#i’m so excited to see what splinter’s future holds. i really hope this gets through his head that he need to change (i am coping and hoping)

[lesbianleonardo]

read the michaelanglo macro issue and ohhh my fucking god ojhhhhh my god

anyway. this page was really cute

[spiltscribbles]

Prompt: remus and lily as siblings or half siblings or biological family in any capacity pls 🥺

Oh God!!! Baby!!!🥺🥺😭 This is such a favorite AU of mine!! I’m literally— sorta— writing a To All The Boys I’ve Loved Before AU right now and they are the bestest siblings in that!!!  They share a little sister and they are just so cute!! And Petunia is conveniently off in university oaiwefjoiaswejfiogreghoij And I just love Remus and Lily both so much it hurts!!! And so I wanna spit out a bullet point Ficlet at you! And I’m not even sorry just because I love you so endlessly for tossing this into my inbox foiwaeifmkaeoirfgjieoarujoidkioweajgh 

So like in my head, becs that Voldy bitch doesn’t know how to actually world build, the Muggle born children who get their Hogwarts letters, are also invited to join this like support group for ordinary folks with magical children. It’s like a thing that’s held in the Ministry of magic over in London once a month, and the parents are taught about the Wizarding world while their children kind of go to this separate room to intermingle and read Hogwarts; A History with one another, and just vibe, because pure bloods and those close to that have always sorta known one another and such, so this is a nice way for the Muggle borns not to feel so excluded.

So the thing is, obviously Lyall was a wizard, but also we all know I don’t fuck with him lmfao. So I picture that after he leaves for the final time when Remus is around nine, and finalizes the  divorce with Hope, she— being the bad bitch that she is, just marches to the ministry with her half-blood, werewolf son, and demands to learn everything about the world he’s part of, because she refuses to let him be deprived of anything. 

Eventually she becomes one of the tutors for the adult section because she’s such a quick study— being a professor herself back in Cardiff and just being an all around bombshell tbh. So one day, in February of 1970, there’s this ginger haired, northerner who stumbles in with his daughter who looks so much like him that it’s crazy— dimples and smile and upturned nose. Though she has her mother’s eyes, who had past away when she was only seven from a freak car accident.

And when he first shake’s Hope’s hand, he’s like kind of mind boggled over how beautiful she is, and thinks that maybe all wizards just put on some sort of charm to look unearthly, till he finds out that she’s as Muggle as he is towards the end of his visit. And he is just entirely love struck tbh.

And for the next couple months or so, he kind of just yearns from afar, and then spends the ride home to Cokeworth listening to Lily’s excited chortling about her friend Remus who’s apparently a half blood and who likes the same treats as her and knows how to draw things so amazingly, and it isn’t until like May, when he ambles to the other room and realizes that Remus is actually Hope’s fucking son, and he already knows that she said she began this group after separating from her husband who was a wizard himself. So Lily’s father— Nate— quite literally just shoots his shot and asks if Lily would like to get ice cream with her new friend since Petunia won’t be coming back from there Grams’s house till late, and Hope sorta smirks from over the kids’ heads because she sees exactly what he’s doing and is impressed that he’s finally done something for fuck’s sake.

And like obviously they fall hard for one another, and they probs get married like Lily’s second year at Hogwarts.

Wait, just Lily’s you ask??

Yes my beautiful duckling,  because plot twist!! (We lovee plot twists!!!)

In this AU i picture that McGonagall kind of visits during the summer months leading up to the children’s first year at Hogwarts, just to give them some supplementary readings and answer the questions for their future schooling, and when Dumbledore tells her about Remus’s full situation with his lycanthropy and all, she does some research, and figures out how Beauxbatons is much, MUCH more accommodating to “dark” creatures, and she’s already pretty chummy with Hope and knows that she’s actually a French citizen herself, the daughter of Algerian immigrants. So Remus technically has the possibility to attend Hogwarts or Beauxbatons, and so Hope and Remus talk on it long and hard, and she knows he’s already become fast friends with Lily and their thick as thieves with one another, but it’s also just so much safer for him.

So the week before Lily is set to go off to King’s Cross, they fly over to France and they get Remus settled in his dorm abroad.

I think while they’re away, Lily and Remus actually somehow become closer, because their parents are still dutifully dating and neither of them are all that familiar with their surroundings, so they send one another so many fucking letters through that first term, that the owls of their schools always give them the dirtiest looks lmfao. And they really catch on like a house on fire, like it’s one of those relationships that is just innate? Like you know when you have a best friend you guys kind of just slip into one another lives? Like even when you don’t talk for a while or whatever, it’s just natural<3 <3 

So neither of them ever spend the hols of winter or spring in Hogwarts/Beauxbatons, becs that’s when they really get to vibe.

They tell one another the different cool charms they’ve learned, and hate that they can’t show them with their actual wands yet. And they watch all their favorite films and almost adopt this secret language that’s only the quirk of their brows and twitch of the lips, and Petunia hates how freakily attuned they are with one another and sneers at them for being such freaks in all aspects. Also in this AU Lily fucks off from Snape wayyyy sooner, because instead of having to deal with that nasty, bigoted, slime ball she has the cutest and funniest and most amazing bestie in Remus!

And before Hope and Nate exchange vows in the winter of their second year, the little family of five go to this tiny park that’s all lush grassland and a shiny jungle gym and a pair of swings tucked away by trees, and they sit at this picnic table, and Hope— with her steady, ever buoyant voice, explains to them why she and Remus decided to send him to Beauxbatons instead of Hogwarts, and Petunia is like gawking in fright, and Nate looks sort of distressed, but Lily just cocks her head and shrugs her shoulders, because it’s still Remus— her closest companion Rem— and nothing could change that. So she takes his hand from where it’s fiddling with a splintered piece of wood on the tabletop and she squeezes it tightly, watches him glance up at her with the late summer wind billowing in his tawny curls and the fear in his honey eyes, and she simply tells him that it doesn’t matter. And Lily will never forget the way his features spasm at that, going suddenly loose and bright and thankful, and then Nate probably tousles his hair and kisses Hope’s temple and shyly asks how they should accommodate once they move in with one another.

And that park becomes sorta special tbh.

It’s in that alcove with the swings and trees where Lily and Remus go when things are becoming too much, or they would just like to escape the world by one another’s side.

It’s where they tried their first cigarettes that Remus had gotten from an older bloke in Beauxbaton’s when they were thirteen and feeling adventurous. And where they go to listen to the releases of their favorite albums, and when Remus told Lily that he’s gay for the first time before leaving to both their fourth years and it’s like one of those spots they both think of and feel golden.

Oh God! Imagine how cute of a celebration that Nate and Hope hold for them both becoming prefects!!! Hope and Nate definitely insist on some sort of summer todo! And they invite their friends and all that jazz and OMFG what if Lily’s wearing some sorta powder blue sundress that matches Remus’s oxford shirt and they both are grimacing in all the photos and are just not thriving foieajfoierjgiearfoijsdkgxh But like they would be doted on rotten that whole day! This is so cute! OMFG! And this probs means James became Prefect as well and so Remus gets to tease her when he sends her some sort of congratulations letter and she’s totally blushing and trying to hide her grin, and Lily retaliates by kicking his ankle tbh bahaha 

Okay also now I’m thinking of like Lily’s like fifth year, and her Muggle studies class is doing some sort of seminar to see if these idiots can actually survive in a totally Muggle area without a lick of magic, so like it’s spring hols, and guess who she’s partnered up with??? 

Cookies for you because we all know she had to work with James and Sirius lmfao!!! 

And she’s totally still trying to hide her crush on James— who’s nearly always leering and winking her way— and she might actually punch Sirius’s face simply because he’s such a smug bastard, and being from a working class family like herself, she’s like always ready to fight preppy rich boys tbh

So James and Sirius decide to plan out the simulation in her house that’s right outside Cardiff and Remus is cackling the entire morning before they’re set to arrive because she’s so pissy about it lmfao

Okay so like obviously the boys end up taking the port key and land in front of her place and it’s Remus who answers the door, still painted with humor because Lily was just screaming about “if Potter brings that insufferable snitch here I’ll bloody shove it up his arse” and James is immediately on the defense because Lily’s only ever talked about her sister and brother who live with her at home, and this dude is golden where she’s pale and has curls over her straight hair and just, obviously they’re not related by blood at all. And for his part, Sirius is like *Oh! Oh! Oh! Pretty!!! Pretty boy!! Muggle boy? Pretty Muggle boy!* 

But Remus obviously knows who they are straight away, so he like waves them inside before rounding to the stairs and calling for her to stop clogging the toilet or something else mortifyingly embarrassing, and Lily promises to put like pickles in the next set of face masks that they do because she knows how fucking allergic he is to them, and she wants her chuckles damn it!!  

“Potter— Black,” is how she greets them with a derisive sort of glower that Remus can completely see through, so he has to excuse himself while laughing over to the kitchen. “You’ve met my delightful brother I see.”

And James’s entire posture relaxes and he’s back to grinning like a dope, and the only weird part is that Sirius has got on the very same face, *Pretty Muggle boy is Evan’s brother* So like they are both scary levels of elated, rip.

But sucks to be Sirius because Remus leaves after that to meet up with a friend from town who’s also the best dealer tbh, and  so he has to deal with James’s awful levels of flirting with Lily while they scrounge up their itinerary to send their professor for the seminar type thing, and he doesn’t even have a pretty distraction XS

But Lily does force Remus to come along with her on the trip to London because “On God, if I spend a day alone with those bellends by myself I will punch a wall” 

And it is literally the worst, but best double date/first date that’s full of Sirius and James fucking up with everything— including asking some poor Tesco employee where are their fudgeflies and giving a homeless man a hand full of galleons and James’s snitch somehow ending up in the meaty hands of some kid at the tube. But also tbh it’s hella cute when Lily lets James give her his jacket when they’re walking along the Thames and it’s getting chilly, and when Remus lets Sirius share his stick of cotton candy and they both sorta stare at the sugar on each of their lips.

But then they go to some tiny museum, and while they’re looking at a impressionist piece, Sirius is totally trying to show off to Remus and is explaining how he could turn the bench their sitting on into a really nice bouquet of Lupins, and in the middle of his stupid showboating, Remus lightly corrects him on some facet of Gamp’s law, and Sirius freezes— shocked still— and he’ sort of gaping like an idiot, before Lily stops his blustering with a scoff “He’s a damn wizard also you arse.”

And Sirius is floundering for the rest of the evening, and he has so many questions, but they all die on his lips every time he glances over at Remus and he’s just smirking at him with this electric glint in his golden eyes

So obviously when they’re back at Hogwarts he pesters Lily every second of every day about Remus, and why he’s not at Hogwarts. “None of your fucking business.” And asking where Remus goes instead. “Beauxbatons, thankfully far away from you.” and he asks her about a thousand other questions that Lily either scoffs at or simply cuffs him around the head for daring to even try getting his address.

And she pokes fun about the situation to Remus and tells him how much more of an idiot he’s acting like, and how hilarious it all is. And she’s shocked when he responds to her letter merely by saying, “Hah- he’s cute.”

And so obviously she shoots back a reply that’s a letter of all his worst traits, mainly that he’s an arrogant toerag, and that he’s a posh idiot who could probably live off his inheritance for three lifetimes without blinking, and about how he doesn’t date anyone for longer than a couple months, and how he’s practically brothers with James bloody Potter, and yet again, Remus just tells her, Hah- he’s cute, before mildly moving to talking about his latest charms paper and how he’s been asked to be their DADA’s professors TA next year, and how Andrew keeps trying to try again with him but Remus would rather poke his eyes out with a spork.

So Lily is totally fuming when she recognizes that she’s lost and begrudgingly gives Sirius Remus’s info, after telling him lowly and with her most menacing glower, “IF you fuck around with my brother I will murder you without a flinch.” And she’s quite literally five feet nothing to Sirius’s broad, six-foot frame, but he knows that she could do it with a snap of the finger, and he promises that it’s not just a gag on his end. And Lily actually believes him.

So Remus and Sirius begin writing to one another a sickening amount, like so steadfastly that it gives Lily a complex whenever she finds Sirius waiting at the Owlry every Wednesday morning for the bird that arrives with two letters tied to it’s leg, one for each of them.

And God, one time, right before they let out for summer hols, Lily accidentally takes the one marked for Sirius— and holy christ!!!, She did not need to know just what exactly her brother has been getting up to in the sex department of things— like she legit contemplated using a memory charm on herself JFC

And Sirius probably ends up on their doorstep again in late July, with James at toe, and somehow their is a small harmony painted between the four of them, and it’s by Christmas of sixth year when James and Sirius begin talking about how amazing it’ll be when they’re actually in-law brothers, and Lily blames Remus for everything when she’s pretending to be cross over it, but then James puts his arm around her shoulders, and she sees how gentle Sirius is when he twines his fingers into Remus’s own, and it feels good, feels right. 

