#i just barely avoided a collision with what little turn i had already gotten

[tooies]

turns out if your car breaks down on the highway someone you've never met will pull off the road to help you. world is awesome and so full of kindness. also i seriously need to get my car checked out that was scary

[andreafmn]

Collision - Chapter 2

Word Count: 1,477

Characters: Female Reader Uley Character, Sam Uley, Allison Uley, Charlie Swan, Bella Swan, Seth Clearwater, Billy Black, Jacob Black, Emily Young, Paul Lahote, Harry and Sue Clearwater, Leah Clearwater

Story Description: (Y/N) Uley is back home after being away for four years. Her life at it’s first standstill and she is taking this time to find out who she is without school. But she never thought that coming back to the reservation would turn her whole life around. In the midst of secrets and mystery, a man crashes into (Y/N)’s and her life will never be the same.

*DISCLAIMER* I do not own in any way Twilight, all credits of the pre-established characters, script, and storyline belong to Stephanie Meyer and Summit Entertainment. The only thing I own is Uley Reader insert, any upcoming characters, and her storyline, as well as her effects in the others’ story line.

Chapter: 2/?

A/N: There’s no Cullen’s in the first chapter, we’ll see them soon though. Also, Esme is in the story but her and Carlisle are not together romantically. If you enjoy my writing I’ll also be posting them in AO3 and Wattpad along with other stories (I also hope to start taking requests if ya’ll want) Hope you enjoy and all constructive criticism is encouraged.

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Chapter 2

The next day she awoke at half past ten. She looked at her bedside clock flustered, knowing she had wasted almost all morning. She could smell breakfast already prepared and her mother downstairs doing some light cleaning.

She hurried into the bathroom and took a small time to finish her morning routine, flying down the stairs. Allison laughed as she noticed her daughter stumbling with hurry down the stairs, clearly heading to the door.

“Eat some breakfast before you go, darling!” Allison shouted as she swept the floor of the dining room.

“I’ll just get some on the way,” (Y/N) said as she put her jacket on, seeing in the distance dark clouds adorning the sky.

“I made you a sandwich so you can take it with you and a travel mug filled with coffee.”

“Thanks, mom. You’re the best,” (Y/N) kissed her mother’s cheek and grabbed the food from her hands.

“And be careful on the streets, the tires haven’t been changed on the truck and the roads are supposed to be very slippery today.” Allison called out to the girl who was almost completely out of the door.

(Y/N) barely heard her mother’s warning as she jogged up to the truck parked on the driveway. There was a sandwich hanging from her mouth as she backed up and sped to the main road. It was quite a long ride to Port Angeles, and she wanted to be back before dark. She spent the ninety-minute drive listening to background music and noticing how the sky changed from blue to dark grey to a lighter grey as she passed and left Forks. She rarely visited the neighboring town, listening to the stories by the elders gave her enough reason not to. Unlike most of her friends and even her own brother, she believed the string of words that they sewed. There were so many things that were unexplained in the universe that it would be ignorant of her to not believe that the supernatural could exist. Although, the past four years she had started to disregard the tales as made up stories, not being able to prove that they were veracious.

Once she arrived, she parked in front of an antique store and started perusing through the various stores in the strip mall. Before she knew it, five hours had passed. Her feet were sore from walking back and forth, her arms were read from all the bags she had carried, and her head was hurting from a lack of food. It was already five in the afternoon and (Y/N) was ready to go home. She got back into the truck and started her drive back home. An hour into the drive the sky darkened more than it should’ve, and heavy rain cascaded from the clouds. Her vision was impaired from the thick droplets and her heart was beating hard, scared of what could jump out in the darkness.

(Y/N)’s worries were confirmed when a deer jumped onto the street and had her swerve the truck. The car spun for some seconds and slid off the road, crashing into a tree. The girl’s head flew forward on impact and connected with the steering wheel in front of her. Her vision blurred and her headache grew exponentially. She could hear her name being called from far away but couldn’t distinguish whose it was. As it came closer, she could finally make out the frame of the sheriff, Charlie Swan. He was speaking to her, but no words registered in her head.

Charlie moved closer to the truck and tried to open the door, but it wouldn’t budge. The sheriff reached into the open window and carefully tried to retrieve the wounded girl. She wasn’t in the right mind and in this rain an ambulance would take too long to get here. He laid (Y/N)’s head on his shoulder as she mumbled incoherent words, then reaching his arms under hers to pull her softly. He was careful not to scrape her body too much against the broken window, laying down his jacket first to cover most of it. Charlie tried his best to see amid the harsh rain, praying to whatever being was controlling the weather to stop. The blood that was gushing from (Y/N)’s forehead had washed off as soon as her head had exited the car but it didn’t stop flowing. After what felt like hours, the sheriff had the teenage girl in his arms and carried her to his cruiser. Turning his emergency lights on he sped as carefully as possible to the hospital.

He felt the ride eternal as he heard the hurt girl in the back of the car moaning in pain and noticing the shirt he’d wrapped around her forehead was soaking up too much blood. As he neared the bright lights of the hospital, he slowed the speed down as to not slam on his brakes and cause more damage to (Y/N). He carefully grabbed her limp body and entered the hospital. It seemed like the emergency room had a slow night, but he only brought trouble. 

“I need some help here!” Charlie called out, worry laced in his voice. 

“Sheriff Swan, what happened?” A nurse asked as she accompanied the team wheeling a gurney for the unconscious being in the officer’s arms. 

“This is (Y/N) Uley. She hit her head in a car accident, I assume her car swerved as she avoided an animal in the street. She’s been unconscious since I got her in my car. When I found her she was barely coherent.” 

“Okay, why don’t you wait for us in the waiting room. We’ll let you know as soon as we have some news.” The nurse smiled. 

All Charlie could do was nod and sit down for a second, later pulling out his phone to dial Allison Uley’s number. 

“Sheriff, to what do I owe this pleasure,” Allison chimed. 

“It’s not good news, Allison. (Y/N) has been in a car accident.” Charlie could feel the panicked energy coming from the other side of the phone. Close to this time last year he had gotten news that his own daughter was hurt through a phone call. “Now, Allison, I know you want to speed off to the hospital but I would advise you not to. The roads are really bad over here and we can’t have you both admitted.” 

“But I can’t leave her alone,” she sobbed. “I need to be there for my baby.” 

“I know, but she won’t be alone. I’m gonna stay here until she’s good to go and I’ll take her back to your house. Now don’t you worry, you know she’s a strong one.” 

“I know,” Allison sighed an air of defeat. “Alright, just please keep me updated on everything. Doesn’t matter how late.” 

“Will do. I’ll have my buddy pick up the truck and leave it at Billy’s.” 

“Thank you, Charlie, so much.” 

“No problem, Allison. Try to get some shuteye, it looks to be a long night.”

And a long night it was.  

Thankfully, (Y/N)’s injuries were minor and she would be able to leave as soon as she woke up. Charlie spent all night in the hospital, calling a friend to drive (Y/N)’s truck so that Jacob could see if it was worthy of repair and leaving a message for his daughter that he would not be coming home that night. The nurses were nice enough to bring the officer a blanket and some coffee as it seemed he wasn’t going to leave and come back the next morning, keeping his promise to Allison that he’d stay beside her daughter. 

Once a room was given to (Y/N), Charlie managed to catch up on a little bit of sleep on the armchair next to her bed. The girl slept even through the morning light that slipped through the window that woke the sheriff up. He updated Allison on the persistent status of her daughter. Once again, the nurses showing kindness by bringing him a cup of coffee as he waited for (Y/N)’s eyes to open.

(Y/N) was engulfed in darkness during what felt like a second. She tried fluttering her eyes open but was met with a painfully bright light and a pulsating headache that rang through her body. Her eyes closed once again to try to minimize the discomfort, to much avail. She barely remembered what event befell her to end up in this situation, but she could hear she was not alone.

“Are the lights bothering you, (Y/N)?” Sheriff Swan spoke, noticing the girl had awoken. She promptly nodded and he stood up to turn off the lights as the room door opened. “All right, they’re off now. Hello, doctor.”

She tried opening her eyes again and was met with the most radiant eye color she had ever seen.

Golden.

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[wevegottogetaway]

Crashing into you

Sooo, I have no idea where this concept came from but here is you and Harry surviving a plane crash only to find yourselves stranded on an island (featuring best friends to lovers and who knows what else). There is more to come after this part, I’m just really busy with uni at the moment, so smaller pieces at the time it is. Please leave some feedback if you have any, or tell me what you would like to see happen in future parts! Happy reading xx

It wasn’t supposed to happened.

None of it was. Not the birds. Not the fire. Not the nose-dive.

And you weren’t supposed to be there either. Weren’t supposed to find yourselves floating 35,000 feet over endless stretches of sea when it happened. Not you and certainly not Harry whose presence was only the result of his boundless generosity.

It was a last minute trip on your part, an emergency response to the calling of a friend back in London; they’d gotten hospitalized and you were their emergency contact, pretty simple maths. Your assistance was irremissible and since it was cutting your time short with Harry, he didn’t hesitate before offering both his support and an express flight aboard some kind of private jet. None of you knew it at the time, but that decision turned out to be a twisted expression of serendipity, a very sick jock that the universe wasn’t supposed to make.

Except it did happened and there was no escaping the cataclysm that ensued.

                                                        ***

The cabin of the small plane is plunged in peaceful silence, the deep whir of its engines and the soft snores wafting through Harry’s nose the only white noises filling the space. There is no fussing toddler, no businessman talking loudly on the phone, no arguing couple; just you and Harry, one flight attendant and two pilots. Everything around you looks pristine and expensive, from the champagne you were offered but declined at the beginning of the flight, to the refined suede upholstery covering all the seats.

You’re not used to the luxury, and frankly, neither is Harry.

He doesn’t use private planes very often, doesn’t think it makes much sense to waste all that toxic kerosene when commercial flights do the job perfectly, and doesn't like how they make him feel like the diva some people mistakenly make him out to be. But for you he’d bend the rules. For you he’d bend over and backwards to assuage any of your pains and worries. You had been so on edge when you told him about your friend, so desperate to be there for them,  he had just wanted to be there for you in turn.

That’s why the two of you hopped in this small aircraft nearly four hours ago, with his hand drawing comforting shapes on your back. Now, you find yourself absentmindedly nipping at your nails, overthinking ever possible scenario that could unfold once you land and find your friend. In deep conversation with your conscience, you’ve been looking out the small window to your right, as if any of the two blue immensities painting the horizon knew all the secrets that you needed. They don’t; if anything, they bring their own mysteries to an already confusing world.

The atmosphere inside the plane is so inert, it feels like someone pressed the pause button. The flight attendant has remained quietly by her station, waiting for any signal that would indicate her presence required, and the pilots haven’t piped a word since their polite ‘have a lovely flight,’ when you first boarded the plane. The little company wouldn’t bother you so much, if Harry hadn’t fallen asleep thirty minutes in, leaving you to your own devices. You figure you can’t be too grumpy about it though, he did just rent a plane for your sake after all. Plus, his unconscious state has allowed you to ogle his sleepy figure for hours without being noticed, a treat you’re rarely privy to on top of being a nice distraction from your current troublesome thoughts.

Three years. Three years you’ve been a very dedicated friend to him and he to you. Three years of holding each other’s hand through any hardships and laughing till you’re blue in the face; three years of always supporting each other in your craziest undertakings and inspiring each other to be the best version of yourselves. You two are an indestructible pair and your friendship is the purest, most sacred thing you were given in this world.

Except, it’s also been three years of mind-boggling and consuming feelings that can’t be quelled and have no limits. Three years of secret glances when he’s too focused on something else to notice. Three years of talking yourself down from those feeling, but to no avail; they keep coming back full force and with a vengeance. It quickly became a full time job really, an art you mastered over time. At first because he was happily in a relationship, so there was no speculating whether your affections could be returned. Then once that ended, you were already so wired to ignore the skip of your heartbeats when he looks at you tenderly, or the soft and sometimes borderline ambiguous cuddles he gives you when he’s had one too many Margaritas; that the fantasy of him loving you the way you do was just unfathomable, you never even considered speaking up about it.

But these were your three years, not his.

You let out a deep sigh, as your musings once again circle back to your unrequited love. You wish you had more control over them, could limit them to sleepy fabulation sweetening your mind right before you surrender to unconsciousness. But alas, them come and go as they please, slip into your mind at any inopportune time, often betraying you by pigmenting your cheeks in cerise-colored bashfulness. Even now, in the stillness of the pressurized cabin, as your eyes settle back on his slouched form in the seat opposite yours, your skin can’t help but heat up in fondness.

Before you can get too lost in the soft eyelashes caressing his cheekbones, or the cupid bow shaping his pink supple lips, or the way a few of his mischievous curls are dandling in front of his face, slightly fluttering at each soft puff coming out of his mouth…yeah, before you get too lost in all that, you reach for the small bottle of water sitting on a small table.

You barely have the cap unscrewed before a massive tremor shakes the whole aircraft, spilling half of the bottle’s content on your lap. Your hand immediately white knuckles the armrest of your seat, your eyes widening in fear and frantically scoping the cabin for the flight attendant or anyone that could tell you what the hell is going on. Then the panic pumping through your veins prompts you to check on Harry and wake him back to alertness, but to your relief, he’s already groggily shaking the slumber from his limbs with a deep frown on his face. "Wha’s goin’ on?"

If dread wasn’t firing each of your nerve-endings, you’d find his grumpy look and slurred speech quite adorable, but the sight of the frazzled-looking stewardess coming towards you is sending a different kind of chills down your spine. These people are trained to maintain composure in all circumstances, so her trepidation can only mean one of two things: she’s either very new at her job or there is clearly a cause for concern.

"You two need to fasten your seat belts immediately," she speaks hurriedly.

"Sophia, what’s going on?" Harry reiterates his question with more alarm.

"We’ve collided with a flock of birds. We don’t know the extent of the damage yet, so I need you two to buckle in."

You and Harry share a worried look then, still confused about the situation. The plane has regain some semblance of stability, it seems, but Sophia’s anxious behavior doesn’t sooth your nerves one bit. She makes a quick exit back toward the cockpit, probably to discuss the ordeal further with the pilots. You gulp your uneasiness away, fidgeting on your seat as your hands blindly feel around for the safety belt, but the image greeting your eyes as they veer back to the window has your heart dropping to your knees.

Lambent orange and red flaring from the engines and lapping at the wing. Black smoke leaving an angry trail behind the plane and fogging up the windows.

"Harry," you barely manage to breath his name out and the urgency of your tone has him straighten up in his seat. "Harry the wing is on fire." You twist your head back towards him only to find him jumping from his seat to plop down next to you. The absolute gleam of terror swimming in your eyes makes his blood turn cold, so he quickly takes your hand in both of his before glancing at the carnage taking place outside. He gulps in apprehension before buckling his seatbelt and checking that yours is clasped in as well.

"Fuck, okay, it’s okay, love. Everything’s gonna be okay." It’s more prayers than reassurances tumbling out of his mouth, squeezing at your hand in plea, and a couple seconds after his utterance the tremors resume with greater intensity. You both can feel the aircraft slanting downward as everything around you start shaking as though you were caught in an earthquake. Except, you couldn’t be further from earth at the moment, and the shaking is not going to just pass after a while.

Objects start falling and rolling down all over, the tray of complimentary drinks tumbling down from the back of the plane to crash at the front. You and Harry are wrapped up in a protective embrace, tucking your faces in each others neck to avoid impact and because you’re both too afraid to look at the unfurling chaos. You can feel your seatbelt straining against your lower belly in a dire attempt to keep you in one place, but as the plane starts plummeting for good, top becomes bottom, right becomes left, and your bodies become masses thrown around at the hands of gravity just like everything else.

The last thing you hear before everything goes south is a defeated ‘brace for impact’ coming from the small intercom of the cabin. You feel the brutal shock of the plane hitting smooth surface if it weren’t for the speed of the collision, and then it’s just water.

Water everywhere. Water enveloping your body in a frigid clutch, water weighing you down as it imbibes every fiber of your clothes, water invading your retinas and blurring your vision. Water seeping through your mouth, pouring into your lungs when you feel the skin at your shin torn by sharp metal.

You vaguely hear your name being shouted, but the shortage of oxygen in your system makes you feel delirious. At this point you barely have enough energy to fight unconsciousness, much less the threat of your crumbling surroundings. That’s how you don’t feel the hand grasping at your shoulder and hosting you up on a floating piece of broken wing. Harry is holding onto it for dear life as well, muttering more prayers and encouraging words for you to please stay with him but soon you are both overthrown by your unconscious, slowly drifting away on the makeshift buoy.

                                                        ***

When Harry regains consciousness, the first things he feels is hard grounds underneath him. His ears are ringing, his throat is sore and his mouth feels dry, not to mention the splitting headache jackhammering at his skull. Groaning and frowning at the pain, that’s when he realizes that the ground against the skin of his cheek isn’t completely hard, but rather granular at the touch. Slowly, he brings his hands higher near his face and flattens them to hoist himself up. Once on his knees, he finally blinks his eyes opened, squinting at the blinding luminosity of the sun. And then it’s just sand.

Sand everywhere. Sand stretching miles into the distance. Sand itching at the joints of his fingers, sand creeping inside his shoes and clothes, sand weaving through his hair. Sand obnoxiously lingering on his lips, and as he tries to brush it off with the back of his hand, he has to spit some out of his mouth after realizing that said hand is also covered in it.

How did he find himself stranded on a freaking island? How did this happen? How could he be one minute safely by your sides, helping you through a tough situation, and then the next, thrown into the deep end - quite literally - scrambling for his life because some dumb birds decided to crash in the engine of the plane? Why him, why-

It’s a jolt to his brain then, an electric shock firing his body up to a standing position when the thought of you clashes in his mind. His breathing picks up considerably as he recalls the last time he saw you, passed out on the broken part of the wrecked airplane. He’d passed out soon after you as well, but what had happened since then? Had you find your way on this desolate beach as well? Or had your unconscious body slipped back into the water and sank all the way to the ocean floor until you reached that hidden museum of all the things and beings that fell victim to the sea?

Harry shudders at the thought. No. He’s not loosing you, now or ever, he convinces himself as he frantically jogs along the beach. Not when he never got his chance. His heart is lodged in his throat and threatening to escape at every passing second. Not when he still has unfinished, or rather, un-commenced business with you. Sweat drips down his face in searing droplet, a faint sting above his left eye barely registering in his frantic mind. Not before you know his last secret. His breathing is starting to get scarce until finally, finally his blurry eyes fall upon a figure stretched out on the sand, waves still licking at their feet. His job turns into a sprint as he begs for them to be you and for you to still be alive, desperate cries of your name echoing in the wilderness. "Please be okay, please be okay, fuck I need y-"

His relief is short lived once he takes in your passed out form, the blueish hue of your lips and the very lack of movement of your chest, twisting his guts in a painful knot. Harry abruptly falls to his knees next to you and brings his ear to your body hoping for any indication that you are still breathing. He fights the onslaught of hyperventilation that threatens to take over his body when he finds none and quickly checks your pulse at your carotid. His eyes pinch in brief respite: it’s faint but it’s there.

His brain almost goes into overdrive as he tries to recall everything he knows about CPR before his hands instinctively start pressing at your chest as though they already know what to do. It gives him time to absorb all the composure he can muster and think more clearly. He’s got to keep your heart going, that much he knows, and if you’re not breathing, it’s probably because you’ve got water in your lungs. Upon the realization he briefly stops the cardiac massage to pinch your nose and blow as much air as he can into your mouth.

For the next couple of minutes he does just that, alternating between insufflating oxygen through your mouth and pressing at your heart. His own breaks every time he pulls away from your lips and they still don’t pink back up to their usual lovely cherry color. Tears roll down his face in a constant flow, forcing him to wipe his face against the material of his shirt at his shoulder; there is no way in hell he is stopping his action for even a fraction of a second. He’ll die trying to save you before you die on him, and then he’d kick you ass from heaven down to hell for even thinking of leaving him behind.

All of a sudden you start coughing wet sounds from your throat, your body jolting from its spot on the sand. Harry’s never been so happy to hear someone choke (on water, that is) and as you turn your body sideways to let out all the excess of water clogging your chest, he closes his eyes and tilts his head back towards the sky in gratitude. "Thank you, thank you, thank you," he whispers out in relief, before regaining his breathing and focusing back on you. He draws soothing circle against your back as you cough the last bit of water out of your mouth, pushing your hair out of your face to give you space to breath. Lord knows you need it.

"It’s okay, pet. You’re okay, you’re alive. Fuck you’re alive, I can’t- please don’t ever do that to me ever again, you hear me?" He rambles at you as he cups your face with two trembling hands. He is in shamble in front of you, the high he was caught up in, in his order to save you finally dissolving and leaving only but shock and despair in its aftermath. You’d come this close to die in his arms, you both realize. This close from your life being highjacked from his in the middle of nowhere and the thought turns your blood even colder than it already is.

"‘kay, m’okay, Harry. We’re both okay," you reassure him too, and just hearing the sound of your hoarse voice is enough to calm him some. He brings you in a bear hug, tucking your face underneath his chin and draping is other arm over your back. You don’t hesitate before you return his embrace by wrapping your arms around his waist.

For a hot minute you remain intertwined in silence as you breath each other in and revel in the fact that you both survived the crash. Once your heartbeats have lowered down to healthier levels, you slightly part from each other and your eyes glisten as you lock them with his. "You saved my life, Harry," you whisper out to him with a tender caress at his cheeks, trying to ignore the small cut at his brow bone. "I just- thank you, thank you so much."

He answers with a small shake of his head, "don’t thank me, pet. I can’t imagine what I woulda done if y- if I couldn’t-" he struggles to let the words out and his face turns into a grimace at their implication. "M’just so relieved you’re alive, I’m the one thankful for that if anythin’," he ends up saying against the palm of your hand before leaving a small peck there.

As you move to stand up, you feel a sharp sting at your shin as soon as you apply pressure on your right leg. Looking down, you spot a gash at the skin, it’s not too profound that you won’t be able to walk, but it definitely needs tending to if you don’t want it to get infected. You let out a quiet ‘fuck’ in frustration before catching the look of concern of Harry’s face. "It’s fine," you brush it off, "just gonna need to clean it out. That cut on your face as well," you motion at his injury and he brings his hand up to feel out the cut in confusion. He hadn’t noticed the small wound, you realize. "Right, yeah," he answers after inspecting the patch of blood coating his fingers now.

Now that the shock of the situation is slowly dissipating and that reality is setting in, you both start thinking about the next course of action. You’re both alive and relatively unscathed, but now what? How do you get out form this place? Where even is this place? And how do you go home? It becomes increasingly obvious that you don’t have much resources and that you need some sort of plan if you want to survive.

"What about Sophia and the pilots? Do you know what happened to them?" you suddenly remember the rest of the crew. Perhaps they know more about how to proceed in such a situation. They might even know where you’re located, how far you are from home and what’s the procedure to ensure everyone’s survival and rescue.

"I dunno, love. Didn’t see them when we were in the water, I think they might have been on the other side of the plane," the somber look on his face betrays his pessimism as to their fate. They would be on the beach as well if they had survived. As the same reasoning courses through your mind, you look down in sadness at the vicious image of them struggling in the water before succumbing to the fatigue. Harry notices your pained expression and brings you back against his frame to leave a small comforting kiss at your hairline.

"Alright, it’s gonna be fine," you declare in pretend confidence. "People will start looking for us, right?" you try to make light of the conversation. "Hell, there’s probably going to be a whole unit created to find you as soon as we don’t show up in London and I’m sure they’ll find us fast." Hope is emulating in your belly where water had previously drown your vigor. You’re probably right; surely, if the one and only Harry Styles disappears in the middle of a plane crash, the response will be worthy of the man.  

He doesn’t seem to quite share the sentiment however, if the small frown and nervous nipping at his lips suggest anything. "Love, I- Jeff’s the only one who knows we were going back to England. He might not notice right away." It’s his own fear talking, the idea that it might take more than a day for people to notice their unsettling absence.

On a normal schedule, him and Jeff would be in constant contact, sharing details for the next day’s agenda, planning tours, interviews, promotions and pitching in ideas for new projects, but be that as it may, Harry was currently on vacation. He’d taken a couple weeks off to relieve the pressure from the last busy months and catch up on some much needed time with you, and Jeff knew that meant a little less consistent contact for this break to be as rejuvenating as expected. Would he think much of the absence of texts from his friend? At some point definitely, but how long would it take for concern to replace dismissal?

Talk about rejuvenation.

"What about the plane company?" you ask, not ready to see your hopes dwindle down.

He seems surprised at the thought for a second before the anxious lines on his face smooth out some, iridescent eyes locking with your own in renewed faith. "You’re right, Jeff was the one who made the booking, so the company will have to contact him once they know about the crash." You let your lips quirk into a soft smile at his optimism before he adds, "we just have to survive until then."

"Right," you dial back on the heart-talking and dares your brain to recall any tips about survival behavior you’ve ever heard. "So we need find water asap and to make a fire before the night falls." You know water should be your priority, you have three days before you die of dehydration, maybe even less under this blazing sun. And despite behind surrounded by water, you know that the sea can’t help you with that. It’s quite ironic in a sense, you find yourself trapped by water, yet the biggest threat to you in that instance is the lack of water consumption. As for the fire, you also know temperature can drop very low at night in places like this and since you don’t have anything to bundle yourselves in, hypothermia is your second biggest threat.

Harry nods in approval before looking around. The beach is enclosed between the sea and endless stretch of luxuriant green tropical jungle. "Come on then, we should try and see if anything from the plane made it out on the beach. I think I saw some pieces earlier, maybe we’ll find something to store water." You think it’s a brilliant idea since you will need some kind of container should you be successful in your quest for water. And with that, you both start walking back towards the edge of the shore, Harry’s hand holding tightly to your shoulder keeping you close to him.

➪ Masterlist

[alittlewhump]

Unbidden - Act 3, chapter 8

Masterlist | Previous | Next

Content warnings: minor body horror

As directed, Morgan took his time. It gave him the opportunity to start getting used to controlling the golem. Blaise watched quietly as he ran through some exercises with both arms, working out the mental shortcuts he would need to get used to. Large motions involving the shoulder were the hardest to manage, having to coordinate the golem with the organic. He also had to concentrate harder than he'd expected on the elbow. There was a greater range of motion at his disposal now, but taking advantage of it made him feel nauseated. Bodies weren't meant to bend in certain ways, and it brought his mind back to a place he very much did not want it to be in. Eventually he settled on a basic system of mentally narrating his movements in a way that could easily be accompanied by the necessary push of will to command the golem. It could always be refined later.

The finer motions seemed to be working well, though the lack of tactile feedback made it harder to tell if they would work equally well if he wasn't watching so closely. He fished a length of leather cord out of the bottom of his potions bag to test. His injury had made it painful to grasp anything small and to raise his arm above shoulder height for any length of time, both of which were required to tie his hair back. He didn't often wear it that way, but it was useful to have it out of the way every now and again. It took several attempts, a great deal of caution after the first accidental pull, and some intense concentration, but at the end of it his efforts bore fruit in the form of a lopsided bow. He gave a small hum of satisfaction, pleased with the progress, and let the arm fall back into his lap to rest.

"That looked hard." Blaise was still watching him, idly picking a leaf into tiny pieces. There was a growing pile of shredded greenery in front of her.

"I can't really feel it," Morgan said. "I tried earlier, but it was... I got something wrong with the command. It didn't focus correctly."

"Can I help?"

"I don't know how you would."

"I don't know," Blaise echoed. "Maybe I can do something to help you focus." She reached forward, then paused. "If it's all right." At his bemused nod, she gently took his left hand and turned it palm up. "Close your eyes," she suggested. He did. "All right, now I'll do some shapes. And you can focus on guessing what they are, maybe."

It was an interesting approach. Morgan started slowly, more prepared for the sensations this time. The power draw was less uncomfortable now that he knew to expect it. It was something almost like a pinch, but still a marked improvement over the type of pain it had been before. This, he could acclimatize to. He catalogued the gently persistent throbbing around the connections, reconciled it with the beating of his heart, categorized it as ignorable and tried to let it fade away into the background. It worked reasonably well, which was a pleasant surprise.

Next he eased his focus over to the intermittent touch moving down the inner forearm to the palm, then going back up. There was so much information in each small interaction that he'd always taken for granted - pressure, temperature, texture. The golem helpfully provided all of that information with force, an insistence that almost felt like alarm. Morgan asked it to quiet down, please, and it slowly ebbed into something that didn't set him on edge quite so badly. It would be ideal if he could figure out how to make it trigger only when touched, instead of having to give it commands to turn on or off. He toyed with that for a little while, getting used to the way it lit up his awareness.

"Anything yet?"

Morgan's eyes opened in surprise, which quickly gave way to embarrassment. He'd all but forgotten Blaise was even there, lost in the intensity of his focus. "Ah. Yes. It's helping a great deal. Thank you."

Blaise looked pleased. "Good. You're so quiet, I wasn't sure. I know you don't like touching, I was - what? Don't look so surprised, I'm not completely oblivious, you know."

"No. You're very observant. I appreciate it," he said quietly. It was something he'd never really realized until just now. She paid attention to him. Enough to notice the way he avoided physical contact. And she respected that unspoken boundary without questioning it, even though that meant she had to make a conscious effort to treat him differently. It was... nice, to be accommodated. Of course, it was probably nothing out of the ordinary for Blaise, just a natural extension of the kindness Morgan had identified in her long ago. Still, he let himself enjoy the revelation briefly before turning his attention back to the golem.

It was so tempting to do everything at once. There was a lot to modify, to adjust, to improve, to learn. But now that he'd been pulled out of his reverie of exploration once, it was easier to remember that he was not at his leisure. And Blaise had been so patient, always so patient with him. Because she knew he needed it, because she cared about him. Morgan reluctantly subdued the happiness bubbling in his chest and tried to focus on the task at hand, on what still needed immediate work. For now, the foundations of motion and feedback were in place. He allowed himself a little more fine tuning and decided that he could stand to leave it inert when he needed to use his magic elsewhere. He'd already gotten used to not using the limb, so it wouldn't be too much different.

"All right," he said eventually. "I'm done. For now. Thank you for your help. We can pick up where we left off yesterday, by the fountains." Blaise released his arm and stood in a fluid motion, stretching before she reached out a hand to help him up. Morgan took it, closing his eyes briefly against the wave of dizziness that washed over him as he stood. He blinked to clear the lingering reds and blues from his vision. When they faded, Blaise was making a displeased face.

"Doesn't look like you're ready."

"No, I'm fine," he assured her. The dizzy spell had passed, as they always did. She did not look reassured.

"Don't tell me you did all this on an empty stomach, Morgan. I've barely seen you eat since-"

"I ate before I started." A few hours before, in case the potions disagreed with him. And not very much, because eating was still unpleasant and he'd wanted to be able to focus. But he didn't want to talk about that, so he dug a piece of flatbread out of his bag and took a small bite. It seemed to pacify her.

