite direction in Freelance and work 24/7.

One of the first things I wanted when I went Freelance was weekends off.  After years of working in retail I never got to enjoy them.  In retail I had every Sunday and Wednesday off.  SPLIT days-- and I was looking forward to two together.  It seemed like a dream to me.

The downside to being off weekends is so is everyone else.  So those Wednesday trips to the bank or the post office I used to make were a breeze compared to trying to go on Saturday morning.

Now, I schedule days off (and to be honest A Day Off) the week I'm working.  It allows me to better balance projects.  And being completely honest, I LOVE working freelance, sometimes taking a day off is like punishment.  But even on the weeks I don't take a day off I take a morning off, or an afternoon, or an evening-- that works for me.  Starting out-- I'd give yourself at least one day off each week as you're figuring out what works for you.

How About Holidays?   That seems like a no-brainer until you're on that big project and it's due Dec 27th and using the Organizational skills I set up for you in Session 1 you realize you're behind.   Suddenly you have a virtual scale in front of you held by Santa Claus with family and friends on one side and the client on the other.

Deciding up front that it's a hard and fast rule that you won't work CERTAIN holidays is a concession I made right away.   I don't work on Christmas-- in fact I don't work two days BEFORE Christmas and I don't work the week FOLLOWING Christmas up through to Jan 2nd.  I don't.  Nope, not gonna do it.

Why?  I like Christmas and it's a holiday I look forward to.    I work extremely hard up to Dec 22nd but truth be told Christmas is VERY Slow in Freelance because most clients aren't thinking about projects either.  So a studio shut down is perfectly acceptable.

But the OTHER 99 holidays on the calendar?  They are all up for grabs.  I don't work the night of my wife's Birthday and I keep the schedule light during the day-- but other than Xmas, New Years and my Wife's Birthday I will work any other holiday even at the drop of a hat.

Knowing this helps me keep the stress level down.  My family knowing this keeps them from asking me why I'm not coming to the Memorial Day cookout, or the Patriots Day party. 

2. Establish a Work Area - My wife has her own studio on another floor of the house.  We meet daily for Breakfast and Lunch which is a nice break.  Her studio is very zen.  Very few things, a handful of books, some sparse furniture and warm inviting lights with some inspirational artwork hanging prominently around the room.  Mine is the polar opposite of Zen.  It's loaded like a High School locker.  There is not an inch of space on my walls or shelves that is not filled with comics, posters, original art, toys, action figures, vintage japanese vinyl toys, a lifesize Frankenstein, an Adam West Batman Cowl, a Nicholas Hammond Spider-Man Mask a Tony the Tiger display head, Darth Vader mask, more toys, more art more action figures and did I mention Books?  Libraries come to me to borrow things.  There are THOUSANDS of books.

I love the kinetic cluttered energy it gives off.  At Christmas time I decorate Frankenstein with colored lights.  The rest of  the year Halloween Lights hang in my studio.  It's my own personal Batcave-- all I'm missing is a British Butler walking in with coffee and scones every forty five minutes.

But that space works for me.  It gets me juiced up and ready to work.

That's how you need to set YOUR space.  When you're just starting out you may have to incorporate a drawing or work area in another room because of space restraints.  When I was first starting out in a one bedroom studio my bed was three feet from my drawing table.  It made for some tough nights sleeping because it was hard to "turn off" working mode in the same room.

Regardless of space, make some for yourself.  I have a good friend whose first studio space was a medium sized closet.  It was actually kind of cool-- you had to climb in like a race car but once you were encased in the environment like a man piloting a lunar shuttle to the moon you were ready to work.

The point is to make this space YOUR work inspiration-- so make it a place you WANT to spend time in.

3. Know when a Job is NOT the Right Fit - Easy to say when you're established.  You're going to take pretty much any job that comes along at first, and that's okay.  Sometimes you don't even know the job isn't right for you until you're doing it. When we get to PART 5: GETTING PAID SON we'll look at how to budget for these types of jobs so at least you're getting paid well for something that isn't a fit.

Let's assume that despite your portfolio of Goth Animals someone comes to you thinking you'd be perfect for that highly detailed photo accurate oil painting of Grandma.  That's not a good fit for you, you know it, they don't.  But the light bill is due and there's not a lot else coming in right now so you're thinking hard about taking it.   It's a fork in the road decision:

A. You take it and spend HOURS upon HOURS resisting the urge to give grandma dark undereyes and floppy ears. If you went with this option the biggest advice I can give you is do a lot of research and spend a LOT of time warming up. Look at portraits, look at Presidential Portraits and study the brush strokes. Grab your favorite sketchbook and some colored pencils and get to an art museum and do some sketching of the portraits in the collection. Get your head ready for the project and then give it your best shot.

B. Pass on it and recommend a friend you know who would be a better fit, earning Karma points from the friend and freeing yourself up for that job that WILL fit. Spend the downtime Marketing yourself (also coming up in the series) which is a better expenditure of your time and resources.

4. Deadlines Trump All - All my rules of work parameters combined with the skills I imparted in the ORGANIZATION session should lead you to a point where you don't have to work overtime, but in the real world we know that occasionally that IS going to happen.  If you find yourself CONSTANTLY working overtime on projects re-evaluate your working methods and see if you are actually being productive or if you're wasting a lot of time.

5. SetUp Productivity - The eight hour workday became the norm at the turn of the last century and pretty much has been the standard ever since.  This method goes back LONG before that to the days of Leonardo Da Vinci who often used this seemingly odd method to accomplish the amazing array of achievements he did over the course of his life. 

It's simple-- you work in 45-90 minute sessions with breaks in between.  During the session you do NOTHING but work.  You don't answer the phone if it rings (that's why Voicemail was created) you don't check your email.  You don't jump on IMDB to see who was the actor inside Darth Vader's suit (it was Dave Prowse, body builder and former Frankenstein actor).  YOU WORK.  Because SO much of our day is actually filled with distraction.  That's OK if you work for SNIDELY WHIPLASH INDUSTRIES who is paying you a fat check to work 30% of the time, as a Freelancer you only get paid for the hours you actually WORK.    Novel concept isn't it?  It's the price you pay for being your own boss.

This is best accomplished either by setting up a PLAYLIST running the allotted time, or by streaming an episode of a TV series or even setting an alarm clock.  Give it a try-- WORK for the allocated time and THEN take a break of 15-30 mins (also timed) to check your mail, return phone calls, do whatever-- you will be AMAZED at how this works if you can really be disciplined about it.

NEXT WEEK: LIVE WITHIN YOUR MEANS -- it's the difference between eating and not.

Andy Fish is a freelance artist and writer who has been living the lifestyle longer than there has been an iPhone on this planet.  The advice given has worked for him, it might work for you, he hopes it does.  But like all advice, take it with your own situation in mind.  If you want to contact him shoot him an email andy@andytfish.com

[tasharii]

Your Colors: Chapter 15

A/N: Alright so this chapter came out a little late cause I'm working with a new beta reader. Hopefully I'll keep working with her, if I can write ahead of schedule....  Please take note of the warnings. There is a mention of past rape and abuse in this chapter, and it will come up again in future chapters. If that triggers you, than please skip it. I'll put *** before and after any scenes that mentions it in a more graphic fashion. It will likely not get any more graphic then what's mentioned in this chapter, and will be spoken about in past tense in future chapters, unless I find a flashback to be necessary for the story. As a survivor myself, I promise to try and handle this as realistically as possible based on my experiences, and people who have shared their own with me. Thank you for reading and commenting! I hope you enjoy the chapter <3

Summary:  Art was the one good thing between college, work, and the grey minutes in-between. Sometimes, it felt like she wasn’t alive at all. Just drifting. When she joined her new art class, she never expected to start experiencing everything in an entirely new light. All thanks to him. Or: Where Bucky Barnes gets more than he bargained from his new drawing partner.

Pairing: Reader x Bucky Barnes

Word Count: 8K

Rating: Mature

Warnings: Language, mentions of past rape and abuse

Masterlist

Chapter 1  Chapter 2  Chapter 3 Chapter 4  Chapter 5  Chapter 6 Chapter 7  Chapter 8  Chapter 9  Chapter 10 Chapter 11  Chapter 12  Chapter 13  Chapter 14  Chapter 15

****

December 23

From downstairs, Y/N could hear her mom calling her name. Every syllable echoed up the narrow stairwell like the cry of an infernal crow. It was late Sunday morning. And she figured that she couldn’t hide much longer. Golden sunlight flowed in from the main window across from the foot of the bed. It was deceivably sunny out with clear skies and little wind to speak up. They’d arrived at her grandparents’ house the night before. It had taken her forever to settle down and fall asleep. Even after she shut her eyes, she’d found herself tossing and turning most of the night.

Slumped on her bed, Y/N stared down at the envelope in her hands. It was off-white and battered. Her name smudged on the front like a thumb had run over it before the ink dried. Slowly, she stood up off the bed and tucked it back into her art bag under the window. Everything was still packed up among her bags, and she had no intentions of changing that any time soon. Irritation made her empty hands clench when her mom’s voice broke through the quiet of the make-shift attic like a whip.

First a quiet knock on the door, then she heard it creak open, “Are you up yet?” Her mom leaned against the doorframe in a long eggshell blue sweater dress over black tights, “Your aunt and uncle will be here for breakfast soon.” She eyed Y/N’s clothes with an arched brow, “Are you really going to wear that?”