It feels like something that can be forever.

Send Me A Prompt/Chat With Me💜  |  My Wolfstar FIC Masterlist

[greensaplinggrace]

What Is There To Celebrate About the Darkling? (Part 3)

1 2 3 4

His shadow powers are so badass, literally how could you not celebrate him for that alone?

Villain wears black trope REPRESENT.

The way his cloak billows dramatically in episode one before Alina enters the Fold.

The way his cloak billows in general.

His little face in the background after his and Alina’s first kiss as he tries to compose himself.

Him knocking on the table in episode five when he gets back to see Alina. My mans was so hopeful that he’d finally get to third base with the love of his life. RIP.

Large hands. Very tall.

The way he literally cannot tear his eyes away from Alina during the entire scene where Alina dresses him and they have their first kiss.

The softest looking hair I’ve ever seen. I can’t believe Alina got to run her hands through it and she still left him.

How he urgently looks around for Alina outside after she leaves in episode five, right before he confronts Baghra. He’s very frantic and panting and clearly concerned and not being subtle at all about his emotions.

Also the way he walks when he’s leaving Baghra, with his hands stuck out to the side and his fists clenching and unclenching as his form grows smaller in the distance. He looks like a tiny penguin waddling away.

Son’s evil dastardly bastard plans once again thwarted by own mother. Can you imagine living for an eternity and never being free of your parents? Fuck all that other shit, no wonder he went darkside.

“She is all that matters now, not me. She is the future. She is the one-” SIMP

His little smile before he goes to answer the door after they kiss. The way his hold on her lingers as if he can’t bear to part with her. Forehead touch. They are giggling.

The way he runs back in for another kiss. This man is so gone it’s not even funny.

He calls her to him in the books and she spends the entire time agonizing over how upset he’s going to be. The man literally just wants to ask her about her day.

Defends Alina to Baghra after he witnesses her getting harassed. Defends himself to Baghra after she treats him like shit. Love that for him.

“I made something.” / “Let me make a mark on this world before I leave it.” / “It’s my own name I’m afraid of forgetting.” / “He understood then. The Grisha lived as shadows, passing over the surface of the world, touching nothing. Forced to change their shapes and hide in corners, driven by fear as shadows were driven by the sun. No safe place. No haven.” / “There will be, he promised the darkness, words written upon his heart. I will make one.”

Him offering Alina his kvas. They drink from the same glass.

Sasha “no thoughts head empty only Alina” Morozova having to look away and calm himself when Alina licks her lips after drinking his kvas.

Literally his entire confrontation with Kaz. Absolutely hilarious. Local centuries old Black Heretic gets bested by a teenager with one (1) flash grenade.

“I never intended for it to be the blight it’s become.” - Genuine regret. A+++.

Asks Mal what Alina’s favorite flowers are and then gives them to her. Was it manipulative? Yes. Was it awful? Absolutely. Was it the funniest and smoothest shit I’ve ever seen? 100%. I laughed my ass off.

Alina: *enters the fete dressed in the black kefta* *Darkling.exe has stopped working*

This man takes one look at her lack of guards and goes: what’s more important than how beautiful the wifey looks? her safety. *protective bf mode initiated*

He admires how pretty he appears in the mirror of his room with absolutely zero shame and 100% pride. We stan a vain icon in this house💕. Also the mirror is in front of the bed?!?! 👀👀👀

His knife ring.

“You looked like you needed saving,” as fire plays across his features and he looks at Alina with an expression that makes my soul want to splinter into pieces. The implications, the pain.

Will display his complete and utter adoration for Alina in front of the entire Court including the King and Queen despite the fact that that is the worst thing he could possibly do in the political environment.

“No ordinary tracker. No ordinary girl. Orphans of Keramzin reunited. AdOrAbLe.” - How do you say you have issues without saying you have issues?

The way he eclipses Alina when he’s stepping down from the dais. The inherent romantic symbolism of the eclipse and what that means for him.

Him getting excited about the stag to the point where he’s eagerly rummaging through the maps on his table and urgently asking Mal tons of questions.

The five second delay in his thoughts as he processes that Mal isn’t cooperating. Poor guy really thought that everything was finally coming up Sasha for once.

He constantly uplifts Alina after Baghra’s emotional abuse. He constantly helps her with her self esteem and reassures her that she’s doing well and that she just needs more time.

“Yeah I don’t know what Baghra’s summoning ability is,” he said, like a liar.

Even after Baghra suggests that Alina left he doesn’t believe it. He has to hear it from Kaz after searching for ages before he finally begins to believe it.

“You smuggle Grisha out of MY PALACE!”

Titty grab during the kiss scene.

He lifts her up onto the table!!

Local whipped dark overlord gets excited that Fedyor has found Alina and has to suffer through the embarrassment of acting like a lovesick fool when he learns it’s just about Nina.

His relationship with Nikolai.

The fact that Alina’s scarf blows past him before they even meet.

The way he nods with such an understanding expression when the Conductor is lying his ass off as if he sympathizes with everything the other man is saying and isn’t secretly planning his elaborate murder.

Puppy dog eyes all the time.

Every time his smile is forced and ingenuine and he looks like he’s about to stab someone.

Every time his smile is genuine and he looks super soft and loving.

“You have no chance, ShAdoW mAn.” Literally how is he ever going to recover from this.

His hands motions when he summons. I just think they’re neat.

He kills the Conductor. Hated that guy. And he looked sexy as fuck doing it.

He hates the Druskelle, he hates the Ravkan monarchy. I can relate.

He’s NOT a bootlicker, unlike some.

Dad mode gets activated when David raises his hand. Aleksander just goes along with it like an exasperated father.

Ben Barnes nose scronch.

He begs for Luda’s life.

“Merzost feeds on us. I forbid it!” two seconds later *frantic rummaging through notes on the merzost* *reading the Forbidden Knowledge™ without any hesitation* *Immediate Disaster Occurs*

“Mom look what I made!” “Your art is atrocious and you’re no longer my son.”

His history was written by the victors. The tale of the Black Heretic is straight up propaganda by the corrupt monarchy.

Immortal old man caught in a young adult love triangle: I read your letters. Malyen “what the fuck is happening on this here day” Oretsev: ??!?!?!!! who even are you??

Aleksander admitting he needs Alina.

Darklina hand holds.

He did not have to make that episode eight hand-hold on the skiff so sensual but he did it anyways.

The way he hides under his cloak like a turtle when Jesper shoots at him.

He looks so awkward and isolated at the fete surrounded by all of those colorful nobles.

He’s always ready to murder a bitch and honestly I respect that.

Would kill for his gf.

That entire scene where he kisses Alina in the snow in the books like the most awkward motherfucker and then goes “wtf just happened?! Darkling out” before fleeing the scene of the Emotion.

He’s eternally confused by his feelings for Alina and it’s hilarious.

“Looking for trouble, and if I cannot find it I will create it.”

He’s basically just a moth attracted to a fatal light. RIP.

The way he throws open double doors like a man on a mission.

“Follow.”

He’s utterly precious and I would die for him. 🖤

[snackhobi]

22 - things you said after it was over

prompt sent in by @55west81st​ (ty queen 💖); I tried saving the original ask as a draft and it disappeared. thanks tumblr. prompts are currently shut, I’m just trying to work through the ones in my inbox, sorry for the wait on this. unbeta’ed so please excuse any mistakes 🤧

pairing: jungkook x reader (kind of) / word count: 1.6k / genre: angst  / warnings: none

You don’t exactly remember when you met Jungkook. Lost to time and the past, the smear of childhood memories gone hazy as years have gone by—kids the same age, neighbours, basically destined to become best friends. He’s always been a fixture in your life. Underpinning everything, a constant presence at your side; it doesn’t matter that you don’t remember when and how you met. Doesn’t matter that you don’t remember exactly how you became best friends, because you just are. 

A fact is a fact and it doesn’t need dissection. Doesn’t need questioning. It’s not like Jungkook is your other half, really—you’re a full and whole person by yourself, thank you very much—but when he’s there it’s like you’re more of a person. More of yourself. Two different people who are so intertwined it’s hard to separate all those spiralling threads, a tapestry, weft and warp, spun and tightened, growing longer and longer as the years tumble by. 

It feels like you’ve both been woven together so perfectly, by Arachne’s skilled hands, more adept and adroit than a goddess, even. You and Jungkook, Jungkook and you; you just… work. It’s easy. You fall into his rhythm, and he falls into yours, even as you grow and change and mature, life shaping you into people who are so different to those kids who first met, all those years ago.

You think it’ll never end. Why should it, after all? You’ve come this far. Why can’t you go further? Why can’t you be with each other till the very end, years and decades, a lifetime—with a friendship this good, how could it ever go sour? How could this flawless bolt of cloth unravel?

You’re there for him the first time he gets his heart broken, letting him cry his feelings into your shirt, holding him close. He’s always been so big hearted, has Jungkook, a romantic through and through, hoping and yearning and aching for Big Love, desperate to grasp it with both hands. But that’s okay. You’re still young; you have time to fall in love and fall out of love and to learn what you’re really looking for. Even if there’s that flicker in you, that tiny voice that murmurs, maybe it could be you? You’ll ignore it, be there for Jungkook, like you always have been, always will be.

It keeps happening.

It keeps happening. Jungkook falls hard and fast and deep, goes all in, throws himself entirely into love like he does with everything else, and his heart gets broken over, and over, and over. You watch for years and years, try to guide him away from the wrong people, saying your piece or staying silent, trying everything in your power to make him see, and yet, he keeps doing it. 

It’s exhausting. It gets bigger and bigger, Jungkook trapped in a maze that he seems to willingly step deeper into day by day. This time, they’re the one, he says. I know it. I can feel it.

It’s exhausting. Trying to be there for him, to support him when he doesn’t support himself. He leans on you and you try to stand tall, but it’s hard, so hard, all this giving, without getting anything in return. Not any more.

It's exhausting. It’s not a sudden realisation. There’s no bolt of lightning, no sudden spark bursting to life in your skull, no. It’s more like the inevitable rise of the tide, the shifting of tectonic plates, slow and implacable and unstoppable, undeniable. With a low and slow sadness, the realisation is this: you’re not Jungkook’s priority any more. You haven’t been, not for a long time. Even if he’s still your shining star, the thing in your life that you’ve placed on a pedestal and taken care of with delicate hands; that loyalty isn’t returned, any more. You can’t remember the last time it was. Can’t remember that feeling of being full of the knowledge that, at the end of the day, yours are the arms that Jungkook returns to.

He takes you for granted. Doesn’t return your love the way he used to, because he knows it’ll always be there for him. He doesn’t even seem to realise how far you drifted, and maybe, that’s what hurts the most. The fact that your growing absence in his life isn’t one that he even notices, so intent on these other people—people who take his heart and squeeze and squeeze and squeeze, a soft little plum that bursts in their hands, messy and painful.

Day by day, you draw back. See if he’ll follow. Watch as he doesn’t. Feel hollow and cold even when you return, reach out your hand, only to have Jungkook’s eyes focused somewhere else. He says he misses you, wants to spend more time with you, but then he’s always distracted, never putting you first.

Not any more.

That’s the thing people don’t really talk about. There’s always talk of big arguments, blow outs, blow ups, bubbling emotions, frothing and hot like lava, a volcanic explosion that leaves nothing but ash and devastation in its wake. Like love is there one moment and shattered the next.

They don’t talk about the erosion of sea against rocks, the lapping waves that pull away layer after layer, over decades and centuries and millennia, slowly destroying something that once stood so strong. They don’t talk about how love leaves. How it fades, a solar flare that grows and grows, impossibly strong and bright—before it ebbs away.

You never realised love could be like that. You thought that it would just continue to grow the more you learned about someone. You thought that you and Jungkook would be friends forever; that your daily talks would never end, that the sound of his laughter would always echo in the chambers of your head and heart, that the overwhelming love you had would always be that. Overwhelming. Endless. Unstoppable.

You grow up, and grow apart. You give, and give up. 

But you think, for all that you’ve come apart, you can always come back together. That connection is still there, layered experiences and memories that time can’t pull apart, written in stone. You’ll be able to bridge that gap in due time. You might not be the right people for each other right now, but you were in the past, and you can be in the future. You have faith. There’s no way this level of love can ever truly fade.

Surely.