Morgan chewed slowly, making sure his feet were firmly planted before he raised a golem from the earth outside the building. It was no different than it had ever been. Two skeletons followed. No noticeable problems with capacity, then, and with the arm inactive it felt like he was maybe even recovering his energy very slightly faster than usual. He allowed himself another small, satisfied smile as he stepped out to join the constructs.

"Hey!" Telash jogged towards Blaise and Morgan as they returned from the jungle. "There you are. I need you to show me what you taught Phaedra." Morgan glanced at Blaise, who shrugged. Telash seemed to be talking to him, anyway. "She won't tell me how she does it."

"I don't know what you're talking about. I haven't taught her anything. Our magic isn't the same."

"She's been showing off all day. Look." He brandished a bottle towards them. It was luminous, blue-white and flickering.

"Oh," Morgan said, reaching out. Telash jerked the bottle away.

"Show me. I want to do this with fire. There's got to be a trick to it, I'm just breaking the bottles when I try on my own."

"I... can tell you what I told her the last time we spoke, but I don't think-"

"Give us half an hour to unwind first, you insufferable prick. Some of us have actually been doing work all day." Blaise brushed past him, making him stumble half a step back to avoid a collision. He rallied quickly, springing into step beside her.

"I can help you unwind," he suggested with a leer and a wiggle of his eyebrows.

"I guess that would still leave me with twenty-eight minutes to relax properly," she replied. Telash made a choked sound of indignation.

"I'll have you know my skill as a lover is legendary!"

"That's funny. You don't hear a lot of legends about disappointment."

"You'd be singing a very different tune if you just-"

"Maybe that's your problem. If you're doing it right, your partner shouldn't have the breath to spare for singing."

"Oh, I could leave you breathless."

"With laughter, maybe."

Morgan split off in search of Phaedra. Blaise and Telash could enjoy their banter, or whatever it was they were doing. The words they were exchanging sounded rude, but they seemed to enjoy butting heads. It was just another thing he'd resigned himself to never understanding.

The search didn't take long. Phaedra was leaving Alkor's hut, struggling with a large basket laden with empty bottles of various shapes and sizes. She gave her head a little toss when she noticed Morgan, lifting her chin. "Little help here?"

He raised a golem without a second thought, its arms extended to accept the weight of the basket. Phaedra gave a grunt of effort as she shifted it over, then dusted off her hands. "Thanks. That's heavier than it looks. Has Telash found you yet?"

"Yes."

"He's persistent, you have to give him that. I'll show you what I figured out, but only if you promise not to tell him how to do it."

Morgan hesitated. He was so curious it almost felt like a physical itch, but at the same time he didn't want to antagonize the volatile fire mage. "I already agreed to repeat our earlier conversation," he said cautiously.

"Why did you do that?"

"He... asked." It had been more of a demand, really, but a request was a request.

"Hm. He's an ass, but he isn't stupid. Hell, he might be able to figure it out faster than me. Don't want that." She eyed Morgan appraisingly. The weight of her gaze was uncomfortable.

"Why do you want to keep this to yourself?"

Phaedra flashed a quick smile before turning to walk down toward the fire pit. "I don't, not really. That's why I've got all these bottles. I was planning to see if I can teach the others tonight."

Morgan followed with a confused frown. "Then why are you keeping it from Telash specifically?"

"For fun," came the breezy answer. "It's so easy to rile him up. Set those down on that bench?" The golem lowered the basket obediently. Phaedra watched it, her head slightly tilted. "Movement still eludes me. I tried with some old gauntlets from Hratli but I didn't get so much as a twitch in the fingers."

"Were you able to keep it contained?"

"Yes, eventually. It turned out to be better inside an insulating material. Leather gauntlets, glass bottles. It really wanted to spill out of the gauntlets, that's why I tried the bottles in the first place."

"Telash showed me a bottle. How long does it last, once it's contained?"

"That depends. Little ones, maybe five minutes. Big ones, about half an hour."

"Can you feed it to make it last longer? Do you need to unseal the container first? Could I-" he bit off the last question, remembering that she'd already laid out a condition he couldn't meet. And he was being too eager, rushing through his questions like a child instead of waiting for answers.

"Haven't tried, and don't know. What an interesting idea." Phaedra slipped a hand into the pockets of her robes and produced a glass vial about the size of her fist. It flickered softly. She popped the cork and slid the palm of her hand over the mouth of the bottle in one smooth motion. Half closing her eyes, her eyebrows twitched down in a brief frown of concentration. The light in the bottle grew brighter. Phaedra replaced the cork, holding the bottle up in front of her face with a smile.

"Well, there's one question answered. I think I'll wait on the other one. I want to give it some thought before I try it. I've already broken a lot of bottles. Here, catch."

She lobbed the bottle towards Morgan in a soft underhand throw. He fumbled it badly, nearly dropping it first in surprise and then again because that surprise delayed the response of his golem arm. Phaedra snickered behind her hand as he recovered. He ignored that, holding the bottle up with both hands to peer at its contents.

It was beautiful. Blue-white lightning crackled around the inside of the bottle, branching and converging in an enthralling display. It was almost like a living thing curling over and around itself. His skin tingled where it was touching the glass, and the golem arm thrummed a warning at the unfamiliar magic. Morgan could have examined it for a very long time, but he forced his gaze back over to Phaedra.

"This is amazing," he said earnestly.

"Useful, too," she replied. "It should stay bright even in the rain, and if I can get more power to fit in the same space it could have some real potential as a weapon. I just have to figure out how. Don't suppose you have any insights on that?"

"In some cases I'm limited by what the carrier will bear," Morgan offered, his eyes drawn back to the bottle as he turned it over in his hands. "Some materials take magic better than others."

"Oh, I was focused so hard on getting it to stay somewhere, I didn't even think... hmm, yeah, that's worth trying. I'll be right back." Phaedra picked up a few small bottles from the basket and set off purposefully toward the docks.

Morgan sat down on the bench, bringing his golem over to sit beside him. He touched the bottle to it experimentally. It did not react with a warning like the arm had done. There were plenty of potential reasons for that, though. Possibilities drifted across his mind as he watched the lightning circle around itself inside its glass prison. He slipped into something like a light meditation, the rest of the world falling away as he admired its beauty.

The sound of breaking glass brought Morgan back to full awareness with a start. His golem informed him a second later that it was under attack and had sustained some damage. A bottle had shattered across its broad back, sending sparks crawling over its surface. They lingered at the point of impact where the earth had been dampened.

"Well, that's promising," Phaedra said. Morgan turned to see her hefting another bottle. "Water's heavy, but it definitely holds more. I like where this is going. You can keep that, and don't worry about Telash. He'll figure out how to get what he wants one way or another."

Morgan wasn't sure what to make of that comment at all, so he thanked Phaedra and took his golem to the hut he'd been staying in. He watched the bottled lightning a little more. When it started to fade, he held it up to the golem and suggested it take. It accepted the bottle gently into its mass. There was a muffled crunch, followed by another warning that the golem had been damaged. That was slightly disappointing, but not wholly unexpected. It had just been an idea. It would have opened up enormous opportunities, but asking a construct to incorporate two different types of magic without the stabilizing element of an enchantment was obviously too much. Morgan set the golem down into the earth and relaxed into meditation, turning his attention back to his left arm instead.

[walker-journal]

Blood on the Beach (Adam+ Dave)

Characters: David Herring (Selkie- Immo),  Adam Walker (Hunter - Tapir)

Summary: Adam encounters a hongrey seal. Dave is fighting for keeps but Adam disobeys protocol. 

Content Warning: Head Trauma, Vomit

The spellcaster’s blood was still thick and heavy in his mouth, but no matter how rich a delicacy it was, there was an even better prize on the table. Where before Dave had barely had the tiniest threads of self control, strained to the edge after so many days of resisting a hunger he still refused to seek help for, with the smell of selkie in the air, all bets were off. His focus was pinpoint thin, as he cut through the water, following the scent without realising it was so close to the docks he’d been trying to avoid for the past several days. Reaching shore, Dave strode out in soaking wet clothes that were stained in varying ages in blood.

A man in his early thirties was chilling on the shore, in shorts despite the chilly wind whipping around them as he read a well worn. Ollie George was skinny and sinewy, inclined to spending his time on the beach regardless of which skin he was wearing. As Dave approached, he sat up, squinted at Dave through the bright sunlight and smiled toothily as he waved. “Hey Dave! You look rough, have you- woah!” He yelped as Dave grabbed him to the throat, and dragged him backward. Scratching at Dave’s bloody arms, Ollie managed to get onto his feet, only to have the air knocked out of him as Dave slammed him against the seawall. Dave panted heavily, his teeth bared. But a tiny voice kept him from lunging just yet.

“Yo Dave I talked to Sebastian and…”

Adam strode down the ramp at the far edge of a nearby pier, jogging into the low tide zone toward where he’d caught sight of his noodling partner. The crunch of Adam’s shoes on the sand and shells paused as the Hunter took in Dave pressing another guy up against the cement sea wall. From the way the lean dude was struggling and Dave’s teeth were barred, Adam doubted he’d walked in on a mlm remake of the Shape of Water.

Hesitation costs lives. Adam sprinted across the remaining stretch of beach to barrel into Dave with a footballer’s full-bodied tackle.

Dave was aware of Adam in the way a horse might be aware of a gnat, some hind brain motor processing that he could smell the hunter nearby and opting not to care. A vein bulged in his forehead, pressing his forearm against Ollie’s throat as he opened his maw ever wider. Inch by treacherous inch. A lifetime of protecting selkies was slowly overridden with a hunger Dave did not know how to explain.

The hair was knocked out of him as Adam sent them both careening into the sand and rocky dirt. Ollie slumped against the seawall, clutching at his chest as he gasped for air. Dave swung his head round to look at him as Ollie began staggering towards the water and his escape. Normally, Dave would have kept his eye on Adam, the skilled youthful hunter who appeared the obvious threat. Dave barely even acknowledged him other than to slam a fistful of rocks and sand into his face. He rolled onto his knees and sprinted after Ollie, towards the waterfront.

Adam drew both legs anterior to his chest and kicked himself back to his feet and with an economy of motion born from a lifetime of drills. The Hunter had already drawn two tactical knives from their sheathes before he was even fully standing.

The next step was simple, practiced countless times, and Adam was already using the momentum from the kick-up to bring his arm forward and pitch a knife straight into Dave’s back. The impalement  would stagger the Selkie for a moment, and that’d be all the Hunter would need to end this.

Yet, the knife never left Adam’s hand. A flicker of indecision turned lethal grace into a baseball newbie’s first stumping on the pitcher’s mound, blinking sand from his eyes.

Could he really do this all over again? …What about this other guy running from Dave? Was it right to jeopardize his life for the sake of sentiment? ...Dave would never do this in his right mind...But Adam had already needed to put down plenty of people who couldn’t control themselves to save other lives...He no more right to spare Dave’s life then he had the right to take it.

Adam’s head was filled with contradictions, but silver and iron blades dropped to the sand as he sprinted headlong after Dave.

Sprinting under the pier, Ollie vaulted abandoned netting rigs, ripped up tarps, and something that might later be identified as a mummified hand, yelling as he tried to gain distance from Dave through the obstacles, but Dave ran with the same precision that he swam with, a predator nearly in his element even with saliva slobbering down his mouth. Making a last ditch effort, Ollie veered right toward the see, but the tide barely lapped at the soles of his feet before Dave tackled him, slamming both bodies into the floor. Veins bulging, Dave pinned Ollie’s arms under him, grappling with himself too, and the hunger that felt as wrong as it felt demanding.

Ollie bared his own seal teeth, eyes filled with terror as he tried to snap at Dave’s face, but he was pinned down by Dave’s forearm. He begged, voice creeping up in pitch with every frantic word.

“Dave, Dave, stop stop stop! Is this about the lobsters? Because I swear I didn’t know they were Karkinoids, I would never- please, Dave c’mon it was only one finger it was a- hey help! HELP!”

Dave’s head whipped to where Ollie was looking, and he growled deep in the back of his throat. “Stay back, hunter.”

“No, Dave man this isn’t you,” insisted Adam.

Looking at Dave now, teeth barred and feral in the eyes, Adam experienced an unwelcome memory of himself at the Hunter’s Moon. A twinge of self-loathing nausea came with recollections of the intoxicating power that’d bled into him from the red moonlight. Had he seemed just like this to poor Rio and Nell, hopped up to the crazy eyeballs on some paranormal bullshit till one barely resembled the original person?

A small pain in the Hunter wondered whether the true Adam underneath was really so different the then moon-drugged killer his friends had confronted on the glass lake, but Adam pushed such thoughts aside.

All that mattered was that whatever had gotten into Dave, literally, he shouldn’t have to wake with a stomach full of fellow selkie.

“Sorry dude, gonna have to eat me to get rid me. Noodler-bro  unity.”

Adam sprinted  towards where the two paranormals were grappling and shifted his center of gravity and thrust forward his right leg while keeping the left leg slightly behind it. The Hunter hit the last stretch of sand into a rough slide tackle that’d have earned an immediate red card on any soccer field. Adam’s low hooking kick slammed into Ollie as if he were the soccer ball, directly hitting him a combination with mutant strength and accelerated leverage, wrenching him from the other Selkie’s grasp by blunt impact. The rest of Adam’s momentum carried him bodily into Dave in a unguarded full-on collision, a price to pay for getting the hostage outta there.

Dave lunged for Ollie as he was knocked out of Dave’s grip, but Ollie grunted, rolling out of Dave’s reach, clutching his side. He didn’t even get to his feet, scrabbling into the water without a second glance at his assailant or his rescuer. He slipped into the waves as easily as if it was his second skin, gone, while Adam slammed into Dave. With a growl of bared teeth, Dave salivated over the fresh meat trapped underneath him, even though he was furious at the loss of the tastier prize. “No.”

When it came to killing hunters, the easiest thing was to ambush them, pull them out of their element and into the water.  Even the weakest of them was stronger than he was on any day of the week, with the training and energy to go along with it. Take out the limbs, get the throat, don’t let them find their balance. Kill before they could land a single blow, because if a hunter wanted you dead, that was all the hope chance you had. Dave couldn’t separate his training from Adam any more than he could separate the hunger from his rationality. He took as little note of his own desire not to kill and eat Adam as he did Adam’s desire not to kill him.

With a quick shift of his weight, he trapped on of Adam’s arms under his body weight, and opened his mouth wide, but it wasn’t Adam’s throat or head that he aimed for, but the meat of Adam’s shoulder on his other side.

For a moment Adam’s whole world was just flares of veined red in a black tunnel as pain lanced though his shoulder into the bone. His body begged to pass out. Adam’s back arched as he spasmed with in agony. Dave’s teeth closed like an aspiration straight into the marrow. Warm blood broke like a wave down over Adam’s back to stain the sunbright sand. Shock threatened at the threshold of his guts like an approaching wave of cold.

The Hunter willed himself to stop spasming as training ran his mind through the next steps of getting out of this hold. If Dave wrestled him to the water and got his neck exposed, Adam’d be arguing about today’s Black Bears game with Dad in under a minute.

But although his reflexes were primed to end this now, Adam fought back against that  lifetime of muscle memory as a higher purpose than just survival gave his mind clarity through pain.

Adam let out a ragged rap of pain as he twisted in Dave’s grasp, tearing his own flesh further with the movement. He swung up his free arm toward the side of Dave’s head. While survival instincts screamed to cave Dave’s head in, enough of Adam’s reason remained to hold back.

Instead Adam used the flat of his palm to try to daze the Selkie enough to break his hold, even though ever bit of training dictated that a puncturing blow to the jugular with mutated strength would be the “correct” move.

There was a moment when Dave’s teeth met the resistance of bone, that only lasted the length of two heartbeats, where he could have bitten right through the socket and leave Adam without an arm he could ever use again. Or he could twist his head and tear away the flesh already between his teeth, so that Adam’s blood would spurt over the sand rather than in his mouth while Dave could finally, finally eat.

He did neither, frozen in an internal battle as ferocious as the external, slowly increasing the pressure on the bones between his teeth as muscle and sinew popped to get the bone out of his way. Coppery blood coated his tongue, lips and chin, tantalisingly close to what he wanted and so far from what he wanted it might have been on another planet.

Stars exploded from Dave’s temple, the force of Adam’s blow knocking his jaw loose and body off balance, giving Adam all the time to get out from under him, leaving a bloody mess in the sand and granite. It wasn’t the first time Adam had bled on a beach in front of Dave, leaving a mess in his wake as he’d bargained with a monster for his and Dave’s life. Dave blinked away the stars and sentimentality as he bounced to his feet.

Like the bloody mess of his arms and the deep gash in his face, Dave shook his head to shake off the growing headache, bared his bloodied teeth, and slammed Adam into one of the pier’s wooden pillars.

Everything flared white. The high pitched ringing in Adam’s ears made the foamy surf sound like it was screaming onto the beach.

Adam had never been trained to merely subdue or fend someone in a fight. Adam wasn’t a police officer, bouncer, or street tough who roughed up squishy humans to assert authority. Adam had been conditioned as a soldier to fight ravenous immortals, giant beasts, and eldritch things from beyond this universe. These adversaries were so preternaturally lethal anything less then the most brutally efficient kill meant you were dead a second later. Even a lowly Spawn could tear a human in half. The common forest Carach could wade straight through small arms fire and pop open your ribcage like a candy orange. The mission had always been simple: kill this thing before it kills you and everyone else.

Except today apparently, where  Adam’s mission was to put a cease and desist on roid-rage Captain Ahab here.

Shit shit shit

Pain splintered into Adam’s back as the pier barnacles sliced his back open. Dark red stained the white clusters clinging to the pier as their razor edges tore into Adam’s flesh. The Hunter felt the bitter salt sting of the barnacle cysts grinding deep into the wound as Dave slammed  him against the sodden wood pillar, probably looking for an opening to sink those teeth into Adam’s throat.

The muscle memory of training immediately pulled Adam towards the lethal solution. A glance at Dave told the mutant where he could aim blows that’d punch through ribs with enough momentum to rupture organs.

Adam let out a shuddering breath, gagging on the bloody bile and trying to fight past the concussed fog in his brain. With another rasping exhale, Adam pushed away the deadly conditioning that’d served him so well for so long. That wasn’t why he was here.

Adam reached his arms up and behind his head to grab the opposite side of the pier pillar. The tired muscles of the Hunter’s biceps knotted as Adam hoisted himself into a dead hang up through leverage and brought his knees up to slam a quick two-legged kick into Dave’s gut. Adam pulled his weight off from the kick a bit just before impact, not wanting to break anything internal.

----

Crashing backwards into the sand, Dave grimaced as his distended, overful stomach pushed acid up his throat. Days and days of overeating while still famished were taking a toll, but he couldn’t afford to let the pain breath. Dave pushed himself back onto his feet, eyes fixed on the bloodied mess of Adam’s shoulder.

He should have torn that arm right out of its socket. The thought turned his stomach too. There were a couple dozen humans in the surrounding hundred feet. All Dave would have to do would be climb on the docks. No one up there would fight back, not enough to be a problem. A stranger wouldn’t create such a strong internal struggle. Dave glanced up at the pier, then back down at Adam, hands curled into fists so tight the skin of his knuckles might split.

“Get out of here.” Dave warned through grit teeth. Or begged.

Adam’s eyes followed Dave’s gaze up past the rock seawall towards where passerby in the harbor were blissfully going about their business. Understanding passed from killer to killer.

Adam shook his head. “Don’t do it.”

The effort of the deadlift moments before has taken its toll. One arm hung limp at Adam’s side as the exacerbated injury in his shoulder sent ripples of cold numbness that made it hard to even his finger. Adam’s clothes were a mess, torn by lacerations, barnacles, and sodden with spreading scarlet from one shoulder, all across his shredded back and the blunt-impact head wound now bleeding down his neck.

But Adam lifted his remaining functional arm in a boxing guard. He squared up to face Dave, feet angled parallel with the right slightly ahead of the left, chin up, eyes forward.  

Dave blurred in out of focus in Adam’s vision, seeming to merely be a distortion of light from the crystalline blue surf and pale sand. The athlete knew more than enough about bloodloss and concussions to realize the danger he was in, but running was a non-option.

“I’m not gunna kill you man,” Adam assured, moving slowly to the side and around as he looked for an opening in Dave’s guard. “Come back with me, we’ll find an antidote. I’ll keep you from hurting anybody while we figure out to get this out of you.”

Adam’s words only barely made it through Dave’s skull as he stared at Adam, mouth open and closing like it was longing for something to chew. An antidote? Dave didn’t need one of those. The only fix to starvation was consumption. But he’d known something had been wrong for a while, since that day on the beach with Griffin, since before.

Dave forced himself to look at Adam as more than meal and enemy. His eyes didn’t quite focus on Dave’s, his guard was one handed, and his expression resolute. His stance was as sturdy as could be, but on shifting sands that were quickly getting wet with his blood, Dave didn’t see much strength in him.

Maybe the hunter would be an easy meal after all. If Adam took half a step forward, he’d step on a seaweed coated net, that if Dave pulled on just right could knock the boy off his feet, maybe even hauled into the water. It was tempting. One more bite and even a hunter’s healing likely wouldn’t be enough to pull Adam back from the brink. Or, the steps up onto the pier weren’t that far either, a dozen satiating meals chatting idly about the May sun, just waiting for his bite.

“No.” Dave trembled, taking a slow, uncertain step back.

The hunger inside him wasn’t just poisonous, but monstrous too. The kind people like Adam were needed for. Dave swallowed, Adam’s blood still mixed in with the saliva dripping out of the corner of his mouth. This sliver of control, paid for in Adam’s injuries, wasn’t going to last. The hunger was clawing its way up his throat, down his gullet, like it might consume him from the inside out.

“No.”

Like if he didn’t eat someone else, his hunger might eat him. Dave took another step back, grimacing at the ache of a bruise forming under his ribs. A wave rushed water up to his ankles. The only advantage of Adam bleeding so profusely is that Dave could no longer smell the enticing scent of selkie. He opened his mouth to speak again, but couldn’t find any words.

Dave plunged into the waves, speeding away from shore, putting as much distance between him and Adam as he could before his hunger eclipsed his conscience once more.

Adam tried to sprint at the departing Selkie but his steps became sluggish in the sand. Dave was a black spot vanishing into foam as refractions from the surf were burning lances across his vision. Everything spun, the sky and sea switched places in a rush of blue. Light went out.

[actuallylorelaigilmore]

TATMILB, CHAPTER 4

Penelope spent her life writing love letters, which didn’t seem like a terrible idea until the letters were mailed out and Schneider received one of them. Hoping to fool their exes, they agree to fake a relationship. But are they lying to everyone around them, or to themselves? aka my To All The Boys I’ve Loved Before-inspired AU.

Penelope x Schneider, ODAAT. available on ao3 with extra author’s notes.

Chapter 4: Ben comes to Penelope’s door bearing a letter. Penelope explains the situation to Schneider over ice cream. She scoffs at his proposal but can’t wave it away so easily once she’s alone with her thoughts.

Dear Ben,

It’s been a really long time since I felt the way I did when I was with you--I know talking about it makes me sound like a giddy teenager. 

But in so many ways, that’s how you made me feel. I was full of lighthearted happiness, hormones and that need to know everything about somebody that only happens at the beginning of a relationship.

The story of how we met sounds like a movie: I poured my heart out to you, thinking you were gay and couldn’t possibly be interested in me, and you turned the tables by asking me out. A night full of self-loathing and guilt led to a moment where I felt really attractive. And considering how hard life had been lately, especially in the romance department, it meant a lot that you looked at me in my emotional half-drunk state and saw someone worth getting to know. 

All of that makes how we ended worse. I’m sorry for what happened with Victor, for how easily and how quickly I became a cliche--the ex-wife who takes back her apologetic husband, who believes and trusts when she shouldn’t...who gives up a good man for a familiar one. 

We had fun while it lasted, didn’t we? It’s the what-ifs that haunt me now. The possibilities. Maybe you would have gotten along well with my family, when it was time for you to meet them. Maybe you would have been a good husband someday.

I know I don’t have the right to hold on to you, to the idea of us, when there was barely an us in the first place. Some nights, though, I pull out that mental picture and let myself live inside for it a little while. I still feel happy there. I wonder if you do, too.

Love, Penelope

****

“Ben!”

Penelope steadied herself by gripping Schneider’s arm, which also helped to steady him as they wobbled in the doorway after their near-collision.

She saw the letter Ben was holding, on yellow paper she remembered too well, and offered him an overly-bright smile, aiming it like a shield. “We’re actually just on our way out. Gotta go get dessert for the family before there’s chaos, y’know?”

Her laugh was as forced as her smile, but she ignored the look Schneider gave her and hoped Ben would buy it. He didn’t know her nearly as well; not everyone had Schneider’s keen eye for her tells. 

“This is Schneider,” she added, shutting the door behind the two of them. She kept her grip on his arm, pulling him past Ben. 

“Yeah, hi,” Schneider said, with a facial expression that could best be described as ‘trying to do calculus in his head.’ Great, Penelope thought, now she would have even more to explain to him once they made it free of the building. And Ben.

“Listen, I don’t want to hold you up,” her ex said, lifting the letter to her eyeline. “I just wanted you to know that I got it, but that I’m actually--well, I’m engaged now.”

“Oh, wow! That’s amazing! Congratulations,” she said, shaking his hand and trying to hurry along as though that would be the end of that.

“Penelope.”

“Yeah?”

“I’m sorry. I really enjoyed the time we spent together too. And I did think about you--about us. For a while. That was such a long time ago, though, and where my life is at these days...I’m really happy. I hope you will be soon.”

The hint of pity she detected got her attitude up, but if she made a scene it might bring the family out into the hall, which was the last thing she needed to add to this insanity. She exhaled through her clenched teeth instead.

“Thanks Ben, I appreciate that. I’m glad things are going well for you.”

“Anyway, I wanted to give you this back. It doesn’t feel right keeping it, while I’m planning my wedding to somebody else.”

“Alright. We really gotta go, but I hope the wedding goes great and it doesn’t rain. Best of luck to you both!” she half-shouted as she sped down the stairwell, not bothering to look behind her. Schneider would catch up, and she needed Ben to stop treating her like a crazy woman who was still nursing a crush on him years after they went on a handful of dates.

Not that her behavior in the hall was likely to make her seem more sane. 

Her cheeks were burning as she exited the building, and she wished the air outside were cool enough to settle her racing heart. There was no denying it now--all of her letters must have been sent, every single mortifying one of them. Her innermost thoughts and feelings, directed at men who were never supposed to read them. This was beyond terrible. This was a catastrophe. This was--

“Pen! Wait up!” Schneider let the exit door slam shut behind him, making short work of the distance between them on the way to her car. “You know, I can’t go with you to get ice cream if you leave without me.”

“I know. Sorry.”

The scoop shop was only a five minute drive from their building, but it was a deeply uncomfortable five minutes, with Schneider watching her from the passenger seat and Penelope stuck on the image of Ben and his pretty, sympathetic face handing her back old dreams on paper. 

She hoped he really was blissfully happy with his new fiancée. She hoped they had a long and happy marriage. 

She hoped she never had to see him again.

****

Schneider managed to hold back as they waited in line at the shop, but he was restless next to her, filled with anxiety and questions. Penelope wasn't exactly in a hurry to explain; her nerves mirrored his.

“Let’s just order ours, okay?” She said before they approached the counter. “We can talk while we eat it, then get the rest to go after.”

Schneider nodded. “Sure. Whatever you want.” He ordered an oversized monstrosity, filled with a jumble of flavors and toppings that Penelope eyed with suspicion. 

She got cherry gelato and frowned when he paid for them both, but didn’t bother arguing. She was the one who caused this whole mess--there wasn’t much point to starting a fight on top of it.

Schneider sat down across a corner table from her and made no move to touch his dessert. “Listen, Penelope, I’ve tried not to push. I kept quiet through dinner, I didn’t corner you in a moving vehicle, but I’m kinda out of patience now. What was that back there?”

“At...the hospital?”

It was stupid to try and buy herself more time. She wasn’t sure why she felt so nervous to talk to him--this was Schneider. He always understood even her craziest moments. Yet there she was, still stalling. Keep on digging that hole, Penelope.

“Yes, at the hospital, when you kissed me!” The last part came out louder than he’d intended, and Schneider looked around like they might be under surveillance, before continuing. 

“What was that about?” he pressed. “I thought that I was pretty clear about where I stood, and then you kissed me anyway. No means no, Penelope!”

“Yes...you’re right.” 

When he put it like that, she felt even worse than just embarrassed. If she found out Alex was going around kissing girls who told him they weren’t interested, she would be so pissed at him. She would read him the riot act. What could she possibly say to defend herself to the one man who understood that better than anybody-- who knew her behavior totally contradicted what she believed in?

“Sorry.” She watched her gelato melting in its little cup, swirling it with her spoon. “You’re right, there’s no excuse.”

“I don’t want an excuse--though the apology’s appreciated. I want an explanation. It doesn’t make any sense, what you did. And you always make sense. Come on, talk to me.”

“I don’t have a good explanation.” She sighed, trying her gelato before it was completely liquid. It didn’t taste as good as it would on a day when her life wasn’t unraveling. “It was out of character. No argument there. It just sort of happened.”

“But why?”

“You’re going to think I’m crazy,” she warned him, resigned to the fact that she couldn’t avoid this forever. He practically lived in their pockets--she couldn’t avoid him in general.

“You just made out with me,” he shot back. “I already know you’re crazy.”

“It was one kiss! I did not make out with you.” She dug into her gelato more emphatically, letting him sit with his own melting dish for a minute, almost as annoyed at Schneider as she was at herself for ending up here. 

“That letter that you got from me, it wasn’t the only one I wrote.”

“Okay.” He blinked, taking that in. “You’re in love with people besides me?”

“I’m not in love with anybody, you dope. And I didn’t send you that letter.”

“I’m confused.”

“I write letters. I always have. To process stuff, get my thoughts out. I didn’t have therapy, you know, before the last few years. And between my mom, and the Army, and Victor...I had a lot of stuff to deal with. I’ve never been a diary person, but when things got really intense, I would write...”

“Love letters.” 

“Yeah.”

He nodded as he dug into his ice cream, listening intently now. Schneider was good at that, even when he was visibly baffled--like he seemed now. 

“I used to write other letters too, when I was a kid, letters to my parents when I was upset or frustrated with them. But I never held on to those ones--I had this feeling that no matter how well I hid them, Mami would find them, so I always trashed those. It helped enough, writing them.”

“When it comes to Lydia, I think your paranoia was probably well-founded.” 

There was a hint of a smile teasing the corners of his mouth now, fondness not just for her mom but for Penelope. The wave of relief that flooded her settled some of her anxiety. Kissing him had been dumb and desperate, but she didn’t want it to ruin their friendship. 

One kiss couldn’t do that, right?