Exasperated, Y/N glared back at her mom. As she crossed the room back to the bed, her footsteps were muffled by a plush, old carpet overtop the cold wooden floor. Taking up a brush from her bathroom bag, she started running it through her tangled hair, “What’s wrong with it?” She glanced down at herself. Jeans and a thick black sweater. Comfortable and warm. Her grandfather hated wasting money on heat. Everyone’s toes had to chance frostbite in the house. If the pipes weren’t freezing, then the heat stayed low. No one touched the thermostat other than him.

“Why don’t you wear that Christmas sweater your grandma got you last year?” She persuaded, lips pursed into a fine line. Her fingers tapped impatiently on her arm as she watched Y/N toss the brush back down. Annoyance prickled underneath her skin at the feeling of her mother’s heavy gaze crawling across her skin like the feelers of an insect.

In the tense silence, soft humming floated up from downstairs. Along with the smell of frying bacon. Grandma must be in the kitchen then. The doorbell rang from the living room. Again. And then again. The dinging was piercing even from far up above it all.

Sheepish, Y/N shook her head and took out her travel sketchbook, avoiding her mother’s eyes. It was unlikely that she’d have time for it. But the moment they stopped paying her attention, she’d sneak to a quiet corner and draw. Out of sight, and out of mind.

“I didn’t bring it.” She admitted, much to her mother’s dismay. It wasn’t just that she didn’t bring it, she’d conveniently lost the monstrosity of wool a while ago. Pencil case in hand, she sat it beside her sketchbook, and zipped her bag back up.

Far from pleased, her mother huffed and stepped back into the hall, “Please just be down in a bit. Your cousins are looking forward to seeing you.” She stopped, already halfway turned to leave, and took a single step back. There was an awkward pause where she cleared her throat, then asked softly, “Are you feeling alright?” Concern flickered to life in her features, making her eyebrows draw low and the crinkles in her eyes deepen.

No, she wasn’t, but she didn’t really know what to say. Y/N tried to be as honest as she could with her mother, but she didn’t want to worry her. Especially when there was little that her mom could do. It only made things more complicated because it’d been her mom that had given her that letter. The one that brought all her old fears and nightmares to the forefront of her thoughts.

“I’m alright.” She offered, and when her mom gave her a knowing look, she managed a watery smile, “I will be.” Fingers twisting the sleeves of her sweater against her palms, she barely held that weak tilt of her lips. Luckily, it was enough to make her back off. Eyes softening, her mom smiled. A pretty expression even with the laugh lines and crow’s feet on the edges of her eyes.

“Good, let me know if you need anything. At all.” She declared, giving one last pointed look, before finally leaving. The rhythmic beat of her footsteps faded away as she made her way down the steep attic stairs.

The moment the door clicked shut, Y/N’s shoulders drooped, and she let out a long sigh. It felt like she was weary to the bone. Like pitch black sand filled up all the empty places inside of her and pulled her down. Slowly, she sank onto the bed next to her suitcase and took out her phone from her back pocket.

From downstairs, she could hear her parents greeting her aunt and uncle. Everyone laughed at something her little cousins cheered. Ignoring them, she flipped through her contacts and hovered over Bucky’s name.

They’d talked a little since she left Saturday. She let him know she’d made it safe, and he’d sent her a good morning earlier. After a second of hesitation, she passed his name and scrolled down to Peter. Taking in a quick breath, she hit call. He should be up by now. Right then, she just needed to talk to someone. Someone who knew.

“Hey! What’s up? Make it to No-Where Ohio yet?” Peter’s laughter was a spark of light in her heart. It danced warm and sweet inside her and made her brighten.

A surprised, weak laugh left her, and she curled up with her elbows on her knees, “Ya, got in last night.”

There was a moment of silence, and she could imagine the slight frown on Peter’s lips as he heard the tremor of pain in her words. After a second, he gently asked, “Are you alright?” The heater kicked on and stirred up some dust bunnies across the floor. No one ever used the attic for anything but storage, and overflow guests. So, dust bunnies ruled up here.

It felt different than when her mom asked. More comforting because he knew her better. There was a promise that he could help make it ok. Because he understood her. With another shaky laugh, she took in a harsh breath, “Not really.” She let her head rest on her free hand, covering her eyes. Today would be a bad day for makeup, but she’d already put on mascara.

“What happened? Family giving you a hard time?” Peter guessed, trying to keep his voice light and playful. The warmth in it made her feel just a bit better.

Huffing, she shook her head, “I wish. No, they’ll be doing that once I go downstairs.” She rubbed her eyes. They felt raw and she hadn’t even cried yet. Finally, she bit back the anxious nausea building up inside her far enough to admit, “Jason sent me a letter.”

Instantly, Peter’s tone rose three octaves at least, “He what? What did it say? Did you see him?”

Swallowing around the desert in her throat, she grimaced, “No. No he—” Y/N stared up at the bare oak ceiling, counting the rafters to keep herself calm, “He dropped it off with mom. She gave it to me yesterday.” Teeth clenched together to keep the shaking down, she forced in another breath, “I haven’t read it yet.”

Peter waited a second, to see if she’d say anything else, then gently prodded, “Why not?”

Frustrated, Y/N glared at her bag under the window. To the pocket she’d put the damned letter in. It was speckled innocently with sunlight and her words tasted like bitter copper on her tongue, “I don’t know if I even care to see what he has to say.” That was a lie. Or a half-lie. She did care, but she didn’t want to care. Half of her wanted to read it, but the other half was scared to even give her ex’s words a chance to sway her emotions. Cause of course he would try to say something to hurt her, or make her feel guilty, or sympathetic towards his situation.

“Guess that makes sense.” Peter hedged, and she heard Aunt May calling something in the background. After a second, he called back, voice muffled, “Be there in a minute!”

Guilt made her bite her bottom lip hard, and she tried to make her tone lighter, “If you’re busy, it’s ok.”

Instantly, he retorted, phone speaker crackling at the conviction in his voice, “No! It’s alright, she just wanted me to know breakfast was ready.” He let out a sigh and asked, “What are you going to do?”

“I don’t know.” Y/N let her eyes fall close as she tried to focus her thoughts, focus on the conversation and not all the buzzing ‘what ifs’. She curled her toes on the bedframe, the metal cold on her bare feet, “He told mom that the letter was an apology. That he just wanted to make peace or something.”

Peter snorted indignantly, “Bastard doesn’t deserve it.”

Reluctantly, the corner of her mouth twitched up, “He isn’t getting it.” She promised, “I’m glad he’s better, but that doesn’t mean I have to forgive him.”

“Do you really think he’s better?” He asked, skepticism thick on his tongue. Y/N shrugged and winced when she heard her grandmother call up to her this time.

“No—” She hesitated and stood up off the bed, “I mean… I don’t know. I haven’t seen him in over a year. Maybe he’s better, but it doesn’t change anything.” Part of her said that for him, to ease his concerns, but she needed to remind herself of it too. To remember that nothing had changed, and he still wasn’t coming back into her life. Even if he sent 100 apology letters.

“It doesn’t.” Peter agreed firmly, “Look, if he tries to bother you, you know I’m here. I’ll borrow some gadgets from Mr. Stark’s lab and pay him a visit if I have to.” He sounded so angry and vehement that she couldn’t help but giggle.

Bundle of socks in hand, she held her cell between her shoulder and ear, so she could put them on. Balancing on one foot, she hopped to keep standing and hastily slid on the striped sock, “I’d kill to see that.” Y/N mused, “You’ll have to let me tag along.”

Peter agreed whole-heartedly. There was a lull in the conversation and she got on her other sock. Then started to dig around for her makeup bag. Before she could change the subject, he asked, tone dropped to gentle concern again, “Does Bucky know?”

During her flight, she’d sent a few messages to the couple of important people who needed to hear that her and Bucky were officially dating. Peter and Darcy were both ecstatic for her. Biting her lip, she picked up one of her favorite necklaces and slipped it over her head, “Well it hasn’t really come up yet.”

Adjusting her hair, she stood in front of an old ornamental vanity mirror and scrutinized her reflection. Her eyes were tired, and she seemed paler than normal. Blatant signs to how well she’d slept the night before. Mascara smudged under her eyes, making the bags worse. Taking out a makeup wipe, she leaned close until her nose nearly brushed the glass and started to fix it.

“Don’t you think he’ll notice something’s up if Jason doesn’t let this go? Or that you’re upset?” Peter asked, and she felt a spark of spite bloom like poison in her chest. Leaking between her ribs and into her tongue.

“He doesn’t have to.” Y/N grit her teeth, attempting to keep the bite out of her tone. This anger wasn’t her friend’s fault. It was situational, and she didn’t want to take it out on him, “This has nothing to do with him. Jason can shove his apology up his ass and leave me out of it. And Buck’ll know when it matters. When I want him to. Not just cause I’m stupid and upset over nothing.” She didn’t want to worry him. Burden him with it.

Cause it was nothing. Just a letter. Really there was no reason for her to be this upset over it. Jason hadn’t shown up in front of her. He hadn’t approached her or talked to her. It was nothing.

Peter stated her name deliberately slow, and kindly corrected her, “You’re not stupid.”