It’s strange, seeing Jungkook again. Strange, to see how his face is still the same but so different, familiar and unfamiliar all at once. Strange to see how he carries himself, how he moves and walks and breathes, echoes of your Jungkook etched into every part of him, even if he’s someone you don’t recognise any more.

But you’ve changed, too.

And you can see that he sees that. You can see the way his eyes widen, just a little, small flickers of surprise around his eyes and mouth. You can still read him so well after all this time, in a way you know no one else will be able to.

Your heart aches.

It aches for what happened. What could have happened. What could have been. But you’re here now, in this moment, and you can start anew. You can start weaving that tapestry again, take those loose, moth-eaten threads and spin them into something as beautiful as before. You’ve always held onto that hope, and you know it shines from your face now.

Then Jungkook opens his mouth.

And it… doesn’t… click.

You don’t click. Jungkook’s rhythm is off-beat, and when you try to match it, sync up the way you used to, so effortlessly—it doesn’t work. You try to follow his metronome’s beat, but you just can’t. Even as Jungkook’s eyes light up, and you can see how excited he is to see you again, how he talks and talks, words stumbling over themselves—he’s ignoring this gap that’s grown. Tries to talk like you used to, like all the silence between you can be swept away like it never happened. Like everything’s just like it used to be. Him and you, you and him. So desperate to make up for lost time, to pretend like everything is just like it used to be.

It’s exhausting, trying to match this manic pace of his, when it never used to be. Never should be.

And Jungkook—Jungkook doesn’t even realise.

(And, like that, you know it’s gone.)

(Your heart will always be soft for Jungkook. Your first friend, first best friend, first love, first heartbreak. But the Jungkook you hold in your heart is one that doesn’t exist, not any more. He’s a memory of the past, a shadow, eclipsing the real Jungkook that stands in front of you. A stranger.)

(Not your Jungkook. Not any more.)

“I’ll see you around?” His eyes, shining.

And even as you open your mouth, line the words up on your tongue, settling the lie behind your teeth—because you know it’s a lie, even if it’s something you wish you could make true—you know it’s over.

“Of course,” you say.

And there’s a moment. A flicker. Jungkook looks at you, and you look at him, and you realise—he can’t read this part of you. This new part that’s grown apart from him. When before he could so easily flit his eyes between the lines of the things you said, pull the true meaning out—he can’t, any more.

“I really missed you,” he says, quiet and soft.

And this is the truth you speak, even as you watch everything splinter apart in front of you, all your hope finally gone, everything finally over—

“I missed you, too.”

(And you always will.)

[jenanigans1207]

Castle of Cards [Renga]

I said I wasn’t gonna post this on here because formatting on Tumblr is so obnoxious now, but I figure I might as well. So here’s my fix-it fic to ep 9 (so, spoilers!) where Langa and Reki finally talk it out and Reki gets the gd hug he deserves!

-- x

Everyone is looking at him.

They’re looking and pointing, whispering words behind their hands. Some are even outright shouting congratulations to him, though he barely hears it. He may respond absently, he’s not honestly sure. His brain is too occupied with one thing and one thing only, leaving no space for any of this. Compared to what he’s dealing with currently, his win against Joe barely even exists in his mind right now— it’s certainly not something he would call important currently. The words Adam, Snow, and Eve follow him around, rippling in his wake as he makes his way through the crowd. The voices all blend together, background noise to him at most.

None of them are the voice he’s looking for, the voice he needs to hear.

None of them are Reki.

“Excuse me.” Langa’s at the gate now, and he’s not really sure why. But he’s looked everywhere else and he hasn’t been able to locate Reki, so he’s running out of options and feeling a little more desperate with each passing second, with each face he sees that still isn’t Reki’s.

“Oh, Snow.” The guard glances up at him, surprised. “That was an amazing race.”

“Thanks.” Langa says absentmindedly. He glances around one more time, but no faces jump out at him. “Have you seen a red headed guy? About my age?”

“Oh, yeah.” The guard nods, his gaze far away as if he’s remembering. “He left a little while ago.”

“Left?” Langa echoes, hollow inside. He can feel his heart pounding against his ribs like drums, can feel the way he’s only a few beats away from having his ribs crack open entirely, bleeding all of these emotions out for the world to see. “Is he coming back?”

“Well, considering the fact that he gave me this,” The guard digs around in his pocket for a moment before holding his hand out between them, an S pin catching the light in his palm. “I’m going to say no.”

For a moment, everything stops. It’s just Langa and the pin, staring at each other while Langa tries to make sense of what he’s seeing. Cold dread seeps into his veins, spreading to the tips of his fingers and toes. The pin glistens in the light, bright and beautiful, just like it had so many times when it had been attached to Reki’s collar. It had caught Langa’s eye so many times, been the thing he chose to stare at when he couldn’t stare directly at Reki any longer for fear of something stupid coming out of his mouth. He knew that pin almost as well as he knew Reki.

But no, it must’ve been some other red headed guy.

The pin must belong to someone else. There’s no way it’s Reki’s pin.

It was true that Reki and Langa weren’t on the best terms, but Reki would never give up his pass to S. Just the mere thought of it sits wrong in Langa’s chest, makes him feel a little sideways. He almost wants to laugh bitterly at himself for even considering it. He knows that Reki would never. If there was one fundamental thing about Reki that could never change, it was his love for all things skating— and that certainly included S. Langa remembers the first time Reki had told him about S, the way his whole face had lit up. He can still feel Reki’s hand on his shoulder as he’d shook Langa, insisting that Langa should be more excited for such an honor.

Reki would give up breathing before he would give up S. Langa was sure of it.

“Oh.” He finally says dumbly. “That must be someone else.”

“No,” The guard shakes his head, seemingly unaware of the turmoil slowly starting to stir in Langa’s stomach, unaware of the ice in his heart, chilling him to the bone. “It was definitely that guy you usually show up with. Took me a minute to recognize him without that headband, but it was definitely him.”

It feels like the entire world is ripped out from underneath Langa’s feet.

Suddenly he’s free falling, plummeting towards some dark future that he wants nothing to do with and there doesn’t seem to be a way to slow it down. Suddenly he’s a million miles from Reki, on the other side of a divide he had unknowingly dug. Everything he knew seemed to be flipped on its head, the chilling realization that he didn’t know Reki as well as he thought— that he had hurt Reki far deeper than he’d realized— was freezing him to his spot. Everything he believed in, everything he held close to his heart, every touch, glance, smile— all of it, stripped away from him.

Langa stares at the pin like it might tell him that this is some practical joke, that Reki is just trying to teach him a lesson. Dear God, he’ll learn the lesson. He’ll do anything if it gets Reki to come back.

Because Reki had been here. He’d been here, despite the fact that he’d been avoiding Langa and insisting that he didn’t want anything to do with this tournament. He’d been here and he’d cheered Langa on, because he was Reki and that meant he was incapable of not being there for the people that mattered to him. Even lost in thought as he’d been, Langa had recognized Reki’s voice instantly. He’d always recognize Reki’s voice— he’d recognize anything about Reki. His voice, his laugh, his footfalls, even the sound of his ragged breathing after an afternoon practicing a new trick— Langa was in tune with all things Reki.

Or, he had thought that he was. He’d thought that he knew Reki better than anyone else but suddenly he’s staring down at Reki’s most prized possession, Reki nowhere to be found, feeling his heart crack open in his chest. Somewhere things went wrong, they got off track and suddenly fell out of step with each other. All this time, Langa had been looking to Reki to lead him, to show him what was next, to step into another adventure at his side. All this time it had been them . But now it was just him . And even though he was in the center of a crowd that kept repeating his name, Langa had never felt more alone.

“Can I take that?” Langa asks after a silence that has stretched so long it has become awkward. “He’s just having a bad day. He’ll want it back when he’s feeling better.”

The words don’t sound quite right and they taste a little bitter on his tongue, as if the words themselves know that they’re a lie, but Langa ignores that. He wills it to be the truth, to give him some hope to cling to. He needs that right now. Because if he doesn’t at least have hope that he’ll be able to get Reki back, he has absolutely nothing . Not even the board Reki made him, not anymore.

The guard shrugs and deposits the pin in Langa’s hand. It’s cold to the touch but still something inside of him burns. “Technically I should say no, but I’ve seen him around here for years. I know he’s a good kid. So, go for it.”

Someone arrives at the gate then and the guard bids Langa farewell, unaware of just how much his words sting. He’s seen Reki around here for years— yeah, that sounds like Reki. The Reki that Langa knows, the Reki he had been thinking about at dinner with his mom a few days ago when he first mentioned that Reki was avoiding him. That sounded like the Reki that shined brighter than the sun and dragged Langa out of the dark hole that his life had become.

Because Langa had moved here with nothing but his mom. He’d lost his dad, he’d given up snowboarding and then lost the possibility of picking it back up. He’d moved here without knowing a single soul outside of his family and he’d assumed that his life would just remain bleak and boring for— well, indefinitely, really. And then Reki had come dashing down the street, arm bandaged, yelling for Langa to catch his board before it got away and everything had changed. Langa’s fingers had closed around the board, he’d turned to meet Reki’s gaze and the entire trajectory of his future had shifted in that exact moment. He was completely sure of it— that was the moment that everything in his life had changed. That was the moment he found a purpose again. And more than that, he’d found someone to share it with.

Langa shoves the pin deep in his pocket because he can’t bear to look at it any longer. It’s bad enough that he has to carry around the splintered halves of his skateboard, he didn’t need another reminder staring back at him.

Something was happening in the distance, Langa didn’t really know what, he wasn’t paying attention. All he knew was that the crowd seemed to have finally moved on from talking about him and he was grateful for the peace because right now he wanted to be with Reki. And if he couldn’t be with Reki, he wanted to be alone.

-- x

He’s careless as he rips the posters off of his wall, tearing them irreparably down the middle.

Not that it matters.

Not that anything matters.

Reki doesn’t turn his bedroom light on as he shreds the posters in his hands, throwing crumpled bits of them on the ground. What’s the point in having his room decorated in skating memorabilia if he wasn’t going to be skating anymore? Because that was really the only option that he could see, that’s what today had made clear to him.

He didn’t want to be standing in the crowd, watching Langa reach new heights. He didn’t want to see Langa’s back . He wanted to be by Langa’s side, in the center of his circle. He wanted to be in Langa’s heart . But Langa was out of reach now— too high in the sky, surrounded by too many adoring fans, up on a pedestal that Reki could never climb, no matter how hard he tried. He wanted to skate, but he wanted to skate with Langa. And since that goal was officially unreachable, well, he didn’t see the point in skating at all.

What fun was there left in it when he would always have an empty place by his side? Where was he supposed to find the joy when he didn’t have Langa there to cheer him on, to clap him on the shoulder or high five him in congratulation when Reki finally landed a trick he’d been practicing? What enjoyment was left for him if he was just going to be eating lunch alone in the middle of the day, a million thoughts on his mind and nobody to share them with?

Because the truth that he’d been trying to avoid for the last few weeks was that he absolutely couldn’t find someone else to share this with. Not the way he shared it with Langa, anyways. There was never going to be someone else that he had that connection with, someone else who walked into his life and just stayed like it was the only place they could possibly imagine being. He hadn’t known it when Langa had introduced himself to their class that first day, but Langa was a missing piece to Reki’s heart, something to complete him and make him feel whole again. Langa challenged him and took him to new heights and for the longest time, Reki had thought that Langa would wait for him, that he wouldn’t try to hit a new level until Reki met him on the one he was at.

Because for a while, it had been okay that Langa was naturally talented and unbelievably amazing because he stayed in stride with Reki. It had been okay that Langa could fly higher than Reki, because it gave Reki something to strive for, a goal to reach. And the whole time, Langa stayed there, encouraging him and cheering him on, laughing with him and offering a hand to hoist him up from the ground when he fell. It was okay that Langa was ahead because he was still there — bright and beautiful, always within Reki’s reach.

He wasn’t within Reki’s reach anymore.

But there was something about Langa, something about the way he fit perfectly into the cracks of Reki’s heart that made Reki absolutely certain that he couldn’t share his passion with anyone else the same way. He’d always have a hollow spot throbbing in his heart whenever he touched a skateboard. That was the real reason he hadn’t skated since their fight. Every time he touched his board, he just felt the ache of loneliness that came with Langa’s absence. Somewhere along the way skating had stopped being his thing and instead had become their thing. But since there was no longer a them , Reki didn’t feel like he could find a home inside skating again.

And that hurt more than Reki had thought anything could.

In the matter of a few weeks he had lost his best friend and his passion, and they weren’t even stolen from him. Langa had willingly walked away, had known that he was breaking his promise to Reki and had chosen to go along with it anyways. Langa had given up on Reki and now Reki was left with no choice but to give up on skating. Because the idea of giving up on Langa hurt even worse, somehow, and a small piece of his shattered heart harbored hope that Langa would come back.