He pointed his spoon at her gelato, a silent request. She nodded, passing him her spoon for a taste. She hadn’t really been in the mood for ice cream to begin with; she’d just wanted a place away from home for this confession.

“So, yeah, I write letters sometimes. Not all that often, because I was with Victor for most of my life. There haven’t been that many guys. But when I needed to put those feelings somewhere, I wrote them down and tucked them in my favorite duffel.”

She took her spoon back and gestured with it. “Over the years, I wrote five letters, including yours. And somehow they disappeared along with my duffel bag. The letters got sent out. I realized it when I saw you and Max.”

“And Ben,” Schneider added, putting the pieces together. “So, if that makes three, is the fourth Victor?”

“Oh, god.” She knew, of course she knew, exactly who she’d written her letters to. But she was so busy fighting the initial panic, she hadn’t thought about Victor yet. “Yes, I wrote to Victor. A couple of times. Ay dios mío, I hope that one gets shredded in the mail. I cannot deal with that right now.”

Schneider was lost in thought for a while, long enough that she took her cup to the trash. “Who’s the last one?” he asked when she sat back down. 

“Huh?”

“I’ve known you since you and Victor separated. After Victor, there was Ben, then Max, then I guess you wrote my letter, since it was after Lydia’s hospital stay. I can’t think of anybody else you dated. Did you have a secret lover?”

He looked intrigued by the possibility. She swatted him lightly on the arm. “Don’t be so dramatic. You sound like my mom. The other letter was my first big crush, back in high school, a boy named Joe.”

She reached for his spoon and Schneider let her, bemused. He knew she usually hated his topping combinations. She just needed a second to gather her nerve again. 

“I really am sorry,” she tried to explain, more carefully this time. “For kissing you like that. And for you ever seeing that letter. I was busy trying to figure out how it was possible, and then I saw Max coming, with a letter in his hand too, and I knew what it had to mean. I haven’t spoken to him since we broke up, my head was reeling--I couldn’t imagine explaining to him why he was getting a love letter from me a year later. I panicked.”

Risking a look at him before pinning her gaze back to the table, she continued. “It hit me that if he saw us kiss, he might assume we were a couple and be thrown off enough that I would have time to regroup. We could pretend the letters never happened.”

Schneider’s face was unreadable now. When she gave his spoon back, he didn’t go back to eating, just kept watching her.

“It’s not logical, I get that, but like I said, I panicked. And I know it was wrong of me to pull you into this, but I really would like to pretend the letters never happened, if we could. Especially yours.”

“Yeah?” 

She ran the risk of offending him--she was aware of that--but their friendship was too important for her not to fight for it. She couldn’t tell what Schneider was thinking, though. That same perfectly blank expression stayed in place. At least he hadn’t left the shop yet, Penelope reminded herself. He was still giving her a chance.

“Yes. I was in a terrible place when I wrote your letter, Schneider. It was a few months after Mami’s stroke, after giving up Max had me convinced I’d lost my chance at love, and I was so lonely and scared and sad. About all of that. 

“And there you were, so present and kind...and, well, loving. All the time. You were the one person I knew I could count on and we spent all those nights together. No matter how rough the day had been with the kids or at the hospital, you would find a way to make me laugh. Remember?”

“Of course.” His face was still guarded, but his voice had that comforting softness to it. That tone that meant he was ready to help. The voice of her best friend. 

“I was vulnerable then, and I wrote it all down, because it had to go somewhere. It took me a while to step back from that place, to get back to feeling stable on my own even when you weren’t around. And once I had that distance, that balance back, I could see clearly again. I was never in love with you, not really. I mixed up how much I care about you as part of my family, as my best friend, with love. I mixed up how good you were to me with the idea that we would be good together. 

“Once everything was okay again I felt like an idiot about it, and I was so glad I never said anything. I don’t want to lose you. And I never would’ve sent that letter as some attempt to awkwardly hit on you. I’m mortified to even be talking about it now. So, could we just move on? Like this was a weird day but we both agree it was a fluke and laugh it off?”

“Sure, sure, sure,” Schneider agreed, clearing his throat. “But what about the other letters?”

“What about them?”

“If Max’s letter is like mine, a love letter with no extra context, then are you going to have to do this all over again? Tell him you’re not still in love with him?”

“I-I don’t know. I’m really hoping it won’t come to that.”

“Because he saw us kiss and that’s a magic barrier to all future confrontation...or because you can’t honestly tell him that?”

He knew her too well, Penelope thought. And she’d had to share enough deep emotional truths for one day. 

“Wow, look at the time,” she said, standing and nodding toward to the front counter. “If we don’t get the rest of the treats and head back, they’re gonna think we lied about the whole dessert run.”

She put in the requests that she knew her Mami and Alex would want and moved down to the other end of the counter. Schneider followed, clearing his throat again. 

“What is it?”

“Speaking of lying, I just got a text from Nikki about our kiss.”

“What? How does Nikki know?”

“One of her friends saw us in the parking lot, I guess. Nikki’s super pissed.”

“Have fun with that.” She shook her head. “Luckily for me, I only have to see Nikki at school functions and some of Alex’s games. You’re the one who decided to hook up with her.”

“She’s pissed in a jealous way,” Schneider added thoughtfully.

“I’m shocked.”

“Hey, Pen. Hear me out: what if we kept up the lie for a while?”

“As in, the lie where I kissed you and you freaked out about it?”

“My freakout was in response to your freakout. Glass houses, Penelope. But yeah, the kissing. The public display of affection, emphasis on public. It got Nikki’s attention, and I wasn’t even trying to do that. If seeing me with you makes her realize she misses what we had, maybe we could stop this vicious cycle of breaking up all the time.” 

“You want to pretend to be into each other just so you can get back with Nikki? Gross. No way I’m volunteering to be used for that.”

“Hey, you used me first--and I didn’t volunteer.”

An aproned employee passed her the sack of ice cream and Penelope walked out ahead of him. 

“It would solve your problem too,” Schneider suggested. “Isn’t that why you kissed me in the first place, to make it seem like you were taken?”

“I was temporarily insane,” she insisted. “What’s your excuse?”

“I’m just saying we could both get what we want. Think about it,” Schneider added before mercifully dropping the subject as they made it home.

She ignored Schneider for the rest of the evening, as best she could, until he headed back to his own apartment. If her mom or Alex wondered what took them so long--or why they ate their dessert on the way--neither of them asked. 

****

Penelope was in her bedroom, finally able to take a moment to decompress from the chaos of her life, before it occurred to her to check her phone. She fought so hard to keep Alex off his at the dinner table; it helped a little when she set a good example. 

“Three missed calls,” she told her empty room, staring down at the name next to all three of them. 

“Yep, and you didn’t pick up even once.”

The day had clearly been too much for her, if her imagination was so easily manifesting Max there next to her bed. She closed her eyes for a moment and reopened them, only to find the illusion of him still watching her.

“You can’t call a guy back anymore? Especially after you ditch him in a public place? That’s not like you, Penelope.”

“I’ve been hearing that a lot lately.” 

Okay, so she was hallucinating. Not a big deal. She was stressed out and had him on the brain, especially now.

“Got your letter,” Max said, smiling down at her where she sat. “Of course, you know that already. It’s why you’re avoiding me. How long do you think you can keep that up?”

“I have no idea. How long do you think you’ll keep trying to confront me with it?”

“Don’t ask me. I’m in your head--what do I know. If you want real answers, you should give me a call.”

“Can’t say I like that idea very much.”

“Yeah. If we talk, you’re going to have to answer my questions. Why did you send the letter, why did you write the letter, did you mean what you said.” 

She swallowed hard, staring into Max’s warm eyes. What would she say, when she had to explain it all to him?

“Do you still...love me. That’s the million dollar follow up, right? That’s the one that counts.”

“I’m not ready to explain any of it,” she admitted. “I’m not ready to tell you how I feel. I’m not sure I know, myself.”

“Then you know what you have to do,” Schneider told her, popping up in the dark space where Max had been standing moments before. “Get your cover story on, chica.”

“God, don’t call me that. Don’t call anybody that.”

“All I’m saying is, you can’t avoid Max forever, right? There’s a solution staring you right in the face. What are best friends for, if not to act as a human wall between you and your relationship issues?”

Penelope frowned, trying to find a counterargument. 

“Hey, if you’ve got a better idea, then go ahead...tell me no. A backup plan? Anything?”

“I’m thinking.”

“No, you’re stalling. And the clock is ticking on that strategy. But my plan, it can last as long as we need it to. Until you figure out what you want to do--with Max, Victor, all of them. We can be each other’s wingman and cover story at the same time, Pen. You help me, I help you...everybody wins.”

“Aaagh.” Penelope groaned, gripping hold of her hair for a second. When she lifted her head back up from her hands, she was alone in her room. 

She didn’t know if Schneider’s idea was a brilliant one, or a terrible one. But at this point, it might be her best chance to save her sanity.

That was reason enough to consider it.

[capricornus-rex]

A Path I Can’t Follow (10 - End)

Chapter 10: Duel of the Fates | Cal Kestis x Reader

Summary: It was a matter of life and death—the question is, should it be the life of many or one, the death of many or one? Cal Kestis makes what ought to be the biggest and hardest decision of his life as he is pitted with a question of high stakes and morals. He descends to the Dark Side and becomes an Inquisitor. A choice he openly made for the sake of saving you, even if you didn’t know you needed it until it was too late.

Tags: Dark Side! Cal Kestis, Inquisitor! Cal Kestis

Notes: Finally finished! Thank you to everyone who has been staying tuned to what could be my biggest (in terms of word count) SWJFO yet! I hope you enjoyed it and my other fics, and also hope that you’ll still be there when I make more! Lots of love! 💕

Also posted in AO3

Chapters: 1 – 2 – 3 – 4 – 5 – 6 – 7 – 8 | Previous: Chapter 9 | Masterlist

10 of 10

Cal clutched back your hands on his face, savoring their softness after yearning for your touch. He wasn’t sure what to say, he kept silent while avoiding your eyes. Impulsively, you pull yourself close to him into an embrace which he gladly returned, relishing your warmth as you tightened your hold around his back.

Over your shoulder, he notices the pair of antennas poking out—he knew that it was BD-1. He was relieved that the little droid has regrouped with you.

“What happened to you?” you whispered in his ear.

His eyes wandered all over the place, searching for the answer. He didn’t know what to say. He gently pulls away from you but never let go of your hands.

“You’re not hurt, are you?”

“No, no,” he weakly chuckled. “I’m fine, see?”

His assurance didn’t really console you, he knows well enough not to take you for a fool—he feels that you can sense it too within him: the Dark Side of the Force.

You didn’t want to startle him with your questioning, but you wanted to know everything all at once whilst a part of you still doesn’t want to believe or perhaps isn’t ready to believe. Cal saw the troubled look in your eyes—the way your eyebrows furrowed, how your lip trembled even if you’ve bitten it, and the shallow rapid breathing.

“BD told me that… you went with the Grand Inquisitor… And Razh! He told me that you gave the order… at the village, you… slaughtered them!” you rambled away, your thoughts out of sequence. “W-Who is the Grand Inquisitor?!”

“Razh and BD didn’t tell you everything.”

From that reply, the worst of all your assumptions have been confirmed. There was no need for more questioning; you have the answer to everything you need to know.

There was a churning feeling in the pit of your stomach, your heart was pounding so loudly that you were out of breath just by trying to calm it down.

“What do you mean?”

“What a droid couldn’t understand is my reason for doing it,”

BD-1 trilled loudly, obviously confused and shocked at what Cal had said.

“What reason!?” your voice cracked, your tone becoming more demanding as the moment passes.

On the other hand, Cal understood where you were coming from; you were in a state of shock, of course you’re confused and can’t comprehend everything going on right now. You came to him for answers, although they were answers that you never hoped and perhaps weren’t ready for.

“I should’ve told you way back then,” he muttered, blankly staring at the floor.

“So, you were hiding something from me then?!”

“If only you knew what I had to do to save you,”

“Save me…? From what!? From the Grand Inquisitor?” you pointed at him. “From you!?”

One thing piled over the other. You had sensed something wrong with Cal back then, even when you were still recovering in Razh’s house. You hated yourself for not sensing it much earlier, had you been vocal about it and brought it up with him—even at the expense of his comfort in talking about it—then you would’ve averted this entire disaster.

The blast door behind Cal jerked open. Out comes the Eighth Sister back from the dead. You didn’t even realize it, your legs were moving on their own—you backed away in a fearful shock, discovering that you apparently didn’t kill the Mirialan Inquisitor.

“It’s you!” The Eighth Sister exclaimed at her discovery, the longing to exact her vengeance on you immediately took over her actions, she briskly ignited her lightsaber, ready for a second round.

“No, you’re not taking another step!” Cal growled.

“Screw that, I’m gonna get a go at her for dropping rocks on me!”

“I SAID NO!!!” Cal, with a great ferocity, roared again and stretched out his arm at the Eighth Sister and an unseen wave—as violent at the Fourth Brother’s in their first encounter—threw her right back into the metal hallways and locking her there in the process by busting the control panel.

You witnessed how strong Cal had become—obviously stronger than you—and wondered if this was the work of the Grand Inquisitor and the Dark Side that has seeped into him. All of a sudden, your fear of him was starting to outweigh your love for him.

It felt like time had stopped ticking for that one moment.

Cal’s heart pounded loudly through his chest, despite the flurry of emotions wounding between you and him, it was beating rather in a calm rhythm.

Every plea you uttered, echoed and then drowned by the eruption of geysers. The hot wind pricking your cheeks. Your breathing was unstable and shaky, gasping in hiccupping beats as you fought back tears.

You cannot deny it: his descent was imminent.

“Please, Cal,” you stepped closer to him so that you reach to touch his face. “Stop this. Stop this and come home with me.”

“No, no,” he shakes his head. “Don’t you see that this is the better choice? A choice that either you or I should have done a long time ago?”

You unconsciously shake your head, but he didn’t notice.

“[y/n], if only you knew how it feels, all this…” he looked at his hands, then looked around him, gesturing at the expanse of the Empire’s hold. “This power, it’s something I’ve never ever felt in my whole life!”

“Please stop, you’re scaring me, Cal…” you cracked.

“Stay here with me, I’ll protect you like I always do—I’ve become stronger already, [y/n]! All this strength that’s been hiding within me, this is what it only needed for me to finally get a hold of it. The Inquisitors won’t dare lay a finger on you. We’ll always be together—like we’ve always planned, haven’t we? Isn’t that what you wanted?”

“But not like this!” you bellowed, still struggling to suppress the tears welling up in your eyes. “This is NOT how I wanted that! You of all people should know that!”

He continued to justify himself. It was for the best, he says. This could do some much good that you two have been lacking all this time, he presses. A twisted smile curled in his face alarmed you, though you remained stubborn with yourself, you had hoped to convince him back.

Your heart broke and ached so much that you felt your chest suffocating you.

“This isn’t you… This isn’t who you really are!” you said shakily, on the verge of tears. “I don’t know the person I’m looking at anymore!”

Cal’s lips parted, his once-soft expression quickly morphed into a face seething with rage and greed.

“Please, don’t make me do this…” your voice quivered as you hesitated to reach for the hilt on your belt.

“It doesn’t have to be this way!” Cal roared, fighting to get you to his side—not the other way around.

“You’re right, it doesn’t,”

You didn’t even realize that your hand was moving on its own, your fingers clamped around the elegant cylinder and gave a quick tug.

“And that is why I will do what I must.”

One lightsaber being ignited was followed by another.

Your eyes trailed blankly to the beam of light, a second beam was ignited, appearing out of the other end of his hilt.

There was no other way to settle this. Both of you positioned yourselves in stances. As quick as the blink of an eye, both of you lunged at each other until your lightsabers hissed and sparked as they collided. Cal shifted all his weight on his deflect in an attempt to stagger you, but you withdrew and restarted your stance.

He’s gotten more aggressive. You analyzed as the two of you circled one another, you wagered that it was a new lightsaber form he’s picked up but it’s impossible—even for an Inquisitor, let alone a fledgling Inquisitor.

To his advantage, Cal has read your moves—none of which were new—and knew exactly when and where you were open; though, he took the liberty of going easy on you—he remembers that you hated that, it always felt like you were being robbed of a challenge and a lesson altogether, resulting to you throwing a tantrum in the form of reckless moves and attack patterns.

The meeting of your sabers procured a blinding light for every collision, the weapons hummed and snarled violently when one of you deflected the other, you gracefully evaded his lethal dash strikes; in frustration, he turned to you, teeth clenched and bared, and then prepares for another attack.

Is he trying to kill me or apprehend me? You pondered in that second. It doesn’t matter. I have to fight!

It occurred to you that for once in your life, you never imagined that you would be crossing blades with Cal in this kind of predicament. This couldn’t be what the Force willed, could it? It felt like a premature joke, a cruel prank at you—it was bull, you thought. The anger was growing in you; little by little, it manifested in your strikes until you were at par with your boyfriend’s caliber. While it was satisfying, you knew you had to be better—you forced the anger to recede, remembering all of your training in the space of a second, and the words your master and Cere spoke that burned into your mind.

“The Dark Side could make you grow so much stronger than this,” Cal hummed.

“And be a prisoner of it? I don’t think so!”

The floor beneath your feet shook and rumbled, later realizing that you’ve stepped onto the elevator. When the lift had hoisted you a mere three feet up from the ground, Cal wasn’t letting you get away from him—he somersaulted effortlessly and attempted to land a strike on you, much to his chagrin, you deflected it again.

“Good block,”

“Thanks, I take after you!”

The duel dragged on as the elevator brought you to the upper levels of the fortress. You elbowed Cal in the stomach, hoping that the few seconds of his staggering would buy you some time; you ran off of the elevator and found yourself in what you assumed to be a control center, you used the Force to seal the doors behind you.

“[y/n], are you still there? We don’t have much time, their command ship has picked up the Mantis in their radar!” Cere crackled through your comlink.

“I’m here! Tell Greez to make the Mantis do a fly-by at the upper level of the fortress, I’ll find my way to you!”

The doors didn’t barricade Cal from you for long. The two of your continued the duel, slashing up the computers and terminals in the process.

“If you knew better, you wouldn’t let this battle drag on!” Cal bantered again.

“If you knew better, this wouldn’t be happening in the first place!” you clapped back.

An Imperial security droid awoke from the sound of your skirmish; unable to identify friend or foe between the two of you, the tall, human-like droid charged at Cal and picked up the boy with great ease. The young fallen Jedi kicked his legs in the air, trying to break free from the droid’s surprisingly strong grip.

The droid somewhat did you a favor and afforded you mere seconds to flee. You ran to the outdoor balcony overlooking the operations of the facility below; there were some pipes that connected this level to a higher one. You looked over your shoulder and saw the droid slam Cal hard into the ground—it was so strong that the impact of his back against the metal floor caused it to quake. It somewhat hurt you more than it hurt Cal.

There was no time to lose. Slowly but steadily, you stepped onto the narrow width of the pipes with both of your arms extended but relaxed.

“Don’t look down,” you chanted to yourself at every step, trying to calm down. “Don’t look back.”

The young redhead made quick work of getting rid of the droid and then returned his attention to you. He ran to the balcony and saw you were halfway across the pipes to the high platform; you’ve already jumped up to the pipe above your head and shimmied through. Instead of following you in the same route, he looked to his side and wall-ran to another, much thicker, pipe.

You saw him at the corner of your eye but you ignored him, concentrating on setting foot onto the platform. Unexpectedly, he directed his focus on the second, upper pipe you were standing on and used the Force to pull it. From the distance, you could hear the throttle of the Mantis.

They’ve come through! You thought with great relief.

The rusty pipe groaned as it loosened from Cal’s Force-pull, you lost your footing in effect but you hugged the beam until you figured it was safe to stand on it again. You watched Cal easily balancing on his pipe and reaching the wide platform first.

“That son of a—!” you growled and bolted through the pipe, making a run for it instead of going gently. Each step you brought on the pipe was a burden, it creaked and slowly you can feel it falling apart under your feet.

You took a leap of faith and made it through the gap. You propped yourself back on your feet and reignited your lightsaber. Cal wasn’t letting this fight end so easily and quickly, and neither were you. Lightsabers intercrossed once again, attempting to overpower the other by the shifting your weights on blocks and strikes, refusing to end up in a stalemate both of you forced each other’s strength against the other—in turn, sparks have begun to spew out of the blades.

Cere was searching for you and Cal in the tower, Greez kept the Mantis hovering by the fortress in a close distance for Cere to find you. The lightsabers were enough of a beacon for her to easily spot you. Leaning close to the windshield, she pointed at the platform here the pipes have led you and Cal to.

“Look, there they are!”

“Hold on, I gotta maneuver the old girl!” Greez strained at the wheel as he makes a sharp turn with the Mantis.

You looked to the Mantis for one second and knew that Greez is preparing to hover the ship close. You turn back to Cal—in a final, hopeful attempt, you pleaded to him.

“Cal… Please, can we go home?”

“I can’t go back anymore,”

The fire in his eyes, stoked and illuminated by the mingling colors of your lightsabers, burned differently. When you discovered that glint in his jade eyes, you looked at him as if he was someone else. A whole, new person.

A stranger.

He can feel your strength ebbing, about to fumble any minute now; but you gathered the remaining power you have in you and pushed him away, stealing his chance of ever landing a strike at you—with this newfound frenzy, you denied him an opening to hit back, not even a single jab. The strikes that he blocked from you were noticeably stronger than before.

You kicked him in the abdomen, enough to make him stagger away a few steps away from you, and your next move is what surprised him the most in the entirety of this duel.

You aim your outstretched hand at him and then a powerful ripple emitted out of your open palm. Out of the blue, Cal was stiff as a board, stuck in a painfully arching posture as he stood with his chest sticking out, causing his back to camber in a wide, convex curve. This was entirely different from his Force-Slow. He’s ultimately stuck in place. Not a single muscle was allowed to twitch. A single jerk of a finger felt like he’d sprain it if he tried.

You yourself were surprised at what you had done. You gawked at your hands at the discovery of this once-dormant ability.

Behind your back, you could hear Cere calling your name.

“[Y/N], COME ON!”

From the distance, ion cannons from the TIE Fighters whistled as they fired at the Mantis and tremendously missed by a hair.

Seeing that it’s hopeless to convince Cal, you directed your concentration on his lightsaber and pulled it away from his hand; then you turned tail and booked it towards the Mantis hovering by the railings. You closed the gap between the platform and the ship. You almost made it as you landed on your stomach; Cere cautiously approached you and grabbed you by the arm as she helped you pull yourself up. You held onto the bar of the entry ramp and looked back: Cal remained standing there, still stuck in the influence of your Force-Halt. His face was crumpled with great anger as he watched the Mantis prepare for takeoff—a part of you understood if a fraction of that anger was for you.

This is the last time your eyes meet.

You retreated into the ship and threw yourself on the co-pilot seat and started typing out coordinates. Meanwhile, the crew was staring at a frozen Cal on the platform through the windshield. They—especially Cere—couldn’t believe what they're seeing. A thought was bothering her the whole time as well, and much like you, the sight of Cal is what confirmed her theory.

“H-Hey, wai—what are you doing?!? What about Cal!?” Greez yapped in confusion.

“GREEZ, JUST GO!”

Startled, he pressed buttons on the dashboard with all of his four arms in the speed of lightning before cranking the lever and the Mantis fled out of the planet. Greez told the entire crew to hold on as he dodged all of the cannons that the TIE Fighters blasted at the Mantis—you felt all of your organs spin out of their place as the ship performed a 360 and then jump into lightspeed. Your knees were already weak from the altitude and the duel, but it felt like your caps have dissolved and turned into broth with Greez’s daredevil stunts with the Mantis.

While the ship sped through the tunnel of blue light, you finally afforded to catch your breath. You almost forgot that you had Cal’s lightsaber in your clutches. Just by holding it, you could feel the emotions that he has imprinted on it—fear, desperation, and even hate. These were emotions that you knew would be the last thing to stay in Cal’s mind.

Though, you figured that the young redhead that you tried so hard to lure out of that wrath-filled husk of a man could be just that—a shell, an image. You held the hilt close to your heart as you leaned back slumping against the co-pilot seat.

Greez and Cere exchanged glances, torn between give some comforting words or letting you be in your silence; but Cere sensed that the latter would be the best thing to do for you.

“[y/n], why don’t you… lie down in your room for a while?” Cere cooed in a motherly tone.

You swiveled your chair to face her, she shoots a gentle look at you, slightly motioning her head at the direction of the quarters. Without a word, you obliged.

The room has never felt so empty. It’s like stepping into it for the first time and not knowing what to do, expect, and say. You placed Cal’s lightsaber on the workbench along with yours. You approached the narrow bed and found his scrapper’s poncho sitting there. Unconsciously, you take it and let your fingers run across the matted fabric, giving off the musk of combined rainwater and gear oil.

BD-1 hopped off of your shoulder as you sat down, you continued to feel the cloth and let it squish through the spaces between your fingers.

“Boo-woop?”

“I’m okay, BD…” you mumbled.

“Boooo…” he lowed sadly.

“Yeah, I miss him too…”

You curled up into a ball lying down on your side, with Cal’s poncho held close to your heart and BD-1 nestling by your side as you dozed off in a hushed sob.

Meanwhile, Cal had already broken off from your Force-Halt, pounding the metal floor with his fists in agony more than anger as he regained his bearings. The Grand Inquisitor found him in a complete disarray, although he dismissed as a tantrum.

“Oh come now, you could’ve bested her if it weren’t for her ship,”

“I… I thought she’d want to be with me…” he mumbled, confused and disappointed like a child. And then he suddenly snapped. “Now she’s fled with the Holocron!”

“Which I believe you will make quick work of… after your training.”

“Yes, Grand Inquisitor,” Cal hissed, his mood immediately shifting into a calm yet ominous demeanor as he followed the Grand Inquisitor into the fortress.

TO BE CONTINUED…

[etherealwaifgoddess]

Run To You - Chpt.1

Summary: Bucky has had the day from hell and all he wants is to buy what he needs and get home to his sick kid. Enter Steve Rogers in the wrong place at the wrong time and Bucky’s day goes from bad to mortifying.  Master list is HERE :)

Content Warnings: A smidge of bad language, but really ya’ll should expect that from me by now lol

Word Count: 2.3k

Author’s Note: Hello lovelies! Who’s ready to start a new adventure with me? I knew I wanted to write a kid!fic with Bucky and Steve but I didn’t expect it to go quite this way until I jokingly called a friend “Captain Clueless” and then couldn’t get that name out of my head in relation to Steve. I fell completely in love with this little universe as I went and I hope you all enjoy it as much as I did. XOXO - Ash

Chapter One

Bucky Barnes is not at his finest. He just got off a sixteen hour shift from his job as an ER nurse and can barely keep his eyes open. The shift should have ended four hours earlier, but a tour bus accident had them overwhelmed on what had already been a busy night. Bucky was looking forward to catching a few hours of sleep while Becca was at preschool but nope, he came home to a frazzled best friend/ babysitter and a sick four year old. It was always something with Becca, her immune system just wasn’t what it needed to be. Bucky couldn’t fault her for that, she had been born premature and that unfortunately resulted in a whole host of health issues for the little girl. He would never regret adopting her, it was the best decision he’d ever made, but some days parenthood wore on him. 

Bucky moves the load of laundry Natasha had started for him into the dryer. It smells clean but there will forever be a slight stain from puke on the ladybug print sheets. He can try his heavy duty stain remover on it later, but he knows there is only so much that can be done for white fabric and bodily fluids. There’s a reason most of his scrubs are black. After checking in on Becca, Bucky begs Natasha to stay a little longer so he can run down to the bodega to pick up a few things for when Becca wakes up. He would have sworn they had an extra bottle of Pedialyte, but apparently they’d used it up during Becca’s last bout with the flu. 

Natasha waits patiently, listening to Bucky complain about his shift while he quickly changes out of his scrubs into a pair of soft grey sweats and an old Blink 182 tshirt. She’s been his best friend since their first year of college when they met in Intro to Biology. The two of them have been inseparable ever since, both even choosing to stay in Brooklyn after college instead of going back to where they were from. Natasha’s family was from Russia but traveled a lot so she was happy staying in the city that felt like home to her, and Bucky would have done just about anything to avoid going back to the tiny town in Indiana where his parents were still selling drugs out of their trailer and making each other miserable. 

Bucky had thought he was free of his family forever when NYU accepted him into their nursing program. It was his way out of a poverty stricken little town that people rarely escaped from. Bucky had left home at eighteen with no intentions of returning, and he probably never would have, but during his last year of nursing school he found out through Facebook that his thirty eight year old mother was pregnant. To no one’s surprise, his mom was still dealing, still with his deadbeat dad, and was too far along when she found out she was pregnant to have any other option than having the baby. It was a repeat of the situation she’d found herself in at sixteen when she had Bucky. Knowing what it was like to grow up in that house, Bucky couldn’t allow another child to be brought into such a toxic environment. As soon as his mom confirmed the news was true, he hopped on the next flight out to Indiana and started the process to legally adopt his sister once she was born. 

When Rebecca Grace Barnes came into the world nine weeks early the doctors said it was a miracle she survived. She was so small, just barely three pounds, and needed to stay in the NICU for just over a month. Bucky had made arrangements with his professors to turn in exams and papers online, barely managing to finish up his nursing degree while biding his time before he could go back to Brooklyn with his baby sister. It had been a wild ride trying to get his nursing career started while caring for a newborn but Natasha had been a life saver. She and their other friend Clint had stepped up in a huge way, helping to watch Becca when he needed to work and daycare wasn’t open. Their schedules had gotten even messier recently when Becca started preschool. Bucky is counting down the days until kindergarten starts so their schedules will align enough for him to only lean on Nat and Clint one or two days a week at most. 

“Are you even listening to me?” Natasha throws a balled up Minnie Mouse sock at Bucky who’s too tired to dodge and instead gets a face full of pink fleece. 

“Yeah, Nat,” Bucky sighs, wishing he could take off his aching prosthetic but knowing he’ll need both hands for shopping bags. “I’m getting you a choco taco and a red bull this time. I got you.” 

Natasha nods happily, completely unphased by Bucky’s eye roll. She’s getting her wake up juice and her crunchy chocolatey sugar, and that is all that matters.

Bucky rushes around the bodega grabbing everything he’ll need to deal with a sick kid, throwing things in the basket without even bothering to check price tags. His bank account will hate him, but he doesn’t exactly have time or options to find the best deals. Grabbing Nat’s items and an iced coffee for himself, he waits in line as an older man chats with the clerk while the teenager rings up his order. The television in the corner is playing the local news, apparently Captain America visited a rec center in Brooklyn recently. There are sound bites from elderly residents and young kids fawning over him, and one of the Captain himself extolling the importance of community and keeping kids off the streets.

Bucky thinks his eyes will get stuck in the back of his head with how hard he rolls them. “This fucking guy.” Bucky grumbles as he places his basket on the counter, unloading his stuff. 

The clerk nods in silent agreement.