“I’ve got to go.” She cut in briskly, letting out a breath, and it was true. If she waited much longer, her mom would drag her down by her ear, “Thank you. Really. I’ll let you know if anything else comes up.”

“Please just think about telling him.” Peter added hastily, “I think you’d feel better.”

“I’ll think about it.” Y/N offered, but she didn’t mean it. She just wanted her friend to not worry so much.

After she hung up the phone, she adjusted her hourglass necklace on her chest and tried to find a smile. If she didn’t, the day would be even longer.

Unfortunately, her reflection disappointed her with a frown.

December 24th

“Will you draw me?”

Y/N glanced up from her spot on the enormous and plush armchair in her grandparent’s den. After lunch, she’d managed to sneak away to there, leaving the majority of her family strewn between the kitchen and living room. The house was spacious and huge, but it was slowly starting to feel small. Between her grandparents, parents, and two sets of aunts and uncles and their kids, there was little to no oxygen left to spare. Everyone had meandered in over the course of the morning and afternoon, preparations for their big Christmas Eve dinner were well underway.

Four of her cousins played together, running in and out of the house. Their unending energy made her even more grateful that she was an only child. She didn’t have the patience for this, especially in the mood she was in. Sarah, who was a year older than her, had graciously taken over the role of babysitter, and had managed to entertain the other three. One was Sarah’s own younger brother, Johnny, and the other two were twin girls, Jewel and Emma.

It was Emma, age 10, who peered over the worn armrest of Y/N’s chair at her sketchbook. She’d been drawing a robin, visible through the frosted window on a thicket of branches. Jewel popped up by her sister, and smiled, “Me too!” Little hands rested on the armrest, and they stood on their tiptoes, leaning into her space. Jewel’s cheek pressed against her shoulder, so she could get a better look.

This wasn’t the first time that anyone had asked her to draw them once they realized she was an artist. Probably wouldn’t be the last. The only thing missing was the-

“Did you really draw that?” Johnny asked, age 13, when he came up to her other side. The robin flew away when his shadow passed over the window. He was already going through a growth spurt and leaned down to blink at the paper.

Snorting, she drawled, “Course I did.” Then Y/N looked at the twins and raised her eyebrows, “Think you can sit still long enough?” She really had nothing better to do. It would at least make her parents happy to see her interacting with them. Especially her mother, who was starting to get chronically worried over her. With how quiet and withdrawn she’d been over the last couple days.

Sarah strolled through the open entryway, two pairs of gloves in hand, “Hey! I thought you wanted to go build a snowman?” She waved the twins’ gloves at them, but the little girls were no longer interested.

“Y/N’s gonna draw us!” Jewel squealed, clapping her hands together and making her sparkly pink nail polish glitter in the wintry blue afternoon light.

Emma nodded enthusiastically, curly brown hair bouncing, “Can you make us fairies??”

Bored and annoyed at the sudden change of activity, Johnny scoffed. Then he rolled his eyes and stalked towards the door, “Well I’m goin’ outside.” He took his beanie out of his coat pocket and tugged it over his shaggy blond head.

Y/N blinked up at Sarah’s pretty smile. Her cousin was classically beautiful with a petite body, and pixie-like features. If she were being honest, she’d always been a bit jealous of her. They weren’t very close, but she could see the amusement radiating from her cousin. Delicately, Sarah shrugged, getting ready to leave. Apparently, her turn of babysitting was over.

But Y/N called, a bit panicked, “I could draw you outside! While you built your snowman.” She closed her sketchbook and untucked her legs from underneath her, sitting up.

The twins cheered, scurrying over to Sarah and snatching their gloves. A matching set of pink and purple. They brushed past her and went to go get their coats. It’d be a bit of a pain to draw them outside, but at least she wouldn’t be stuck with their wild energy alone.

Her fingertips were numb and the pencil in her hand might be frozen there. Despite the golden afternoon sun, the air was frigid. Like the heat couldn’t pierce through the layer of ice hanging in the atmosphere. Snow covered the yard and clung to the fence separating her grandparents’ corner lot from the road and their nearby neighbors. The single towering oak in the yard seemed to be nearly laying on the house, branches heavy with ice.

Y/N quietly sat on the front steps of the house, unable to feel anything other than the biting of the wind on her ears and nose. Across the yard, near the road where more people could appreciate their work, her cousins put the finishing touches on the snowman. A carrot swiped from the kitchen, expertly chosen pebbles from the driveway, and a reluctantly relinquished scarf from her grandmother’s closet.

Drawing finished, she balanced her sketchpad on her knees as she attempted to take a photo. Every swipe of her numb fingers was clumsy, and she bit her bottom lip, trying to focus. Wind swept through the yard, carrying with it the sound of a barking dog two houses over and Jewel squealed when Johnny pegged her with a well-aimed snowball.

Somehow, she’d gotten them all in it, surrounding the snowman. Jewel and Emma got delicate fairy wings and pointed ears as requested. Then she gave Sarah an elaborate crown of ice and snow. Johnny had wanted to look like a Viking, so she gave him a ridiculously inaccurate horned helmet and a fur cape. All done in pencil. She’d have to see if her grandmother had any hairspray that she could use to set it later and keep it from smudging.

Once she had a decent picture, Y/N sent it straight to Bucky. They hadn’t spoken much that day. He was busy with Becca and was supposed to go visit his father at some point.

Y/N: Think I should use this as my final?

Phone on top of her sketchbook, she cupped her fingers near her mouth. A full-on war had broken out in front of her. Emma and Johnny were ganging up on Sarah and Jewel. Every time a pair of eyes narrowed in on her, she held up her sketchbook as a shield and they didn’t dare.

It didn’t take him long to reply, and she smiled, blowing air in her cupped hands. The fact that he replied quickly always made her smile. Made her feel cherished.

Bucky: Don’t you ever do anything other than draw? You’re supposed to be on vacation!

Giggling to herself, she curled her cold toes up tighter in her boots, checking to make sure she still had feeling in them. Pretty soon, she’d have to give up and go inside. Maybe get something hot to drink to remind her body what it meant to be warm.

Y/N: Never! I’m afraid if I stop I’ll lose whatever skill I have…

As she waited for him to respond, she carefully ripped the drawing from her sketchbook. Then signed it at the bottom and waved to her cousins, “It’s done!” It took them a second to notice her. Johnny had fallen into a pile of snow, the twins ganging up on him to keep him down. He shoved snow down Jewel’s jacket and she screamed. They let him go, and Jewel started dancing around to try and get the snow out.

Upon finally processing what Y/N had said, the twins cheered and scurried over. Vengeance forgotten. Emma reached her first and took the drawing from her, and Jewel barreled into her sister, eager to see. Girlish giggles of delight filled the crisp air, luring Sarah and Johnny over towards the front steps. Closing her sketchbook. Y/N smiled at the little girls’ over-the-top reactions.

Johnny plucked the drawing from the twins’, making them whine, and laughed, “Sweet! This is so cool!” Sarah glanced over his shoulder and hummed in agreement.

Ready to head inside, Y/N’s phone chimed in the middle of her putting away her pencils. Excited, she balanced the pouch on her knees. Reading the message, she snorted.

Bucky: Maybe you should make a deal with the devil to keep your power.

The reply came a bit too easy.  

Y/N: I lost my soul long ago.

Bucky: What’d you spend it on? Hope it was worth it.

Y/N: I was promised true love, but I haven’t gotten it yet. I might’ve been cheated.

When she glanced up, she found Sarah watching her with a small cat-like grin, “Who ya talkin’ to?” Sarah’s long blonde hair was pulled back from her face in a braid, snow clung to the ends like small diamonds. She came over and sat beside Y/N on the stairs, handing the drawing to her. Instinctively, she tucked it away into her sketchbook for safe keeping, realizing that everyone was waiting for her answer.

A blush made her chilled cheeks painfully hot and she pressed her lips together to contain her goofy grin, “My boyfriend.” It felt good to say it. To declare it to someone and butterflies tickled pleasantly inside her.

Emma and Jewel let out equally painful squeals and spoke over each other, “Do you gotta picture?”

“I wanna see!”

The stone stairs on the porch was fairly big, and she leaned to the side so the twins could go up behind her. They sat behind her and Sarah, feet resting next to her hip as they leaned against her back, looking at her phone. Johnny stood on the bottom step, perched against the railing with a vague expression of interest.

Blinking in surprise, Y/N nodded slowly, waving a hand to shush them. It took her a minute to scroll through her saved photos, only for her to realize that her and Bucky had yet to take pictures together. As much time as they spent, she hadn’t really thought about it. Now that it was on her mind, though, she vowed to make him sit and take a selfie with her. That way she could use it as her phone’s background.

Luckily, he had a habit of sending her goofy pictures whenever possible. Finding one of her favorites, she held it up for her little audience to see. Bucky was slumped over on a counter, with a cup of coffee in front of him. He looked disheveled and tired, but his eyes were beautifully vibrant and blue in the morning light. He’d sent that picture from Rosalie’s early one morning, with the caption ‘End my misery’. White apron and black long sleeve shirt stretched over his broad chest. It had nearly made her choke on her ricocheting heart when she’d woken up to it.