Reki sinks down to the floor, curling in on himself and pressing his forehead against the wall, torn skating posters grasped loosely in his palms.

All this time he had felt like he and Langa were creating a castle together, a place to rule over their shared passion. But now that Reki was alone— well and truly alone, not even the presence of his S badge to keep him company— he realized that it was nothing more than a Castle of Cards and it was collapsing around him.

-- x

The problem with doing the right thing  is that right now, Langa doesn’t know what the right thing is.

He had been trying to give Reki the space he seemed like he wanted the last few weeks, trying to stay within Reki’s orbit without forcing Reki to interact with him if he didn’t want. But that hadn’t worked because suddenly Reki seemed even further away than he had before. But if Reki really didn’t want to talk to him— and that certainly seemed to be the case— Langa didn’t want to corner him.

He looks down at the broken board in his hands and thinks that it’s the perfect representation of everything Reki in his life right now— shattered completely and something Langa has no idea how to handle.

Words have never been his forte. And it’s true that Reki is usually able to read between the lines or connect the dots to Langa’s point if he mixes some of his thoughts together, but this isn’t the kind of thing he wants Reki to have to parse. This is something he needs to say to Reki, clearly and succinctly because anything else risks him losing Reki forever.

And if he loses Reki forever— he loses skating forever, too. Because he can’t skate without Reki there, cheering him on. He doesn’t find joy in it unless he has Reki, that much has become abundantly clear in his last few trips to S.

That, he knows, is the whole problem. It took him too long to realize that the thing he was chasing had in fact been next to him the entire time. It took him too long to realize that the feeling he was addicted to wasn’t the feeling of going fast, but instead the feeling of Reki’s belief in him, the warmth of Reki’s friendship and unwavering support. The thing he had gotten so lost in was Reki, not skateboarding, and he didn’t make that connection until it was too late.

And Reki— Reki was really good at keeping a straight face, at pretending he was okay when he wasn’t. Because Langa had been blind sided by Reki walking out of his life. He’d had maybe one hint that Reki wasn’t feeling himself and then suddenly the bridge between them was on fire and Langa didn’t have any water with him. He’d been forced to stand there as it charred to bits and now— now he had to find some other way across that gap. Because now he knew that it was Reki he needed, Reki he wanted. He knew it was Reki that meant more to him than anything else in his life ever had and he wasn’t going to let Reki go.

Slowly, and with far more effort than it should actually take, Langa peels himself off the ground. S had ended hours ago and everyone had scattered, but Langa hadn’t felt like going home. The sun was starting to rise over the horizon, just the tiniest hints of pink and yellow starting to paint the inky black sky. Another day dawning— another day without Reki if Langa didn’t do something. Another day of the thing he wants most slipping through his fingers.

With equal amounts of determination and fear, Langa takes off towards Reki’s house. He has no idea what he’s going to say, no idea what he’s going to do , but he can’t just sit around and do nothing anymore. He grips Reki’s S pin in one hand, clutching his broken board to his side with the other as he treads the familiar path to Reki’s house. He could walk there with his eyes closed if he wanted to, he’d been here so many times. It was like his feet knew the path on their own, like even lacking courage couldn’t stop him from going there because every fiber of who he was longed to see Reki, to be near him again. Every single cell in his body was screaming at him to get to Reki before it was too late and Reki was gone completely.

He rounded the last corner and came to a complete stop as he stumbled into Reki’s front yard, surprised to see Reki sitting on the front porch so early in the morning.

“Reki?”

Reki’s head whips up and he squints at Langa, the sun from behind Langa no doubt blinding him. “Langa? What are you doing?”

A lot of different thoughts swirl in Langa’s mind, the weight of both the pin and the board heavy in his hands as he tries to figure out where to start. Reki stares at him, still in the same hoodie he’d worn at S, his headband gone. His hair was longer than Langa had realized as it fell down around his face, framing his eyes and the unbearably sad expression on his face. He looked the way Langa’s heart feels— empty and void of any passion. The first thing Langa considers is just dropping everything and pulling Reki into a hug, but he’s not sure Reki would receive that willingly and he really doesn’t think he’d be able to handle Reki pushing him away.

“I—“ Langa glances down at his feet, at the board in his hand, the scrapes along his arms from when the board had broken and he’d fallen. If only this was as easy as a simple cut, if only this would heal with just a little time and tending to.

“What happened?” Reki asks and when Langa glances up at him, he sees Reki’s gaze focused on his board. There’s a sharp downturn at the corner of his mouth and Langa can’t tell if Reki is mad that he broke the board or not.

“Oh, it—“ Langa glances at the board, too. The board that Reki had made for him, the one that Reki had poured time and effort into. The board that allowed him to reach the heights he can now reach. “It snapped right after I crossed the finish line with Joe. I’m sorry, Reki, I didn’t mean to—“

Reki sighs and it sounds like he’s pulling the weight of it from the very depths of his bones. Langa worries for a moment that he’s going to collapse in on himself when he exhales because it sounds like he’s letting go of everything he is. “You need me to fix it for you?”

That startles Langa. Sure, when his board had first broken and Joe had suggested that he go back to Reki to fix it, Langa had assumed that Reki would. But something about finding out Reki had turned in his S pin had changed everything. If Langa’d had to guess before he got here how he thought Reki would react, he would’ve said that Reki would’ve staunchly refused to fix his board for him and shown him the door. It didn’t sound anything like Reki but then again, neither did giving up S and Reki had apparently done that.

“You would?”

Reki raises one shoulder in what Langa assumes is meant to be a shrug. “You can’t beat Adam otherwise.”

Each word is a knife straight to Langa’s heart and somehow, completely despite himself, he drops the board to the ground at his feet, his arm going limp. “Reki…”

Finally, Reki stands up from the porch and closes the distance between them. And even though he’s technically getting closer with every step he takes, Langa feels like Reki is being pulled further and further away from him. “That’s what you want, isn’t it? To beat Adam? You’ll need a board to do that.”

Slowly, and with far more care than it deserves, Reki picks the shattered pieces of the board up off of the ground. He stands up, just a few feet away from Langa, close enough that Langa could reach out and touch him if he wanted to— and Langa wants to. God he’s not sure he’s ever wanted something more in his life. He wants to touch Reki, to feel that Reki is really there, that Reki is real and beside him again, right where he belongs.

Because all along, it’s been Reki reaching out to Langa. It’s been Reki throwing his arm around Langa’s shoulders, pulling Langa close in celebration. It’s been Reki holding onto Langa, holding Langa together, dragging Langa forward. And then— and then the one time he’d reached for Reki first, Reki had shaken off his touch and left him standing under a street lamp in the rain.

And Langa really wants to reach for Reki, but he’s paralyzed by fear that Reki will shake him off again.

Pain courses through his body with every beat of his heart and suddenly Langa feels like he’s losing control. The unbearable agony of being this close to Reki and not being able to have him, to hold him, breaks Langa apart completely. “Why did you turn in your badge?”

Reki hears him, Langa knows he does. Because Reki has always heard him, has always been listening for him in the midst of everything. There’s never been anything that Langa has said that Reki hasn’t heard. But Reki ignores him. “I’m probably going to have to start from scratch.” He says instead, his gaze studiously focused on the board. But Langa sees the tight line of his jaw. “I don’t think I can repair this.”

“Reki—“

“Don’t worry,” Reki reassures even though they both know that Reki’s doing nothing but dodging the issue at hand. “I can have it done by the time you have your beef with Adam. I’ve already made it once so I know what it needs. Just give me a day or two.”

And then Reki turns to walk towards his garage as if he’s going to get started right away. Reki turns to walk towards his garage, away from Langa.

“Reki!” Completely out of his control, Langa’s hand shoots out and grabs Reki around the wrist, holding him in place. He holds as tightly as he can without hurting Reki, determined to not let him get away this time. “Reki, talk to me .”

Reki’s head is bowed and his shoulders are shaking and every already. Broken piece of Langa’s heart somehow manages to break further. “What do you want me to say, Langa?”

With a gentle tug, Langa turns Reki around so they’re facing each other again. He pulls Reki’s hand forward until it’s open in front of him and then he presses Reki’s S pin into his palm, staring with so much intensity it’s almost unbearable because Reki still won’t look at him. His fingers curl under Langa’s, wrapping around the pin as he scoffs, turning his head to the side.

“Why?” Langa presses, his hand still firm around Reki’s wrist. “Reki, why?”

When Reki finally raises his head, his eyes watery at the edges, Langa thinks he might just crumble completely, become a pile of broken dreams at Reki’s feet, waiting for a gentle wind to blow him away. “What purpose do I have there, Langa? I can’t keep up with everyone. I’m not—“ The words seem to lodge in Reki’s throat but he refuses to turn his burning gaze away this time. “I’m not good enough. There’s nothing there for me.”

“I’m there for you.” Langa replies with as much ferocity as he can manage. It sounds feeble, broken, like it’s two seconds away from collapsing entirely. “I’m there for you, Reki.”

“You’re there for Adam.” Reki practically spits Adam’s name, like it tastes bad on his tongue, like he can’t wait to get it away from him. Langa had known that Reki hated Adam, that Adam scared him and seemed dangerous but this— these emotions swirling around Reki’s words, hiding in the depths of his eyes— this was something more than that.

And this is it— the breaking point. This is the moment where Langa can either make or break everything they have between them. Every late night, every early morning, every band aid Reki has carefully put over his wounds have led to this moment. All the knowledge he has of Reki culminates to right now when he has to figure out exactly the right thing to say, has to figure out how to tell Reki what it is that he really feels. His mom had told him to just be honest with his feelings, but that was easier said than done. At the time he’d thought it would be embarrassing but now he’d willingly take embarrassment if it meant Reki would smile again.

How long has it been since he’s seen Reki smile? He feels like he’s being suffocated without it, like the happiness is slowly being drained away from him.

“I thought I was,” Langa begins and he sees Reki flinch away from him, sees the moment Reki tries to build those final walls between them. Holding Reki’s wrist the tiniest bit tighter, Langa rushes on, “But I was wrong. Reki I— I thought it was skating against Adam that made my heart race. I thought it was the speed. But it wasn’t.” Langa shakes his head and a few strands of hair fall into his eyes. This isn’t going how he wants it to, the words are getting all muddled in his head, lost somewhere between his mind and his tongue. “That’s— it’s not—“ He sighs.

But Reki is looking up at him again, his eyes wide and his mouth open like there’s a question poised on the tip of his tongue. There’s the tiniest flicker of hope, a small flame that needs fanning in Reki’s expression. “What?”

“These last few weeks, when you haven’t been there it hasn’t— it hasn’t felt the same.” Langa takes a deep breath and finally lets go of Reki. If he’s going to leave, at least he will have heard Langa out. That’s the most he can ask for. “It hasn’t been fun or exciting. Nothing about it has felt like it did before. Even when I was racing Joe earlier it didn’t— it didn’t mean anything to me until you cheered for me.”

“But…” Reki ducks his head and Langa swallows around the lump forming in his throat. “But you’re so talented.”

“So are you.”

“Not— not like you.” Reki’s loose hair falls even closer around his face as he shakes his head and Langa’s hands long to reach out and brush it away from his eyes.

“Reki, I can only skate because of you.” Carefully, Langa reaches out to place a hand gently on Reki’s shoulder. When Reki doesn’t shy away from the contact, a small piece of his heart repairs. “You taught me how to skate, you made me a board that I could use. All of my skating is thanks to you.”

And that, if nothing else, is the absolute truth.

“But—“

“I want to skate with you, Reki.” Langa emphasizes, the last truths rising to the light. If he’s going to do this, he might as well do it all the way. “I want it to be with you, not Adam. I don’t care about facing Adam if you’re not there with me. And I’m sorry that I made you think otherwise, I’m sorry that it took me so long to figure that out but— it’s not good if it’s not you, Reki.”

The silence that follows lasts long enough to become painful. The sun is rising behind him and the edges of Reki’s hair catch like fire in the sun, glowing and warm. He looks beautiful as he glances back up at Langa, those eyes watery again but full of so much emotion that Langa can finally recognize again.

“I want to skate with you, too, Langa.” Reki says finally, each word a balm on Langa’s battered soul.

“You do?”

“I thought— You were leaving me behind and you’re so much more talented than I am— I was afraid—“

Without any hesitation, Langa tugs Reki forward, throwing his other arm around Reki and clutching him against his chest. Reki drops the broken board somewhere along the way, his own arms wrapping around Langa as he buries his face in Langa’s shoulder, the edges of his hair brushing Langa’s jaw. And just like that, in one swift moment, Langa feels like he can see the light again.