“I’m sure he was a ‘bright shining beacon of hope’ back in WWII but he has no clue what’s going on in the real word nowadays.” Bucky continues.

The clerk nods once again and Bucky, feeling particularly exhausted and grumpy, yells over at the TV, “It’s not all rainbows and sunshine Captain Clueless!”  

“Captain Clueless?” A deep voice rumbles from behind him, “I’ve been called a lot of things over the years, but that’s a new one.” 

Bucky sees the clerk's face go pale and the kid freezes, confirming what Bucky feared when he heard that rich baritone behind him. Oh fuck. 

Turning around, Bucky prepares himself for the worst. Instead, he finds an extremely amused looking Captain America holding a bottle of water and a bag of swedish fish. 

“I’m… I… I didn’t mean…” Bucky stammers. He doesn’t know how to politely explain I meant every word but never meant for you to hear it. 

The register pings as the clerk frantically finishes ringing up Bucky’s order, trying to get both men out of the shop before the situation can get any worse. The sound startles Bucky and he turns around to see the green blinking $58.79 on the little box. His stomach sinks, there went grocery shopping for the week. But, he reasons, Becca won’t want much for a few days while she recovers and he’s no stranger to a ramen-only diet. They’ll get by, just like they always do. 

Before Bucky can hand over his last three twenties, a sleek black card taps against the card reader and the machine starts blinking, processing it. Bucky spins around in surprise only to literally face plant into a solid wall of muscle. Muscle that smells like tea tree and mint, yum. Bucky moves backwards in surprise, bumping into the counter but getting himself away from the giant of man who’s also moving backwards after their collision. 

“It’s on me.” Steve tells him with a shrug. 

“You didn’t have to do that.” Bucky insists, “I insulted you.” 

“You were just being honest.” Steve reasons, “I don’t get to hear people’s honest opinions all that much.” 

“That has to be weird.” 

Steve chuckles, “Pal, you got no idea.” 

“Well, thank you. And I am sorry you heard that.” Bucky collects his bags, still dumbfounded by the whole experience. 

“I’d like to hear more about why you said it. Whatever you think it is I’m missing about the twenty-first century. I’m just out for a run so if you don’t mind company on your way back to wherever, maybe we could talk?” 

Bucky shakes his head. The man actually wants to learn how to be a better person after being insulted by a random grungey stranger in a bodega. “You really are Captain America.” Bucky murmurs, still stunned. 

Steve chuckles again; a deep, throaty sound. “Yeah, guilty as charged. But you can just call me Steve.” Steve winks conspiratorially and Bucky thinks he might actually combust. No one should be allowed to be that good looking. 

Bucky waits as the cashier rings Steve up for his things and Steve taps his card again to pay. “I thought it was weird enough getting a card that swiped when I came out of the ice, but now this one doesn’t even swipe. It just taps and poof, done.” Steve says with a faint tone of awe. 

Bucky can’t imagine how many things Steve needed to adjust to after waking up from the ice. “Far cry from what you were used to, huh?” 

“Well, it sure beats keeping coins in old coffee cans.” 

Bucky glances over at Steve as they leave the bodega together, “You do that whole ‘awe shucks, man out of time’ thing really well. Is it real though? No offense, you can’t really be that well adjusted. You’re still human.”

Steve meets Bucky’s eyes for a moment, crystalline blue piercing into smoke grey-blue, assessing him. After a few beats he decides Bucky is someone who can handle the truth. “It’s a lot easier to do that than to curse up a storm every time some piece of tech pisses me off. Plays out a lot better with the whole Captain America image too.”  

“I didn’t think Captain America even knew how to swear.” Bucky teases. 

“He doesn’t, but Steve Rogers does. I grew up in Brooklyn, I know how to curse.” 

Bucky laughs, swinging his bags idly as they walk in silence for a few steps.

Steve breaks the silence, reminding him of why they’re walking down the street together in the first place, “So really, why do you think I’m so out of touch? Because I thought SHIELD did a bang up job teaching me about the world and what I missed while I was out.” 

“I’m sure they did, but SHIELD is still an agency with their own ideas and agendas. I promise you, you got a watered down version of real life. Do me a favor; when you get home look up what they say about The Great Depression and WWII. Do a little research on how we look back at those times. Then think about how it really was back then when you were living it. I would bet you lunch that the two don’t line up.” 

“I never thought about it that way.” Steve admits. “I’ll look it up today, promise.”

They arrive on Bucky’s stoop and he climbs up a step, looking down at Steve instead of up at him. He wants to know what Steve thinks once he does some research but doesn’t know how to ask. Luckily, Steve beats him to it. 

“I’m going to need your number if you’re taking me out to lunch.” Steve says casually, a light hint of teasing. 

Bucky blushes, trying to remind himself that he was the one who threw the lunch bet out there. Steve Rogers would never just ask him out like that. “I… uh… um…” he fumbles anyway.

Steve takes a step back in retreat, his own cheeks flaming. “I’m sorry, that was. I’m sorry. You clearly have a sick kid to get back to, and I’m sure a lovely wife waiting for you too.” he motions at Bucky’s bags. “Thank you, for being honest with me.” Steve turns to hurry off and, thankfully, Bucky’s brain catches up with him.

“Steve, no.” he blurts out. “No wife. Sick kid, yes. But no, um, no one else. If you want my number, I’ll give it to you. My schedule is a little weird because of my job but I do want to know what you think when you get done looking things up.” 

Steve smiles up at Bucky, soft and hopeful and genuine. It isn’t the All American facade grin he uses for the cameras, and it feels all the more special to Bucky because of it. Steve hands over his phone to Bucky so he can enter in his contact info and then sends him a quick text so Bucky has his number too. “So, I’ll call you later then?” Steve tries, sounding a little unsure still.

“Yeah, I’ll look forward to it, Steve.” Bucky looks up at his doorway, knowing he needs to get back to Becca but not wanting Steve to leave quite yet. 

Steve takes the hint and gives him another soft smile and a small wave as he turns and heads off down the bustling city sidewalk. 

Bucky stands there a moment, collecting himself and trying to process it all, before hurrying back upstairs to his little apartment to relieve Natasha of babysitting duty.

*** New chapters will be posted on Sunday and Wednesday nights until the fic is complete ***

[nelllraiser]

old town road | jared & nell

LOCATION: some random street in white crest, and jared’s farm. PARTIES: @themidnightfarmer and @nelllraiser. SUMMARY: “i got the hellhounds in the back. bies tack is attached” and a reunion long in the making.

Alright. So perhaps she shouldn’t have fallen asleep in the middle of the park under a tree, but the sun had been so nice today, and Nell hadn’t gotten much sleep the night before. Plus the park was peaceful. Or rather...it was peaceful until the thudding of a bass permeated it, birds scattering as the sound got closer. Nell woke with a start, not having been in all that deep of a sleep. What the fuck? Was that- Old Town Road blasting over from the street. Neven one to be particularly cheerful when suddenly awakened, she wasted not a single moment in stalking over to the truck in question, already yelling out accusations before she could even see who might be driving it. “Hey! Dumbass! Are you shitting me? This is public property!” No mind that she’d been party to many a loud car driving through the streets of White Crest, not caring in the least when it was she who was having fun by doing so. But was that a fucking tractor? “Hey!” she called out again, the sun blocking whoever was in the driver’s seat. “I’m talking to you! And Old Town Road is old news by now! Some of us are trying to sleep!”

Jared was truly singing his heart out as the songs on his tape -yes tape- played out. He was only listening to the music that loud to be obnoxious, the old boom box also just for added irritation, so when he heard the yelling he smiled a little. As he was squinting down from his seat he squeezed on the brake to stop the slow moving vehicle, taking his sweet time leaning over to turn the music down a notch so that he could actually hear the accusations. “What was that?!” he yelled down to the fuming girl. The top of her head was barely visible so he sat up a little straighter and peered over the side. He blinked. He blinked again. The third time he actually turned the boombox all the way down and rested his elbows on the steering wheel. “Is there...a bag yelling at me about noise?” he hollered down. Already itching with excitement and unable to stop himself pushing open the tractor door and sliding out. “Weird. It is a bag.”

The slower the man moved, the more heated Nell became, little fists balling up at her sides, all too ready to make this guy regret the very day he was born. But instead, the hands loosened in an automatic response to that voice, one she’d heard far more times than she could count over the years. Her expression went slack with shock before his face came into view, and then the effect was instantaneous. “JJ?” she asked, at a loss for words while she was being surprised with one of her best friends that she hadn’t seen in person for some five years. Once the shock wore off, a grin that took up the majority of her face was quick to find her lips, and a laughter of pure joy and surprise tumbled from her. “Jared!” she exclaimed, far too excited to see the man standing in front of her. It only took a fraction of a second for her to throw her arms around him, giving him no choice in the matter as she tried her best to squeeze the life out of him, not so much as pausing in her trajectory before making their collision come to fruition. She couldn’t even pretend to be insulted by the bag comments at the moment, pure eagerness overshadowing anything else— though she’d certainly get to those.

Jared had a wide smile of his own as she came to realize what he already had. He was momentarily glad the anger from before had washed away, as much as he liked a little bit of chaos about things he didn’t really want that to be the set mood for meeting again after so long. Jared was a little more solid than he was five years ago when she’d left, he’d grown a little taller and had a little more hair on his face. But the stumble from a hurtling Nell was so familiar it was impossible to avoid. A few steps back, but he took her with him. Laughing uproariously as she tried to rid the air from his lungs with her hug. “You’re back,” he said as if it hadn’t been years, and more like a few moments, as if she’d stormed out of his house and then remembered something and had come right back in. The years washed away and he laughed again at how absurd that thought was. She was definitely different from five years ago. He squeezed back, not as hard, but with the same feeling. Texting tiktok links back and forward wasn’t quite the same as this.

“You’re back!” Nell exclaimed, feeling like they were picking up exactly where they’d left off, like they’d never been apart in the first place. Now that the initial shock was through, she could really take him in. Her nose and eyes were still scrunched up with their smile, but now she was also squinting a little. Had his face always been that far away? Doing her own little test, she went back into the hug. No, no, this was definitely lower than where her face had landed in years past when hugging him. Leaning back again, she simply exclaimed, “Why did everyone get taller?! This isn’t fair?!” But there was more than just the height that had changed. “Do you have a beard?” Jesus, when had Jared become an actual adult? It was like someone had taken her best friend, and replaced him with a ‘what do they look like now?’ photo. Reaching up, she teasingly but gently plucked at a few of the hairs. “Sorry I didn’t grow one.”

“I think you being back is a bit of a bigger deal,” Jared pointed out letting the hug ease as she pulled backwards to look at him. “I was here most of the time and you weren’t.” he adds, his arms accepting the new hug before hearing the complaint and snorting at her. “Just because you’re a gnome in the making.” Jared knows it’s been a while, maybe they should be more awkward with each other, but it was just so easy to forget the time. His own hand runs over his cheek. “I don’t usually, just got lazy this last week.” he tells her as if that makes the existence of his sort of beard any easier to digest. Jared squints down at her and hums “Are you sure you didn’t?” bobbing his head up and down as if trying to see under her chin. It was all teasing, an easygoing test of how much had actually changed. She certainly had, she looked different than the eighteen year old that had left. “You changed too, beard or no.”

“Well-” Nell shrugged with a little head waggle, faking overconfidence as a joke, falling right back into old habits. “I can’t help it if I’m a big deal.” Of course, she was only teasing. “Still...I’m glad you’re back when I’m back.” They’d tried to see each other over the years, but it had simply never lined up between their messages and memes they’d sent. “A gnome?!” Her eyes went wide, obviously deeply indignant. “I’m not a gnome! And I’m also not a bag! I’m not a Katy Perry song about plastic bags, either!” Her words were each punctuated with authoritative pokes to his chest, as if the action would prove she was right. “I think it looks good,” she said with a bit of a shrug. “Look at you all grown up.” This time the words held a bit of a tease. “Finally went through puberty and all that. And I tried to glue some hairs on, but it just wasn’t the same.” How long had it been since she’d gotten to be such a fool around someone? With everything happening in town, it was as if Jared couldn’t have appeared at a better moment. “Well yeah- changing tends to happen to people. I don’t live in the body or mindset of a prepubescent boy anymore which is great.”

“You chose shit times to visit.” he accused lightly. “I live here and you choose the few times I go away for something, sounds like a pattern to me, sounds like you didn’t want to see me.” Jared turned his nose up. “I’m a delight I’ll have you know.” Each prod almost cracked his facade, until the song was mentioned and he started to warble the words teasingly down at her finishing with an “I don’t know, sounds biographical to me.” Jared rubs his hand over his facial hair once again before looking at Nell outraged. “I’ve been at this for a lot longer than you have, one of us has owned a house even before you left.” he reminds her before blinking. “Five years is a long time though, a lot has happened back at the farm you know Nell. Five years of mostly unnamed bonedoggles have come through.” Safer to just not comment on her body. He had the self preservation of a goldfish that had jumped out of it’s bowl, but he knew a losing battle when he saw one. 

“Or maybe you choose shit times to not be here,” she shot back, though her eyes were still shining with amusement. Always enjoying literally poking fun at him, and having been devoid of it for so long, Nell couldn’t help but also reach up to try and gently pinch his nose, as if in rebuttal to his words and joking, superior attitude. It was rather like a puppy who’d been reunited with their favorite chew toy. “If I’m a bag, you’re a suitcase. And not a nice one.” As he spoke of the farm, a wave of nostalgia hit her all at once, remembering all the memories she’d made there. But his initial tone made her stomach drop. Was everything alright, there? Certainly things had changed but...hopefully for the better, right? A wave of relief washed over her, and a rare giggle was pulled from her, feet pattering in place against the asphalt in anticipation as she shifted quickly from foot to foot, hands going straight into the air with her excitement. “Names! Bonedoggles! Can we go now?” Her eyes were wide, far too ready to commence to the next page of their story. “I can bring the boys!” Wait, he wouldn’t know the boys yet...would he? How strange to think of how different things were, but how exactly the same things felt between them. “Hellhounds! Three of them! And Greg, too!”

Jared wiggled his nose when she got a hold of it, flaring his nostrils and sighing heavily as if it would make her let go. With a pinched off nose his voice came out oddly as he said. “I’m too big to be a suitcase, I couldn’t even fit in a suitcase. And you just said you liked the scruff, so I’m a nicer suitcase than I used to be at least if I have to be one.” Nose released as the excitement took over Jared jerked a thumb over his shoulder “Get in loser, we’re going bo-dog naming.” Then he looked back at her and taunted “Need a boost shortie?” He paused when she mentioned bringing some other people, squinting at her like she’d lost it. His farm got less safe the more people were there to bother the animals, or more people for him to look out for, and she knew that, or he hoped she remembered. And then she clarified and he perked up. “Hellhounds! Genuine Hellhounds?”

Nell couldn’t help but laugh as his altered voice filled the air, and finally released him from her grip. “It’s not my fault you’re oversized. Mmmm, you’re a scruffy suitcase- which can be nice to some, but overall…still scruffy,” she teased. Another exuberant laugh, still high on being reunited and hearing his jokes once more was cut short by the second shoe falling. “I can climb!” she refuted heartily. And if she couldn’t, her tone said she’d die trying. And sure enough, she began to make her attempt at an ascent. “So do I get to drive?” Nell paused to look over her shoulder with half a smirk, wondering if he’d dare to say yes. “I’ve already got tons of name ideas, though. And yeah! I summoned them a while ago, and worked with them enough to get them to like me! It took a while but, definitely worth it. I’m sure they’ll love hanging out with the bonedoggles.”

Even he had to reach far to haul himself into his tractor, so her climbing attempts did little to show her prowess considering she wasn’t anywhere near grabbing the handle, nor reaching the first step. “You don’t get to drive, you get to sit on the boombox and obnoxiously tell me directions to my own house.” Jared said in a tone which suggested he was doing her  a massive favour. As he said this he put his hand under her hanging foot and pushed her upwards, giving her the boost she’d insisted she didn’t need even if now she could grab the handle of the door. “Do you want to go pick them up or want to come see the madness as it is at the moment first?...Where are you even living now you’re back?” So many questions came to mind, it might have felt like no time at all, but enough had happened. Nell had travelled far, they spoke about it a little while she’d been gone, but considering Jared was still where he always had been he’d run out of things to say in comparison quickly. There wasn’t a lot of story time when they’d both been busy. But now felt like the time to catch up. Back in the same place again for the first time in years. It felt good to be reunited with his best friend.

As with most things, Nell would die trying before admitting to needing help to climb the tractor. Already she’d grabbed onto a part she definitely should not have grasped based off of how hot it had been under her hand. “Alright, I’ll drive it home, then,” she said in the same tone as him, as if it were a given. “But I was serious. Old Town Road is old news now. Unless that’s what you were going for.” She made a surprised noise as she felt herself being lifted, but didn’t hesitate to climb the rest of the way up after the boost. “Thanks...I guess,” she said stubbornly, though also with that same air of a joke. “You couldn’t bear to see me perish with the tractor?” As for the hounds. “Oh- no, we can go straight to your’s! I can just Summon them once I’m there.” When they weren’t with Nell, the hellhounds lived their normal lives in their adjacent demon realm, though they sometimes slipped through to pay Nell a visit even without her magicking them there. “I’m living at Bea’s with her and Luce. You know- the house she got with my parents’.” Her tone was decidedly...neutral on the matter, living with your adult sisters not coming without its struggles. “Wait- but you haven’t even seen! Guess what my parents got me as part of me coming back!” She was glowing again, excited to see Jared’s reaction. 

“How else would I irritate people on my way to the store? It’s all by design Nell.” Jared told her with a solemn nod behind her that she couldn’t even see. Once she was inside the cab he made his own way inside, pulling himself up with a grunt of effort and hustling her to sit on the boombox. It was sturdy enough she wouldn’t tip it over easily. “My tractor wouldn’t survive taking a life, it’d be too heartbroken in the end. Can’t have that.” With that Jared turned the keys and the noisy machine rumbled back to life. They had to speak a little louder now, but once the door was closed it wasn’t too unbearable. “All sisters together huh?” He gave her a sideways glance. “That working out alright?” he threw in as casually as he could. He knew living with siblings was no walk  in the park a lot of the time, and he hadn’t done that without a parental mediator present. His eyes were flickering between Nell and the road as they drove up the street back towards his farm on the outskirts. “They got you….a new favourite nymph? I’m upset. Truly cut deep.” he guesses with a hand over his heart dramatically. 

Nell’s head shook in her amusement, glad to find that this part of Jared hadn’t changed in the least. Her own chaotic nature had always reveled in his tricks, taking part in far too many of them, herself. “If you ask me- I wouldn’t have been mad to also see some of those big, inflatable noodle men dancing on the back of the tractor.” The rumble of the tractor underneath her brought another, softer smile to her lips, the sensation of it bringing back a flood of warm memories shared with the man beside her. Just like that it felt like she was eighteen again, no responsibilities to think of. “We can’t have that,” she echoed, suddenly at peace with where she and Jared had found themselves, and the feeling that whatever bad thing that might be waiting for her out in the world couldn’t touch them. “Mhm, all sisters together. It’s been...interesting. I don’t know- you know how Bea and I have always been. And-” With what Luce had witnessed between her and August, the ground was somewhat uncertain there, as well. Even though Luce had supported her. “It’s just different. But I guess we’re managing,” she finished with a lackluster chuckle. She didn’t want to think about that, though. Not when Jared was here, and everything felt like it was shining and good. “Well- yes to the nymph but- that’s not what I was going to say,” she said, grinning at his theatrics before jokingly picking up the hand he’d placed on his chest and putting it back on the tractor. “Two hands on the wheel,” she teased, not actually minding in the least. “But they built me a greenhouse! My own greenhouse!” 

“I’ll think about it, Don’t want anything the animals could potentially destroy and be a waste of money. I need some good durable irritations.” Jared reminded her with a snort. He could just imagine those inflatable men meeting a sticky end on the wrong side of a set of teeth. His eyes flickered over to watch her face as she explained how living with her sisters had been since she got back. “Well, the farm’s a big place still if you want to crash anytime,” Jared offered offhandedly. Not only would it be good for her to have that familiar setting to escape to again, but also he was forced into a kind of solitude with the high gates and the strongest locks in place. He was guarding precious livestock, but that same livestock stopped it being safe for people who were unaware to come visit. None of his beasts had ever phased Nell much however, he was lucky she was just as invested as he was in some creatures just without the otherworldly ties. “Tractor goes so slow it’s hardly a risk, I’m even sober!” he argued, but kept his hands where they were anyway, having been denied a moment more of the drama. “Oh damn, how big? What are your plans? I assume you’ve got plans right? Irrigation system? Is it big enough for an irrigation system? Ack what am I saying any system can be forced small enough where needed.” Jared asked question after question looking at her curious and excited. “Do you need cuttings? My crops aren’t in the best health they’ve ever been but they managed the winter alright, they’ll perk back up now I’m home, you can cut from them as soon as next week!”

“But what if they were detachable,” Nell continued to joke. “Purely for ornamental going into town purposes. And then you could stow them away when you’re not using them. But if you’re after more durable irritants, it’s lucky you found me, isn’t it?” She certainly wasn’t about making some vaguely self-deprecating jokes at times. His offer for the farm brought another warmth to her chest, remembering all the times she’d found herself crashed there before when she hadn’t wanted to deal with her family. “Thanks, J.” To think that even after all this time they were so ready to jump back into this as if nothing had happened. “It’d be fun to do that again.” Even if she hadn’t always been there for the best of reasons, those nights were some of her fondest memories. Nell laughed at his exclamation, simply rolling her eyes in amusement as he carried on with his dramatics. But once it was talk of her sweet, baby plants, she was all pure smiles again. “Yes! So many plans! Right now I’ve sort of just got- a ‘normal’ section and then a supernatural section, but it’s beautiful in there. You should definitely come over to check it out.” It would only make sense. After all, Jared was who had taught her most of what she’d learned when it came to getting things to grow. “And I have something of an irrigation system but- honestly I’d love to see what your thoughts were there, too.” Beyond having her best friend back, it was nice to also have someone who just understood the pure excitement she felt when talking about her plants, and she couldn't help but enjoy the delight on his face, as well. “Really? Next week?” she asked, perking up as her back straightened and she wriggled on her boombox seat in excitement. “You know I’d love to have any cuttings!”

“Humans are far easier to irritate, with far less effort you know. Case and point, I caught a wild Nell in the square and made her furious enough to come and fight me.” Jared pointed out with a small smug grin. “With only a boombox...and now she’s in my tractor, basically kidnapped. A rousing success in my books, with very little effort.” He shrugged a shoulder when she thanked him, in his eyes it would be no different than it was before, plus he lived alone in a large expanse of fields, some company would do him good as well. “Wouldn’t have to stay in the barn anymore, probably wouldn’t be as safe in there anymore considering I’ve got far less cows of the real sort roaming the place since the original livestock passed from when the parents were around.” The excitement over plants maybe wasn’t as strong as it would be for Jared than if they were still talking about her hellhounds, but he was still a farmer, he would always be interested and excited about these things in a greater measure than perhaps another might. “Yeah, your greenhouse is probably in better repair than mine at the moment, but it never takes me long to resurrect anything that was failing. Downfall of being gone for a winter, but last winter we managed around a week. You can have cuttings of anything you want. Though don’t go undercutting me on the market, I have a hundred mouths to feed. Can’t go starving my children now.”

“Well- we all know it’s not that hard to get me going. And I was napping which is like- extra irritability points.” That same smile was tugging at the corners of her lips, though Nell was doing her best to pretend to be serious for a single moment, as if she were truly insulted when that was nowhere near the truth. “Look- I give credit to the boombox. And the tractor. I’m just surprised you didn’t go with ‘She Thinks My Tractor’s Sexy’. And you know it’s not that hard to catch a Nell in the wild,” she teased. “Especially if you have...snacks?” It was her way of asking if there were any stashed in here, as she was always ready to eat. “I mean- it’s not like I didn’t like the barn.” How could she have when they’d spent many a night there? “But I’m honored to be welcome into the actual home. Wait- you meant the house, right?” she asked, realizing she’d assumed. “How was it, though? Your winter? Where exactly did you go?” The concept of a migration was rather fascinating to her, and she felt comfortable enough by now to ask Jared any questions that might come to mind. “I won’t starve the children- I steal the children, and make sure they’re well-fed. Then I can safely steal the market, right?” she teased.

“I think my tractor gets double points, and I think the boombox gets special consideration since you just know it would annoy someone that I was using a tape instead of a bluetooth speaker.” Jared insisted despite the points meaning absolutely nothing. “‘She thinks my tractor's sexy’ was next on the tape, but we wouldn’t be able to talk if we turned it back on. “Okay well it may not be hard to catch you, but it’s still worth points and that’s what counts.” he said nodding his head to the backpack slung over the back of the chair. If she could see around the various treats and lures for his livestock she'd find a bag of chips in there and a few cans of soda. “Yeah I mean the house.” he snorted, giving her a glance as he turned off the road onto a dirt path towards one of the main gates into his land. “Where else would I mean? On the roof? In the shed? You have stayed in the house before...one time… right?” It was then Jared was truly stumped, he could have been sure, but her reaction led him to wonder if he’d -I don’t know- dreamed it or something wild. “So turns out migration into Canada isn’t unheard of. The whole herd walked for miles and miles a day. Their behaviour changed over the border and I didn't even realize that was possible!” He started off, having to stop himself from launching into a tirade about his trip. They’d have time for that, best not bore Nell to sleep right off the bat. “Oh so you’re going to leave me to starve, see how it is. Steal the kids and run huh? Left on an empty farm to starve.” he turns his eyes to her as he halts the tractor, letting his glamour alter slightly to make his eyes bigger and glassy. A puppy dog look if ever you’d seen one. “Would you really do me like that?”

“Where do you even find the tapes?” Nell asked with a chuckle, always finding amusement in Jared’s mayhem. “I’ll grant the double points.” Her expression was carefully thoughtful, as if seriously considering these ‘points’. “The boombox gets a point because I’m sitting on it, so that’s obviously a multiplier.” Utter nonsense spilled from her in the name of joking around with her best friend. It was only a moment later that Nell was foraging into the backpack, pulling out the bag of chips and popping it open. She took one out and offered it to Jared, one again teasing, “Both hands on the wheel,” curious how he would go about this. “Yes I’ve been in the house,” she laughed. “But also like- the roof sounds pretty cool too, to be honest. Probably a nice view up there.” She straightened as Jared talked about the migration, looking more interested the more he spoke. “Really? That’s so cool! What do you mean it changed? Did you like it, though?” Nell had never minded Jared launching into wherever his mind took him, always happy to listen. “But yep- that’s basically the plan. I’ll let you keep this bag of chips, though. I’m takin’ the kids and the dog!” she joked as the tractor came to a stop. Nell looked up from the chips to be met with Jared’s puppy dogs eyes, and nearly instantly- a small smile formed. “Stop that- that’s no fair!”

“I made them! My own mixtapes. Took a bit of fiddling but I got them to go. Bit of extra effort, but once they’re done they’re endless enjoyment.” Jared insisted falling silent to nod solemnly as Nell allotted points to his efforts that day. “Do I get a combo bonus because it added an extra player to my party? Gotta be worth something!” Jared groused cheekily. He snapped his teeth in the air towards her and the offered snack. Eyes firmly on the road he missed the treat by several inches. “C’mon Nell, I’m a growing boy.” This was punctuated with a few more reaching bites in the air. “What’s the phrase? me casa, soup casa? Just make yourself at home, don’t have any locks on the place, if you can make it through the gauntlet of the farmlands then you’re welcome inside.” A beamed grin took over his face when she asked for clarification, trust Nell. “Before the border they travelled in a different order, stuck closer together at night and feeding times while they oved, then they crossed and seemed to lose organisation. Still one member of the herd in the lead but they all walked in a line across the way, like they were minimising the damage to the woodland. It was spectacular.” Jared hummed in delight. Her smile gave her away and soon Jared was pushing his eyes to blow out, his pupils dilated as far as he could go without slipping into a demonic blackout. “You’re taking everything but the dog? Don’t you care for me? Did we mean nothing?” he says heaving a heavy breath and shaking his shoulders as if in a mock sobbing fit. 

“What? DJ Beets isn’t good enough for you, anymore?” Nell teased, referencing the nearly ancient iPod they’d traded back and forth since she was fourteen. “I feel like an original iPod dock with speakers could provide some very chaotic and irritating vibes.” Nevermind that the iPod was currently in her possession. “Now you’re getting greedy with points,” she finished with a bit of a smirk. “You never know when to quit, do you?” Again she laughed as his teeth gnashed at the chip, having far too much fun while darting the chip around, a moving target. But finally she took pity, holding it still before him as she said, “If you grow any more, I’m suing. I already look like a troll next to you. A cute troll. But a troll, nonetheless.” Again her head shook gently in her delight. “That’s not even close to right. I accept the challenge, though.” But the mention of soup reminded her of something. “What have you been eating?” By now she knew that Jared wasn’t exactly Gordon Ramsey in the kitchen. But then she was back to being curious about his herd and migration. “Really? And they did that the whole way until they got back to the border, and crossed over again?”  Nell raised her hands to jokingly cover her eyes as Jared continued to look her way, always ready to be equally dramatic as him. “No!” she exclaimed, though it was mixed with another laugh. “I’m taking the dog, too.” Her fingers parted to reveal a single eye of her’s peeping out at Jared. “You know purple’s my favorite color.” The words were in reference to his true eye color, rather than the blue he usually put on, though she loved both of the shades. “You know that’s not true.”

“My allegiance will always be with DJ Beets. But I didn’t have them did I? Had to make do, the old tape player I had has a better battery life than DJ Beets anyway. It’s why I posted them to you when I left for the winter. No music on a trail would have left me tragically trudging on.” Jared shook his head and huffed a breath. “I don’t know when to quit, but it’s not like you do either.” he stuck his tongue out at that point teasingly before crunching the chip offered to him. “You’re not a troll, a gnome remember? But like a ceramic one, we could get you a pointy hat and a fishing pole if you want? Isn’t that how humans do wild miscalculations about other species?” Jared messed with her, it was far too fun to rile her up, and he’d been in serious withdrawal. “Eating? Who is that? I don’t know her.” He joked to deflect the question. Jared was certainly not a person who was at ease in a kitchen. He hadn’t really stepped foot in his own since he got home. Preferring to light a camping stove in the yard and heat some water for some sort of camping meal, the same as he’d been doing while away. A much easier fix than burning perfectly good food. “They did! It was incredible, they even took a different path on the way back, and seemed to step in different patterns than the way there. Very chaotic, but uniform at the same time.” When Nell covered her eyes Jared rolled his eyes and slid out of the seat, popping the door of the tractor open again and decided to leave it there instead of throwing the gates wide. “Come on then traitor, let's divide our assets and tell the kids the bad news. Nell doesn’t care about me anymore, she is taking everything and I’m going to have to skip town to avoid the heartbreak.” Offering her a hand so she didn’t fall face first out of the cab. Although even as he said this he let his eyes slide back to normal, the real normal. Blue making way for purple as the puppy dog facade faded.