It was Sarah who spoke up first, snatching the phone from her hands to get a better look, “Woah, he’s gorgeous!” Her eyes were wide, and Y/N could almost see the question on her face. It was one she often asked herself whenever she was reminded of how utterly handsome Bucky was. Too polite to ask, her cousin just stared at her phone screen, and finished wistfully “I’m so jealous right now. Is he a model?”

Snorting a laugh, Y/N watched as Sarah passed the phone to the twins who were swooning, “No, but he probably could be.” She could see the question right on the tip of her cousin’s tongue. So, she continued, “Honestly, I have no idea what he sees in me. We met in my art class.”

Propping her chin on her hand, Sarah shrugged, “I think I can see it. You’re pretty, and he’s,” She gestured to the phone screen that Jewel handed back to Y/N, “I think you look good together. Bet you mix well.”

Pride made a genuine smile light up Y/N’s face, “We do. I think our personalities work together. Like complimenting colors.” She looked down at the picture one more time before forcing herself to lock the screen and tuck the phone into her coat pocket, along with her frosty hands.

“Is he an artist too?” When she nodded, Sarah groaned, “You’ve got all the luck.”

Her phone buzzed, and she glanced back down at it, smiling at the text.

Bucky: Maybe I can help you find it. I’m not scared of no devil.

Y/N: My soul or true love?

Bucky: Why not both?

Later that night

*** Hands grabbed her. Touched her. Suffocated her. Fingers traced possessively up her leg, slipping towards the tender skin of her inner thigh. An oily residue coated every spot they touched, leaving her tainted and grimy.  Another hand trailed across her stomach and gripped her hipbone so viciously that it hurt. Everything hurt. She was shaking. Muscles coiled so tight that she started trembling. Every inch of her started shaking, until even her teeth were chattering. Her hands hovered up near her chest, frozen with numb fingertips as she tried to move. With every second, she willed herself to stop what was happening.

And Y/N wanted this to stop. Wanted them to stop. But when she opened her mouth to say so, no words came out. Her lips parted as she tried to find her voice, or even take a breath. But she couldn’t.

All her words balled up in her throat like a dam and pooled there in a bottomless ocean of fear and shame. Just swirled beneath the surface. And her lungs constricted tighter and tighter until every ounce of oxygen burned up inside her. She couldn’t breathe.

Couldn’t he see she was shaking? Didn’t he care? He was supposed to care.

A hand snuck towards the apex of her thigh and she thought she might be sick.

Stop. Stop. Stop.

But he never did. And she already knew he wouldn’t. ***

When Y/N woke from a nightmare, it was never a big production.

Her eyes snapped open and she stared into the darkness. Every uneven beat of her heart hammered between her ears and she twisted the blankets in her icy fingers. But couldn’t move. Anxious heat prickled her skin and sweat made everything sticky. The blankets were tangled around her legs and her hair fell across her face like a rat’s nest. After a second, she made herself take a deep breath in and quietly let it out.

As she slowly tried to remember where she was, she listened for him. For breathing. A voice. Any whisper of the sheets shifting, or blankets rustling. It felt like he was right behind her. In the bed.

Soon, he’d be reaching for her. Somehow, she’d just managed to roll out of his constricting embrace for a blissful second. But any minute he would realize what she had done and be grabbing her. To draw her back.

But that was ridiculous.

And yet Y/N felt it. Suspended in the very second before something sunk its claws into her. Petrified like a rabbit in a fox den with nowhere to go.

Little by little, she reached for her phone. Where it lay plugged in on the nightstand. She fought the fear and paranoia. Buried it. Every little noise released by the old house had the hairs on the back of her neck standing on end.

Tears stung her eyes and she unlocked her phone to check the time.

2AM Great start to Christmas day. Pumped full of adrenaline and unwanted memories.

Too early to justify getting up for the day, but she was too shaken to even attempt sleep. Too afraid she’d just fall right back into the jaws of that nightmare. Her fingers wouldn’t stop quaking, so she gripped the phone tighter. Light burned her eyes, and she blinked, tears escaping as she tried to adjust. Even as awareness woke her up, she had to fight the urge to check over her shoulder. To make sure no one else was in the attic with her.

Right above her head, hail pattered along the roof. Hard. The room was cold, and she curled up tighter to try and conserve any of the heat trapped under the blankets with her. Soft sheets brushed her skin, but even that was too much sensation for her overwhelmed system.

Sniffing back tears, she flipped idly through social media. Desperately tried to forget her nightmare. Tried to put it back in its box and destroy the key this time.

When Y/N checked her messages, she paused over Bucky’s. Rereading some of their previous messages and smiling a little at the bickering. All over whether she should bring him a souvenir or not. Not like there were many good shopping areas around here, but she thought it would be nice to bring him something from her trip.

She let out a shaky breath and hesitated for only a second before typing him a simple message. It took a couple tries. A few aborted attempts to decide what she wanted to say.

Y/N: Hey

If he was awake, maybe talking would help calm her down. If not, she could just tell him tomorrow that she couldn’t sleep. Not a lie. And it wasn’t like he had to know the exact reasons why.

She was still scrolling through Tumblr when her phone vibrated in her hands. It startled her, and she tensed up. Body going rigid and heart leaping up until it hovered against the back of her tongue. Only to realize what it was, and she let out a slow breath. Then opened the message.

Bucky: Hey, why you up so late?

Y/N: Can’t sleep, you?

Bucky: Me either

For a minute or so, she stretched out on her back and debated what to say. Cool air brushed her face and she scrunched up her nose before pulling the blanket over her head. Before she could reply, though, her screen lit up. It hummed and buzzed, and her eyes widened. Seeing that he was calling, her heart stuttered. She hesitated for only a second, before giving in and answering. Her voice was rough and thick from tears when she spoke up.

“Hey!” Y/N tried to make herself appear normal. Like she hadn’t woke up crying. But it came off wrong, so she followed it up with a question, “Everything ok?”

“As good as 2 in the morning can be.” Bucky snorted. He sounded deeper over the phone, and hearing his voice soothed her. Like a cooling balm to her soul. Then he tacked on, “Merry Christmas by the way.”

Every word he spoke had the edges of her terror subsiding but then the tears started to come in earnest. Like the fear had been the only thing keeping them at bay. As the fear drifted off, the pathetic sadness and aching wound in her chest started throbbing harder. Louder. She swallowed around the burning lump in her throat and forced a shaky laugh, "Guess it is past midnight." She mused, and then added, "Merry Christmas sweetheart." The endearment felt right and good to say. It warmed the cold corners of her heart. Maybe if she kept laughing, kept trying to smile for him, the claws of despair wouldn’t be able to drag her too deep.

Bucky paused for a second, shifting the phone and asked quietly, "Are you alright?" It was the tender concern in his question that made her heart swell until all the emotions roaring inside her were too much for her to handle. It was all too much.

Embarrassed, she curled up onto her side and wrapped herself around an extra pillow. She thought she’d kept the tremor from her voice. Not well enough. Eyes closed, she covered her mouth to stifle the whine building in her throat. Then took a slow breath in and out and admitted, "Just had a really, really bad dream." She stumbled over the middle and was surprised he could understand her through the rasping and shaking.

Quiet again, Bucky hummed in understanding, but didn’t speak right away. It seemed like he was trying to pick his words carefully. In the dreadful minute before his reply, she tried to sort through her thoughts and figure out what she wanted to say. Worried about what he might say. Finally, Bucky simply asked, "Wanna talk about it?"

And Y/N wasn’t sure if she did. It was a lot. A tangled web of information. If she tried to explain the nightmare, she’d have to explain the memory that accompanied it, and the person. And the history and she just didn’t know how.

Her silence stretched as she thought about it and finally sighed, "I don’t know if I can." Rubbing at her eyes and nose, she shoved her hair back off her damp face. A few tears escaped, and she swiped them away, trying to deny that they were ever there in the first place.

"You don’t have to." Bucky swiftly backtracked, a bit panicked, "I just want to help. If I can." Every word stumbled out of his mouth, rapid and awkward. She picked at a loose thread on the pillow she wrapped herself around. Aside from the crashing of the hail along the roof, the house was quiet. Dead quiet and still.

It occurred to her then that this was all awkward. Because he had never comforted her before. It had always been her comforting him. Except that one time on Halloween and over dumb things like her grades, he’d never had to. Sometimes he had eased her concerns over their relationship, but that was stress he caused her by himself.

They had never done this before and she hated herself for not feeling comfortable talking to him about it. She wanted to but what if he couldn’t help? What if he hurt her with the information? It wasn’t that she thought he’d use it against her, but it would hurt if he simply didn’t understand. One wrong word over this topic could wound her. This was a vulnerable spot.

"It was more of a memory than a dream." She hedged and vaguely attempted to elaborate, "I dated this guy and he hurt me. Pretty bad. For about 3 years or so." Her lip trembled, and she bit it to still it.

The other end of the line was pin drop quiet for so long that she squinted at the blinding screen to see if the call had dropped. Then Bucky asked, "He’s still around?"

Scoffing, Y/N shook her head, "God no. I haven't heard from him in over a year." It was out before she remembered the letter. And she squeezed her eyes shut tighter, resisting the urge to look at where it lay hidden away across the dark room.

It wasn’t really a lie. But she didn’t know how to explain the letter. Didn’t even know how to explain the entire mess that led to Jason being out of her life.