-- x

Reki can feel his S pin, warm against his palm as he fists his hands in the back of Langa’s shirt. He can feel his S pin and Langa both pressed against him, holding his jagged edges together and he can’t help but think that this is exactly how it’s supposed to be. Because Langa may have left him behind for a little while, but he’d come back for Reki. He’d come back and gathered Reki’s broken edges, piecing him back together. He hadn’t given up on Reki even when Reki had given up on himself.

“I should’ve told you sooner,” Langa mumbles into the top of his head, his hands tight around Reki’s back, “I’m sorry, Reki. Please don’t give up skating. Please don’t leave me there alone.”

And that plea is everything Reki wanted to hear. It was everything Reki needed to know— that Langa still wanted to share this with him, that Langa would give up on his idiotic idea to go up against Adam. It was everything Reki wanted, but he knew he couldn’t take it, not like that. Because there was more that Langa wanted and if Reki accepted the apology, if Reki promised to come back to skating and to go back to how things had been, he’d be taking some of those things away from Langa. And no matter how hurt he’d been, he never wanted to take anything away from Langa, that was why he’d left. Because he wanted Langa to have everything he could ever want without feeling like Reki was holding him back.

And now Langa was here, offering to give it all up for Reki and Reki knew that he couldn’t let him do that.

“I’ll make you a deal.” Reki replies instead. He doesn’t love it, but he knows it’s the right thing to do. He knows that Langa needs this, that he needs this if they’re really going to put this behind them. “I’ll come back to S, but only to watch you kick Adam’s ass.”

“Reki?” Langa pulls away enough to look at Reki’s face, his eyebrows drawn together in confusion.

Reki pulls away completely, stepping back and over the broken board so that it fills the space between them again. “Someone has to beat him.”

“So let someone else do it.” Langa takes a step closer, his toes nearly brushing the board. “Not me.”

Reki shakes his head, reaching up to brush some of the longer pieces of his hair back. “It has to be you, Langa.”

And they both know that’s true, Adam won’t rest until he skates against Langa again. Adam has made it abundantly clear that he doesn’t consider anyone other than Langa a proper opponent. If someone is going to take Adam off of his high horse, it has to be Langa, whether Reki likes it or not. He doesn’t like it, not even a little bit, but Langa came back to him, Langa offered to give racing Adam up entirely. Reki has to just trust him now, to stand by his side while he races Adam, holding his breath and cheering loudly, And when it’s all over, all he can do is hope that Langa finds his way back to his side again.

Because just keeping Langa away from Adam wouldn’t be enough. Reki would always be haunted with the question, would always wonder if Langa was satisfied, if he was happy to just skate with Reki at their own pace. He needed to know, to be absolutely certain that he was the one Langa chose.

“I won’t do it.” The amount of conviction in Langa’s voice tells Reki that it’s going to be alright.

“C’mon,” Reki bends down to pick up the broken board between them. “Let’s go get started on your new board. We can figure out the rest from there.”

“Reki, I won’t— I don’t want to—“

“Yes you do.” Reki cuts in but he’s surprised to find that he’s not mad anymore. He’s not even hurt, he’s mostly just afraid. But he’s choosing to put all of his faith in Langa because so far, Langa hasn’t actually let him down. The fact that Langa is standing here in front of him at the first signs of dawn, while the rest of the world is completely asleep tells Reki that Langa hasn’t let him down yet and isn’t going to start now. “And I’ll be there when you do, okay? You know I hate him, I’ll take pleasure in watching you defeat him.”

Langa hesitates, “And if I do this, what then?”

And that answer comes to Reki surprisingly easily. “Then you’ll be the king of S. And I’ll be the one to knock you off your throne.”

The smile that spreads over Langa’s face is slow to come, but no less warm than all the ones Reki has seen in the past. “Is that a promise?”

“Yeah.” Reki says, holding a hand up in front of him. “It is.”

When Langa responds in kind, giving Reki their signature high five and fist bump combo, Reki realizes that maybe their castle wasn’t made out of cards after all. Maybe Langa wasn’t the only one who had gotten lost along the way. Because suddenly, it feels like there’s some solid foundation under his feet again. He takes off towards the garage, Langa in tow and he knows with absolute certainty that neither Adam nor the fear Reki feels in the face of him is strong enough to actually break them apart.

And when Langa kicks Adam’s ass and comes back to Reki to celebrate, well Reki might have a few other things he needs to tell him then. But for now, he relishes the feeling of his heart patching itself back together as Langa settles onto his normal stool in the garage, propping his head in his hand as Reki selects a new piece of wood to begin working with.

Everything may not be okay quite yet, Reki might still have some lingering fears and doubts, but he has Langa by his side again and he knows with Langa there, he’ll be able to overcome any of those things. Everything may not be okay quite yet, but Reki knows that soon it’s going to be okay again.

[halothenthehorns]

All in the Family

Chapter 11: Halloween

The shattered porcelain stank of dripping water still leaking onto the cracked tiles, and burnt out candles leaving the windowless room in virtual shadows made it hard to even identify for a moment they were still in Hogwarts, let alone in a girls bathroom.

"Is this Moaning Myrtle's bathroom?" Alice asked, staying crouched where she'd landed underneath the loan intact sink that was still cracked as if something heavy had impacted it anyways.

"More importantly, what is that smell?" Remus grumbled, plugging his nose as it lingered and intensified rather than dulled in the room around them. He wanted to go over and blast the door open simply for a breath of air now more than just getting out for once.

He was ignored, though all of them had scrunched up faces for this fact as well.

"No, even that place isn't this destroyed," Lily disagreed in return to Alice, having to wade out of a particularly deep pool of water that had drowned her shoes and most of her lower half on impact. She had to nudge a broken pipe out of the way as she stepped out.

"Anyone else having the fear that crazy three headed dog somehow did this?" Frank asked, having to heave himself off of a toilet that he hoped was just filled with dirty water, though he couldn't blame someone otherwise if they'd witnessed this mess while being in here.

"I don't see that," Remus disagreed, prodding an obliterated bathroom stall with his wand and inspecting how it was clearly smashed apart, judging by all the splintered wood around yet no marks, from teeth or claws, in sight. He was also still breathing through his mouth more than anything, looking like he was panting slightly but only accomplishing at having his mouth be dry now and still tasting the air and somehow increasing the rank around him.

"Dumbledore's had that thing pinned up for a good few months before Harry found it," Sirius agreed. "Though I'm sure if something did change, I'm getting the feeling Harry's going to be involved in finding out what."

"Thank you for that encouraging statement," James sighed, his reflection in a shattered mirror showed how pale he'd been pretending he wasn't seeing all this.

Regulus had landed in half a cracked basin and shattered the rest of it beneath him, but he also didn't have the inclination to move away and towards the center of the room like the others did. He wasn't entirely sure that whatever had done this wouldn't be back any second to finish the job, and he'd rather not be in a crowd when that happened.

Peter finally found the book wedged into the wall that had the largest hole in it, and he stepped away from it just as fast back over to James to start reading rather than imagine what could make such an impact.

"Yes, Halloween!" Sirius whooped. "The one day a year we're all encouraged to eat candy!"

He bellowed this loudest of all in Prongs' ear, having noticed full well his eyes flipping to Lily in a panic. No one had forgotten the date earmarked for their deaths, but Sirius refused to linger on that and he was loath to let anyone else.

Remus gave him a sympathetic look, but thankfully attention was easily caught for all of them as the main portion of this chapter seemed to hold more chat of Quidditch.

Lily seemed the only one in protest of this, as she went down to the first and only undestroyed stall and leaned against the post, glaring at anything but Potter as he enthused over what he was calling a prodigy in the air. She wasn't sure how long it had been since all this mess had started, it already felt like days though she was sure it couldn't have been but a few hours. Yet clearly they weren't even passing in any normal amount of time frame anymore than locations, so who knew, maybe it had been years since she'd been out of his company already.

She wondered, if she'd somehow been forewarned this was going to happen, if she still would have bailed out of the experience though. As maddening as the boy was, and as goading as the news continued how much a future kid of his seemed to resemble him even without Potter being around, this was quite honestly the most fascinating thing she'd ever seen happen in her life.

While still unable to fathom why Sev was acting in such a detestable way in this future, she was now clinging to the idea there had to be a reason for this, something the school just didn't know but Dumbledore did for this behavior.

It didn't help the situation that Harry continued in a way she abhorred, her incredulity growing more by the paragraph someone had claimed her attachment to this kid. So far all Harry had done was follow Ron along in breaking school rules, and the moment he was done spending all his time thinking about Quidditch, he did nothing to deter his friend from making that little girl cry!

Harry had her sympathy while being oppressed at those horrid Dursleys, and he'd been perfectly polite but more quiet than anything around Hagrid while learning about this new world. Now though, there was no excuse but a child not wanting to deal with his problems he'd created just like his father as Hermione was just shooed from his mind as the Halloween feast was started. If he'd realized Hermione didn't have any friends than the very least he could have done after making her cry over it was offered an apology!

Of course, the arrival of the troll changed things just a bit.

"In the dungeon? In the dungeon!"

"I don't care what part of the castle it's in," Frank yelped to Alice, "it shouldn't be in the castle at all!"

"Wow," Black drew the word out far longer than it needed to be. "Wonder who on earth was stupid enough to try and get away with that!"

"Well it certainly wasn't Peeves," Remus rolled his eyes at the ludicrous suggestion.

Lily watched them all, growing paler by the second and wondering why there weren't screams in the background to echo the one going through her head for the fate of the student who knew nothing of this, but it was clear now Hermione hadn't lingered in their minds anymore than Harry-

"Oh my gosh, Hermione!" James yelled so loud he nearly startled Peter's ear right off.

"Crap, the little crying girl," Sirius agreed, dithering on the spot for a moment before making as if to go to the door right now, then he froze. They all did, as they looked around once again at the destruction around them, in a girls bathroom...

Alice said something quite to Frank's surprise, never having heard his girlfriend curse like that, but no one else really noticed as suddenly Peter was reading faster than ever. For once, James and Lily found themselves on the exact same page, standing on the tips of their toes and wanting to cheer Harry and Ron on as they went after her. Admittedly in a different method than she would have liked, Lily acknowledged, she didn't at all understand their need to avoid authority in their strive to get help, but she couldn't find it in herself to argue either.

The arrival of the troll on the same path as the boys did not come as much to the surprise as it should have considering what they'd realized, and any confusion or questions over the matter would just have to wait. It didn't matter how it had gotten up there, the opposite end of the school it had been reported. Who cared how it got in so long as it got right back out without killing a couple of first years!

Harry and Ron's harrowing pass through this place was like no experience they'd ever felt before. Each swing of the trolls club, every broken plaster around them seemed as if echoing anew, they could practically hear the kids screaming and were all wanting to duck down as well, as far away from this debris as they could.

Worst of all turned out to be Harry's impromptu plan to save Ron's life.

James had to fight the urge to tackle Peter to the ground and wrestle the book away from him. The news was too vivid, he could all to easily picture the little first year hanging off the neck, a wand being shoved up those nostrils. His friends could as well, Harry just too resembled his father in their mind and none of them would have idly stood by with that happening to him, so they all couldn't help the massive sigh of relief when Ron's spell worked out.

Peter could still feel his heart racing at the excitements end, Harry merely wiping his wands boogies away like it was nothing would have had him on the floor laughing any other time in his life, even the arrival of the teachers just couldn't mean as much.

The others were all so relieved in fact, and then more over shocked at Hermione's turn on all of this, Regulus felt he was the only one frowning in confusion at Quirrell's part in all this. He'd been acting pretty suspicious through this whole thing, declaring the troll was in the wrong part of the castle, and then arriving only to collapse at the sight of it.

The warning of this almost being over came, in hindsight, of not that much use, considering none of them actually had a way to brace themselves. Instead Regulus turned his attention to the thought he wouldn't deny that those kids were lucky to be alive, though the fact that Harry had made a new friend through the event felt honestly ridiculous. This kid sure had an odd track record, sharing sweets with one and saving the life of another.

[letterstothemidnightsociety]

It's 2007 and somehow, miraculously, Supernatural survives yet another rocky (?) season of mediocre ratings to come back for a third season, or at least, half season, but that season starts out with a real bang! Like, just a real solid trio of an opener for season three. It reminds me of all the things I love about SPN and also it reminds us of all the things that frustrate the hell out of me on SPN. So where did we leave things off?