“That’s true, DJ Beets might need a new battery, actually.” Maybe Nell could ask Winston about that, especially with their new magic developing, and possibly even make some nifty upgrades to surprise Jared with. “Everything with you is tragic,” she joked, certainly no stranger to Jared’s dramatics. “And you’re lucky there’s no actual gnomes around to hear you. I think I’d want to be one of those disturbingly sexy gnomes on lawns, though. The ones that make you wonder why something like that was ever made in the first place. Not that I’m that small! I’m not a gnome at all! You’re just...abnormally big!” she finished stubbornly, though the words were...obviously untrue despite her bias and pride. Her eyes narrowed, suddenly serious as she considered the man in front of her. “Your answer does nothing to make me feel better, Jared. I’ll make something while I’m here.” It wasn’t a question so much as a certainty in her eyes. It seemed that the coast was clear as she heard Jared slide to the ground, and she leaned tentatively over the side of the tractor, as if to make sure it was safe for her to look. “Like I could ever break your heart,” she simply said before accepting his hand without qualms this time. Then she was stepping down, carefully, and soon enough she was planted on the ground next to him. “Should I bring the hounds, now? Or wait?”

“I’m sure there’s one somewhere on the internet.” Jared assured her. He wasn’t worried. Their ipod had lasted this long, no reason to think it would give up the ghost now. If it was a new part it needed, it was a new part they’d find. “The gnomes won’t find me, and I’m faster than them.” He tried to gloss over the food thing. He wasn’t worried, so he didn’t want her to be. He’d never been good at cooking and he was doing just fine so far. Even after she left, he managed on take out, pre packaged foods and camping meals. A perfectly respectable diet in Jareds eyes. “Good luck with that, see what you can find.” he was certain she wouldn’t find anything suitable. Maybe a bag of raw pasta. But absolutely nothing to go with it. As was the way of Jared's kitchen at the moment. Once she was on her feet he simply made his way to the fence to climb over. Tall it was, but the charms on it had been broken a day or so ago with his return. “You break it every day.” he shot back teasingly as he threw a leg over the top of the fence waiting for her to climb after him. “Days without a tiktok sent, I was going spare!” he lamented with a wrist laid on his forehead. “I’d wait until the other side of the fence.” He was eager to meet genuine hellhounds, but he also knew they’d need to be on the move so as not to linger in the path of one of his herds that travelled the property. He wasn’t one to try and tame his animals, rather he let them feel he was a safe being and allowed him to live so that they could thrive on his land without issue. Probably not the safest practice, but five years in he was yet to have any serious repercussions. “Can you summon on the move?”

“I have a friend who might be able to help, too,” Nell began. “You remember Winston?” They’d already been friends when she’d met Jared, and long before that. “Well, they’re still a nerd,” she began fondly, “and I was thinking they could maybe help spruce DJ Beets up a little. You know- make sure they had a long, and healthy life. Have plenty of grandchildren. A wrap-around porch. All that jazz.” As for the food and Jared’s lack of proper nutrition, she’d let the conversation die for now, though he certainly wasn’t off the hook in her mind. Nell wasted no time in launching herself over the fence, perhaps even more agile than Jared might remember. She’d been doing gymnastics back in the day, but now she also had five more years of fighting experience beneath her belt. “If I break it, it’s only because you break mine first. So who’s really to blame, here?” As always, she laughed at his theatrics before playfully trying to swipe his dramatic hand away from his forehead. “You just use me for the Tiktoks,” she accused, matching his histrionics, it being her turn to bring a hand to her chest, apparently aghast. “But, yeah!” she said with a bright grin. “See?” The she was pulling up the sleeve of her jacket, revealing a summoning circle tattoo she’d gotten while they’d been apart. All it needed to bring the hellhounds to where she stood was a bit of blood. “So whenever is best for you!” It wasn’t unlike the first tattoo she’d gotten while she was fifteen, having shown that one off to Jared as well when Luce had done it for her. It had also been for summoning, though when activated had only brought forth a single, juvenile cockatrice back in the day.

“Yeah I remember them, if they’re willing to sacrifice some time for DJ Beets I’m all for it.” Jared knew of Nell’s other friends, she spoke about them often and he was always willing to hear the shenanigans. There just hadn’t been an awful big chance for him to interact with them. He’d seen them around, but considering his friendship with Nell had been born of a fluke single moment at a party, it wasn’t unusual that her other friends didn’t interact with him. Considering also the fact he left school shortly after they met and skipped a lot of his last year. Nell seemed to be very certain he held more cards in their friendship than he felt he did, but he didn’t argue any further, they’d be at it all day knowing them. She made quick work of the fence and he lowered down on the other side laughing at her own dramatic flair. “Not only for the tiktoks but they’re such a big bonus, how could I refuse?” Feet hitting the ground he tugs on her wrist gently to get a good look. “And it works like the other one?” he asked as he encouraged her to walk along the path with him. He took a few longer strides to be ahead before turning to walk backwards. “Do it now? Are they as wild as my bonedoggles? Or are they too classy to be vicious? I’ve yet to meet hellhounds for real.” He gushed with excitement. 

Nell’s eyes rolled gently as she grinned, but also knew that she’d been truly lucky to come across Jared today. She had no doubt they would have met, anyway, whether it be planned or not, but sooner was always better than later when it came to seeing him. “A bonus, he says. Is there anything you can’t charm your way out of? Or at least try to charm your way out of?,” she teased. Nell let him examine the tattoo, laid above the lines and lines of scars that ran along her forearms, the places where she took her blood sacrifices from when it came to fueling more serious bits of magic. When she’d left, she’d already had a fair amount, but after all the fighting and spellwork she’d done over the past five years, they were now overlapping over one another. She often glamoured them in public to avoid questions, but she knew she didn’t need to do that when it was only Jared here. “Yay! Exactly the same!” She’d been trying to keep up with him as his strides lengthened, her own, shorter legs carrying her faster before she realized what he was doing. Nell nearly collided with him when he turned around, and came to a quick halt as she laughed. “Generally...yes. They wanted to burn my face off when we first met but- now they’re used to me! And they listen to me! But I’m sure they’ll love you!” she said, alluding to his nymph status, and the creatures he was patron to. “Cheater,” Nell joked, though Jared’s excitement was spilling into her. It only took a moment for her to bite her thumb until it bled before swiping it over the summoning circle, speaking a few summoning words as she did so. In another moment, the trio of hellhounds burst forward, instantly going up to Nell with wagging tails and sitting neatly, as if expecting a treat.

“I’m very charming. Incredibly charming even!” Jared argued in return making a face at her, and just proving the exact opposite. He took in the new tattoo carefully, eyes roaming over the increased level of scarring also, but not saying a word. It was witch business, he knew he’d never understand even if he felt he understood enough to get by on the trust that Nell knew what she was doing. He stopped moving when she almost crashed into him and laughed lightly at the action. “We’ll see if I can make a good impression.” Jared insisted, miming straightening a tie on a non existent collar, and fussing with the cuffs of a dress shirt he wasn’t wearing. He waited eagerly as she drew blood. Watching closely with interest as she went through the summoning process. The appearance of the hounds had Jared clenching his fists to stop himself from making any sudden leaps about their character. They might be lined up for Nell, but he actually didn’t want to make a bad impression or assume too much. “Beauties.” He commented looking at Nell for a moment before digging in his pockets. If you thought the nymph had left the house with empty pockets you were dreadfully mistaken. Sometimes you needed to carry a little dried flesh to bribe with. He almost bows to the hounds, as he rounds to get beside Nell in his excitement, in the end completely giving in to the notion and giving the trio a bow of respect anyway. “Fuck Nell look at them.”

Nell stuck her tongue out at him playfully when he laughed at her abrupt stop. But as soon as Jared started digging in his pockets, Scooby’s ears pricked, knowing that sound from having received far too many treats in his lifetime. Turning his head towards Jared, he broke formation before his tail began to wag in even more earnest. Out of the bunch, he was the one most easily charmed by snacks. Hence- having been named the Scooby of the three hellhounds. “Go ahead,” Nell said with a soft smile on her lips, her voice taking on that gentle quality she saved solely for animals or beasts that weren’t attacking her. Scooby barely even waited for permission before bounding over to Jared, nose trying to shove its way into the man’s pockets for the delicious goodness that was hidden within. “Come on, Scooby!” Nell laughed. “Use your manners!” But she’d known Jared would adore them just as much as she did, and she couldn’t help but love the way he was with them. Meanwhile, Scrappy and Shaggy held back, stood in front of Nell as if making sure this man wasn’t any sort of threat before taking a single, curious step forward. Thankfully, Nell’s hellhounds had been with her long enough to listen to most things she said, though they were still very much wild creatures at times.

Jared didn’t dare do anything but shoot Nell an incredibly longing look. It wasn’t polite to touch without permission, but with a snout in his pocket he was struggling hard to resist. He turned out the pocket that was being broken into carefully slow enough for the hound to catch the treats that would fall out. Once he was at Nells side he pulled the rest of the treats out of his other pocket and offered one in each hand to the other two hounds. He waited with baited breath, marvelling at how Nell had control of the, at how they sat and interacted with her and each other. They were truly fascinating, and he could already feel the usual small lingering tie to them that he usually felt with vicious beasts of all kinds. “Scooby? Like the cartoon?” He asks Nell, not taking his eyes off the trio for even a second. He was ecstatic to have Nell back at his side, but she’d brought something he’d never bargained for. “Hellhounds are just everything I imagined and more.” he breathes, stooping and tilting his head to get a slightly closer look without invading anyone's personal space. “The three of you are wonderful.” he compliments. “Absolutely stunning.” But he’d run out of treats and -as he was desperate to make a good impression- he nudged Nells arm. “Race to the house for more treats?”

Nell knew that look, and trusted her hounds and Jared, but it was always good to proceed with caution when dealing with creatures such as these. “Scooby’s always happy if you give him treats. And yeah, like the show,” she laughed. “And then Shaggy and Scrappy too,” she said, motioning to the other hounds. “Also from the show. The gang’s all here.” Scooby wasted no time in gobbling up as many of the treats he could get, and Nell tried to remind him, “Save some for your brothers!” But he wasn’t having it. As far as the hellhound seemed to be concerned, these were all his treats. “I’m glad I could show you them.” Her voice was perhaps the most sincere it’d been since she’d found him in town on the tractor, for she was truly happy she could give Jared this spark of joy. Shaggy was next to come forward, always the one who was most hungry for any form of affection he could muster up from those Nell trusted. It was only a moment before he was shoving his enormous head under Jared’s hand, demanding the petting he obviously thought he deserved. Scrappy still seemed hesitant, fur raised ever so slightly as he watched the other to dogs. Out of the bunch, he was the smallest, and the most cautious, which also meant he was the one most willing to attack at a moment’s notice. A slow and mischievous grin blossomed on Nell’s lips before she simply took off running towards the house, wind whipping in the air as she called back to Jared. “I’m going to win!” The dogs fell into line behind her, excited to run after her.

“Does that mean I get to be Velma? Since the name is still open for any takers.” Jared’s eyes were firmly watching the hounds as they scoped him out -some more thoroughly than others and that was very clear. “They’re brilliant Nell, I’ve been gifted this day. Take note. Today was the day only good things happened...so far.” He said in a loud resounding voice, passing treats over easily to Shaggy and withdrawing slightly in proximity to the smallest hound. Hoping to ease any stress the beast might have felt. It was this motion that distracted him enough to not notice Nell take off towards the house. All three of the hounds spinning on a dime to give chase. “CHEATER.” Jared yelled after her, slow to start but running after her and her new charges across the open farmland soon enough. 

[fluffymabari]

Too Close For Combat

For @scharoux​‘s @14daysofdalovers​ day #6: “Fighting together” I wrote up an idea that has been swimming around in my head for a while. It’s based on what happens when my favorites start fighting the same person in-game and it looks like Fenris has his arms wrapped around Hawke at the end of the fight (while still holding his sword). Made me wonder how they might get into such a situation.  

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Pairing: Fenris x F!Hawke (Dragon Age II) Words: 1,417 Warning: Fighting/violence, a little blood, a little ~sexual tension~

The docks were swarming with more thugs from the Undercut Thrifters than usual tonight. Word must have gotten around of the local “street cleaners” because they were out in full-force to protect their territory.

"They must have one hell of a recruiter," Avery Hawke mused to Varric in passing after the third wave leapt upon them from the shadows.

"That or this is the worst surprise party ever," Varric shouted back while sending an explosive bolt into three unsuspecting thugs.

"I'll laugh at that when we're done kicking their asses!" Avery replied before bowling into the nearest archer and stabbing them.

"Less talking, more killing!" Anders called out. Hawke could already tell that his magic reserves were waning. As long as he provided a little support she could handle it. She would just have to fight twice as hard.

This whole mess was starting to feel familiar and Avery's mind flashed with memories of being overwhelmed by the darkspawn outside of Lothering. There would be no dragon witch to swoop in to save them this time. It must not be too bad though, because Varric hadn't yet sounded the retreat. While narrowly avoiding a shield bash, Avery could see that he was still raining arrows down on their foes. He and Anders were doing their best to cut down the amount of enemies overtaking her and Fenris, but they were still leaving the grunt work to the blade-wielders. Her mabari, Wreakhavoc, was doing what he does best: biting at and pulling down the trousers of every distracted enemy he could find. His latest opponent toppled over and face-planted into the dirt before being incinerated by a fireball from Anders.

Hawke let out a sharp laugh despite herself, as Havoc trotted away happily to monch his next victim. He definitely lives up to his name, but he’s also starting to look a little sluggish too. This battle is going on far too long. How many more could there be?

Avery took on two nearby thugs at once, parrying blows before kicking the one on the left in the groin and stabbing the other in the neck. One of varric's bolts flew past her head and hit the stunned one in the eye just as he regained his footing. The temporary lack of enemies allowed her to quickly scan the streets to find Fenris and make sure he wasn't being boxed in.

Normally during fights like this Avery and Fenris worked as a team. After three years of fighting and training together, they had gotten accustomed to the other's fighting style and found ways to use it to their advantage. Fenris would grab their enemy's attention and Hawke would disappear to flank behind them and take them out while they're distracted. Tonight should have been no different, but in the thick of everything they became separated.

Finally she spotted him; too far away and being overwhelmed by three warriors. One of them had a large maul itching to crash into his skull. Avery had to think quickly. She wouldn't be able to get to him in time, but a well-placed confusion grenade could let him gain the advantage until she got there for support.

Pulling the vial free from a pouch on her belt, Avery shouted, "Fen! Incoming!" while kicking it to the middle of his pursuers. It was a successful distraction that Fenris used to take a wide swing that knocked all of them back.

As she was preparing to dash to his side, Avery was blindsided by a kick that came from seemingly nowhere. She stumbled backwards and turned to face her attacker, managing to raise her daggers in time to block a stab that came too close to her chest. She fought off the assailant as best as she could but her body was becoming exhausted and the dwarf was much quicker than she was. From the sounds in the chaos behind her, Avery could tell that Varric and Anders were focusing on the ones surrounding Fenris. She would have to face off with this asshole on her own. Saving up her energy, she focused on defense until she could find a clear shot for her dagger to strike. She dodged and parried, but the dwarven rogue was advancing too fast. He struck at her with blinding speed, and she evaded as best she could, narrowly missing a dagger to her face. Or she thought she had, but immediately after felt the pain and blood trickling down from a wound on her cheek. It was time to retreat.

Hawke leapt away as quickly as she could to get out of range of the next attack, only to have her back collide with a solid mass. A chest plate slammed into her shoulder blades, slightly knocking the air from her lungs, and a gauntleted hand caught at the belts on her hip. But they made no move to grapple her, only to steady her. It was Fenris. She stole a glance at his face and saw that he looked just as shocked as she was at their collision. Had he run all that way to get to her? But there was no time to analyze it further; the thug was rushing at them with daggers out. Before Avery could raise her own daggers to fend him off, Fenris wrapped his left arm around her waist, twisting their bodies to the side and using that momentum to stab the dwarf through the middle single-handed. Barely able to register what just happened, she gave the body a swift kick and dispatched it from the blade.

Fenris sagged against her as his sword hit the pavement. They were both panting heavily, and Fenris' breath was ragged and hot against Avery's ear. Her hood must have fallen down during the battle then, leaving bright copper hair to cascade over her shoulders. The sounds of fighting had ceased around them and only silence remained, but so did the elven warrior's hold on her. The way they were positioned now, with her back pressed against him and his arm around her waist, it felt so... intimate, so protective. What she wouldn’t do to have him hold her like this normally. They had flirted and even discussed the possibility of something more between them, but this was the first time their bodies had been so close. Bodies wearing entirely too much armor and splattered with blood, but still.

A breathy laugh passed Hawke’s lips in between gulps of air as she angled her head back to look at Fenris' face. "A little close for combat, don't you think?" She smirked at him to prevent herself from grinning like an idiot. “That was quick thinking.”

He let out a lighthearted chuckle that reverberated through her chest and made her heart flutter. Releasing his hold on her waist, he took a step away to sheath the sword on his back. Turning to face him, Avery noticed a slight flush rise to his cheeks and the tips of his ears. She couldn’t help wondering if it was from the exertion or if he was actually blushing?

“I don’t know how you keep getting yourself in these situations, Hawke.” He laughed again, shaking his head. He may be teasing, but there was a hint of concern behind his words too. “You really need to be more careful.” Her heart skipped a beat as Fenris reached towards her, brushing away a strand of hair that clung to her fresh wound.

The movement brought fresh pain to the right side of her face, causing Avery to wince. “Ugh, how bad is it?”

She could do nothing else but watch his features as Fenris studied the cut. His armored fingers were still tangled in her hair, keeping it back from her face. Humming thoughtfully, he concluded, “It’s not as deep as it appears. You should be fine. I do not think the blade was poisoned.”

When their eyes met then, her breath actually caught in her throat. The look he was giving her made her wish they were alone so she could close the distance between them and...

A sharp cough cut the moment short, causing Fenris to quickly drop his hand and step away. Varric called out, “If you two are done, Blondie and I found out where their leader is holed up.”

“Well then,” Avery spun the daggers she didn’t realize were still in her hands once before sheathing them. “Guess we better go pay them a visit.”

[turning-dreams-into-chaos]

Awake

*Not my Gif*

Request: Hi there! I love your writing! Can I request 5 &13 from the prompt list with Bucky Barnes xTeen!reader??? Thank you!

Requested by: @afictionaladventure16

5. “You can’t save me. I’m already dead.”

13. “You left me when I needed you the most.”

Paring: Bucky Barnes x Teen!Reader (Platonic)

Post Date: 6-8-19

Word Count: 2.2k

A/N: Hi! I had no idea if you wanted to make it like romantic, but I hope you didn’t cause she’s like 17, so I hope this is okay! I really let this one get away from me, so I hope nobody minds the themes in this! Enjoy everyone!

- Ria

WARNINGS: Mentions of death, Suicidal Reader, mentions of overdosing, overdosing but not dying, (*DON’T READ IF THESE ARE A TRIGGER!)

~Prompt List~

~Master List~

~Open Requests~

You closed your eyes as your fingers fell onto the golden bracelet around your wrist. The last thing you had from your mom. Your dad had left you and her when you were 6 and since then your mom promised she would always be there for you and she was. She was your best friend, but she died 3 years ago when you were 14 and this time of the year was always hard. The anniversary of her death. This year was different, you were no longer jumping from foster home to foster home after your father didn’t want you. This year Tony Stark had picked you on his radar. You had powers, no one knew how you got them, neither of your parents had them, but somehow you did. You could move things with your mind. You were always reluctant to use them but when the front wheels of a bus had fallen off sending the bus on its way to collide with one of the busiest buildings you’ve ever seen. You stopped it, just inches from collision and about to kill lots of people. You tried to remain inconspicuous, but apparently someone was one step ahead of you, recording the event and you before you could run away. While your face was barely recognizable, Tony had found you and brought you into the tower to live with them and train to use your powers. You got to know the team but being one of the youngest members it had been hard, you started to feel like they were becoming close to you, but you continued to miss your family. Bucky had been the one you’d gotten closest to, always being there to cheer you up and keep you smiling. You struggled to move on, and sometimes you felt like you couldn’t. Most nights, you sat in your room staring at the bracelet your mom gave you and now that it’s the anniversary, you’ve realized you’ve never really been able to recover. You were so entranced you didn’t hear the soft patter of Bucky knocking on your door and opening it until his hand was on your shoulder causing you to jump.

“GOD Bucky! Warn a girl before you scare her!” you yelled while you lightly laughed, wiping away any evidence you’d been crying. He stared at you with soft confused eyes as he fell back on your bed, throwing his feet up.

“I did. I knocked, and opened the door and knocked again, then I called your name all the way over to you. You weren’t really paying attention.” He said as you sighed, embarrassed that you’d let yourself be so distracted he couldn’t get your attention. You leaned onto your bedframe while you gave him an apologetic look. He chuckled as he shook it off, pulling your hand up to look at your bracelet. He admired the gold chain and heart charm before looking up at you. ‘It’s nice. Why does it make you sad?”

You took a deep breath before shaking your head, trying to avoid his eyes, “My mom gave it to me before she…” your voice faded away as you felt tears threatened to fall. You shook your head again as you blinked to hold them back. Bucky heard the waver in your voice before giving your hand a squeeze and releasing it, sending it back to your side. “It reminds me of her sometimes. I just like to look at it. Feels like she’s still here. Especially now.” You were whispering now, hoping that your voice wouldn’t crack. He didn’t know that 3 years ago tomorrow she was killed in a drunk driving accident, that you would’ve probably sat in your room crying your eyes out alone while no one was aware, and you weren’t about to tell him.

“How about we do something tomorrow, Doll. You and me. We could go out and see a movie get some lunch. Just spend some time together.” He smiled at you while you hesitated. You needed this. You knew you needed the distraction and spending time with Bucky has become one of your newest favorite things to do. You glanced at the clock, 11:58 written in big block letters before you turned to face Bucky, nodding your head slowly.

“Yeah, yeah I’d like that. I need it. Promise?” you asked filling with hope.

“Yeah. I promise.” He stood up and threw an arm around you, pulling you into his side as he ruffled your hair a little. You both laughed before saying goodnight, you fell onto your bed as Bucky left, closing the door with a swift motion. You barely slept that night, images of you and your mother planted in your head. After a while of not being able to sleep, you gave up and headed into your bathroom. You looked into the mirror at your unkempt look, hair a mess from your tossing and turning and clothes askew. You barely smiled anymore, it’s been three years since your world collapse and you weren’t any better. You groaned before moving yours eyes to the pill bottle next to you. The bottle of sleeping pills had been barely used, you had only taken a few of them when you really needed them. You didn’t used to take them, but Bucky noticed a few months ago you obviously weren’t getting enough sleep as your eyes were surrounded by bags and your personality was much different than how it was when they first met you. When he confronted you about it, you just claimed that it was new surroundings and people. He didn’t question it, but when you had gotten worse he spoke to Tony about trying to help you. They weren’t sure what to do but when they brought the conversation to you, you mentioned pills to help. They were unsure at first about giving pills to a 17-year-old, but when you promised you’d be safe and that you’d only take them when it’s necessary they had finally agreed but weren’t happy about it. The next week was some of the most sleep you’d gotten in a while and Bucky felt better. You leaned off them after a while resorting to only 1 or 2 a month. You stared at the pill before taking it. You then looked at the rest of the pills sitting in the bottle. It would’ve been so easy to just pour them down your throat and end your pain. The thought has crossed your mind many times, but you’ve never done it, you’ve been to afraid of how the team would’ve reacted. You closed your eyes and fought back memories once again. You would’ve taken them then, but you had plans with Bucky tomorrow and you weren’t going to kill yourself knowing people wanted to be with you. That’s not fair for them. You headed back to your bed before falling onto it, waiting for the sleep to take over your body.

The next morning came fast, light pouring through the curtains onto your face causing a groan to leave your lips. You threw your feet off the bed before heading to the mirror hanging on your wall. You just stared at yourself, staring until you couldn’t look anymore because it hurt to much. You began to get ready before F.R.I.D.A.Y. sounded through your room.

“Ms. Y/L/N, I’m sorry to interrupt you but Mr. Barnes has informed me to let you know he couldn’t spend today with you. He went on a last-minute mission about an hour ago.” Your heart felt heavy in your chest as you processed what she had said. He left you. he promised he would spend the day with you and he left you. You thanked F.R.I.D.A.Y. before falling back onto your bed staring up at the ceiling before tears fell from your face. It wasn’t a big deal to him that he left, he probably thought that it was nothing you couldn’t do any other day. But to you it was everything, you needed someone, and Bucky was the only one who would give you the time of day. You wanted to fall asleep again, just feel nothing for a little while. Your gaze fell to the bathroom door. You could feel nothing, it would be so simple, so easy. Just take the pills. All of them. You slowly sat up and made your way to the bathroom. Hands slightly shaking as your mind raced with thoughts of your parents and of Bucky, but you drowned them out as you picked up the bottle. Your eyes were clouded, and you could barely see the writing on the bottle as you opened it, falling on the floor with your back against the wall. Your sobs filled the air as your head pounded. You poured the bottle into your hand before throwing it across the room, the clatter sound echoing in your mind repeatedly. You didn’t want to think, you didn’t want to feel anything and for a second you didn’t, but when it was over you shoved the pills into your mouth a few at a time until there were none left. Your sobs stopped as your breathing became heavy. You stood up, legs weak as you stumbled your way over to your desk, pulling out a pen and paper as you sat down.

Team,

I’m sorry. I’m so sorry it had to be this way. I couldn’t take it. I couldn’t take anything anymore. It was just to hard and painful. You don’t need me. You’ve never really needed me. You all left me. Even Bucky, you left me when I needed you the most. I’m sorry. Please don’t try to save me. You can’t save me. I’m already dead.

- Y/N

Your words were sloppy and the page wet from tears that fell from earlier. You folded the note and placed it on the table next to your bed followed by your bracelet. You sat on your bed, feeling void as you laid down, head falling onto your pillow as you closed your eyes.

Tony got notified immediately when your vitals started changing and when F.R.I.D.A.Y. had told him what you’d done he raced to your room, grabbing anyone he could along the way. Tony, Steve, Bruce, and Natasha all threw open your room in a matter of seconds. Steve felt your pulse, barely a pulse but still a pulse, before carefully picking you up and rushing towards Bruce’s lab.

“She’s going to be fine.” Bruce said a few hours later after you arrived at the lab. The entire team had come to see you, hoping you made it. They all read the note you left, they all felt awful, but Bucky felt the worst. He was supposed to spend he day with you but instead he opted for a mission, a mission Steve could’ve easily done instead. He hated himself. He hated that he let you do this. Bruce glanced up to Bucky before nodding his head toward the lab. “She’s going to want you to be there when she wakes. Trust me.”

Bucky’s heart raced as he headed into the lab watching you with hopeful eyes. He took a seat next to you and grabbed your hand, pulling your bracelet out of his pocket and putting it back on your wrist.

“…hey.” You whispered, voice lazy and laced with discomfort causing his head to shoot up and eyes match yours. He smiled, looking at you as his eyes started to water a little. He couldn’t help it. You looked so frail and he hated it, he hated that he caused this.

“You’re awake, Doll. You’re awake…” he said, pushing your hair out of your face as he helped you sit up.

“Yeah, I noticed.”

“I’m sorry. I- I shouldn’t have left you. I should’ve stayed with you. You were right, I left you and I should’ve stayed.” He rambled as your hand came to his. You gave him a smile before squeezing his hand.

“It’s not your fault. It was never your fault. I just couldn’t handle it. I’m sorry.” You both sat there for a minute watching each other before he interrupted the silence.

“Why? Why would you do that? I could’ve- I almost lost you doll. I won’t leave you again. You’re my family.” His voice sounded heavy in your head as you listened to his words.

“I’m your family?” you asked, lowering your gaze to the floor. He pulled you into a hug, wrapping his arms around you as you felt the cool metal against your skin.

“Of course, Doll.” He said as he ruffled your hair like he did yesterday. You let out a light giggle as you pulled apart. “Banner said you needed sleep when you woke up, listen to him. He saved your life.” He let you fall back down onto the bed as you finally realized how tired you were. You nodded your head before closing your eyes and hearing him take a seat next to you. His hand found yours again, a gesture he did with few people, as you fell asleep. You weren’t suddenly perfect, every problem you have wasn’t going to just go away. But now you’ve found someone that would make it worth living for. You found a new family.

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the Christmas Caryl I wrote for my Caryl Secret Santa @the-space-between1013  I hope this makes you do a happy dance. :D   Merry Christmas!

Looking Up (also on 9L)

The night had turned into an unexpected party, and he blamed Judith.

Michonne, heading to check on those who had perimeter watch before night fell, had asked the girl to rummage through the attic for anything valuable—weapons, old gardening equipment, tools, winter clothes. She’d found a few sundry items: a pair of men’s rain boots, a hacksaw, electrical tape, some rope. And two boxes of Christmas stuff.

That last one seemed completely useless if you asked him, but with Carol’s help, Judith had enthusiastically dragged the large boxes down the attic steps, across the hall, down the flight of stairs to the first floor, and into the living where she unceremoniously pulled every item out, then laid them around her in display.

Daryl had watched surreptitiously from the dining room table where he sat inventorying and cleaning their weapons as Carol, sitting cross-legged in the midst of the holiday paraphernalia, patiently answered every single question Judith threw her way. What’s this do? (A nutcracker.) Where do these go? (A ball of Christmas lights.) Who’s this? (Rudolph statue.) What do you do with this? (Faux mistletoe.) And on and on it went. RJ had come out of his room when he heard the chatter and sat contently in Carol’s lap, playing with a miniature snow globe for several minutes before moving on to the next festive trinket.

“Can we put this stuff up?” Judith had asked excitedly, bouncing on her knees and peering around the room at the adults, her eyes settling on Michonne.

Having just returned home to the festive mess around the room, Michonne had looked at her deadpan but, seeing her enthusiasm, relented, smiling and shaking her head. “Who’s going to help you?”

And that’s how he’d ended up single-handedly stringing Christmas lights around the living room while Carol, Michonne, and the kids decorated the rest of the house.

He heard some commotion behind him, but he kept his focus on hanging the one strand of lights he’d already untangled. Standing on the arm of the couch in his bare feet, he stretched over the expanse of air above the end table to shove a pushpin into the wall and draped the string of lights over it.

Suddenly, music blasted through the air, and he nearly fell from his precarious stance. With one hand against the wall, he shoved himself back upright and stepped down onto the cushion and then the floor as the music—an impossibility—faded to a whisper.

“The he…ck was that?” he asked as his four housemates stood around electronic equipment.

“Eugene made it for me!” Judith enthused. “Now I can hear Christmas music!”