"Good, I was getting ready to jump on a plane and come kick some ass." He joked, and it made her smile, even if it was watery. The tears were finally drying themselves up, and the acute ache in her chest drifted down to a dull throbbing.

"He’s back in Queens." She clarified, stretching out her legs in the bed, "But that won’t be necessary."

"He deserves it." Bucky insisted, "If you're having nightmares about it a year later, he deserves it and more."

The conviction made her stomach flip with the fluttering beat of wings, "How do you deal with the nightmares?" Changing the subject was one of her many defense mechanisms. It was something she’d always done to keep the attention off herself. To give the old reopened wound inside her a chance to clot the blood and stop the bleeding out of her strength.

Wordlessly, she hoped he didn’t ask how she knew about them, and was relieved when he answered, "Sometimes I go for a run if they're really bad." He snorted, "Most of the time I just don’t sleep."

Surprised, Y/N laughed at that, "Oh very healthy. Great use of therapy."

He chuckled, and his laugh was a lullaby for her heart, "Not all the time. Sometimes I watch TV and just crash on the couch at dawn." There was a beat of quiet then he asked, "Do you have nightmares often?"

"No." She sighed, shifting the phone to her other hand so she could flex her stiff fingers, "I used to have them all the time. Even a few months ago. But it's gotten easier. I think I'll just start calling you every time." She teased and the smile on her face felt sincere, even lighter.

"I wouldn’t mind." Bucky’s easy response made her smile even more.

"I'll keep that in mind." Staring up at the barely illuminated ceiling, she asked, "How was dinner with your dad?"

Bucky groaned in annoyance, "Worst year in a while." He huffed, "We were going to go over in the morning for gifts, but Becca doesn’t want anything to do with him now. Probably won’t for a while." It had to be pretty bad if even his sister didn’t want to see him. From what Y/N understood, Becca was the defender of keeping a relationship with their father.

Hesitantly she asked, "What happened?"

He snorted bitterly, the phone shuffling and he sounded a little more echoey, "He got stinking drunk. And I had to try and put him to bed. But then—" Bucky cut himself off and cleared his throat, "Well he just didn’t want to go. Made it hard for everyone."

It felt like he wasn’t telling her something. She mulled over brushing it off, but then decided to ask, "Did he do something?"

Bucky didn’t reply right away, and as the silence drifted on, she worried he wouldn’t. So, she tacked on, "A truth for a truth. Tell me a thought and I'll owe you one."

Bucky chuckled quietly, "Like showing our scars?" It sounded like he shut a cabinet, and then the microwave beeped. Must have been making a snack.

"Kinda."

He hummed and then gave in, "Alright... I'm thinking that my dad is an ungrateful bastard and if I had it my way, I'd only see him to make sure he’s still breathing." The statement ended in a soft growl, and then he continued, "I'm thinking Becca deserves better. That if mom saw what he'd become after she died, she’d be heartbroken." He trailed off, words cracking towards the end and then gave a little, weak laugh, "Think that means you owe me three."

"I do." Y/N mused, mind whirling with the information, "I'm thinking... we have a lot to still learn about each other. That... that I haven't opened up about myself much at all. And that I'm scared to." The confession was tiny and weak. Like she had almost been unable to finish it.

"Scared?" He asked gently, a bit surprised.

"Ya, its dumb but I am."

"It’s not dumb.” He protested, and then asked, “Why?"

"I guess cause if I let you in, you could hurt me." Nervously, she sat up and tugged her knees up, so she could rest her arms on them, chin on her forearm.

"Doesn’t that go both ways?"

"Ya but you haven't let me in much." Her sentence was muffled against her arm, the blankets bunched up over her knees. A shiver traced down her spine like a caress of a finger as the cool air nipped at her exposed skin.

Bucky scoffed, "More than anyone. Ever. Except Steve but he was there for most of it." He let out a breath, "Baby doll, if you don’t want to talk about it, I won’t ever make you. But you don’t have to be scared. I'd never hurt you on purpose."

"I know." Y/N swallowed the lump in her throat, "I know that." She internally cursed herself for feeling like crying again, "I'd rather tell you the entire thing in person."

"That's fair." He agreed.        

In the moment that followed, she felt just a little better. Like they’d reached a new understanding. Then she asked, "What are you thinking about?"

"I miss you." He replied easily, "And I think I like calling you doll."

She smiled, sniffing the tears back down, "Then we’ll keep that one. Cause I like it too." Uncoiling herself, she fell back onto the mattress, staring up at the dark ceiling. The hail had stopped, and through the window to her left, she could see it had started snowing instead. The snow glittered in the light of the streetlamp outside. Like tiny falling stars.

Reluctantly, she relaxed further into the mattress, slowly starting to feel sleepy. Her eyes fell shut and she tugged the blankets further up towards her chin.

"You?" Bucky’s voice was far away and quiet. Soothing. Like a dream all on its own.

"Mn?"

"Thinking about?"

The question made her brain focus. At least she tried to focus, and she hummed quietly in thought, answering without much consideration, "That I wish you were here."

"Ya?"

"Mmhm, I want you to hold me." She blushed at her confession, but was too tired to try and backtrack, "I think I could fall asleep easier if you were."

"I'd like that." Bucky admitted, and her stomach fluttered, "I'd keep you safe."

His voice started drifting in and out of focus and it took her mind a second longer to come up with a response, "Fight off all my fears?"

"Of course." He chuckled, "Get some sleep babydoll. I'll see you soon."

Unable to even form a protest, she whispered, "Night."

Blearily, she pushed her phone away and was asleep before he hung up.

December 27th

The plane shook around her as it stabled out. Tremors subsiding, a ding filled the air, letting everyone know it was ok to roam around. Relieved, she let out a breath; looking out the window and taking in the pink morning light. Golden crested clouds swept along beneath her view and she shifted to lean her temple against the window and watch the sky.

After a few minutes, she pulled out her phone from her purse at her feet, a new one her grandmother had gotten her for Christmas. It was pretty, and better than the raggedy one she’d had before. When she’d woken up Christmas morning, Y/N had still felt the residual exhaustion from her nightmare. But once everyone arrived, and festivities began, it had melted away. Lost the razor edges of terror and became something easier to ignore. Just a dark cloud in the back of her mind.

An older woman sat one seat over from her, an empty one between them, and blew her nose loudly into a tissue. It made Y/N jerk in surprise and remember why she needed headphones. Shuffling through her purse, she found her travel pair and started untangling them. Her family had been disappointed to hear that she was heading back earlier than her parents but understood when she mentioned the trip her and Bucky were taking.

No one would stop teasing her after she’d mentioned it.

Poking up from the bottom of her purse, the white envelope stared challengingly at her through all the random junk filling her bag. She still hadn’t read it. Every day that she’d been gone swung by too fast and made it so easy for her to ignore the damn thing. It’d been 5 days since her mother handed it to her.

Headphones in place, she hesitated before taking out the letter. The envelope had pencil smudges from being roughly handled, shoved in and out of her different bags. She needed to read it. And it would be better to read it now before Bucky picked her up from the airport when she landed.

Better to get it over with and stop being a big baby about it all.

As she finished ripping it open, Y/N ignored the tremor in her fingers. Really, this was just getting ridiculous. She adjusted her phone, finding a song to block out all the background noise of the flight. A baby had just started crying three rows in front of her.

Inside, she found three pages of notebook paper. Covered in his small chicken scratch. It took her a second to adjust to reading his handwriting. It always was a mess, and she could tell he had tried, and failed, to be neat.

Y/N,

I really wanted to talk to you, and since I don’t have your number, I thought I'd write you a letter. You'd prefer this anyway. You’ve always been a romantic. First, I need to say that I’m sorry, for everything that happened between us. It got so out of hand at the end and I never meant for you to get hurt. Second, that I miss you. Everything about you and I understand why you did what you did. I forgive you.

Over the course of an hour, she read through it once, and then twice. By the third time she had to pull up her hood and hunker down into a ball to try and hide the tears. They stung and made her throat swell up until no air had any hope of getting in. Embarrassed and angry that he had managed to make her cry, she bit her lip hard to fight it. In front of a plane full of strangers, it was the last thing she wanted to do.

Too many emotions had her flushing hot and then plunging into cold at her fingertips. Cold and numb as a panic attack crept up on the edges of her vision. Silently, she turned in her seat to face the window more. Hoping the older woman reading beside her couldn’t see her cry. Carefully she folded the letter back up and put it back in the envelope. Then put that back in her purse.

There was a soft buzzing filling her ears. It wasn’t coming from her music.

Phone in hand, she flipped through several different artists and tried to focus on the song playing. Rather than her swirling thoughts.

Jason wanted to see her. Wanted to make things up to her.

Just the thought of seeing him made her stomach revolt. No, she just wouldn’t reply. She’d ignore it. Ignore all of it until it went away. Until he got the picture and left her alone.

He didn’t have her number or address. He couldn’t find her.

As Y/N wiped at her eyes, she made herself think about Bucky instead. She would be seeing him in a short while and couldn’t wait. Taking in a shaky breath, she counted to ten and let it out. Focused on the plane. On the music, and the worn seat underneath her. Made her eyes track the fluffy clouds within reach from the window, and took in another breath, smelling the metallic tang of the recycled air in the plane. The mint from the candies the woman beside her kept popping into her mouth every so often.