First up, there’s Dean, who sold his soul to the devil in order to bring Sam back from the dead. Sam, you’ll remember, was part of some overly complicated ponzi scheme to find the perfect vessel to open a door - yep, open a door - and lost to Aldous Hodge who just straight up murders Sam in the season finale. So Dean get’s Sammy back, but in exchange, he’s only got one year left before he permanently moves down south. Oh! And even though they got Sam back and Sam kills Aldous Hodge (RIP pal), they neglected to keep the door from opening. The door to Hell, that is, and now they’ve allowed a shiz ton of demons out to freely roam the earth. Way to go, boys, you lost again! They are two for two on these season finales guys!

OH but they DO kill the Yellow Eyed Demon, so that’s a plus, but not before he plants the most perfect seed of doubt in Dean’s mind - “How do you know what you brought back is all Sammy?” Like, ugh, UGH, ugh!!!! What a way to drive the knife in deeper! What a way to make the heart of this show slowly start to crumble! C’est Magnifique!! *chef's kissy fingers*

So with all that emotional baggage weighing us down, how do we start season 3? How else - with a threesome of course! And also some technicolor grading, it’s wild guys.

Oh boy guys, let’s talk about this opener for a hot sec. I got into it a little bit last season, but as much as I love Dean, you HAVE to admit that that boy is gross. Just like...he’s a little gross. I’m also old enough now to see exactly how many red flags he’s raising through the last 45 episodes. Like, sorry Little Me, but he is not boyfriend material. Not to mention that all this debauchery is 1,000% him distracting himself from the consequences of his own actions, but we’ll get into that later.

Meanwhile, Sam is doing something constructive and trying to figure out how to reverse the curse and save Dean’s soul. And here we have the culmination of two seasons worth of character development - faced with the imminent demise of Dean Samuel Winchester, Sam tries to step up and take care of his brother for once in his life; Dean parties like it’s 1999. There were two things I thought of during this episode - 1) isn’t this not unlike the sort of behavior you see in suicidal people who have finally decided to take their own life? Which is just, like, further held up by the fact that Dean’s big monologue at the end literally has the line “Truth is I’m tired, Sam. There’s a light at the end of the tunnel.” and like...dude, you are NOT ok! Why isn't??? ANYONE??? ADDRESSING THIS????? And 2) Dean is sharing a lot of similarities with the demons in this episode.

Because MEANwhile, there’s demons! So many demons! Specifically, the Seven Deadly Sins ones, but also, spoiler alert, Ruby, who is gettin’ reeeeealll into that ketchup.

All these baddies just really taking advantage of their time topside cuz Hell is, as they so artfully put it, it’s like Hell, so they’re just livin’ it up while they still can ~almost like foreshadowing or something~?!?!?

Real talk though, it being a real long time since I’ve watched this season, it’s these kinds of details that I’m impressed with this time around. There is so much character work that goes into this show and it’s something I definitely connected with the first time around, but not on conscious level. Now I can look at it through time and experience and articulate what I’m seeing, which makes this re-watch infinitely more enjoyable.

Episode 1 of this season continues what they started in season 2 and just keeps building out that Hunter Community. Like, there really is a whole Community out there that keeps in contact and works together and makes sure everyone’s up to date on the latest hot goss, and it all makes John Winchester come off like a real creepy splinter cell lone gunman type. And that in turn makes the Winchester sons look like total, unprofessional boneheads who managed to open a portal to Hell. “UGH Great Jorb Guys, but can we blame them? They’re John’s kids,” is a conversation between hunters that I am headcannoning, but also 100% support.

Honestly, I love the idea of the Winchesters being just these real, like, b-grade, Walmart Brand Hunters that other Hunters are just SO done with. We kind of see a little bit of that with Isaac and Tamara, but by the end of the episode, the Winchesters prove that they’re...better Hunters? I hope somewhere in the next 12 seasons I get an episode that is told from another Hunter’s POV who is legitimately better/more emotionally balanced than the Winchesters and the whole episode is them just, like, cleaning up a bunch of Winchester messes like, SONuvabitch, these two ASSholes. I think we see a fair amount of episodes from the POV of people who are less qualified than the Winchesters who end up being mentored by them, but I’d be stoked for them to run into just a group of people who hate them for totally legitimate, professional vs amature reasons.

Bobby does not count because Bobby signed up to be their Dad and so he agreed to take care of their messes when he took that job.

And then we get to “The Kids Are Alright” which showcases one of my fav changes for this season - BRIGHTLY! LIT! HIGH! SATURATION!!!! And of course, by fav, I mean, Most Hilarious.

I do walk a fine line on this one truth be told. Like, season 1 was definitely going for A Look. It’s super gritty and high contrasty and stylized. Now, I got what they were going for but I wasn’t always crazy about it, mostly because the quality on the DVD’s was terrible. Quick tip for everyone: in order to get 2+ hours worth of content on a DVD, you have to compress the final edit of the program to a pretty small bitrate. When we drop videos onto DVD’s at my work (it isn’t often, thank goodness), the discs themselves only hold, like, 2GB worth of content and that is NOT A LOT when it comes to video files. The more compressed a video file is, the less detail you’re gonna get in the visuals. Watching episodes on Netflix (where everything’s probably at a higher bitrate and therefore is a better quality visual), it’s not bad, but on my DVDs, the compression is so heavy that we get SUPER hot highlights and SUPER crunchy shadows - what a lot of people would called “crushed blacks” because you’ve lost all the detail in the shadows and you’re left with a grainy, noisy, black hole on the screen. Like I lost so much detail in the pilot episode guys, I could not make out this guy’s face.

A rough approximation of my DVD quality. Still recommend it over Netflix for the Accurate Soundtrack tho.

Season 2 SPN toned that Look down a lot, like, a lot a lot. Enough that you still got the general vibe they were going for but not enough that you couldn’t make out faces anymore. But through this whole process, the CW execs kept pushing for the show to look lighter, more colorful, less film noir more...well, CW. And in season 3 it finally happened!!!

I get what those execs were going for, but also, I feel like the colorists on these first few episodes just REALLY went wild out of spite. Lookit this shot from “Magnificent Seven” right before Envy causes some rando innocent bystander to beat a girl to death for her shoes -

GREEN GREEN GREEN GREEN!!!! I WONDER WHICH SIN THIS GUY IS????

Then in “The Kids Are Alright” the birthday party looks like everything is coated in day-glow neon.

The Winchester Bros look like they just got back from 3 weeks in Aruba - LOOK at the saturation levels in these skin tones! LOOK AT THEM!!

My screencap ability aside, only in SPN can a cemetery at night have brighter lighting than a diner in the middle of the afternoon.

This is definitely a thing I will be tracking the rest of the season because I have a distinct memory of a future episode where the brothers have been magically gifted completely different lives where they were never Hunters, they know nothing of Hunting, and they’re completely normal until the end when everything gets snapped back and the episode literally changes colors. V. Excited to see just how saturated this season stays through the end.

But maybe more importantly in “The Kids Are Alright” we learn that Dean does NOT, in fact, have a son. Not that he would be a good father...well...maybe? I mean, this Dean, this season 3, definitely-suicidal, completely-reckless, can’t-keep-it-together Dean, is not good Dad material. Later seasons Dean? Probably fine? Earlier seasons Dean might ALSO be fine? And if he’d found out that Ben was his legitimate kid, it could have made a WORLD of difference, who knows. I know he ultimately does become father-like to Ben and that gives me a lot of feelings. But this Dean is not in a good place to take care of anyone, including himself and really, someone ought to do something about that.

I gotta say, this is an actual bummer. I can’t remember if, in the later seasons, they do any clarifying on this or not, but I am legitimately bummed that Ben is not Dean’s kid and that as far as we know, Dean has no natural children floating around out there with surly attitudes and soft hearts. Dean’s motivation from Day 1 has always been family and despite what comments he may make in early seasons, Dean’s secret desire is to have the wife and the kids and the dog and the white picket fence. And honestly, we’re only 3 seasons in and I just want Dean to have nice things!!

And then guys, we come to “Bad Day at Black Rock,” and I just...WHAT a masterpiece. I had almost NO memory of ever watching this episode before and I don't understand why. What a glorious masterpiece this episode is. Let’s make a list -

More Hunters™, who should be really annoying but were actually kinda charming in a Marx Brothers kind of way

Gordon’s in jail, where he belongs, but also is masterminding a coup against the Winchesters which is A+ spooky stuff

Slapstick comedy that I didn’t know I was missing from my life

Bela F*cking Talbot

Guys, I think this is my fav episode so far purely because I felt, while watching it, that the last 10 years of my life were not in vain and that I had in fact grown as a human person. I remembered hating Bela Talbot. Like, I DID. NOT. LIKE. HER. To the point that I questioned if her British accent was even real. It is, her mother is from the UK and she lived there for a time, but like, honestly, the audacity of Little Me.

This time around? Oh she’s defs my new fav. Just everything about her is like, A+, Great Job, Why-Did-We-Cancel-Her??? Like, oh yeah, probably because somewhere in here they try to shoehorn a romantic side plot with Dean. I don’t actually mind rioting over shoehorned romance, but also, if they’d let this play out for a season or two and then got the two of them to bone? I’m on board. I’m 100% on board.

Maybe it’s just that she is unapologetically out for herself, maybe it’s the fact that she is definitely a match for the Winchesters in a non-murdery way, probably it is both of those things. She's smart, she’s crooked, she has impeccable taste, she’s honestly a helluva lot of fun and I am so excited to see more of her and so BUMMED that she will not make it past this season.

Despite the fact that I absolutely adore all three of these episodes, they also bring up the problem that I was starting to see in season 2 - WHO is this show about? Isn’t it supposed to be about the Brothers as a whole? But the majority of these first three lean pretty heavily on Dean’s emotional arc. Granted, it makes sense. I mean, of COURSE Dean’s demon deal is gonna be the BIG thing in a season where he is literally staring down the barrel, but knowing that there’s a side plot about Is Sam Evil?? seems like...something we should really explore more? I believe it comes up in season 4, or at least, Sam’s demon-blood powers become a bigger deal in season 4, but I would have enjoyed seeing Sam have a more active stake in this season. I can see planting some weird new ticks being planted for Alive-Again Sam that just get weirder and darker and then a mid-season finale or a run up episode to the end of the season where Dean (finally) decides he needs to stop his demon deal because he needs to stick around so he can keep Sam from going completely off the rails. As much as I love Dean 5ever, I do think the show works best when the emotional weight of the season is distributed equally is all. And to be fair to the writers this season, there could have been a bigger plan for something like that but they ran out of time - their season was cut by about a third due to the Writer’s Strike.

Still, all in all, a solid opening to the third season. I want to say that these episodes feel like Classic SPN, but then I remember that this is season three out of fifteen. These ARE Classic SPN. Mostly self contained with enough emotional drama to remind us of the overarching plot. Maybe a little heavy on the emotional drama, but Dean’s only got a year to live and the show’s only got 16 episodes to resolve that crisis, so it’s fine.

[changingourdestiny]

Beyond Light Part 2: The Gift

Summary:

Rae, Blaze and Tif head to Eramis’s base of operations, Riis Reborn, to learn more about Eramis and the power she wields - Stasis. But they quickly learn defeating her and her house may not be as easy as they thought.

Previous Part: Here

Next Part: Here

The weather had cleared up a bit as Rae, Blaze and Tif entered the abandoned building where Variks was hiding. It looked like it hadn’t been used for centuries and items were strewn about the room, except for a wet floor sign that was still standing upright. ‘Did Variks put that there?’ Rae thought to herself before continuing to where Variks stood in front of a control panel with a window above it. “You do not trust Variks, yes? But leave your distrust, your blame, for later.” Variks began before noticing the third member behind Rae and Blaze, “Hmm…you dress like a captain, yet you are human.”

“Captain Tifawt Kariuki of House Light. Tif to my friends.” Tif greeted with a smile, “You’re Variks of House Judgement, right? Misraakskel has mentioned you before when talking about his time at the Reef.”

“A Guardian captain of Misraaks. A welcome ally.” Variks gave a nod to Tif. “With formalities out of the way,” Blaze interrupted, “Who was the Eliksni that tried to turn you into a popsicle?”

Variks tilted his head in confusion. “What’s a…pop-sik-el?” Tif asked, sharing Variks’s confusion. “It’s flavoured ice that people eat.” Rae explained. “Oh, that makes sense! I think…” Tif smiled. “The Eliksni who attacked me – she is Eramis, Shipstealer.” Variks explained, “A new Kell of Kells, unifier of the houses – and she seeks to build an army of Eliksni, powered by Darkness.”