Michonne shrugged at him as Judith bounced up and down in excitement. “Found some music in these boxes, and she has a player.”

He nodded, less than enthusiastic, and plopped down on the couch to start untangling the next string of lights.

“Do you know these songs, Mom?”

“Yeah,” Michonne answered, looking at Carol for confirmation. “Probably most of them.”

Judith turned the music up to hear a man’s voice, low and breathy, sing. She stood listening for a moment before turning it down again and asking, “What’s a blue Christmas?”

Amused at the question, Daryl glanced up from his frustrating task to see Michonne smiling as she began explaining how colors could also describe emotions. His eyes darted to Carol, who’d found a place on the bookshelf for RJ’s snow globe, and his heart clenched.

He didn’t often let his imagination run in domestic circles, but he couldn’t help thinking this was the life she deserved. A warm home with friends and laughter, decorating for the holidays, a soundtrack of festive music, teaching kids about the fun things in life.

Her lightweight white sweater and blue jeans hugged her gently, and the low lamplight filling the room cast an angelic haze around her. He stared unabashedly for a moment, everyone in the room oblivious to him, and his heartbeat kicked up. She looked beautiful, happy. He could count on his fingers the number of times he’d seen her look so carefree.

She must’ve sensed his gaze on her because she suddenly turned her head and looked right at him, a questioning, gentle half-smile gracing her face.

He nodded once and felt his cheeks warming at having gotten caught, then turned back to the wretched ball of Christmas lights in his hand.

“Let’s see what other songs are on here,” Michonne suggested before switching the player to the next song.

A loud pop song, peppy and in soprano, blared from the speakers. “You’re here where you should be/Snow is falling as the carolers sing/It just wasn’t the same, alone on Christmas day.”

Judith started bouncing around. “Come on, RJ,” she called and held out her hands to him.

“Presents, what a beautiful sight/don’t mean a thing if you ain’t holding me tight/You’re all that I need, underneath the tree, tonight,” the woman’s voice rang out as the kids starting twirling around.

“Come on, Daryl!”

He looked up at Judy, stricken, as she motioned for him to join them. He shook his head, holding up a hand to wave her request away.

She took it in stride, bouncing around to face Michonne. “Mom,” Judy entreated, holding her hand out. “Carol?”

Daryl peeked up to see the four of them paired up—Carol and RJ, Michonne and Judith—bounding around, dancing.

“I’m gonna hold you close/Make sure that you know/I was lost before you.”

The lyrics played on, and Daryl couldn’t help watching the merriment in front of him. The kids danced with arms and legs akimbo, bouncing around with pure joy written on their faces. The women too, carefree and having fun, couldn’t restrain their smiles.  

“Christmas was cold and grey/Another holiday alone to celebrate/But then one day, everything changed/You’re all I need underneath the tree.”

The music rang around them, the words holding him as captive as Carol did, his eyes never leaving her as she moved freely about, hips swaying, arms leading RJ around, an unadulterated smile gracing her face. She looked stunning, nearly taking his breath away as she floated on her feet.

“I found what I was looking for/A love that’s meant for me/A heart that’s mine completely/Knocked me right off my feet/And this year I will fall/With no worries at all/‘Cause you’re near and everything’s clear/You’re all I need underneath the tree.”

Though she didn’t see him watching her, the lyrics the woman sang made his pulse race. He’d spent so many holidays alone. While other families held parties and exchanged gifts, cooked feasts and lived out traditions, he’d spent most Christmases hiding, sometimes in his room or in a closet, avoiding his old man, or out in the woods away from all other human beings. It’d always felt safer that way…but not anymore.

Here he felt…different. Cared for, safer than he’d ever felt before. Which was saying a lot considering the state of the world.

And much of that was thanks to the angelic woman dancing around with a fatherless little boy. He couldn’t take his eyes off of her, wishing with every ounce of his being that she was his, that the lyrics filling his ears and setting the wishes of his heart aflame told the story of the two of them.

“You’re here where you should be/Snow is falling as the carolers sing/It just wasn’t the same alone on Christmas day/Presents, what a beautiful sight/Don’t mean a thing if you ain’t holding me tight/You’re all that I need underneath the tree.”

Though grateful she was here, he couldn’t help wondering what it’d be like to be with her, to hold her tight. She’d already become the best gift he’d ever received—his best friend, confidant, sounding board, secret keeper, shooting-the-shit partner, protector and defender, and all-around favorite person he’d ever met. He wouldn’t mind adding to the list.

It would likely never happen though. They’d always circled each other, her the moon to his planet, her gravitational pull on him creating influential changes and lighting up the darkness. Irrevocably close, orbitally connected, but forever separated. What he wouldn’t give to change that, to venture into something more, explore uncharted territory, close the space between them, a collision of sorts that would irreparably change the forces felt between them.

But how? Knowing him, he’d likely destroy the symbiotic nature they’d settled into and send them into extinction if he tried.

No, it was better to leave things as they existed: safe, close, linked, comfortable. Except in moments like these when the longing he felt for her threatened to devour him from the inside out.

The verse repeated and, realizing he’d likely never get the opportunity to move beyond how close they’d already become, he turned back to his task, suddenly feeling melancholy.  

“Again!” RJ demanded when the song ended.

“Let’s see what comes next,” Michonne told him.

Immediately, a woman’s voice started singing. “I don’t want a lot for Christmas/There is just one thing I need.”

“Ohh!” Michonne hollered above the din. “I’m karaoke’ing this one!”

With his elbows on his knees, lights dangling from his fingertips, he stared as Michonne, katana-wielding badass, grabbed a six-inch nutcracker statue, used it as a faux microphone, and belted out each and every lyric to the slow-starting turned rock-n-roll pop song ringing through the rafters.

Daryl couldn’t help huffing out laughs as the music progressed, Michonne twirling Judith around with her free hand, Carol and RJ rocking out with the uptempo’d song.

He also couldn’t help noticing the longing in the lyrics, apparently a common theme on the mixed music track. They did nothing to help the yearning in his heart as he watched the festive scene play out before him as he sat idly on the sidelines, just as he had for most of his life.

Michonne caught his eye a few times and motioned for him to join them, but he shook his head.

“Wooo!” Michonne exclaimed as the song ended, looking pleased with herself. “Who knew we’d ever karaoke again?”

“Your turn, Carol!” Judith exclaimed.

“Yeah, your turn, Carol,” Michonne echoed, handing the ‘microphone’ to her, a pleased smile gracing her face.

Carol looked at each of them in turn, waiting for the next song to start, her eyes lingering on him as a jingle-y pop tune started playing.

“I can’t wait to unwrap you at Christmas/You’re the gift for me/I can’t wait to unwrap you at Christmas/Under the Christmas tree.”

“Is this the Monkees?!” Michonne exclaimed as the music jangled on.

Carol nodded enthusiastically, singing only half of the lyrics with the group. “I can’t wait to unwrap you at Christmas. I don’t know the words.”

Daryl chuckled to himself, his eyes ever tracking the carefree spirits bounce around the room. Michonne and the kids held hands, forming a circle, and went round and round as though they were kids in a schoolyard. Carol sang considerably better than children calling out nursery rhymes, even if she made up half of the song.

“I’ve been waiting all year now, baby/For the snow and you to return/So I’ll hang the mistletoe and stand right here/Cross my fingers, hope I’ll get my wish this year.”

The thought of kissing Carol under the mistletoe, her dreamy eyes peering up at him in the firelight, sashayed through his mind as her voice rang out. His eyes flicked up just in time to see her gaze settle on him, sending his blood pumping hot and hard through his veins.

Though he knew she couldn’t read his warm and wayward thoughts, embarrassment flooded over him. He turned away to check on Michonne and the kids, who were now strategically picking places to hang a few boughs of fake mistletoe.

Damn all this love-dovey Christmas crap, he thought, his mood turning dismal at how easily he’d fallen under the spell of it all. Just untangle these lights—and then yourself from this whole mess.

“I can’t wait to unwrap you at Christmas/You’re the gift for me.”

Without lifting his head from the frustrating task in his hands, he glanced up at Carol still caroling. To find her staring meaningfully at him as more longing words fell from her lips.

“I can’t wait to unwrap you at Christmas/I dream of nothing more.”

His belly flipped, and he dropped his eyes to the knotted lights before him, swallowing hard. He felt his cheeks warm again.

Her eyes fixed on him didn’t mean anything. Couldn’t mean anything.

Could it?

Don’t be stupid, he scolded himself, shame sweeping through him at the notion she sang the lyrics to him instead of into the room. She’d never… She was just messing with him. She always did when she was in a fun and feisty mood.

“I’ve been saving all of my kisses/Just to spend them on your sweet lips/So I’ll decorate the place with light and cheer/Knowing Christmas day you will be standing here.”

He refused to look up, no matter how desperately he longed to watch her sing, see those words fall from her mouth as her eyes landed on him. His heart couldn’t take it. As it was, he could barely work the knots out of the string of lights in his hands; he’d never untangle her from his heart.

The song and Carol continued, but he drifted somewhere else.

And why would he even try? She’d acted as his lifeline for far too many years to undo now. No separation, no time apart, no diverging road had ever kept them from one another. But neither had any led them together, not the way he longed for. And that still confused the hell out of him.

How could he even understand what he felt for her? No one had ever burrowed into his heart the way she had. He’d never let anyone get as close to him as she had. He’d spent a lifetime keeping people away, and all he wanted was to draw her in, as close to him as possible, touch her skin, make her feel all the wild, wonderful, and confusing things he felt when she was near.

Damn it all!

He shook his head, chasing his daydream away. Which didn’t do him much good since she continued singing about kissing under the mistletoe.

He nearly groaned, forcing his mind to focus on the wretched lights in his hand. The kids deserved to have some fun, to see Christmas lights strung up and to decorate the house with Christmas merriment and to hear the upbeat songs that used to drive him mad when played in every store and to dance with Michonne and Carol. And where’d she learn to sway like that anyway? Had she always been able to sing?

He knew what the sound of her crying softly in the middle of the night sounded like, how far she could trek without food and water before collapsing, what she looked like after weeks without shelter, and how brave and self-sacrificing she became when someone she loved faced danger. But he didn’t know her favorite song or how old she’d been when they’d met or what kind of music she’d listened to. He couldn’t begin to guess whether she’d ever lived anywhere other than Georgia before they’d trekked north or how many siblings she’d had, if any, or what her hobbies had been or if she’d ever played sports.

“Aw, hell,” he mumbled to himself, realizing he couldn’t get his one-track mind off of destination Carolville.

Finally, the song ended, and the kids cried out for more.

“Maybe we should help Uncle Daryl with those lights. He seems to be having some problems,” Michonne observed.

Both kids hurtled towards him as the next song started, some bluesy, half-country, rock ballad. He gave the partially untangled end of the light string to Judy as Michonne bounded up to Carol, and they both began singing into the ‘microphone.’

“Take back the holly and mistletoe/Silver bells on strings/If I wrote a letter to Santa Claus/I would ask for just one thing/I don’t need sleigh rides in the snow/don’t need a Christmas that’s blue/Take back the tinsel, stockings, and bows/‘Cause all I want for Christmas is you.”

Holy hell, another one?

He didn’t think he could take another lonesome, aching, pining, desperate song about wanting someone, especially not with Carol singing the lyrics out, calling to his lonely heart with her siren’s song and melodic voice.

After instructing Judy and a less-than-helpful RJ, he glanced up at the apocalypse’s best duo to find both of them singing directly to their audience of three.

“I don’t need expensive things/They don’t matter to me/All that I want can’t be found/Underneath my Christmas tree.”

The confidence, joy, and passion with which they sang out made him want to stop and watch the performance, and he tapped the kids on their shoulders and motioned for them to pay attention.

“You are the angel atop my tree.” Michonne pointed to the kids and sang out to them, enthralled in the song.

“You are my dream come true/Santa can’t bring me what I need/‘Cause all I want for Christmas is you.”

A sax solo played, and Daryl watched as Carol, eyes closed, swayed to the sexy music, a veritable dream come true. He swallowed hard, his eyes never leaving her, and he was glad he was sitting down, the kids in front of him and tangled up Christmas lights dangling all around him or he might have made a fool of himself by vaulting up and across the room, pulling her into his arms, and letting her know how much the song and her voice singing it affected him, Grimes gang hanging around or not.

Suddenly, her eyes opened and found his, just as the lyrics picked up again, and she sang them out, loud and proud.

“You are the angel atop my tree/You are my dream come true/Santa can’t bring me what I need/‘Cause all I want for Christmas is you.”

Somewhere on his periphery, he was aware of the kids dancing again and Michonne singing, but every fiber of him was attuned to Carol as she stared seductively at him, pointing in his direction as she sang. The air around him sizzled and heat flooded the room, as though he stood in front of an open oven door, the warmth of her gaze rolling over his skin like fire.

“I don’t need expensive things/They don’t matter to me/All that I want can’t be found/Underneath the Christmas tree.”

The vocal growl she employed at that last lyric sent his heart pounding hard, and it took everything he had to remain seated, watching her sing to him.

“You are the angel atop my tree/You are my dream come true/Santa can’t bring me what I need/‘Cause all I want for Christmas is you.”

She repeated the last line a few more times, and each line, with every word, his blood pumped hotter. He knew he should look away—he needed to. But with his brain misfiring, his heart pounding like a drum against his rib cage, his palms sweating, every atom of him dialed in to Carol, he couldn’t move.

The song ended—all too soon and not quickly enough for Daryl—and the kids clapped profusely, exuberant and hyper. Michonne took a bow and Carol curtsied, both pleased with their performance.

“Thank you, thank you.” Michonne accepted the applause with a rare smile.

“Again!” RJ demanded again.

“No, I think that’s enough for tonight. Come on, let’s pack up this stuff,” Michonne indicated the smattering of unused decorations still gracing the floor, “and then it’s time for bed.”

The kids protested, arguing with Michonne, as Carol smiled, sultry and pleased with herself, at him before helping the kids and Michonne clean up the room.

Dazed, Daryl dropped his gaze to his task and mechanically finished untangling the strand of lights. Had it really taken him this long to try to get some lights hung up? She’d done that—that little performance—on purpose, and hell if he knew what she was up to.

She didn’t know what she did to him, couldn’t know that her little game of teasing had him wondering how he’d sleep tonight.

It’s a wonder I ever get anything done with Carol hanging around, he thought self-deprecatingly.

“I wanna help Uncle Daryl.”

“No, Uncle Daryl can finish the lights by himself. And when you wake up tomorrow, they’ll all be hung up.” Michonne herded the kids towards the stairs. “At least I think,” she murmured to him as she passed him, giving him a little wink.

Consternation crossed his face, and he glared at her as she bounded up the stairs, leaving Carol to finish shoving the boxes of Christmas stuff into the corner as he draped the lights around the other half of the living room.

He felt her presence as she moved around behind him, aware that they had the entire downstairs to themselves. He almost wished she’d offered to help Michonne with the kids. Or that he had. Instead, he felt desire oozing off of him, filling up the room and threatening to suffocate him, and he wondered if she could feel it too. If she felt even a fraction of the tension between them that clung to him like dust to the Earth. Or was she immune to it?

Daryl hung the end of the light strand and stood in the center of the room to inspect the fruits of their evening of decorating. The end tables and bookshelves, the coffee and dining room tables all held festive trinkets, from snowmen and nutcrackers to a nativity scene and candles. They’d done a good, if excessive, job, and the lights gave the room the final touch it needed.

Carol’s hand settled on his shoulder briefly before sliding down his arm, and every muscle in his body tensed up at the contact. He didn’t know how much more he could take.

“Looks nice.”

He nodded, unable to do much more than breathe. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her peer up at him, but he couldn’t face her, not right now. Not with every nerve ending raw and burning for her.  

Carol bumped his arm. “The kids will appreciate this. They had so much fun tonight.”

His mouth upturned slightly and he nodded again in agreement. They’d given Judith and RJ a small glimpse of the Christmas happiness and wonder kids today would likely never again experience. He was happy to have helped even a small bit.

“Did you?”

He knew it was a mistake, knew he shouldn’t turn to look at her. Not with her standing so close to him. Close enough to touch, to see the dark flecks in her oceanic eyes, to trace the small smattering of freckles lying across her nose with his gaze, to see the fullness of her soft, smiling lips.

He knew better, but he faced her anyway, her pull on him too powerful to overcome.

“Yeah,” he murmured, his voice sounding softer than it should. If she only knew how much he’d enjoyed it, she’d run for the hills, far away from him, and never think to tease him again.

“Me too.”

Her guileless smile seeped into his heart, flooding it with love and a longing he didn’t know how to fight anymore.

“I noticed.”

Her eyes lit up even more, if that were possible, filled with hope and something else he was afraid to give a name to. “You did…”

He couldn’t tell if it was a question or a statement, and his eyes flicked to her lips again. She’d drawn him in like a moth to a burning flame, roped him in so methodically he was happy to burn himself up just to feel her warmth, to stay by her side.

“I was hoping you would.”

The admission fell from her lips on a near-sigh, the tuft of her breath reaching his lips like a distant kiss and not at all the one he wanted, but damn if it didn’t make him crave her more.

“Yeah?”

She’d reduced him to a simpleton; he couldn’t seem to form words.

“Yeah,” she confirmed, stepping closer to him, filling up his senses, invading his space, making him ache more than she ever had before.

“And you know what else?”

He didn’t, but he couldn’t even tell her that. She’d stolen the air from his lungs, the thoughts from his mind, the words from his lips.

She saved him from having to answer.

“It’s my lucky night.”

At least he thought she had. What the hell was she talking about? “Wha—”

“Look up.”

Her whisper made his knees weak, and he felt his pulse pounding, but he tore his eyes aware from her to peer up. At a bough of mistletoe, hanging merrily down from its perch above them, as though it’d been made for this very moment.

He swallowed hard, knowing what came next. What had to come next. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to. God knew he’d fantasized about kissing her nearly every day for a decade, in any number of places, in every situation his mind could come up with. No, he had the desire part down to perfection.

What he didn’t have was experience. Or confidence. Or an idea of how he’d ever be able to walk away from her once he knew what her lips felt like beneath his, how she felt pressed against him, how his arms fit around her.

He knew this moment, ripe with the possibility of everything he’d wanted and couldn’t believe was only heartbeats away, waited for him to simply look at her.

“Daryl.”

His name on her breath made him finally, slowly, achingly, fearfully, soaringly, turn his face back towards her.

As he did, she moved into him, her hands grazing his chest as her arms slid up around his neck, and they came together slowly, tentatively, but full of want.

Her touch trailed tendrils of fire across his skin until heat and Carol were all he felt, a seductive combination he could only drown in.

His lips touched hers, soft, supple, sweet, and so intoxicating he felt dizzy, her presence the only thing grounding him. He felt her smile against his lips, and a groan escaped him, which had her pressing in closer, her body flush against his. She rose up on her tip-toes and he cinched his arms around her waist, holding her to him, holding her to keep from falling off the edge of the world.

He heard her hum against him, the vibration of her moan of pleasure both giving him strength to continue and making him weaker than he’d ever been.

He couldn’t care. All he wanted to do was never leave this moment, never stop holding her, never stop trying to show her how much he loved her.

Neither of them heard Michonne come back down the stairs. She stopped when she saw the two of them, happily wrapped up together and fully making out under the mistletoe she’d strategically placed around the room.

She smiled and turned off the living room light, leaving the two of them to explore each other by the soft glow of the Christmas lights. Apparently they weren’t the only things getting lit this year…

A/N:  I took some liberty with a few of the songs, as a few were produced and sung in the past few years. Luckily, no one cares because I own nothing except for my ideas. :D  The songs, in order, are Elvis Presley’s ‘Blue Christmas,’ Kelly Clarkson’s ‘Underneath the Tree,’ Mariah Carey’s ‘All I Want For Christmas Is You,’ The Monkee’s ‘Unwrap You At Christmas,’ and Vince Vance and the Valiants’ ‘All I Want For Christmas Is You’ (which is not the same song as Mariah Carey’s).

[burtlederp]

BTHBingo Card Pt. 1

Writing Blurb 9! It’s finally here! Sorry about the wait. Introducing our new boy, James! He’s not a box boy, he’s from another world that still has slaves. We might see some more of him, we might now. Who knows! Anyways, this also counts as my first BTHBingo tile!! Only took me, what... A month to get started? Yeah. Well, better late than never!

Outlined means it’s been requested, colored in means it’s been done. Masterlist. @badthingshappenbingo​

---

It was hot. Blistering, even. The air was thick with humidity, the moisture heated to boiling by the sun. Cicadas trilled, some determined butterflies fluttered over the field, but most life had seemingly taken shelter from the direct light. No birds were flying, nor singing, no life in sight. 

Well, there was a man. 

The man's name was James, and he was a slave to a master who had been absent for a week. The master of the house was his newest. His old master had died in his sleep, and all his slaves sold as swiftly as his property. James did not know his new master, Master Theobold, very well: he had been around for a day before leaving. For what reason, James did not know. He was a slave, he wasn’t privy to such information, his old master had made him learn that through a whip. But Master Theobold had left a ‘to-do’ list for the three slaves he owned. Though he had included no deadline, said nothing about getting it done before he returned, James assumed his master expected it to be done by the time he got back. It was a little frustrating to see the other two slaves did not feel the same.

The list had been long, and the week not long enough for it. While Nancy and Hearthom lounged about inside the house, escaping the heat, doing nothing, James was out here in the field, working. He had been the only one working for the past few days, and nights. He had fed the livestock every morning and every evening, bringing in the animals as dark came and letting them out to pasture when the sun rose. He had done the laundry, washed the outsides of all the windows on the house, painted the fence, mucked the barn stalls, tended to the gardens, and many more items that had been on that list his master left out on the counter in the kitchen. He had not read it, he couldn’t read, but Nancy could, and she read it to him whenever he needed. He had not slept or eaten in days, too busy to do so, and could not remember the last time he had had a drink of water. He wanted one, very badly, now. But the thought of resting, of not getting all the list finished, and being punished for it, terrified him. The old wounds on his back often still hurt him when he moved a certain way, reminders of the times he hadn’t finished his tasks in the time provided. The pain just made him work harder. 

He was out in the field south of the house, beginning the tiring job of prepping it for the next growing season. It had been newly purchased after being left alone a long time. It was a meadow now, with tall grasses and wildflowers and all manner of weeds, all with roots that had burrowed deep into the earth. James punched the shovel into the dirt, overturning a clod of dirt, and did so over and over and over again. It did not always come easily. Often he ran into rocks, into taproots, into thick bundles of roots, and he would have to set down the shovel and get down on his hands and knees, attempting to dislodge the obstruction. Flies and gnats, the only other creatures besides the butterflies out here, pestered him incessantly, but he steeled himself to ignore them. They only slowed him down. He had worked harder jobs before, lifted heavier things, ran further distances, swung an axe more times than he used the shovel, but in the heat, he could not compare this task to anything. 

His back was already sunburnt, he knew that well enough. It had been burned ever since the first row of upturned dirt across the field, and had steadily gotten worse. His sweat stung, dripping into his eyes, down his burnt back, into old wounds not quite healed over, and he was thankful it had ceased; he no longer was sweating. He was so hot. He was tired. His arms ached and shook, and every time he raised the shovel, it became harder. His knees were weak, like at any second they threatened to buckle. He was so, so tired. He wanted to lie down and fall asleep until night fell. 

He paused, briefly, sticking the shovel into the dirt and leaning heavily on the staff. His breathing was ragged, his hair still slick with the not-quite evaporated sweat. His eyes stared down at the ground beneath his bare feet, all four of them. His vision was swimming, he was seeing double. He squeezed his eyes shut, wiping his brow on his arm, only to remember he wasn’t wearing a shirt. He only had robes from his waist down that he had long girded up. They were growing too hot as well, but he knew he could not shed them too; it would be indecent. Well, more indecent than he already was. 

He pushed off the shovel handle, going to continue his work, and nearly fell over. The push had been weak, but enough to throw him off balance. He staggered sideways, and managed to catch himself, wheezing, and went back to his place. He lifted the shovel, squinting as he looked down at the ground, trying to aim his next move. But it was so difficult. His vision was blurry, the sun so terribly bright. He felt sick, his head throbbing. He distantly was aware of his arms dropping the shovel, his own stance wavering slightly. Gods, he was so tired. So tired. He just wanted to sleep. So tired. So hot. He had to keep working, though.

But he didn’t. When he had gone to lift the shovel, his body had not obeyed. Instead, his eyes rolled up into his head, his knees buckled, and his limp, overheated body collapsed into the turned dirt. The shovel staff fell, and rested against his heaving sides, his body struggling to get enough air in, to cool him down. Alas, it could not be done while the sun still shone overhead.

~*~

CJ wiped sweat off his brow, cursing. He was glad he was finally going to be home again, but why did the weather have to welcome him back with such intense heat? He felt dirty, no, grimey, with sweat and dust from the road and from the bugs he continually slapped and just stopped wiping off. He probably looked a sight. But then again, how could someone not on a day like today? It was too hot to do anything.

If the slaves aren’t doing anything when I get home, I don’t blame them. He thought, panting hard. As he came over the rise, he raised his head, and sighed in relief. There was his house, the large plantation mansion, a half mile away, past the fields, not too far now. Spurred on by the desire to be home (and in shade), his pace quickened, ever so slightly. Yes, he’d only been gone a week, but it had been a very long week. He hated leaving home. 

So focused on his destination, he nearly missed the progress of the new field he’d bought a couple months prior. He stopped, doing a double-take. It had been a thick meadow before, not ideal for growing or grazing, and he had had plans to have the two male slaves start preparing it come Autumn. But here it was, a third of it upturned, bare dirt mingled with pale roots in the bright sun. But his attention didn’t dwell long on it. He was distracted by the limp form he saw lying on that dirt. 

CJ swallowed. He shrugged his bag off his shoulder and onto the road, running and jumping the old wooden fence, sprinting across the field and dropping to his knees beside the man. 

“Hey, hey! Are you alright?” CJ shouted, trying to shake the man awake, hands on his cheeks, but the man was unresponsive. CJ recognized him as the new slave he’d bought that past Sunday. What was his name? He couldn’t remember. It didn’t matter at the moment anyway. CJ tossed the shovel off of the slave, and scooped him up into his arms. The slave was a tall, thin, yet muscled fellow, and CJ was not tall, but he was strong. He tossed the poor man over his shoulder and moved quickly across the field, carefully over the fence, and towards the house, his bag forgotten in the lane. 

“NANCY! Draw a bath, a cold one!” CJ bellowed as he kicked open the front door. “Do it now!” Nancy had been reclined on a chair in the living room, springing to life as her master entered, half from her obedience and half from having the daylights scared out of her. 

“Y-yes master!” She answered, running as quickly as she could across the house to the master’s bathroom. 

“HEARTH! GET SOME ICE FROM THE FREEZER, NOW!” CJ shouted, raising his voice even louder, unsure of where the other slave was. 

“Yes master!” A voice called from the kitchen. CJ stormed towards his own bathroom, carrying his third slave, muttering curses. As he entered his bathroom, an inch of water was at the bottom of his enormous tub, the cold spigot spilling water. Nancy jumped as he entered. 

“I-It’s going to take a minute to fill sir!” She stuttered, eyes wide. 

“Fine, help me with him,” CJ growled, and Nancy quickly stepped forward, helping her master lower the slave off his shoulder and into the tub, the slaves' head lolling against the side. 

“Go get ice and whatever else is in the freezer!” CJ ordered, and Nancy hurried away. CJ bent over, pulling his knife from his pocket and cutting off the slave’s garments, tossing them to the side as Hearthom’s large figure came through the door. In his hands was a large bucket of crushed pieces of ice that CJ tore from his grip. He held it under the spigot until water overflowed the sides of it, and he promptly dumped it over the unconscious slave. There was no response, and CJ pressed two fingers to the man’s neck. There was a pulse. 

“More ice!” CJ demanded, turning to Hearthom, who flinched back, and rushed out the door, nearly running poor Nancy over, whose arms were full of bags of frozen food. She squeaked in alarm as Hearthom nimbly danced around her, just barely avoiding collision, then exited as Nancy darted into the bathroom.

“What was his name again?” CJ asked her sharply as he lowered the slave into the rising water level so his hair was getting wet. The water was turning brown already from the dirt and dust on his skin. 

“Wh-who? Hearth--?” Nancy looked at him, confused, placing the bags of food in the tub. 

“No, scab! I mean him!” CJ snapped, gesturing to the man whose forehead he was pressing a bag of frozen peas against. 

“O-oh, I--Um--James, his name was James,” Nancy answered quickly, swallowing, recoiling. 

“Help me, Nancy!” At her master’s harsh command, she leaned forward, holding the ice on the man’s neck while CJ arranged packs of frozen food around him. James’ breathing was ragged, his chest heaving, his lungs struggling, his pallor ashen. His tired, brown eyes fluttered, opening weakly. 

“Ah, good, good, there we go, there you are,” CJ’s voice was soft, reaching up and putting a gentle hand on the slave’s cheek. “Perfect, perfect. James, can you hear me? James?” Brown eyes, glazed and distant, flickered to his master’s face. His brow furrowed.

“M-master…?” His voice was a hoarse whisper, his mouth so dry, it felt like his tongue was swollen, getting in the way. Was… was he lying down? In water? Ice water?

“Yeah, it’s me bud. Keep your eyes open for me, will you?” CJ smiled. “Nancy, get a glass for the poor man.” Nancy nodded and scurried away as Hearthom returned with more ice. The two men gently shifted James so he was sitting up a bit more, and carefully emptied the second bucket of ice onto the abdomen of the slave. James groaned softly, squeezing his eyes shut, fingers balling into a fist as his head lolled to the side.

“No, no James, come on, no sleeping, not yet,” CJ shifted James’ head, tipping up his chin so his tired brown eyes could meet his master’s green. Something cold pressed against James’ forehead and neck, feeling lovely. He was so hot, this felt so nice, but unreal. None of it felt real. It was all somehow warped to him, nothing still, every straight line wavering just slightly. He stared up at the ceiling, wishing it would stop bending in, falling slowly towards him.

Something pressed against his lips--water. He let it in, drinking greedily, too weak to lean forward or to raise his arms. They felt like lead, immovable. The hazy form of his master was in front of him, holding a glass to his mouth from which he drank.

“There we go, there we go, yeah, that’s good, good,” CJ said softly, not letting the delirious man drink too much too fast. When James emptied the glass, his master refilled it in the spigot as Nancy returned with more ice, Hearthom gone to do the same. The water level was high enough, and CJ turned it off.

“Hey, hey, James, can you look at me?” CJ asked, and slowly, James raised his eyes to rest on him, though he wasn’t sure if the slave was actually focusing on his figure or not. “Hey, James. We didn’t ever really get the chance to meet properly, did we? I’m CJ, I’m your new master.” James nodded slightly.

“I know,” James breathed. “I remember you.” 

“Well, that is a very good thing. I would be worried if you didn’t.” CJ smiled gently. James didn’t. “Hey, what were you doing out there in that field? You weren’t working, were you?” His heart sank as James nodded again.