Seeing Bucky wouldn’t fix everything, but he’d make her feel better. Just his presence would calm her. Even if he had no idea why she was upset, he would help. Just being around him and laughing with him would be enough. Y/N missed him.

All she wanted to do was feel him wrap his arm around her. Feel him kiss away the hurt with every touch, and just be with him.

The letter didn’t change any of that. It didn’t change anything. She wouldn’t let it.

Tags: @boy-leave  @wtfholland  @snjms02. @diariesofthebeautyobsessed @metalarmlover

[haunt-the-stars]

Ornaments

Written for Batfam Christmas Stocking 2018 for @starknjarvis27 ‘s prompts “A seemingly normal holiday activity accidentally makes someone sad, someone else comforts them.” & “Jason’s first Christmas back at the manor”

Fandom: Batman (Comics)

Characters: Bruce Wayne, Jason Todd, Cassandra Cain (mentioned), Dick Grayson (mentioned), Tim Drake (mentioned), Damian Wayne (mentioned)

Category: Gen

Relationships: Bruce Wayne & Jason Todd

Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Angst

Every once in a while, Bruce wondered what it was like to have five mostly-grown children in a normal-sized house. Usually, he immediately wished he didn’t wonder about it, because the idea was terrifying. His family not being able to spread out to their own spaces...it would be awful for everyone except perhaps Dick. Even he sometimes retreated for a few hours, and Bruce would find him under a heavy blanket, headphones in, happily shutting the world out.

It was one of those times, when everyone was shutting the world out in their own way. As of this morning, all five of his kids were under his roof, and they would be having Christmas Eve dinner all together in about nine hours. Then Christmas Eve patrol, when Nightwing wore colorful string lights and Red Robin wore a Santa hat and Orphan’s humming of Christmas songs was constant on the comms. But for now, in anticipation of spending so much time together and so much energy trying not to kill each other, they were taking a few hours for themselves.

Bruce checked on Cassandra first, found her curled up with a tablet in the library watching what he had to assume was the holiday baking show she’d been watching so much lately. It’s relaxing, she’d told him. Ace sat on her feet, tail thumping against the chair. Cass waved at Bruce, not bothering to take her headphones out, then signed, “Do you need help?” Bruce shook his head, smiled, and waved back before quietly shutting the door and moving on.

Damian was harder to find, but Bruce eventually discovered him perched on a window seat in the study, fast asleep, sketchbook and a handful of pencils in his lap. Bruce smiled at the sketch of the large tree that stood outside the window. Damian had captured the falling snow, and seemed to have started adding a small bird with a tiny scarf before he fell asleep. Bruce gently moved the book and pencils to a table and replaced them with a blanket over Damian, hoping the chill from the window wouldn’t freeze him.

Dick was next, and Bruce didn’t even have to walk far into his bedroom before he heard the shower running and Dick’s voice drifting out of the bathroom with the steam. Bruce listened for a few seconds, thinking wistfully to himself how nice it would be if he actually remembered how to play the piano so he could share in Dick’s love of music. Damian had just started letting Dick teach him how to play the guitar, and Bruce would be lying if he said he wasn’t just the tiniest bit jealous of yet another connection they had that didn’t involve him.

He moved on down the hall to Tim’s room, and got another auditory confirmation of wellbeing in the form of Tim’s bright giggles, and then a, “It’s definitely just ‘moose,’ Bart.” A pause, then, “Well, house rhymes with mouse but it’s houses, not hice, right?” and then, “Kon, shut up,” and then more laughter, which made Bruce’s heart warm. He ignored the fact that the giggles were probably due to Tim’s obvious crush on Superboy, because to acknowledge it would be to acknowledge that yet another son of his had a thing for men who could bench press him. He had lost enough sleep over Dick, and Tim had his own contingency plans. Probably.

Bruce considered stopping his rounds there to avoid agitating his most volatile child. He had seen him just an hour or two ago, and it was unlikely that anything life-shattering had happened in the meantime. But a worried little drive always seemed to win over in situations like this. He couldn’t relax until each bird was accounted for, and after spending so long not getting to check on Jason, it was a privilege he never wanted to pass up. Especially today, given the circumstances.

All five birds in his nest for Christmas...for the first time.

True, each year had brought them a little closer to it, with Jason first sneaking in during the night to drop some mania-driven notes and presents, then the next year coming for an awkward visit during breakfast, and finally this year, a hesitant maybe to Alfred’s invitation. Truthfully, Bruce didn’t think he would come. His visits were slightly more frequent than they used to be, slightly more peaceful, and Bruce knew that he and Dick had a standing monthly dinner date, that he and Tim were steadfast video game partners, and that he genuinely seemed to like Cass and Damian. But when it came to Bruce, everything was still a battle.

He was sort of hoping for a Christmas miracle come dinner time tonight, that maybe they’d get through a whole twenty-four hours without conflict.

The room that had unofficially become Jason’s was empty, as was his childhood bedroom -- expected, since Jason usually wanted nothing to do with it. Bruce would have checked the library next, but he had been in there to see Cass and Jason wasn’t with her. Alfred was unaccompanied in the kitchen, putting a sheet of sugar cookies into the oven, and reported that he hadn’t seen Jason any more recently than Bruce had.

Beginning to worry, Bruce was about to make his way back to the study to check down in the cave when he heard the faintest of sniffles.

Oh no.

He stepped silently backwards until he could pinpoint the noise that was coming from the sitting room. It was quiet, but unmistakably Jason. Bruce could pick out the sound of any of his kids’ tears from a mile away, even if some of them were more apt to let him hear than others. He had to come up with a game plan, though. Dick and Cassandra both liked to be held when they were upset, while Damian usually calmed down with verbal reassurances and Tim was content to have someone sit with him and listen.

When Jason was young, he used to like Bruce to sit and listen to him too. But sometimes when he looked at his son now, it was like looking at a stranger. So different in the ways he talked and moved and felt that Bruce didn’t know how to take care of him, didn’t know how to love him anymore.

But he had to try.

Bruce came around the corner into the sitting room to see Jason sitting, legs crossed, face buried in his hands, under the Christmas tree. There were at least twenty Christmas trees in Wayne Manor, most of them in the front entryway and the ballroom, but those were decorated with big, plain, shining balls. The eight-foot beast in the sitting room was for all the ornaments each of his children had collected over the years, from the very first little elephant he’d given a nine-year-old Dick to Damian’s new tiny tray of teacups. Jason, despite his huge and intimidating stature, looked small beneath it.

“Jason.”

Jason started, lifted his head, and groaned. His voice was brittle and his face was red. “How much would it cost for you to go away?”

“I’m a billionaire.”

Jason huffed, rubbing his eyes with his sleeve, and Bruce stepped further into the room, doing his best to look open and non-threatening. Open palms. Loose arms. Just like Cassandra taught him. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“Nope,” Jason said. Bruce shrugged, and sat down next to him, keeping just a bit of distance between their shoulders. Letting Jason come to him.

Praying Jason came to him.

“It’s not fair,” came Jason’s pitiful whisper after nearly a minute.

Bruce resisted the urge to turn and face him, hoping he’d feel more comfortable this way. “No, it’s not.”

“You don’t even know what I’m talking about.”

“It’s probably not fair.”

A startled, choked half-laugh came from Jason, and then a hand was in front of Bruce’s face, uncurling to reveal an ornament. One of the first ornaments he gave Jason, in the shape of a tire.

It had seemed funny at the time.

“I was thirteen, when you got me this,” Jason says, and Bruce nods patiently. “And that was seven years ago. I’m twenty.”

Bruce had a bit of a feeling he knew where this was going, but he nodded again. “Yes, you are.”

“I’ve only been...a-alive, and...sane, for...sixteen years, total.”

Now Bruce did look over, saw Jason shudder and another tear slip down his cheek. “I missed so much. I missed getting my license, and my prom, and my graduation and birthdays and I’m here fucking crying because I missed getting some stupid fucking ornaments.”

Bruce felt his heart sink. “Jay…”

He had nothing else to say. Jason’s lip quivered and his breathing stuttered, tears coming in a slow trickle as he collapsed forward into his hands again. “I’m not twenty yet, Bruce. I can’t be twenty. I can’t be twenty when I was never sixteen or seventeen or--”

“Shh.” Carefully, Bruce laid a hand on his son’s back and rubbed up and down his spine. He wasn’t sure how well a hug would be received yet. But maybe this could be a compromise. “You don’t have to be twenty. You can be sixteen if you want.”

“I can’t be s-sixteen.”

“Why can’t you?”

Jason looked up at him like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “I can’t be younger than Tim.”

That was another thing about Jason. No matter the circumstance, no matter if they were sitting on the floor and Jason was crying, there was no one that could ever make him laugh more.

For a few seconds, Bruce felt horror crawl up his spine as he let out the most inappropriate, uncontrollable laugh he had in years. A rare “bat-guffaw,” as Dick would call it. Jason stared, wide-eyed, shocked into breathing steady again.

And then he laughed too.

Bruce hadn’t really heard Jason laugh since he came back with an adult voice. He’d heard him cackle, heard him mock him, but never laugh earnestly like a child being tickled.