“Great. Skolas 2.0.” Blaze muttered. “So that ice power she used was the Darkness you sensed earlier.” Rae said as Ghost appeared beside her. “Sounds about right. If the Eliksni weren’t already a threat, they certainly are now.”

“If she is not stopped, she will destroy us all.” Variks added, “You must go! Variks will help you find your way.”

 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 Rae and Blaze sped across the snow on their Sparrows with Tif beside them on their Pike. “Hey, Variks.” Rae began, “Anything we should know about that power Eramis was using?”

“We call it Stasis.” Variks began, “Power in opposition to your Light, given by the Pyramid. It led Eramis astray. Europa was to be a haven for Eliksni. But Stasis corrupted her. With it, she turns obsession into opportunity, working in haste to empower Eliksni with the Dark gift. If Eramis is not stopped, she will build an army capable of snuffing out the Light, once and for all.”

“We won’t let that happen.” Blaze smirked, “Dark or not, ice stands no chance against fire. And we have three Guardians who specialise in Solar plus a Guardian who can turn into an inferno. We got this handled.”

“Let’s not get cocky.” Rae warned, “We don’t know what Stasis is capable of, or Eramis for that matter. We need to play this carefully.”

“I’m with Rae. I don’t wanna be a pop-sik-el!” Tif added, “Hey, am I saying it right? Pop-sik-el?”

“Close. Popsicle.”

“Pop…sik-il…popsicle! I think I got it!” Tif cheered, “I’ve been with House Light for a lot of my life so I’m not too familiar with some human stuff.”

“You should come to the Tower after we’re done here.” Blaze suggested, “We can show you around!”

“Ooh! Yes please!”

Rae couldn’t help but chuckle at Tif’s excitement. It made her feel a little less antsy about this mission.

 The trio emerged from the tunnels into an area filled with ruins of old buildings. “What is this place?” Tif asked. “No clue.” Berhane replied. “This is what remains of Eventide.” Ghost answered, “Clovis Bray’s Europan colony. Built to house those who came to build Exo…and to become them.”

“You think Cayde was made here?” Blaze asked. “Cayde, Banshee, Ada, Shiro…probably every Exo we know was made here.” Rae replied, a grim expression on her face. “Why do you make it sound like a bad thing?” Tif asked, sensing the atmosphere drop. “Clovis wasn’t a good person.” Rae replied, “He was a genius, but was also egotistical and a megalomaniac. He was responsible for a lot of deaths while making the Exos. From what I’ve been able to read up on, the first people went insane upon becoming Exominds. We’d be here all day if I listed off all the stuff he did.”

“That’s awful…what happened to him?”

“He made AI and Exo version of himself.” Blaze replied, “Nobody really knows what happened to them though. Frankly, I hope they’re dead too.”

“Let’s focus on the mission.” Rae sighed, “Any more talk of Clovis and I’ll be temped to blow up what remains of this place.”

“Well if we’re changing the subject,” Ghost began, “Variks, why did you come to Europa in the first place? Hiding from the Vanguard?”

“Variks knows of the ‘elephant in the room’. Cayde-6’s death was not my intention.” Variks replied, “No day passes without regret. I will answer for these crimes. But not before my people are safe from Eramis.”

“I don’t blame you directly for what happened to Cayde.” Rae replied, “Though you are responsible for the release of the Scorn. I’ll try to see if I can organise something with Zavala, but I promise nothing.”

“Variks appreciates this.”

“What’s an elephant?” Tif whispered to Blaze as they pulled up to a building. “I’ll tell you later.” Blaze replied, “Let’s go scope out Eramis’s place.”

 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 The three Guardians crept through Riis Reborn until they arrived at a bridge with a window peering down into a large room. There a large gathering of Fallen stood around a large Pyramid shard with Eramis stood with a large servitor and several other Fallen. “You’re all here for the same reason.” Eramis began, “Because you desire freedom for our people. And I can give you just that. Chains! For centuries, we have been bound by them. Servants to the so-called ‘Great’ Machine.” Eramis motioned to the servitor, “We even built idols in its image. We have become pawns of our own devices. No. Longer.” Eramis summoned an orb Stasis in her hand before using it to completely freeze the servitor. “Whoa…” Tif muttered as Eramis continued, “Today…we begin breaking free from our chains.” Eramis punched the servitor right in the centre, causing it to shatter. Tif flinched at the sight as did some of the Fallen below. “This power is a gift.” Eramis said, holding up her upper hand, “One I will share with all of you, in time. Phylaks!” Below Eramis, a baron stepped up towards the shard. “No way…!” Tif gasped.

“Do you know her?” Blaze asked.

“I know of her. Phylaks the Warrior. According to Misraaks, she used to be with House Devils and was famous at Twilight Gap. She’s super strong.”

“And she’s with Eramis. Greeeaaat.”

The shard began to glow orange as Eramis began to speak again, “One by one, we will rise again.” A small blue splinter emerged from the shard and Phylaks took it in her hand and placed it in a slot on her gauntlet as an icy mist emerged from her arms. She slammed her arms down and large spikes of stasis emerged from the ground. The Fallen began to cheer as Eramis raised her hands, “This is our future! Our enemies stand no chance against this power. The Great Machine will finally know our pain!”

 As the cheering continued, Rae’s expression turned grim, “This is bad. If they have access to Darkness this easily, they could be more of a threat than we thought. We need to-”

“Uhh…guys?”

Rae turned to Tif who wore a scared expression on their face as they pointed at the window. Rae looked back down to see a dreg pointing up at them while Eramis stood beside them…staring directly at them, “It would appear our enemies have arrived, eager to test us. Let’s not keep them waiting.”

“Oh crap…” Blaze muttered, before the sound of many footsteps began to approach them. “Time to go! Run!” Rae called out as the trio ran back the way they came. “I’m calling our ships now. Don’t stop. Keep moving!” Ghost called out.

 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 “They actually have Darkness. The Eliksni. This is really bad.” Ghost muttered as he helped Rae set up the comms relays outside Variks’s hideout with Tif and Blaze standing guard. The trio had narrowly escaped Riis Reborn and were setting up a secret network to reach out to defectors of Eramis’s house. “We’ll figure something out. Panicking won’t do us any good.” Rae replied as they finished setting up the second relay. “You’re right. I’ll let Variks know we’re nearly done up here.” Ghost replied, “Okay, Variks, that’s two-” Ghost was cut off as Rae suddenly hear whispers echo in her head. As they faded, she turned to Blaze and Tif. Judging by their unnerved faces, they heard it too. “Did you…hear that?” Ghost asked, “Sounded like voices.”

“S-scary!” Tif whimpered. “What? Who?” Variks asked. “The one’s who spoke through me.” Ghost replied quietly. “The Pyramids…” Rae sighed, remembering their time on the Moon a year ago. “We must hurry then. There’s one more relay.” Variks replied. The three Guardians left the roof of the base and made their way over to the last relay. Ghost scanned over it and within a matter of seconds, it was up and running. “And done! Now let’s-”

“Uh…Rae?” Blaze pointed beyond the relay where a shard had taken form and had began to glow a bright orange. “That doesn’t look-” Before Tif could finish their sentence, the orange glow exploded outwards and everything briefly went white. “Oh no.” Ghost exclaimed as the whispers returned, “It’s them. They’re here. They’re…beckoning us.” Rae flinched upon hearing the last part, recognising Ghost’s change in tone as the Pyramids talking through him. “Not again…” Rae muttered, “Come on. Let’s see what it wants.” Rae glided over to where the shard was. “You’re joking right?” Blaze asked in disbelief. “Hey, wait up!” Tif dashed after Rae as Blaze let out a frustrated sigh before following them. But as they approached, the shard disappeared and reappeared in the distance. “We beckoned. You answered. We’ve kept you waiting long enough.” Ghost’s distorted voice began, “Come to us; salvation awaits.” Rae sighed as she muttered, “Not this bs again.” Under her breath before motioning for the others to follow her, “Come on. Let’s see what it wants.”

“You’ve dealt with this before?” Tif asked as the three Guardians carefully made their way down the cliff towards the shard. “You could say that. Remember when you helped us on the moon?” Blaze began, “Well it turns out that Pyramid was related to the Darkness and it began talking through Ghost when we got near it. I feel really bad for him.”

“He’s not the only one who’s sick of it either.” Rae sighed as she took out Ghost who was just floating with a blank expression, absolutely still, “Hey. I get you’re trying to get our attention, but can you do so in a way that DOESN’T involve possessing my Ghost? Neither of us really appreciate it.”

Absolute silence.

Rae sighed as she dismissed Ghost, “Figured.”

 As they made their way over a large gap in the ice, the Darkness spoke through Ghost again, “The Light believes you thankless. Nothing more than a soldier asked again and again to do its bidding. So we want to thank you. With a gift. To help you finally take control.” The shard teleported again down an icy valley. “A gift?” Tif raised an eyebrow, “Do you think it’s…?”

“Only one way to find out.” Rae replied as they trekked through the snow until they arrived at a large plain of snow and ice, a Pyramid barely visible in the distance. A large object emerged from it and flew across the plains, shifting as it went, until it landed on the ice and seemed to form some sort of temple. “What is-?” Rae was cut off by the sound of a Captain’s roar followed by the sound of battle. “Are there other Guardians here?” Blaze asked as the trio rushed to where they heard the commotion. “Possibly. But I think we were the only one assigned here-” Rae suddenly ground to a halt and put her arms out to stop Tif and Blaze as a loud boom echoed around them followed by a cloud of snow blowing past them. As the snow cleared, Rae heard a familiar voice that she hadn’t heard in many years.

“And here comes our Guardians. Right on time.”

The snow cloud cleared to reveal Eris Morn, Drifter, and Marcia standing beside a familiar white Exo. “It’s you…” Rae muttered as she stared in disbelief. Tif peered past them and gave a wave along with a grin, “Hi, Marcia!”

“S’up, Tif?” Marcia waved back. Blaze just glanced between everyone, the Fallen corpses around them, and the temple nearby before eventually letting out a sigh, “I say this a lot…but Traveller this is the weirdest mission I’ve ever been on.”

 To Be Continued…

[shreddedparchment]

Heavy is the Hand You’re Dealt

Part 1

08/24/2019

Pairing: Thor x Reader, Steve x Reader     Word Count: 10,081

Prompt: Imposter - Bearson            Masterpost

What you see could be fire burning bright into the sky/What you see could be strength that leads to victory /And I, all I am is an imposter…who’s trying to forget.

Warnings: Eventual smut, language, angst, pining, violence, blood, the Snap

A/N: This piece is for @youngmoneymilla ‘s 5K Writing Challenge. I TRIED to make this a one shot. I really did. But I failed. It’ll be two parts. The prompt will influence the second part more than the first but small bits of it can be seen in this first part. I am exhausted! lol this piece really took it out of me. xoxo

There will be NO tags for this story as it is only two parts. Thank you.