“Yessir.” His voice was so soft, so quiet, CJ was glad he’d turned off the water or else he wouldn’t have heard him. “I… I was trying to… To finish the list you left… before you came back.” CJ’s eyebrows knit together. 

“The list…?” CJ puzzled, rubbing his chin. He remembered it, suddenly. The scrap of paper he had scribbled on before he’d left Sunday night, just trying to make sure and remember all the projects he wanted done eventually. Had James really thought he wanted all that done in a week? “Oh, the list.” CJ sighed. “How much did you get done?” He inquired haltingly. James closed his eyes, thinking, slowly raising an arm from the brown bathwater to hold a handful of ice to his neck.

“Half, I think… At least…. Five, six things… I’m sorry, Master.” James croaked, opening his eyes again, looking to his owner mournfully. 

“I, heh, about what?” CJ scoffed. “James, I…” He studied his slave. He had already known he looked terrible, but CJ noticed how tired the poor man looked. “James, when was the last time you actually slept?”

“It’s… been a few days.” James responded. “I was trying to finish the list.” CJ closed his eyes, scoffing, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“James, I am so sorry… That… That wasn’t a to do list. Well, it was, but not like… I didn’t… It wasn’t things I wanted to get done before I got back, it’s things I want to get done by next planting season.” CJ explained. Nancy entered with another bucket as James processed this. A soft, gentle smile turned the corners of his mouth. He leaned his head back, closing his eyes.

“Oh.” He said softly, barely audible. CJ held the back of his hand to James’ neck. Still warm, he motioned for Nancy to dump the ice.

“I think that’s enough, thanks Nancy,” he said. She nodded, and left. CJ turned back to the quiet man in the tub. His smile had faded.

“I’m sorry.” CJ thought he had heard wrong for a second, but no, James had whispered the apology.

“Whatever for?” CJ frowned.

“I… I assumed--”

“Oh, hush James.” CJ shook his head, smiling. “You… You have done nothing wrong. Foolish? Yeah, you went out and did hard labor in a hundred-degree heat, nearly the same percentage humidity! But… Disobedient? Wrong? Nah. Nah. You’re fine.” CJ patted James’ cheek and got to his feet. “You saved you and Hearthom’s asses a lotta work come spring. Now take it easy. Get clean, get some new clothes, and rest. You’ve earned it.” CJ smiled, standing at the door of the bathroom, James watching him tiredly. CJ knocked once on the doorframe and left the man alone in the tub with his thoughts. His very, very tired thoughts. 

Nancy, at some point, delivered a towel and a set of clean clothes, and left a bar of soap out for him. Eventually, James found the energy (from where, he had no idea) to get the soap and wash himself as best he could, continually jerking awake again. The water was cold, yes, but he was so fatigued. He was comfortable sitting down, with something to lean against, no hot sun beating down on him….

When he opened his eyes next, he wasn’t in the tub anymore. It was dark. He was clean, dressed, in a bed. Not his bed, no, not the comfortable pile of hay in the barn, but a bed. He knew he wasn't supposed to be here, in a bed. Beds aren't for slaves, his old master spat in his mind. 

But James couldn't move. He was exhausted, and he had never felt anything so soft as the pillow beneath his head, the mattress under his body, the sheets, down comforter, and blanket on top of him. It was comfortably cold outside the covers. He didn't want to move. He closed his eyes, and let himself slip off to sleep.

[carylerxsecretsanta]

Looking Up

Written For: @the-space-between1013

Title: Looking Up Author: @theresnosafeharbor4myships Rating: PG Summary: Judith finds some Christmas stuff and a decorating party and singing ensues. A/N: Happy Christmas and Holidays! I hope your holiday season has been festive and wonderful! I’m praying you enjoy this flangst (fluffy angst)–it’s a lot longer than I anticipated so let’s hope that’s your favorite kind of present. :D

The night had turned into an unexpected party, and he blamed Judith.

Michonne, heading to check on those who had perimeter watch before night fell, had asked the girl to rummage through the attic for anything valuable—weapons, old gardening equipment, tools, winter clothes. She’d found a few sundry items: a pair of men’s rain boots, a hacksaw, electrical tape, some rope. And two boxes of Christmas stuff.

That last one seemed completely useless if you asked him, but with Carol’s help, Judith had enthusiastically dragged the large boxes down the attic steps, across the hall, down the flight of stairs to the first floor, and into the living where she unceremoniously pulled every item out, then laid them around her in display.

Daryl had watched surreptitiously from the dining room table where he sat inventorying and cleaning their weapons as Carol, sitting cross-legged in the midst of the holiday paraphernalia, patiently answered every single question Judith threw her way. What’s this do? (A nutcracker.) Where do these go? (A ball of Christmas lights.) Who’s this? (Rudolph statue.) What do you do with this? (Faux mistletoe.) And on and on it went. RJ had come out of his room when he heard the chatter and sat contently in Carol’s lap, playing with a miniature snow globe for several minutes before moving on to the next festive trinket.

“Can we put this stuff up?” Judith had asked excitedly, bouncing on her knees and peering around the room at the adults, her eyes settling on Michonne.

Having just returned home to the festive mess around the room, Michonne had looked at her deadpan but, seeing her enthusiasm, relented, smiling and shaking her head. “Who’s going to help you?”

And that’s how he’d ended up single-handedly stringing Christmas lights around the living room while Carol, Michonne, and the kids decorated the rest of the house.

He heard some commotion behind him, but he kept his focus on hanging the one strand of lights he’d already untangled. Standing on the arm of the couch in his bare feet, he stretched over the expanse of air above the end table to shove a pushpin into the wall and draped the string of lights over it.

Suddenly, music blasted through the air, and he nearly fell from his precarious stance. With one hand against the wall, he shoved himself back upright and stepped down onto the cushion and then the floor as the music—an impossibility—faded to a whisper.

“The he…ck was that?” he asked as his four housemates stood around electronic equipment.

“Eugene made it for me!” Judith enthused. “Now I can hear Christmas music!”

Michonne shrugged at him as Judith bounced up and down in excitement. “Found some music in these boxes, and she has a player.”

He nodded, less than enthusiastic, and plopped down on the couch to start untangling the next string of lights.

“Do you know these songs, Mom?”

“Yeah,” Michonne answered, looking at Carol for confirmation. “Probably most of them.”

Judith turned the music up to hear a man’s voice, low and breathy, sing. She stood listening for a moment before turning it down again and asking, “What’s a blue Christmas?”

Amused at the question, Daryl glanced up from his frustrating task to see Michonne smiling as she began explaining how colors could also describe emotions. His eyes darted to Carol, who’d found a place on the bookshelf for RJ’s snow globe, and his heart clenched.

He didn’t often let his imagination run in domestic circles, but he couldn’t help thinking this was the life she deserved. A warm home with friends and laughter, decorating for the holidays, a soundtrack of festive music, teaching kids about the fun things in life.

Her lightweight white sweater and blue jeans hugged her gently, and the low lamplight filling the room cast an angelic haze around her. He stared unabashedly for a moment, everyone in the room oblivious to him, and his heartbeat kicked up. She looked beautiful, happy. He could count on his fingers the number of times he’d seen her look so carefree.

She must’ve sensed his gaze on her because she suddenly turned her head and looked right at him, a questioning, gentle half-smile gracing her face.

He nodded once and felt his cheeks warming at having gotten caught, then turned back to the wretched ball of Christmas lights in his hand.

“Let’s see what other songs are on here,” Michonne suggested before switching the player to the next song.

A loud pop song, peppy and in soprano, blared from the speakers. “You’re here where you should be/Snow is falling as the carolers sing/It just wasn’t the same, alone on Christmas day.”

Judith started bouncing around. “Come on, RJ,” she called and held out her hands to him.

“Presents, what a beautiful sight/don’t mean a thing if you ain’t holding me tight/You’re all that I need, underneath the tree, tonight,” the woman’s voice rang out as the kids starting twirling around.

“Come on, Daryl!”

He looked up at Judy, stricken, as she motioned for him to join them. He shook his head, holding up a hand to wave her request away.

She took it in stride, bouncing around to face Michonne. “Mom,” Judy entreated, holding her hand out. “Carol?”

Daryl peeked up to see the four of them paired up—Carol and RJ, Michonne and Judith—bounding around, dancing.

“I’m gonna hold you close/Make sure that you know/I was lost before you.”

The lyrics played on, and Daryl couldn’t help watching the merriment in front of him. The kids danced with arms and legs akimbo, bouncing around with pure joy written on their faces. The women too, carefree and having fun, couldn’t restrain their smiles.  

“Christmas was cold and grey/Another holiday alone to celebrate/But then one day, everything changed/You’re all I need underneath the tree.”

The music rang around them, the words holding him as captive as Carol did, his eyes never leaving her as she moved freely about, hips swaying, arms leading RJ around, an unadulterated smile gracing her face. She looked stunning, nearly taking his breath away as she floated on her feet.

“I found what I was looking for/A love that’s meant for me/A heart that’s mine completely/Knocked me right off my feet/And this year I will fall/With no worries at all/‘Cause you’re near and everything’s clear/You’re all I need underneath the tree.”

Though she didn’t see him watching her, the lyrics the woman sang made his pulse race. He’d spent so many holidays alone. While other families held parties and exchanged gifts, cooked feasts and lived out traditions, he’d spent most Christmases hiding, sometimes in his room or in a closet, avoiding his old man, or out in the woods away from all other human beings. It’d always felt safer that way…but not anymore.

Here he felt…different. Cared for, safer than he’d ever felt before. Which was saying a lot considering the state of the world.

And much of that was thanks to the angelic woman dancing around with a fatherless little boy. He couldn’t take his eyes off of her, wishing with every ounce of his being that she was his, that the lyrics filling his ears and setting the wishes of his heart aflame told the story of the two of them.

“You’re here where you should be/Snow is falling as the carolers sing/It just wasn’t the same alone on Christmas day/Presents, what a beautiful sight/Don’t mean a thing if you ain’t holding me tight/You’re all that I need underneath the tree.”

Though grateful she was here, he couldn’t help wondering what it’d be like to be with her, to hold her tight. She’d already become the best gift he’d ever received—his best friend, confidant, sounding board, secret keeper, shooting-the-shit partner, protector and defender, and all-around favorite person he’d ever met. He wouldn’t mind adding to the list.

It would likely never happen though. They’d always circled each other, her the moon to his planet, her gravitational pull on him creating influential changes and lighting up the darkness. Irrevocably close, orbitally connected, but forever separated. What he wouldn’t give to change that, to venture into something more, explore uncharted territory, close the space between them, a collision of sorts that would irreparably change the forces felt between them.

But how? Knowing him, he’d likely destroy the symbiotic nature they’d settled into and send them into extinction if he tried.

No, it was better to leave things as they existed: safe, close, linked, comfortable. Except in moments like these when the longing he felt for her threatened to devour him from the inside out.

The verse repeated and, realizing he’d likely never get the opportunity to move beyond how close they’d already become, he turned back to his task, suddenly feeling melancholy.

“Again!” RJ demanded when the song ended.

“Let’s see what comes next,” Michonne told him.

Immediately, a woman’s voice started singing. “I don’t want a lot for Christmas/There is just one thing I need.”

“Ohh!” Michonne hollered above the din. “I’m karaoke’ing this one!”

With his elbows on his knees, lights dangling from his fingertips, he stared as Michonne, katana-wielding badass, grabbed a six-inch nutcracker statue, used it as a faux microphone, and belted out each and every lyric to the slow-starting turned rock-n-roll pop song ringing through the rafters.

Daryl couldn’t help huffing out laughs as the music progressed, Michonne twirling Judith around with her free hand, Carol and RJ rocking out with the uptempo’d song.

He also couldn’t help noticing the longing in the lyrics, apparently a common theme on the mixed music track. They did nothing to help the yearning in his heart as he watched the festive scene play out before him as he sat idly on the sidelines, just as he had for most of his life.

Michonne caught his eye a few times and motioned for him to join them, but he shook his head.

“Wooo!” Michonne exclaimed as the song ended, looking pleased with herself. “Who knew we’d ever karaoke again?”

“Your turn, Carol!” Judith exclaimed.

“Yeah, your turn, Carol,” Michonne echoed, handing the ‘microphone’ to her, a pleased smile gracing her face.

Carol looked at each of them in turn, waiting for the next song to start, her eyes lingering on him as a jingle-y pop tune started playing.

“I can’t wait to unwrap you at Christmas/You’re the gift for me/I can’t wait to unwrap you at Christmas/Under the Christmas tree.”

“Is this the Monkees?!” Michonne exclaimed as the music jangled on.

Carol nodded enthusiastically, singing only half of the lyrics with the group. “I can’t wait to unwrap you at Christmas. I don’t know the words.”

Daryl chuckled to himself, his eyes ever tracking the carefree spirits bounce around the room. Michonne and the kids held hands, forming a circle, and went round and round as though they were kids in a schoolyard. Carol sang considerably better than children calling out nursery rhymes, even if she made up half of the song.

“I’ve been waiting all year now, baby/For the snow and you to return/So I’ll hang the mistletoe and stand right here/Cross my fingers, hope I’ll get my wish this year.”

The thought of kissing Carol under the mistletoe, her dreamy eyes peering up at him in the firelight, sashayed through his mind as her voice rang out. His eyes flicked up just in time to see her gaze settle on him, sending his blood pumping hot and hard through his veins.

Though he knew she couldn’t read his warm and wayward thoughts, embarrassment flooded over him. He turned away to check on Michonne and the kids, who were now strategically picking places to hang a few boughs of fake mistletoe.

Damn all this love-dovey Christmas crap, he thought, his mood turning dismal at how easily he’d fallen under the spell of it all. Just untangle these lights—and then yourself from this whole mess.

“I can’t wait to unwrap you at Christmas/You’re the gift for me.”

Without lifting his head from the frustrating task in his hands, he glanced up at Carol still caroling. To find her staring meaningfully at him as more longing words fell from her lips.

“I can’t wait to unwrap you at Christmas/I dream of nothing more.”

His belly flipped, and he dropped his eyes to the knotted lights before him, swallowing hard. He felt his cheeks warm again.

Her eyes fixed on him didn’t mean anything. Couldn’t mean anything.

Could it?

Don’t be stupid, he scolded himself, shame sweeping through him at the notion she sang the lyrics to him instead of into the room. She’d never… She was just messing with him. She always did when she was in a fun and feisty mood.

“I’ve been saving all of my kisses/Just to spend them on your sweet lips/So I’ll decorate the place with light and cheer/Knowing Christmas day you will be standing here.”

He refused to look up, no matter how desperately he longed to watch her sing, see those words fall from her mouth as her eyes landed on him. His heart couldn’t take it. As it was, he could barely work the knots out of the string of lights in his hands; he’d never untangle her from his heart.

The song and Carol continued, but he drifted somewhere else.

And why would he even try? She’d acted as his lifeline for far too many years to undo now. No separation, no time apart, no diverging road had ever kept them from one another. But neither had any led them together, not the way he longed for. And that still confused the hell out of him.

How could he even understand what he felt for her? No one had ever burrowed into his heart the way she had. He’d never let anyone get as close to him as she had. He’d spent a lifetime keeping people away, and all he wanted was to draw her in, as close to him as possible, touch her skin, make her feel all the wild, wonderful, and confusing things he felt when she was near.

Damn it all!

He shook his head, chasing his daydream away. Which didn’t do him much good since she continued singing about kissing under the mistletoe.

He nearly groaned, forcing his mind to focus on the wretched lights in his hand. The kids deserved to have some fun, to see Christmas lights strung up and to decorate the house with Christmas merriment and to hear the upbeat songs that used to drive him mad when played in every store and to dance with Michonne and Carol. And where’d she learn to sway like that anyway? Had she always been able to sing?

He knew what the sound of her crying softly in the middle of the night sounded like, how far she could trek without food and water before collapsing, what she looked like after weeks without shelter, and how brave and self-sacrificing she became when someone she loved faced danger. But he didn’t know her favorite song or how old she’d been when they’d met or what kind of music she’d listened to. He couldn’t begin to guess whether she’d ever lived anywhere other than Georgia before they’d trekked north or how many siblings she’d had, if any, or what her hobbies had been or if she’d ever played sports.

“Aw, hell,” he mumbled to himself, realizing he couldn’t get his one-track mind off of destination Carolville.

Finally, the song ended, and the kids cried out for more.

“Maybe we should help Uncle Daryl with those lights. He seems to be having some problems,” Michonne observed.

Both kids hurtled towards him as the next song started, some bluesy, half-country, rock ballad. He gave the partially untangled end of the light string to Judy as Michonne bounded up to Carol, and they both began singing into the ‘microphone.’

“Take back the holly and mistletoe/Silver bells on strings/If I wrote a letter to Santa Claus/I would ask for just one thing/I don’t need sleigh rides in the snow/don’t need a Christmas that’s blue/Take back the tinsel, stockings, and bows/‘Cause all I want for Christmas is you.”

Holy hell, another one?

He didn’t think he could take another lonesome, aching, pining, desperate song about wanting someone, especially not with Carol singing the lyrics out, calling to his lonely heart with her siren’s song and melodic voice.

After instructing Judy and a less-than-helpful RJ, he glanced up at the apocalypse’s best duo to find both of them singing directly to their audience of three.

“I don’t need expensive things/They don’t matter to me/All that I want can’t be found/Underneath my Christmas tree.”

The confidence, joy, and passion with which they sang out made him want to stop and watch the performance, and he tapped the kids on their shoulders and motioned for them to pay attention.

“You are the angel atop my tree.” Michonne pointed to the kids and sang out to them, enthralled in the song.

“You are my dream come true/Santa can’t bring me what I need/‘Cause all I want for Christmas is you.”

A sax solo played, and Daryl watched as Carol, eyes closed, swayed to the sexy music, a veritable dream come true. He swallowed hard, his eyes never leaving her, and he was glad he was sitting down, the kids in front of him and tangled up Christmas lights dangling all around him or he might have made a fool of himself by vaulting up and across the room, pulling her into his arms, and letting her know how much the song and her voice singing it affected him, Grimes gang hanging around or not.

Suddenly, her eyes opened and found his, just as the lyrics picked up again, and she sang them out, loud and proud.

“You are the angel atop my tree/You are my dream come true/Santa can’t bring me what I need/‘Cause all I want for Christmas is you.”

Somewhere on his periphery, he was aware of the kids dancing again and Michonne singing, but every fiber of him was attuned to Carol as she stared seductively at him, pointing in his direction as she sang. The air around him sizzled and heat flooded the room, as though he stood in front of an open oven door, the warmth of her gaze rolling over his skin like fire.

“I don’t need expensive things/They don’t matter to me/All that I want can’t be found/Underneath the Christmas tree.”

The vocal growl she employed at that last lyric sent his heart pounding hard, and it took everything he had to remain seated, watching her sing to him.

“You are the angel atop my tree/You are my dream come true/Santa can’t bring me what I need/‘Cause all I want for Christmas is you.”

She repeated the last line a few more times, and each line, with every word, his blood pumped hotter. He knew he should look away—he needed to. But with his brain misfiring, his heart pounding like a drum against his rib cage, his palms sweating, every atom of him dialed in to Carol, he couldn’t move.

The song ended—all too soon and not quickly enough for Daryl—and the kids clapped profusely, exuberant and hyper. Michonne took a bow and Carol curtsied, both pleased with their performance.

“Thank you, thank you.” Michonne accepted the applause with a rare smile.

“Again!” RJ demanded again.

“No, I think that’s enough for tonight. Come on, let’s pack up this stuff,” Michonne indicated the smattering of unused decorations still gracing the floor, “and then it’s time for bed.”

The kids protested, arguing with Michonne, as Carol smiled, sultry and pleased with herself, at him before helping the kids and Michonne clean up the room.

Dazed, Daryl dropped his gaze to his task and mechanically finished untangling the strand of lights. Had it really taken him this long to try to get some lights hung up? She’d done that—that little performance—on purpose, and hell if he knew what she was up to.

She didn’t know what she did to him, couldn’t know that her little game of teasing had him wondering how he’d sleep tonight.

It’s a wonder I ever get anything done with Carol hanging around, he thought self-deprecatingly.

“I wanna help Uncle Daryl.”

“No, Uncle Daryl can finish the lights by himself. And when you wake up tomorrow, they’ll all be hung up.” Michonne herded the kids towards the stairs. “At least I think,” she murmured to him as she passed him, giving him a little wink.

Consternation crossed his face, and he glared at her as she bounded up the stairs, leaving Carol to finish shoving the boxes of Christmas stuff into the corner as he draped the lights around the other half of the living room.

He felt her presence as she moved around behind him, aware that they had the entire downstairs to themselves. He almost wished she’d offered to help Michonne with the kids. Or that he had. Instead, he felt desire oozing off of him, filling up the room and threatening to suffocate him, and he wondered if she could feel it too. If she felt even a fraction of the tension between them that clung to him like dust to the Earth. Or was she immune to it?

Daryl hung the end of the light strand and stood in the center of the room to inspect the fruits of their evening of decorating. The end tables and bookshelves, the coffee and dining room tables all held festive trinkets, from snowmen and nutcrackers to a nativity scene and candles. They’d done a good, if excessive, job, and the lights gave the room the final touch it needed.

Carol’s hand settled on his shoulder briefly before sliding down his arm, and every muscle in his body tensed up at the contact. He didn’t know how much more he could take.

“Looks nice.”

He nodded, unable to do much more than breathe. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her peer up at him, but he couldn’t face her, not right now. Not with every nerve ending raw and burning for her.  

Carol bumped his arm. “The kids will appreciate this. They had so much fun tonight.”

His mouth upturned slightly and he nodded again in agreement. They’d given Judith and RJ a small glimpse of the Christmas happiness and wonder kids today would likely never again experience. He was happy to have helped even a small bit.

“Did you?”

He knew it was a mistake, knew he shouldn’t turn to look at her. Not with her standing so close to him. Close enough to touch, to see the dark flecks in her oceanic eyes, to trace the small smattering of freckles lying across her nose with his gaze, to see the fullness of her soft, smiling lips.

He knew better, but he faced her anyway, her pull on him too powerful to overcome.

“Yeah,” he murmured, his voice sounding softer than it should. If she only knew how much he’d enjoyed it, she’d run for the hills, far away from him, and never think to tease him again.

“Me too.”

Her guileless smile seeped into his heart, flooding it with love and a longing he didn’t know how to fight anymore.

“I noticed.”

Her eyes lit up even more, if that were possible, filled with hope and something else he was afraid to give a name to. “You did…”

He couldn’t tell if it was a question or a statement, and his eyes flicked to her lips again. She’d drawn him in like a moth to a burning flame, roped him in so methodically he was happy to burn himself up just to feel her warmth, to stay by her side.

“I was hoping you would.”

The admission fell from her lips on a near-sigh, the tuft of her breath reaching his lips like a distant kiss and not at all the one he wanted, but damn if it didn’t make him crave her more.

“Yeah?”

She’d reduced him to a simpleton; he couldn’t seem to form words.

“Yeah,” she confirmed, stepping closer to him, filling up his senses, invading his space, making him ache more than she ever had before.

“And you know what else?”

He didn’t, but he couldn’t even tell her that. She’d stolen the air from his lungs, the thoughts from his mind, the words from his lips.

She saved him from having to answer.

“It’s my lucky night.”

At least he thought she had. What the hell was she talking about? “Wha—”

“Look up.”

Her whisper made his knees weak, and he felt his pulse pounding, but he tore his eyes aware from her to peer up. At a bough of mistletoe, hanging merrily down from its perch above them, as though it’d been made for this very moment.

He swallowed hard, knowing what came next. What had to come next. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to. God knew he’d fantasized about kissing her nearly every day for a decade, in any number of places, in every situation his mind could come up with. No, he had the desire part down to perfection.

What he didn’t have was experience. Or confidence. Or an idea of how he’d ever be able to walk away from her once he knew what her lips felt like beneath his, how she felt pressed against him, how his arms fit around her.

He knew this moment, ripe with the possibility of everything he’d wanted and couldn’t believe was only heartbeats away, waited for him to simply look at her.

“Daryl.”

His name on her breath made him finally, slowly, achingly, fearfully, soaringly, turn his face back towards her.

As he did, she moved into him, her hands grazing his chest as her arms slid up around his neck, and they came together slowly, tentatively, but full of want.

Her touch trailed tendrils of fire across his skin until heat and Carol were all he felt, a seductive combination he could only drown in.

His lips touched hers, soft, supple, sweet, and so intoxicating he felt dizzy, her presence the only thing grounding him. He felt her smile against his lips, and a groan escaped him, which had her pressing in closer, her body flush against his. She rose up on her tip-toes and he cinched his arms around her waist, holding her to him, holding her to keep from falling off the edge of the world.

He heard her hum against him, the vibration of her moan of pleasure both giving him strength to continue and making him weaker than he’d ever been.

He couldn’t care. All he wanted to do was never leave this moment, never stop holding her, never stop trying to show her how much he loved her.

Neither of them heard Michonne come back down the stairs. She stopped when she saw the two of them, happily wrapped up together and fully making out under the mistletoe she’d strategically placed around the room.

She smiled and turned off the living room light, leaving the two of them to explore each other by the soft glow of the Christmas lights. Apparently, they weren’t the only things getting lit this year…

[distressedpanda]

Her Song (Loki x OFC) Part 1

Warnings: Language

I will be posting this every other week, let me know if you would like to be tagged. Gets a read more for length.

Present

Iloa sat with her back against the closed door. How had she gotten here? She could remember how she had met him, the Horned God from Asgard.

Some time ago

Iloa was sitting in Stark Tower, eating breakfast with Thor and Natasha, she was the newest recruit to the Avengers, having the ability to influence people with her singing voice. Her song could be lethal or it could simply stun, but it could also heal. Steve had started calling her Siren, and the name had stuck.

Now that she had an Avenger name, Tony had taken to giving her different nicknames. Mostly comments about how small she was. With her standing at just five feet, it was easy for him to come up with a plethora of options to choose from.

Suddenly, Steve had stormed into the kitchen ranting, “Why are you allowing him to stay here? Of all the horrible ideas in the world, this has to be the worst!”

Tony, who was following close behind countered, “No it is the best idea, first of all because it was mine and secondly because we can keep an eye on him. He seems to have changed, I would like to keep it that way.”

Steve ungraciously crossed his muscular arms across his broad chest, “I still don't think it's a good idea,” he grumbled.

Thor was the first to speak up from their little group, “I am sorry, who will be staying here?” he asked, scrapping the last bit of his eggs from his plate.

Tony sashayed up to the table, as if nothing at all was happening. He grabbed a box of cereal from the table and made like he was reading the ingredients before he said, “Oh didn't I tell you Point Break, your brother Reindeer games is coming for a visit.”

Iloa nearly chocked on her mouth full of cheerios, and coughed several times before croaking out, “Loki, is coming here?!” Her ruby red hair falling into her face.

“Why yes, Teeny, as a matter-of-fact, he is,” his ostentatious grin, flashing across his face had Iloa scowling.

Natasha gently patted her on the back a few times, before turning on Tony, “Why would you do that Tony? We already have one wild card to deal with why would you throw a second into our hands?”

The wild card she was referring to was of course Banner. Banner had recently become incapable of controlling the Hulk when he emerged. To the point that he was becoming increasingly dangerous to be around and often stayed locked in his lab.

“Well, you see, my dear,” Tony began, not looking up from the box in his hand. “If he is here, then he isn't in enemy hands and I can keep him on lock down if need be. Right, F.R.I.D.A.Y. ?” He said the last, glancing up and calling to the AI.

“Of course, Mr. Stark.” The computer generated voice announced matter-of-factually.

Iloa rolled her eyes at them both, refocusing on her cereal as the conversation continued.

Natasha shook her head, “I agree with Steve, I don't think this is a good idea, Tony,” her voice low with a dangerously thin edge.

“This would be why I didn't ask you,” Tony glanced at Natasha with a smug smirk.

Thor broke into a full face grin, “I think it's a wonderful idea!” His voice boomed joyously, “When will he be here?”

Tony turned toward Thor, setting the box back on the table and crossing his arms over his chest. But when his mouth opened, it wasn't his voice that was heard.

“I am already here, brother.”

Iloa glanced up at the open door, behind a still brooding Steve. The slender figure of the God of Mischief, stood in the shadows. She could see his smirk even with the darkness keeping most of his features hidden. His green and black leather clothing catching the light and throwing it back away from him. She had never met him, but had heard enough about him to know she should be weary and on guard.

Thor bounded from his chair, moving to his brother and patting him warmly on the back. “Welcome, brother,” Thor smiled at Loki.

Shifting slightly, the light casting more across his face, Iloa could see the lines of his face smooth and form into a genuine smile as he looked over at Thor, “Thank you.”

Iloa could feel her heart kick up a notch. She glanced away not understanding the reaction. Out of the corner of her eye she watched, as Thor led Loki toward the table to the seat that was next to him. Which just so happened to be next to her as well.

He sat, his arm brushing against hers and electricity burned up her arm at the contact. She jerked her body away, snapping her eyes to his. He was staring back at her with what had to be the mirrored reflection of her confused features. Did he feel it too? She wondered. The smell of spice, ink, old parchment and leather, overwhelmed her senses and warmed her blood. He smelled deliciously masculine.

Thor fussed over him for a bit, asking if he had eaten. He didn't seem to notice the arc of tension suddenly flowing between the two strangers. When she finally pulled her eyes from his, glancing unassumingly around the room, she realized that no one had seemed to notice. Until her eyes reached Natasha that is, who was giving her a dreary smirk.

Not sure what this was and not particularly wanting to think to hard on it, she grabbed her now empty bowl depositing it in the sink before heading out of the kitchen for her rooms. Reaching the doorway, an unexplained pull had her glancing back over her shoulder. Her eyes drawn to Loki, he was still staring at her, his emerald eyes glowing. A knot formed in her throat, a blush threatening her cheeks as heat rose in her veins. She was about to turn away, when his lips quirked into a playful grin. She watched him wink at her, unbeknownst to anyone else. The blush came in full force, heating her entire body. Whirling on her heel, she stormed off to her rooms unsure what had caused her body to react in this manner.

Present

That had been about two months ago, she thought sitting on the cold floor just inside her bedroom.

Afterwards, there had been little contact between them. But when she had seen him, the same electric arc connected them. Fire ran through her veins when they brushed past each other, and as much as she tried to avoid it, sometimes contact was inevitable.

They had yet to speak to each other, until tonight.

A few hours ago

Iloa had intended to go to dinner after many hours in the training center. She practiced martial arts and with Kunai, as well as honing her singing skills. Cause lets face it, sometimes things happened and she couldn't use her voice as a weapon.

Natasha had sparred with her, and it had been a brutal training. She was tired, sweaty, her sports bra and leggings clinging to her uncomfortably. Even if she wasn't human, she had limits. So when she rounded a corner, her head hung low from exhaustion, she didn't see him and couldn't avoided the contact.