His new laugh was nice. Low and loud and bubbling up through his tears as they both dissolved back into giggles every time they looked at each other. A little bit hysterical. But that suited him, Bruce supposed.

When they finally calmed down, Jason scrubbed at his eyes again, sniffling. “I’m a fucking mess.”

“You should wash your face. I’d...like to take you somewhere, before dinner.”

Jason raised an eyebrow. “Where?”

“The mall, maybe? Somewhere with a Christmas store. I think...I think we have some ornament shopping to catch up on.”

Please be the right thing to say.

Jason grinned.

--

They picked out five ornaments, in the end. A motorcycle, a little stack of books, the Gotham skyline, a tiny pair of combat boots, and a pair of comedy and tragedy masks.

It wasn’t until they were checking out that Bruce noticed Jason had added a small bat to the pile.

Maybe this would be the first of a new kind of Christmas.

[noradarhkpalmer]

draw me like one of your french girls, miss darhk

Title: draw me like one of your french girls, miss darhk

Rating: PG-13

Pairing: Nora Darhk/Ray Palmer aka Darhkatom

Warnings: Darhkatom gets a little suggestive

Summary/Notes: Ray finds out Nora can draw and then finds out she used to love to draw, so what does Ray do? What he does best of course. A big romantic gesture to fit the occasion.

I’m so sorry I fell behind on these! I had some personal health problems come up but I am going to try and catch up! This one is extra long! Enjoy!

Day twelve of 25 days of Darhkatom! Feel free to click the through the tag to see the others! Basically, I will be posted all loosely related (unless stated otherwise) fics for 25 days straight!

He had found the doodle when he was cleaning up dinner. They had had a quiet dinner in the galley while waiting for the rest of the team to get back from a mission. They sat there and talked, ready to get up and quarterback but also trying to enjoy a rare moment where they were the only two people on the ship. When Ray cleared the plates he noticed Nora had doodled on a napkin she hadn’t used. It was a profile of him, incredibly realistic, and Ray had tucked it into his pocket, reminding himself to ask her about it later.

Ray entered their room that evening once the team returned. It was now officially their room. It made him giddy every time he thought about it. Not only was that the only room Nora had ever stayed in on the Waverider but things were now sprinkled about the room that just made it theirs, rather than his and she just also happened to sleep there. Things like her houseshoes on her side of the bed, and Ray thought the fact that she wore them was absolutely adorable, she said it was because her feet were always cold but Ray didn’t care. He just thought it was one of the cutest things about her. Her books, the ones she brought with her and the ones she’d fabricated since were beginning to stack high in two stacks on Ray’s desk, which they now also shared. And of course her clothes were also in his closet, their closet.

He changed for bed and grabbed the doodle from his jean pocket before tossing the clothes in the hamper. Ray climbed into the bed next to Nora who was reading and humming quietly to herself. She looked up at him and smiled when he got in the bed.

“So ugh… I found something of yours after dinner tonight.” Ray handed her the folded up napkin and Nora took it with great confusion.

She opened it and her eyes went wide. “Oh I thought I had thrown that away with the rest of the food bits on my plate.”

“This is really good, Nora, and I’m not just biased because it’s a profile of me. You’re really good, have you ever drawn anything else or is this just some talent that is somehow magically wonderful the first time off?”

Nora smiled in embarrassment. “No… I used to doodle a lot as a kid, I was always drawing something, I much preferred it to playing with dolls or even reading, or playing with other kids. I stopped because I had a job to do but even when I got bounced around asylums and mental hospitals if I was able to have stuff to draw with I would, it usually wasn’t anything in particular but tonight you had moved your head to a certain angle and I don’t know, you maybe also had a look on your face and I just wanted to capture it and so I drew it.”

Ray placed a hand on her shoulder. “You’re really good, I think you should do this more often. We can fabricate any art supplies your heart desires.”

“So I can what, draw you like one of my French girls, Ray?” She rolled her eyes. “Thanks, but no thanks. I feel like I barely have time to read or spend time with you between missions. I don’t want to clog up all my free time by drawing stuff that doesn’t even matter…” She tried to put the napkin off to the side but Ray caught her wrist.

“Hey, your art matters. I have no idea what all you’re going to create or have created but it matters. If it’s important to you or ever was, it definitely matters. You’re allowed an outlet, if Zari can have her video games that probably will actually melt everyone’s brains one day, you can draw or paint or sketch or whatever you want.”

Nora looked away. “I’m sorry, Ray, but I just don’t have the heart for it anymore. This was a fluke. Just me trying to pass the time while you were nerding out about some science thing.”

Ray knew he wasn’t going to get anywhere trying to push her more tonight so he nodded sadly and let her toss the napkin in the trash bin. “Okay. I understand.”

xxxx

Apparently, Ray “understanding” meant he wouldn’t press the issue anymore that night. The next day, however, Ray spent probably too long fabricating sketch books of different sizes, fancy pencils, fancy colored pencils, erasers, and even some kits of charcoals and paints and pens. Ray knew he was probably going overboard but that was Ray Palmer’s MO, show love in absolute excess.

Ray neatly organized all of the art supplies while Nora was in the shower that morning and left it on her side of the bed and then disappeared to the lab to do work, slightly afraid of Nora’s quite possible negative reaction to the gesture.

Nora came back to her’s and Ray’s room now ready for the day when she saw what she hoped was not a giant pile of arts supplies on their bed.

She got closer and realized that it was.

Dammit Ray.

Nora picked up one of the sketchbooks and ran her fingers over it, remembering how most of the time in the asylums and hospitals she maybe had loose leaf paper and a dull pencil but she’d draw everything she wanted her life to be instead of a scared, demon possessed teenager. She drew herself as a princess locked in a tower, being saved by a valiant knight, that one had been recurring after getting her hands on an anthology of King Arthur tales, she also drew herself in a world where her parents were still alive, doing normal parent stuff like picking her up for school or decorating the Christmas tree. She drew the fantastical and normal, because back then, even the normal was pure fantasy to Nora.

Nora threw the sketchbook down and sighed. Ray’s heart was in the right place but hers just wasn’t… but she would try, for him.

xxxx

Nora figured she would find him in his lab, she had a small sketchbook tucked under her arm with a set of brand new and sharpened art pencils. She also had erasers and a small set of micron ink pens. She might not even do anything with the supplies but she would try, for Ray.

She saw him tinkering somewhere deep inside the chest plate of the ATOM suit and knocked on the open lab door.

Ray looked up at saw her there and then his eyes fell to the art supplies tucked under her arm and broke out into a full grin.

“I saw you got my present.”

Nora walked up to him and grabbed his chin gently to look him straight in the eyes. “I did, and you are so often what I don’t deserve, and I thank you for it.” She pulled him in for a soft kiss and patted his chest. “Carry on, I just wanted to watch you work.”

“And maybe doodle me, while you work?”

“Maybe.” She smiled and hopped up onto his workspace table and put the supplies in her lap. She sat there, just enjoying watching him work as she often came down to the lab to observe but then she got an idea and pulled a pencil out of the box, discreetly so he wouldn’t get the satisfaction of seeing her actually trying, and opened to the first page in her sketchbook. She moved her pencil down the page, trying to get the perspective of him working on his suit correct. When she was satisfied she moved onto finer details, trying to capture the look of absolute concentration and amazement at his own invention on his face.

After a while the tinkering stopped but Nora kept tracing back over the same line, lost in the image of Ray on her paper and she felt someone touch her arm and she jumped. She looked up to see Ray standing next to her, trying to get a look at what she’d been drawing for the last hour.

Nora instinctively held the sketchbook to her chest so Ray wouldn’t see. “Can I help you, Dr. Palmer?”

“Just wanted to see what you were drawing.” He grinned.

“Well it’s not done yet so you can’t see it.” She gently pushed him out of her personal bubble and gestured for him to get back to work.

“Ah you want me back in the same spot so you can make sure you’re drawing me proportionally.” He started walking back to his suit and picked up a small wrench.

Nora smirked. “No, I know exactly how… well proportioned you are, Ray Palmer.”

“I am well aware that you do, Miss Darhk.” Ray abandoned his suit once more and went over to Nora, stepping between her legs and leaning down to kiss her gently.

Nora let the sketchbook drop and she wrapped her arms around his neck, kissing him further.

They jumped apart at the sound of a cough and saw Zari standing near them, now holding the sketchbook.

Zari narrowed her eyes at them before speaking, “I better not flip through this and find naked drawings of Ray.”

Nora, now annoyed that her moment with Ray was interrupted used her magic to bring the book back over to her. “There aren’t any but the ones I have planned are all tasteful, and are for no one’s eyes but mine and Ray’s. Did you need something, Miss Tomaz?”

Zari, now slightly disgusted, shook her head and held up her hands. “Nope, getting the image out of my head of you guys recreating the scene from Titanic has taken top priority. I’m gonna go now.”

Nora laughed as Zari made her exit and tugged on the collar of Ray’s shirt.

“You… you have plans to draw me naked?” Ray asked, completely flustered.

Nora shook her head, “no that was just to get Zari to leave us alone, however, the more I’m thinking about it, the more I am liking the idea. Just not here,” she said and pulled him in for a deep kiss, the sketchbook forgotten again… but not for long.

[owlaholic68]

Fallout December Day 24

Christmas Eve - Fallout 2

Hope you all are enjoying this day if you celebrate Christmas!

“No, Myron, wait until everyone’s ready!” Carla gently chides. They settle in their New Reno hotel room, a pile of more-or-less wrapped gifts in a pile in front of them.

Myron pouts and waits until Carla gives him the okay to open his gift. They had decided to open them youngest first, oldest last. Of course, that had led to a long discussion in the car about whether Marcus, Lenny, or Goris was older, but after some complicated math, they had figured it out.

“Wow, thanks!” Myron says, unfolding a mass of wool. He pulls out a fluffy hat, scarf, and pair of gloves, all in a soft grey color. He immediately puts them on, grinning at the comfort and warmth. “From, Marcus,” he reads from a small card in the gift.

“Okay, I guess I’m next,”’ Carla says, reaching for the small gift with her name on it. But she’s stopped by Lenny, of all people.

“How a-about you w-wait until last, C-Carla?” He suggests with a knowing smile.

“Uh, okay, Len, if everyone else agrees,” Carla says, and everyone else nods in consent. She feels a flicker of anticipation bloom in her chest. “That means that you’re next, Goris.”

The deathclaw gently picks up a large and heavy package. Carla trades glances with Lenny as Goris carefully unwraps it. Thick and heavy fabric is neatly folded. As Goris unfolds it, he starts to see that one side of the fabric is smooth and slightly shiny, and the other is soft.

“Wow,” he grumbles, holding a brand-new cloak.

“It-it’s waterproof on o-one side,” Lenny explains as Goris takes off his old threadbare one and puts on the new one, “and r-real soft on the o-other.”

“Incredible. Did you sew this, Lenny?” He asks, running a claw across the waterproof side. “It’s wonderful. Thank you.”

Marcus goes next, opening two packages that have been tied together. The first thing he pulls out is a large wirebound sketchbook. “From Carla,” he reads.

“Go on, open the other part,” she urges. He pulls out a large souvenir pencil, easily several inches in width.

“Perfect,” he appreciatively rumbles, finding it easy to hold the pencil between his large and clumsy hands. “Thank you, Carla.”

Lenny is next. Carla fidgets the entire time his bony fingers gently pull out the tissue paper from the bag, careful not to rip or tear any of it. He pulls out a pile of leather and metal, confused at first until he unwraps it to reveal a new belt and holster for his pistol. The belt has several pouches and compartments for various things, all perfect sizes for the various healing items that Lenny has shoved haphazardly into his pockets. “From Myron,” Lenny reads.

“Go on, there’s more in the bag,” Myron says. So Lenny pulls out a heavy cloth bag, emblazoned with a red cross and with many outside pockets and small loops for hanging Stimpacks.

“Thanks, i-it’s perfect,” Lenny says, smiling at the thoughtfulness and utility of such a gift.

“You’re last, Carla,” Marcus notes. With all eyes in the room on her, Carla carefully opens the small box with her name on it. The anticipation and excitement makes her heart beat faster.

At first, she doesn’t realize what it is. The first thing she sees is a small .223 bullet casing painted gold. Then she pulls that out to reveal a heavy charm necklace, and she gasps in appreciation, trying to look at all of it at once.

“Everyone contributed something,” Goris says. “Marcus scooped up that bullet casing one day and painted it.”

“But Goris had the idea and did all of the work, really,” Myron says. “Come on, look at the rest of it.”

There’s a tiny wooden vault suit painted bright blue and yellow. “Lenny,” Goris says. A Golden Gate Bridge keychain. “Myron.” A Wright family crest and a silver boxing glove. “Orville Wright and Stuart Little.” Carla’s amazed at how many people they asked to help with this project. I can’t believe how much time and planning this took. A steering wheel, a wrench, and a lightning bolt. “Smitty, Zaius, and Harold.”

“Wow,” Carla gasps. She slips the necklace over her head. It settles comfortably on her neck, the metal cool against her skin. “This- this is amazing. Thank you so much. All of you.” She hugs everyone.

“So should we get to sleep now?” Myron asks. “It’s getting dark.”

Carla grins. “No, we’ve still got one more present under the tree, don’t we?” She drags a brightly wrapped box from behind the tree. “Oh, Myron, it says it’s for you!” She fakes surprise so well that even she’s convinced.

Myron looks confused, but takes the box anyways. “Oh, okay?” There’s a small envelope taped to the top of the box. He opens it and pulls out a note. “Dear Myron, This might get to you a little early, but I have a lot of presents to deliver to good little boys and girls, so you can understand I’m on a tight schedule. On a scale of 1 to 10, 10 being very good and 1 being very bad, you are about a 6 this year. You are trying to improve, and that counts for something in my book. So I hope you have a Merry Christmas this year, Myron. Sincerely, Santa Claus.”

As Myron excitedly tears open the box, Marcus gives Carla an appreciative nod. Goris looks curious at this new human tradition, and Lenny scoots closer to Carla on the couch.

“Oh fuck yes, new shoes!” Myron says, ignoring the stern look he gets at his dirty mouth. He pulls out a pair of (only slightly) faded red tennis shoes and holds them up to his feet. “A little big, but I’ll grow into them! Wow, I’ve never gotten anything ever from Santa!”

They spend the rest of the night sharing stories, admiring their new gifts, and drinking hot chocolate. But it’s early to bed for them, for they have a big day tomorrow, a long day filled with boxing matches, celebrations, and social gatherings with the entirety of New Reno. But Christmas Eve was an warm, intimate gathering just for them.

[stark-raving-romantic]

Happy Birthday! TMNT x Reader.

There are so many questions about the turtle's birthdays. ~When do they celebrate? When the turtle's were kids, they all celebrated together. It was one big party, a slice of cake for each turtle tot, and a handful of presents for them. They loved this tradition and still do it, all getting together on the day they became a family. But each turtle got his own day too and he got to pick it. Leonardo chose January 26, Donatello picked May 17, Mikey decided on October 30 , and Raph picked August 20. Each turtle has his own reason of course. Leonardo loves winter and the cold that comes with it. It's dangerous for him to love it too much (being cold blooded and all) so he enjoys it with a small, simple party. He picked the date just like that And then went about his business. Donatello was a little bit more picky then his brothers, it was harder for him to decide on a date. Summer is too hot, winter is too cold, fall isn't much better either. But spring? Spring is just right. Perfect weather, the world comes alive, plus they occasionally go camping to celebrate his birthday! Michelangelo picked October for one reason: Halloween. It's his second favorite holiday (the kid loves himself some Christmas cheer) and there are all sorts of parties going on during that day. When he was a kid, he liked to pretend that the parties were for him and that everyone in the world loved him enough to wear costumes and give out candy. But now that he's older? Raphael loves summer. The heat can be too much for the turtle but he an actual reason to pick it (even though he claimed he just glanced at the calender). Raph has always wanted to go to the beach. To feel the same between his toes, swim in the salty water. It's secretly a big dream of his. He prefers to sneak out to a wicked party instead! What kind of party do they want? They don't need anything big really, even if they have secretly dreamed of it. Leo wants a nice dinner with his family, vanilla cake and ice cream (his favorites, Mikey is so disgusted by this. "There are over a thousand flavors! Who picks vanilla bro??"), and a few gifts. Donnie wants a little party, with something fall. When they were kids, they would have a pretend campout, stringing blankets around the Lair. But now, they can actually go camping where they have a picnic and a chocolate cake. Mikey wants a big larty, inviting all the friends that could come. He's actually always wanted a big surprise party, where everybody runs out screaming "Happy Birthday!" He wants a big ice cream sundae, with everything on it, and a chocolate cake. Raphael just wants to hang out with his brothers. No training, no missions, just them hanging out. Raph doesn't have much of a sweet tooth, he would rather have a birthday pizza! What gifts would they get? There are things they all like and would share with each other (movies, video games, and CD's. Leo and Donnie share books, Raph and Mikey share comics and rap albums) and things they want for themselves. Leonardo wants books on Japanese culture and myths, along with poetry collections and philosophy books. Things to takes care of his bonsai trees, calligraphy sets, and ninja stuff. Donatello wants books (about EVERYTHING. But mostly science, text books, and fiction novels), gadgets and gear, things to write with, and he's been dying for a new telescope. Raphael wants movies (mostly horror and action stuff), comic books, action figures, and CD's. He likes workout stuff too, he shares a lot of his stuff with Mikey. Michelangelo wants comics, video games, CD's and most off all? Art stuff. Paints, sketchbooks, pens and markers, color pencils, all of it. What gifts do they give? It was hard (and it still can be) to get gifts for each other, for years the turtle's never had anything new. They might ask you or April to get something for them or, if they can, go in disguise to get it themselves. Leo and Raph will just ask the others what they want, Donnie already knows, but Mikey wants to surprise his brothers. He also enjoys getting them a joke gift (something stupid, like toy snakes that spring up at them or a box of colorful condems when they start dating) and a real gift. They all do pretty well, but Mikey and Don do the best. But, you might ask, what about your birthday? Two little words: Pure panic. The turtles haven't dated before and they are super afraid of screwing it up. Leo would put a lot of pressure on himself to do it perfectly, Raph would just panic on the inside but try to act cool about it, and both Donnie and Mikey would try to drop hints. I can imagine them attempting to do something big and romantic only to fail miserably! But they still end up having a good time with you...