Running full force into Loki's hard chest, she was startled and gasped loudly. Both from the contact and the electricity and heat that ran through her veins.

She would have found herself falling flat on her ass, if not for the hand that shot out to grip her arm and steady her. But the action didn't stop there, he pulled her into his chest, wrapping his other arm around her bare waist. Her hands shot up to his chest, that electricity tingling across her fingers and the places his hands touched her skin. The familiar spice and leather scent of him, was joined by another. . . was that magic. It smelled very close to her own, but not quite the same. And yet it still wrapped it's self up in her veins, comfortingly.

“Are you alright?” His voice low with concern.

She didn't want to make eye contact, terrified of being caught up in those eyes. It was unavoidable, her manners not allowing her to skip out on thanking him for keeping her upright. Craning her neck back and pulling her steely blues up to his electric greens, she fought to find the breath to form words. He was so tall. The sharp lines of his face, were a thing of perfection. Her naturally curly, ruby locks fell away from her face, tickling her bare shoulders, she shivered. She knew that it hadn't been her hair that was causing the reaction. Instead, the overwhelmingly obvious worry that shone from his eyes and wrinkled that sharp brow. Her mind fumbling for words, she pushed away from his chest putting some distance between there bodies.

Allowing her head to dip, her hair fell long over the front of her face. But try as she might she couldn't break eye contact with him, couldn't ask him to remove his hands from her, though she knew she should.

Finally, her brain kicked in, noticing how short his breathing had become, “I'm fine. Thank you.”

His eyes instantly changed from concerned to callous, masking any further emotion. He let his hands fall reluctantly from her, his fingertips lingering on her skin until they fell away to his sides. Clearing his throat, his entire demeanor changed. Instead of the concerned gentleman that had saved her from making a fool of herself, she watched as an animal suddenly stood before her.

“You should watch where you are going, mortal,” he growled, exposing his perfect set of white teeth. He took a step back, crossing his arms roughly across his chest. “You could have been hurt.” Though it didn't show in his features, a thread of concern laced that last sentence.

Iloa felt cold at the absence of his earlier warmth, and the tone he was taking with her just made her furious. She didn't deserve this treatment. Sure she had been distracted and had barreled into him. But it was an accident and not something he should be so angry about. Unless it isn't about the collision at all? Her brain coughed up.

She took a step back as well, mirroring his arms and cocking her hip to the side. “It was an accident, Loki,” she spit, lacing each word with venom. “Be happy I didn't scream at being startled, I could have killed you.” He scoffed at her until she added, “It's not like I ran into you on purpose, anyway.”

His features shifted again. If she hadn't been staring so hard at him she would have missed the shook that registered there, before turning devilish. He grinned, impossibly wide and a shiver ran up her spine. His eyes flashed lime green for an instant and she knew it as his seiðr. He chuckled, as he leaned forward, bringing his face almost level with her own. “Didn't you?” He dared, seductively.

She suddenly felt how small she was with him looming over her. She had been short her entire life, but she had never been made to feel like this. It poured gasoline on the fiery anger raging inside her. Dropping her arms, she leaned toward that demeaning gaze, “Trust me, Loki,” she kept her voice low and sultry, “If I had wanted your attention, I would have it.”

He blinked in surprise, and she got the distinct feeling that no one spoke up to him like this. Pushing it a step further, she slowly took the two steps toward him. Swishing her hips daringly and licking her lips. She watched him raise back up to his full height, at her approach. His face betrayed nothing, but his eyes darted across her body curiously. She lifted a hand, starting at his shoulder she drug it across his chest as she moved around him. Stilling to stand next to him, her hand pressed firmly against his peck, she lifted her gaze to his, “And you would know it,” she added, feeling the muscle tense beneath her hand, though his face still betrayed no emotions. Letting her hand fall quickly away, she walked off down the hall. A gratifying smile gracing her lips, when she heard his sharp intake of breath.

Just as she was about to reach the next corner, she heard a new voice thunder down the hall, “Are you alright, brother?” Thor's unmistakable timber reached her ears.

“I like her,” Loki's voice answered, as she rounded the corner and broke out into a sprint.

Present

So here she sat, out of breath, wondering over the interaction. Her hunger and exhaustion, temporarily pushed to the back of her mind. Did he feel the same electricity and heat that had her heart racing? She guessed she could probably just ask him. But what if he didn't.

He had said he liked her, but that could mean any number of things. Was she seriously even considering these feelings he was stirring in her.

Yes. Yes she was.

Suddenly, an idea struck her. She stood, squaring her shoulders with a new sense of resolve. If she didn't want to be embarrassed, she just needed to get him to tell her on his own. Certainly, she could come up with some way to influence him.

Grinning, she ripped the sports bra, leggings, and underwear off her body. Leaving them in her wake, walking naked to the shower.

Humming a new tune.

[lovesickjily]

Motionless

Summary: James had thought that he was the only person in the world who had the power to stop time, but somehow, just the sight of Lily Evans makes every second feel like an hour.

leave some love on  ao3 or ffn

ahhh i hope you enjoy this because i surely did <33

He’d always considered himself a superhero.

No, not that sort of superhero, not the one who was completely for adopting a latex suit of some sort as the most iconic aspect of his or hers— no offence to all of those who did wear such uncomfortable outfits for whatever reason, because such people of power were all bloody awesome, if he did say so himself.

He wasn’t going to be slinging spider webs out of his hands any time soon, nor was he going to take any unnaturally giant being out with just the sheer force of his bare hands, though either of such would have been absolutely wicked considering the fact that he practically idolised such men since he’d been a child.

No, if one were to compare him to the likes of the larger-than-life characters, well, then he’d just be James. He was James, in fact. James Potter, who probably looked to be living that Clark Kent double-life, if he was to be judged by his outward appearance, what with his glasses and messier-than-should-be-allowed hair, but he didn’t stop menacing villains on the side, simply because he was definitely not a superhero.

It didn’t matter that he thought that he was just about cool enough to be a hero, or if he demonstrated courage through his more-than-reckless stunts that he pulled with his best mates daily, or if his kindness could be shown through helping his mum with the chores everyday, or even the mere fact that he’d somehow been born with the ability to stop time at whichever moment and time he wanted. He was not that sort of superhero.

Er, well.

At least he wanted to convince himself that that sort of superhero life wouldn’t work, but alas, words carried a much different power than actions did.

In truth, he found himself stopping time for good reasons, like the occasional stopping time to catch someone who had been so obviously cheating on an exam. Yes, justice had been served that one time he’d done that, because it meant that those who had actually worked for their grades wouldn’t be put to shame by the fact that some cheater had scored just about as high as they did. If he ever had the chance though, he’d definitely use his powers for the greater good, but because this wasn’t New York City, he was not be to greeted by the likes of King Kong or the Green Goblin any time soon. And honestly, thank heavens for that.

He would have absolutely hated to use his powers for something as horrible as stealing from the bank— which he honestly had no need to do, considering the immense wealth that his parents carried and gave him access to— or taking horrible advantage of unsuspecting women— he even shuddered to think about doing such a thing.

Most of the time, anyway.

It wasn’t as if he hadn’t used the power to his advantage when playing tricks on his friends, who were none the wiser whenever he planned a surprise ‘attack,’ because there wasn’t even much they could do in defence of themselves, anyway. He could have warned them that he was about to pull a prank on them, but what would it matter if they couldn’t do a thing while frozen in place? It did feel unfair though, and so he’d taken to doing it less often than he’d used to, not to mention the fact that it got a bit old after the first hundreds of times that he’d done it. Well, somewhat old, because it was still funny to see Sirius fall on his face whenever he tied his laces together, but the pranks weren’t enough for his mate to make the decision to invest in the disgrace that was velcro.

And James wasn’t stupid either, because he used his ability for practical purposes too. Take, for instance, when the alarm for early classes went off, he’d simply just freeze time to catch up on all of the sleep that he wanted, or if he pushed an assignment off to the very last day, he easily used his abilities to give him all the time in the world to finish it in ample time.

He remembered when he was little, he froze time to eat all of the ice cream he wanted at the local ice cream shop, an action that his mother was strictly opposed against when she’d found out because she wanted him to eat healthy meals and grow up into a strong man. He’d gotten a horrible stomach ache afterwards, but the ice cream was bloody delicious, so it was honestly well worth it, especially when he supposed that he did grow up well. His face in the mirror proved it.

It was nice to reflect in this sort of weather, he mused. The sky had darkened immensely, having a tendency of some sort to turn as black as coal during the month of November at five in the afternoon, though the stars had yet to come out, not wanting to shine for him, most likely because he was not a superhero and therefore not worth shining for. That was understandable, really.

He liked walking home in the natural quietness, and one thing that he absolutely hated with his powers was that if it ever got too noisy, he could easily mute all sounds in the world, because as much as it seemed to be peaceful, it just felt odd to be walking in a world without a single sound, without a single movement, without a single laugh filling the air. And he supposed that it kind of sort of did feel lonely whenever he froze time when he thought about how he was the only person who was breathing at those moments.

He never tried to overthink on the technicalities of his abilities either, not unless he wanted to suffer from a headache that would last for hours, because even now, at nineteen years, he still had no idea how or why he’d gotten such a power. Perhaps the universe had been drinking when it had come to that decision, because it had chosen him out of all of its worthy options, but at least it didn’t make too bad of a settlement if he wasn’t bloody exploiting it for evil purposes.

He hummed softly to himself, simply because whistling was too ominous a sound to be making in the darkness, and he ignored the franticness of all of the people around him as they scurried to get home, an action that was quite understandable considering the prison-like work conditions that they faced every day with a nine-to-five job. He hoped that wherever life took him, it wouldn’t take him to the restraints that such jobs held.

The pedestrian lights were red, a sign that he was to wait until the street was cleared, and he was nearly tempted to stop time then and there just to cross the street without any waiting time, but he didn’t want to abuse his powers for a matter that was just as insignificant as this, knowing that there were people who would have killed to have such a cool ability. Yeah, he was going to wait for the sign to turn green. It was honestly the least he could really do.

When he did cross the street, in the fairest manner possible, he rounded the corner, knowing each and every time that he had to take, and if he was ever tied up in a chair and told to recreate a map of London, he’d most definitely be able to get it all down to the last detail.

And as he strolled down the street, not a single worry or concern on his mind, he caught sight of red, a very dark red colour that seemed unmatched for another other shade of red that he’d ever seen in his life simply because it was so pretty, and undoubtedly if she were to turn in his direction, she’d be pretty. She was crossing to the other side of the street, not a single car on this particular road, and he would have gone on with his life, seeing as it was completely stalkerish of him to be observing her even though he had absolutely no right to do so, had it not been for the sudden truck that had veered in from the intersecting street.

It hadn’t even seemed to attempt to slow down, definitely not seeing the redhead on the street, but if James was gauging the driver’s facial reactions properly, then it seemed that the man had no power to stop it, and from his jerking motions it seemed he was trying his hardest to unjam one of the pedals. The truck wasn’t going to stop anytime soon.

What was worse though, was the fact that the woman was right in the middle of the street, and the truck was so bloody close that even if she had all the speed in the world, she’d still be unable to avoid a collision with the vehicle. No, no, no. He could not let her die like that, not if he could help it, but just bearing witness to such an event, an event that he’d always hoped could end up with a person being saved by his hands, caused anxiety to rage up within him.

Fuck. What if he somehow, at this very instance, lost his powers, and any efforts that he took would be for naught? No, don’t think that. He could bloody do it, no matter how frozen the sight made him, no matter how much his hands shook at fear that he’d let someone die when he could have saved him.

This was far scarier than he’d ever imagined.

And with each passing second, the truck seemed to be moving faster, and the driver had seemed to have covered his eyes in fear that he was going to kill her. James could not let that happen, and at the very last second, he’d nearly thought that he’d heard the sound of a crash, but to see that she was definitely not lying on the ground meant that his brain had already started conjuring up false sounds to terrify him even more. It was enough for a snap to ring out in the air, and the world grew silent, no slams, no tire brakes, just the sound of his heart pounding against his chest, begging to be freed so that it could witness if he’d assisted in an innocent person’s death.

He hadn’t even realised that his eyes had been closed, but when he opened them again, he saw that the truck and its driver had been completely still. What scared him, terrified him, was the fact that the woman was so clearly shaking with fright, and—

No, that couldn’t be right. Nobody was able to move when he froze time, nobody but himself, but there she was, her head whirling around as she took in the sight of the frozen world around her, and when her eyes— green and beautiful and lovely and filled with every single emotion concerning fear— fell upon his, they widened, and before doing anything else, she quickly moved out of the way of the truck, as if it would suddenly roar back to life to crash into her like a wave against the sandy shore.

It was as if her eyes held some sort of spell themselves, because the sight of her, so much more beautiful than he could ever imagined, sent shooting stars racing through his heart, and he suddenly felt as if he couldn’t move, as if she could stop time herself. From the way she’d reacted to his abilities, though, it seemed that it was only all in his head, because he didn’t think that he could be thinking if that was the case.

He watched her carefully, and she hesitated at first before ultimately deciding to approach him, the only other person able to move in an otherwise still world. She stopped a good few feet in front of him, holding her umbrella out in front of her as if it was a sword. “Who are you?” she asked, her voice wavering slightly as she tried to take on a fearless tone, and he couldn’t help but show surprise at her response.

He didn’t expect her to fall onto her knees out of complete gratitude or anything elaborate of that sort, but in his many scenarios that he’d conjured up as how he was to save a person’s life in the most extreme way, none of them featured the girl threatening to poke his eye out with an umbrella. “I don’t think my identity is important right now,” he told her, more out of fear that she’d call the cops on him for whatever reason, “Are you all right?”

“Is he all right?” she responded, her words stressed with urgency, and she pointed back at the bloke in the truck.

“He’s fine.” He waved it off dismissively. “I’m asking about you.”

“He’s bloody frozen in place!”

“And you almost got hit by a truck!” he shot back, and he flinched, not exactly liking that he’d raised a voice at a complete stranger who most definitely was not in the wrong, “Er, sorry. I just— how exactly are you still moving?”

She looked at him as if he was insane. “Are you to say that I’m not supposed to be moving?”

He gulped, hopefully not too visibly, because he had the upper hand here. He had the ability to stop time, and yet, she was somehow immune to it, for whatever reason unbeknownst to him. How the actual fuck was she immune? Never in his life had he ever met anyone who hadn’t been affected by his abilities, and yet there she was, her eyes glaring at him as she demanded an answer from him. “I reckon you can answer that for yourself.” He motioned towards the rest of the quiet world.

“I can’t, actually, considering the fact that there’s absolutely no scientific reason that could explain why nothing in the world is moving except for us. I mean, theoretically, shouldn’t we be dead if nothing is moving? Shouldn’t we be at absolute zero if that was the case? I just—” She stopped, her eyes widening, and when she spoke again, her voice was higher with much more panic. “What exactly is going on?”

He didn’t know how to answer her, and he merely looked back at her.

She seemed to lose her balance then, landing onto her knees as her hands flew up to her mouth at just how overwhelming it all was. “This can’t be possible. I should be dead right now. No one can possibly be able to stop time. Oh god, I’m going insane.”

He edged towards her, slowly, like one would approach a startled animal, and when he was looming over her, he reached a hand out awkwardly, patting her on the shoulder because he didn’t know what to do with someone who was so evidently distraught by being a first-hand witness to his abilities. “I can assure you that you’re not dead, nor are you crazy.”

“No, I know I’m not crazy,” she responded, and she looked at him with her eyes, the green seeming to pierce into his soul, “I— The thing is, I’ve been in these frozen times before. I’ll be talking to my friend, and the next thing that I know, she stops moving. I’ve been witness to all of this before, and it’s just— it’s just terrifying yet so relieving to know that it’s not be behind all of this. Terrifying mostly, but god.”

He merely blinked at her confession. It was his turn to be surprised now— fuck, wait, no. It was his turn to be even more surprised now. “You’ve been able to do this all your life?”

“Have you been able to stop time all of your life?”

“Yes,” he said in exasperation, “Listen, I’d love to go back and forth about our abilities, but I’m sure it’s just as disconcerting for you as it is for me for time to be frozen for this long.”

“Then undo it!” she exclaimed before her eyes quickly softened at her outrage, “Please?”

He nodded. “Yeah, yeah. I— fuck— How do I undo it without giving the driver a heart attack?”

She stared up at him, and if he could, he would have thrown all caution to the wind and stared at her forever, but he wasn’t a creep, nor was that practical considering their situation. Before he knew what had happened, she had thrown him right over her person so that he was hovering above her, his legs spread on both sides of her and her eyes boring right into his. “Like this.”

“What— what the hell are you doing?” he asked her, but she stayed in that position.

“Isn’t it obvious?” she replied, and no, it was not bloody obvious, because it’d been so long since he’d last had a girlfriend and just the sight of such a gorgeous woman was making his heart nervous, what with the implications that were swarming about with him right over her. “This is the solution to not giving the driver a ‘heart attack,’ as you’d so put it.”

He was going to get a heart attack, if anything. “I don’t get it,” he told her weakly, as if their positions were making his heart physically weaker.

She sighed deeply. “It’s so that the driver would think that you saved me.”

“Oh.”

He was sure that if they’d spent hundreds of years stuck in time, he would never— not even once— come up with an idea that was as smart as her own solution to this problem, and without hesitation, he sent the world filled with sound and movement once again, the sound of the truck’s horn filling his airs as it rushed past them.

It was funny really, how he’d paused and unpaused the world at least a hundred times already, yet he could still not bring himself to get over the difference in how much louder the world was when it was action in comparison to the still world that he got to experience for himself. Her eyes had fallen shut at the sound as she flinched, and when the ugly screech of the tires filled the air, he knew that the driver had managed to work his brakes once again, taking control of the vehicle as it finally came to a halt.

She’d taken to holding on to him, most likely out of more than anything else, which was understandable, really, considering the fact that this giant man-made vehicle had almost killed, would have killed her if he’d come maybe a second too late. There was no power that he held in which he could reverse time and go back, no matter how little seconds he needed, because what was done was done, and at least with his abilities, he could save time.

It didn’t change the fact that their closeness was sending a thrill to his heart, a closeness that was quickly ripped away when the sounds of the driver’s heavy footsteps rumbled down the street as he came to make sure that she was okay. “I’m so sorry! Are you all right? I didn’t hurt you, did I? The brakes got stuck, and—”

The poor bloke seemed to be shaking with fear out of the fact that had he hit her, he would have been charged with vehicular manslaughter and would have had to spend many of his days in prison. There was at least some obligation in the franticness of his words.

“I’m fine,” she managed, and she made a light attempt to push him off of her, but it was enough for James to get the message and pull off of her, “He saved my life.”

The driver’s eyes darted over to James, who had gotten up from the ground and was now holding his hand out to the woman. “That’s good to hear.”

She nodded at him, trembling a bit, and the driver turned around, eager to get away from an avoided crime scene. She put her hand in James’s, accepting it, and he pulled her up so that they were both standing. “I suppose I haven’t thanked you for saving me yet. I’m sorry, by the way, for snapping at you the way I did.”

He shrugged. “It’s fine. Understandable, really, when these powers are actually hard to grasp.”

The corner of her lip rose slightly. “Thank you, though. I don’t know how else to explain to you that I’m so thankful for you being there.”

“You are all right, aren’t you? Heard that three times in the last— shit, I don’t even know how to describe the time that passed— few moments, but I just want to be sure.”

“Yeah. I— yeah,” she replied, taking in a deep breath, “I’m fine. Really.”

He probably didn’t look convinced at her words, judging from the way she was looking at him, and before he could fully process the next few seconds, it was like time had frozen despite him not moving a finger, because he suddenly felt her lips falling against his cheek without any warning whatsoever. He was fully aware of how much his cheek was burning from just her touch, just a sweet and innocent gratuitous kiss, yet it seemed to be spreading down throughout his body, like how a single spark could ignite an entire building.

It was probably the only aspect in his superhero fantasies that had played out, and when she pulled away, landed effectively back onto the flats of her feet, she gave him a small smile before turning around to leave. He stood in shock for a few moments, as if she really had frozen him, and it wasn’t until she was near the other side of the street that he’d snapped back to his senses. “Wait!” She turned around, and he took it as a cue to rush up towards her. “I— You’re not saying this is it, are you?”

She looked at him in concern. “Sorry?”

“Swear I don’t feel entitled to your affections, but it’s just that I’d like to see you again sometime.”

Her head tilted to the side in confusion. “I think with your abilities, we’ll see each other soon.”

He nodded. “What’s your name?”

“Did you say identification wasn’t important right now?”

“Well, yeah, but that was then, and—” He stopped, cutting himself off, because he wasn’t even sure if she wanted to see him again before ultimately deciding to continue. “I dunno, it’s just that it’s hard to not bond with someone who shares something with you.”

“And what do we share? A near-death experience? Or is it the fact that we’ve somehow got the abilities to not be affecting by time stopping?”

“Both, I reckon, only I’d like to be optimistic about this and see the bright side of things.”

His words finally brought out a pretty smile from her, and he found that he quite liked the curve of her lips. “Lily.”

“That’s a strange reply,” he joked, and when she rolled her eyes, he added, “It’s pretty. Lily. Yeah, that’s a pretty name. If you like the name James, I reckon we both share pretty names as well, except I think yours is far prettier.”

“Your constant use of the same adjective makes me question the authenticity of your compliment.”

“Why? I think it just goes to emphasize just how pretty I think your name is. That among other things.”

“Like how pretty your name is?”

“Sure. You could say that, but really, it’s just to show just how in awe I am of your utter beauty. Like, wow, you goddess.”

She smiled sweetly at him. “I should get going now. It’s getting late.”

“What’s the rush?”

“An impending fear that another truck will materialise in front of me, and you won’t be there to stop time.”

“Yeah, you got me there,” he said, his lips curving upwards, “I’ll see you, yeah?”

She nodded. “Bye, James.”

And as she walked away, he stood there pondering what the bloody fuck just happened, but there was one thing for sure: he was definitely a superhero like the likes of Spider-Man and Captain America.

Or, perhaps more fittingly, he wanted to be a superhero if it meant that he’d save her once again. If it meant that he’d see her once again.

***

He didn’t think he ever felt as strongly as he did for the redhead who began to frequent his dreams and his mind nearly every second of every day as with any other woman who crossed his path.

He didn’t find himself freezing time all that often, but when he did, he wondered if she thought about him whenever she found herself stuck in a frozen world as well, and that mere thought made him feel at least a little less lonely. It was quite lovely, actually, how in those frozen moments, just as if they were stuck in a still picture, they were the only people breathing life into an otherwise silent world.

Meeting her, it seemed, made him at least a million times more poetic than he’d ever thought he could ever be.

The breeze that was November quickly blew over until the month on the calendar turned into December, and every street that he crossed from uni every day became holiday-filled, with the merry Santas and the jolly snowmen greeting the sights of every person who walked by. It was strange, he marvelled, at how just a refreshing change in scenery seemed to brighten the moods of every person, and even though James hadn’t seen Lily since that horrible night where she’d almost made eye contact with the likes of Death, he still found himself walking with a light flourish in every single one of his steps.

The thing with winter was that magic seemed to be more of a prospective force that swirled about in the air, simply because it was a force that was present in this time, appearing as the natural phenomenon that was snow. He’d always loved snow, always loved freezing time in the dead of winter, because there was just something so beautiful about the little crystallines suspended in the air, as if they were being hung up by a string in a children’s Christmas production. He didn’t know why exactly he’d chosen to freeze time at this very second, but he did, and the snow, which had been falling down as flurries, ceased to move, involuntarily choosing to decorate the open air the way one would decorate a Christmas tree.

There was no problem in his movements either, because walking forward would just make the little dots melt right onto him, but it wasn’t too hard to stop to admire each of their unique, individual shapes, a feat that most people were unable to see because they melted far too quickly before they could properly pay the attonage that such works of nature begged for.

With his ability, though, he had all the time in the world to give nature all of the appreciating that it wanted.

The crunch in the snow snapped him out of his thoughts, though he wasn’t scared at all, because the sounds were an indication of the person who he so desperately wanted to see again, and so he calmly turned around, bracing himself for the beauty that he was inevitably going to see.

No amount of preparation could truly ever prepare him for the sight of her, because the snow in her hair made her look like an absolute angel, decorating the strands as if they were a crown of some sort, and the coldness had left a rosy tint in her cheeks. There was a scarf wrapped around her neck, and she looked to be the epitome of all that winter embodied. When his eyes met hers, she beamed at him, a sort of smile that caused a light to shine in her eyes and crinkles to appear.

“I knew I was going to see you today,” she told him, unable to keep the excitement out of her voice, “The first snow of the year is always the best snow of the year.”

“Correction: every snow of the year is always the best snow of the year.”

“Does that mean that I’ll see you each snowfall?”

“If that’s what makes it the best snow, then yeah.”

Her smile seemed to grow exponentially at his words. “I usually get terrified whenever time freezes, but right now, it really does feel like a Winter Wonderland. How have you been? Have you been well?”

“I reckon I am now that you’re here,” he said, finding it difficult to not be smiling with the contagiousness of her evident joy. “What about you? I mean, clearly you’re happy, and that’s bloody great, but how have your days been before?”

“I couldn’t get you out of my mind,” she admitted, and his heart felt as if it was flying right up into the sky, wanting to get lost in the clouds, “There’s just something so memorable about a man who can literally make time stop as he so desires.”

“I could say the same about you.”

“I can’t stop time though,” she said, and she reached upwards, pulling a snowflake from his hair and watching as it melted in her hand.

“Well, I beg to differ.”

“Oh?”

“It feels like time stops whenever I look at you.”

Confusion flew across her face. “Time is frozen.”

“No, not like— fuck.” In one quick motion, he made the snow begin to fall as scheduled once again. “You make it almost like time slows down to me.”

Comprehension dawned on her face in the form of redness on her cheeks. “You’re exaggerating it.”

“Not a bit.”

She looked so beautiful with the snowflakes tickling her face, decorating the sleeves of her jacket, and her colours— vibrant reds and greens— reflected the merriness of this wonderful time while also contrasting against the stark whiteness of the snow. “James—”

“Can I kiss you?” he asked her, and he wished that it had come naturally for them, but he just couldn’t help the words from falling out of his lips, “Only except I’ve been dreaming for this moment since that night, and only if you want to, obviously.”

She didn’t answer him— or least, not immediately— only blinking at him, and he so desperately wished that he could freeze time, freeze her, so that he could make his getaway, because it was so obvious that she was going to turn him down, that his request was far too sudden for her to grant. He felt like an absolute idiot, and though he had never intended for his abilities to appear as an attempt to woo the other gender, perhaps it was coming off as such to her.

His hand flew up to his hair when she only continued looking up at him, and he’d nearly begun to give it up, to tell her to forget about it and leave her in the snow, but right when he’d turned around, he heard the sounds of the snow crunching behind him. It was as if the world had quickly spun in front of his eyes, had progressed forward in such a manner that he found it difficult to keep up, because the next thing that he knew, the next thing that his brain was processing was the mere fact that he was kissing her.

He felt warmth enveloping his lips, and in the moment before he’d closed his eyes, he noticed just how slowly the world seemed to be moving for him, as if it had decided to shut down solely for them, as if it had built everything that had ever happened in his life for this event. He was frozen with the coldness of the world, yet she somehow brought heat all throughout him, and that mere fact was comforting enough for him to close his eyes, to bask in the beauty that was her.

It was short and sweet, and before he knew it, she had pulled away from him, though it didn’t change the fact that her eyes seemed brighter than they had been before, didn’t change the fact his lips continued to tingle afterwards. “Just so you know, I didn’t kiss you because you saved my life.”

“I— yeah, no. I know,” he let out. Way to be smooth, James. “That’s not usually why women kiss me, anyway.”

Her eyebrows flew upwards. “Sorry?”

“Shit, I mean, fuck. I didn’t mean it like that, swear.” During times like these, he truly, madly, deeply wished that he instead had the ability to go back in time, but he wasn’t going to be picky about the power that the universe deemed him worthy of holding, even if it did turn him into more of an arrogant arse.

Of course the person with whom he’d fumble his words would be the one person who was unaffected by his ability to stop time, and he wished he could melt into a puddle just so as to not bear such embarrassment in front of the one person he wanted to impress. It wasn’t until she’d spoke that he’d realised that he was merely being overdramatic, and she said, “I know. I was only messing with you.”

“You were— what?”

“Why do you think I kissed you?”

“Shit, I think I’ll be digging my own grave no matter what I tell you.”

“You won’t,” she said, and then she gave him a coy smile, “If you want, you could freeze time, and I’ll play along so you could make your escape.”

“I don’t reckon you’re really going to let me do that.”

She shook her head. “Not at all.”

“Then, you kissed me because you find me irresistibly attractive and charming?”

“Are you stating it or asking it?”

“I dunno,” he said, shrugging, “I don’t want to come off as a self-absorbed prick if I say it like a statement.”

“You won’t, because you are very much ‘irresistibly attractive and charming,’ as so you put it,” she assured him, and to confirm her words, he watched her stand on the very tips of her toes, reaching up to press another kiss to his lips. It was probably supposed to be brief, but he couldn’t help it, securing his arms around her waist as he pulled her closer to him, and— perhaps as ironic emphasis more than anything else— he willed time to stop, the world literally stilling around them.

The snow stopped falling, and the distant blares of the city became mute once more as the only sound that he could focus on was her soft laugh, muffled slightly on his lips. She pulled away just when he’d gotten comfortable. “Did you really just stop time for a kiss?”

“Do you blame me?” he replied, “Really adds on to the magic, I’d say.”

Her eyes crinkled in response, and she playfully squeezed his arms. “Turn it back.”

He watched as snow lighted dotted the top of her hair and felt his lips quirking upwards at the sight, beauty falling right upon beauty. “It’s back to normal now, but I swear, once I look into your eyes again it’ll just start stopping on its own again.”

“For you, maybe. Not for me.”

“Yeah? Look into my eyes then. Tell me you’re not getting lost in the colours.”

She laughed. “You’re just going to use your ability on me if I do look at your eyes.”

“Maybe,” he agreed, “Or maybe I’ll just give in and kiss you again with your granted consent.”

He watched as her eyes— swirling with fascination and joy— light up even more, perhaps to the point that they could melt the snow right then and there if they so wanted to, at his words, and she was a snowflake of her own, the sort in which she truly was unique, so distinguishable from the rest.

If he could choose a moment to freeze and cherish forever, he would choose this very moment, wanting to capture the breathtaking image of her to engrave onto his brain. And growing in the very depths of his heart was a strong feeling, a feeling that could not lie to him, that told him he’d continue to have many more of these wondrous moments.

Now though, as he grinned down at the beautiful redhead, he was going to put his full heart and mind into ensuring that she was going to enjoy their time together as well.

And time, it seemed, was forever going to be on their side.

He had his ability to prove it, much to the future joy— and occasional chagrin— of Lily.