Beginnings are important. They are your base. From the beginning you are shaped and molded by your future. So, this is your beginning. This is where you start. This is how you got where you are. Steve was your beginning.

~~~~~

You know those sweet, dizzying, bitter butterflies that you get when you look at that one special person? Or that weightless sensation you get when that one person takes your breath away? Or the hope and promise of tomorrow when you stay up for hours, daydreaming about how nice it would be if they told you they like you back?

Steve Rogers makes you feel like that.

Steve Rogers makes you feel many things.

Hopelessly smitten being the most prevalent.

It happens during one short workout session. You’re punching a bag, struggling to keep your fist from sliding off the side.

The old boxing gym smells of mold and sweat, an ancient building with smokestack gray walls, dingy mats that used to be white, a creaking old boxing ring, and over worn wood both splintered in places and smooth as silk. The overhead lights cast sporadic spotlights, yellow shine against the faded brown floors.

Pictures of boxing champs from the days before color photographs are set on display around the room, brightening the atmosphere with immortalized victories and the smiles of strong young men who have now withered and weakened.

You’ve chosen this place, this aged spot, because it’s cheap and it’s what you can afford but you’ve warmed to its charms.

The old man who owns it gave you a fair deal and a locker to boot. You come and go often but always after dark, when your days at the academy are over.

Today is no different and you race for the door as the storm clouds overhead swirl and weigh heavy on the city. The breeze twists around your bare arms, kissing it warm with car exhaust and then thunder rumbles and the sky flashes and is then split open with a crackling boom.

The incessant honking of the cars in the city do little to drown out the coming storm. As the rain stutters into a pour, you reach the unassuming doorway. You hear the click as it locks and you gasp, desperate to get in.

“Mr. Davis!” You plead, knowing that he might not hear you.

As the hiss of the rain grows louder, the door is unlocked and pushed open. You sigh with relief, stepping back a bit and search slightly above your eye line for Mr. Davis’s withered face. Instead you find one broad shoulder, a baby blue button up underneath a brown leather bomber.

You follow the smooth curve of hard and toned muscle to a thick muscular neck.

Do models come to this gym? It’s the only explanation that you can come up with at the utter beauty that you find yourself looking at.

He’s tall, soft storm blue eyes, perfect, classical features, topped with a soft yet carefully styled head of corn husk yellow hair.

“Sorry, ma’am, the gym’s closed.” He tells you, smooth even voice deep and curious.

Ma’am?!

“I-I know.” You stutter stupidly, completely taken aback by this extremely gorgeous guy. “I…Mr. Davis lets me come in after the gym closes. I just…I forgot my key.”

The blonde considers you for a moment then looks out at the rain. His eyes zero in on your right shoulder before throwing the door open suddenly.

“Hurry.”

You scramble inside, grateful for the warmer air of the gym.

“Don’t you hate how you get cold if you get wet when it rains? Even if it’s burning hot outside?” You turn to look at the tall blonde and he gives you a polite smile.

“Yes.” He answers simply. “Excuse me.”

“Of course.” You reply, rubbing your arms for friction. “Don’t mind me.”

He nods at you and leaves you in your slightly damp state.

“Right…” You say to yourself as you head towards the much smaller female locker room. “Don’t mind me.”

You throw your punch, twisting your arm like you’re supposed to, aiming to hit with your fist. Focused. Dedicated. Completely sucking.

“You’re too loose.” The blonde says from behind you.

You only just manage not to gasp as you’re startled into turning around. “Oh?”

“Yeah.” He says, “Hold your arms up, I’ll show you.”

You watch him approach then turn to face the punching bag, raising your fists carefully and desperately trying to keep from thinking about how good this stranger looks in his off-white t-shirt and soft gray jersey sweats.

“Your stance is off too.” He says then stands behind you, hesitating. “May I?”

The nervous look in his eyes makes your heart flutter. Where is this guy from?

He exudes gentility and respect. Mostly respect. The fact that he’s asking to move closer to you, to even check if it’s okay, who does that now-a-days?

“Of course.” You smile at him. “Yes. Please.”

His shy half smile makes your heartbeat stutter and you turn away from him so that he can’t see the crush you have on him already so firmly set in your eyes.

The heat of his body envelops you as he stands with his chest to your back. It’s only a moment of contact as he reaches out to wrap your fists in each of his hands, adjusting the angle of your arms before he stands up straight again and then taps the insides of your feet, moving them until your stance is more open and centered.

“You feel that?” He asks, voice seductive but you’re sure that’s just you. God, he sounds like ice cream tastes.

“Er…yeah.” You mutter.

“Keep your arms hard. And follow through with your punch. Move your whole shoulder with it. Punching is not something you do with only your arms. You use your whole body to push that power through. It also helps keep it straight when you follow through with your shoulder.” He looks down at you, his breath tickling your left earlobe, and your neck, cheeks, chest, arms, legs, thighs especially, your pussy too…they all just flame up.

You’re suddenly very aware of how long exactly it’s been since you’ve had sex and damn it if this is not just the most awful form of torture because the perfect blonde man steps back, releasing you.

If you weren’t so embarrassed by the pool of lust in your panties, you would have probably melted to the floor the moment he released you.

Lucky you, there’s a reason you’re even in the academy and you seem to keep your wits about you and manage to hold the stance he’s put you in.

“Like this?” You check.

“Yeah. Go ahead, give it a punch.” He says, indicating the bag.

Every bit of yearning you’re suddenly swamped with you channel into your hit and with a resounding SMACK, the bag swings away from you as you hit it dead center.

You laugh, forgetting your flustered state, clapping your wrapped hands as you jump twice.

“Oh my God!” You gasp, laughing some more.

A small chuckle behind you makes you turn. He’s laughing. The beautiful stranger is chuckling with you.

“Thank you, so much!” You gush, eyes pouring gratitude.

“No problem, Miss.” He makes to leave you, headed back to his own corner but you take a step towards him.

“Y/N.” You tell him, reaching over to massage the top of your left forearm with your right hand. “My name is Y/N. You make me feel ancient calling me ma’am and miss.”

The blonde smiles wider, looking down at his feet before meeting you with that devastatingly gorgeous half smile.

“It’s nice to meet you, Y/N.” And he moves towards you, taped hand held out towards you.

You take it, eager to touch him and greet him properly.

“I’m Steve.” He tells you, shaking your much smaller hand gently but you already know it’s not because he thinks you’re weak but because he’s just polite that way. “Steve Rogers.”

“It’s nice to meet-” You blink, your own hand gripping his even tighter as the name registers. “Did you just say Steve Rogers?”

Steve blinks nervously, licking his lips and suddenly looking uncomfortable.

“As in Captain America, Steve Rogers?” You clarify, eyes wide, heart pounding.

“Um…” He looks around nervously for a second before meeting your eyes again and trying to pull his hand from your grip, but you tighten it more. “Yes.”

“I…” Your surprised expression gives way for genuine excitement. “It’s…It’s so great to meet you! I don’t—I don’t wanna sound like some fangirl or anything but we’re actually studying you in the academy right now. I’m so honored to meet you.”

You laugh once but Steve still seems slightly tense, you keep shaking his hand, laughing a bit more until you gasp.

“Holy shit! Captain America just taught me how to throw a punch!” And you really double over in a fit of laughter.

The odds of this happening, the likelihood that you would have ever met Captain America at this point in your life much less interacted with him, is so slim that you can’t believe your absolute luck.

Mid-laugh you get a look at Steve and find him a bit more relaxed, lips curved into a smile.

“I’m sorry.” You gasp, “I’m so sorry. I just, I’m so—thank you for being so nice. They tell you never to meet your heroes, but you’ve been great so far.”

Laughter subsiding, you finally release Steve’s hand, massaging your own as you cherish the memory of him holding it.

“I’m glad I haven’t disappointed.” Steve says, blushing but you’re pretty sure it’s just from having you gushing over him about being Captain America.

“Definitely not.” You chuckle again and shake your head. “Wow. Captain America.”

How had you not recognized him from those old photos you’d seen? He looks exactly the same now that you consider his face, just in color instead of black and white.

“What academy are you training at?” Steve asks, curious but you can see that he’s itching to ask something else.

“S.H.I.E.L.D. Academy. I’m…I’m trying to become a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent. We’ll see how that goes. As you can see, I can’t even punch without help.” You chuckle at yourself and your lack of athletic ability.

Steve smiles at your laugh then his expression falls, and you know it’s coming, the real question he’d wanted to ask.

“Y/N?”

“Yeah?”

“Are you going to tell the other cadets about me?” Steve wonders, an anxious hitch in his words that expose the oddly sensitive and fearful inner turmoil he’s feeling.

“No way.” You assure him, taking a step closer. “I’m keeping you all to myself.”

You chuckle again, the ludicrous idea of you actually possessing Steve Rogers in any way is unbearably hilarious. Look at him!

Steve’s expression softens, his worry fading as his smile returns. “Good. Thank you.”

“In exchange,” You begin, smiling at him innocently, the face of a deceptive angel. “Do you think maybe you could help me some more? I-I honestly really suck at all this fighting stuff and I’m not expecting to be a field agent at the end of the day. They’ll probably stick me in some office or comms room, but I still need to be able to pass my trials.”

Steve narrows his eyes at you, considering you.

“Please?” You beg, bobbing on your feet and then he smiles.

“Sure, kid.” He huffs a small laugh as you smile wide, your excitement making you almost dance before you turn to hug the punching bag because as much as you want to wrap your arms around Steve’s wide chest, he’s Captain America. You don’t want to embarrass yourself. “I’ll help you. On one condition.”

“Anything.” You chuckle, turning to look at him again, absolutely beaming.

“Let’s keep this little arrangement between us, okay? From everyone.” He asks.

Keeping Captain America as your trainer a secret? How hard can it be?

Hard. Things get very, very hard with Steve. The least of it being because you’re hopelessly in love with him.

It happened that night. That first night when he taught you to punch and after that you spiraled faster and harder. Falling more and more in love with him every single day. Now, you’re a mess of putty and affection and all you want is to love him but…he’s Steve Rogers. He’s Captain America.

He’s freedom and justice and truth and honor and kindness and loyalty and he proves it when he fights for New York. He proves it when he fights for the world.

You fall in love with him when he catches you to keep you from falling and when he gets annoyed with you because you struggle to hit your target.

You fall in love with him when he sits beside you and wraps a loose arm around your shoulders, comforting you because this is so hard and you’re so tired and you want to give up but he doesn’t let you.

You fall in love with him when he tells you old jokes that you’ve never heard before so that you’ll forget your worries and smile. He chuckles with you.

You fall in love with him when he brings you a stainless-steel water bottle with the Avengers A on it that matches the one he’s been using.

You fall in love with him when you hurt your ankle and he fusses, forcing you to sit despite your protests because your tests are only a few weeks out and you can’t take breaks because then you won’t pass!

You fall in love with him when he takes your shoe off to wrap up your ankle but then frowns when he sees the six Band-Aids you’ve placed over all your busted blisters, and the small bit of blood on your sock makes him hiss.

You fall in love with him because he takes you out to dinner even if it’s in a small hole in the wall restaurant where no one you know will see you.

You fall in love with him because he brings you a cupcake on your birthday with a single candle and waits as you struggle not to cry for you to blow it out.

You fall in love with him because Steve Rogers makes himself irresistible.

Because of Steve, you pass your trials.

You fall in love with him because he’s waiting in the alley outside of the academy, nearly bouncing with nervous energy as he waits with bated breath for you to tell him that you’ve passed. He picks you up. Hugging you tight. Twirling you once before putting you back on your feet.

You fall in love with him because he takes you to that restaurant again and he makes you feel like your success is his success and you hope that maybe while you’ve been falling for him, Steve has also been falling for you.

It’s a slim chance. Impossible really. But you hope.

You’re assigned to S.T.R.I.K.E. reporting to Agent Sitwell directly. You’re excited because it means that you’re with Steve. You’re going to work with him…but you didn’t think it through and it isn’t until you’re on mission number who the fuck knows, that you begin to see the hazards of working so close with the man you love but who doesn’t feel the same.

Sitwell has you watch Steve. “You’re his backup.” He says but it doesn’t sound like what he wants you to do is backup. It sounds wrong.

He has you reporting on everything Steve does on his missions but because it’s Steve and there’s nothing out of the ordinary to report. After two missions you get moved to comms and just as you’d assumed, you’re kept out of the fight but kept close for grunt work.

You get to know the team and they know you as the girl behind the monitor. Steve doesn’t look at you when you’re all in the debrief room or when you share the same elevator or even on the jet. Rumlow does. He greets you when you walk into the debrief room. He holds the elevator door for you—maybe he even beats Steve to it and that’s why Steve never does it? He smiles at you when you board the jet and you return his attentions without any agenda.

Your eyes are always on Steve anyway.

You’re almost sure that Natasha of all people will sense it. That she’ll just know that you and Steve aren’t simply coworkers and that there’s a friendship between you…but you’re on the jet as it flies over the Indian Ocean and nothing seems amiss.

Natasha is listening to Rumlow’s debrief without paying you any mind.

The Lemurian Star is hijacked and S.T.R.I.K.E. has been dispatched to take it back.

Sitwell is on it. You find this strange. So does Steve.

As they ready for their descent, you patch through to all of their earpieces, trackers set in place in case of accident. While you work, Natasha and Steve chat casually.

“Secure channel seven.” Steve says.

Speaking to you but…

“Seven secure.” Natasha affirms, before you can give him his assurance. “You do anything fun Saturday night?”

“Well, all the guys from my barbershop quartet are dead so, no, not really.” Steve jokes.

You smile, keep your head down so that no one will see. He’s told you that one before.

The pilot speaks, “Coming up on the drop zone, Cap.”

“You know, if you ask Kristen out-” Nat begins and your hands freeze over your keyboard, smile wiped clean off of your face as your body goes dangerously numb. “-from Statistics, she’d probably say yes.”

“That’s why I don’t ask.” Steve says more loudly as the ramp at the back of the jet begins to drop.

Does he mean that? He doesn’t know how you feel. He has no reason to lie. Maybe he really doesn’t want to be with anyone? He is always working.

“Too shy or too scared?” Nat asks, also at a higher volume.

“Too busy.” Steve says, matter of fact, then dives from the jet.

The mission goes through without too much trouble and you focus because you need to, but your mind has taken notice of the possibility that Steve might very well start dating and you don’t like it one bit.

After the mission, Rumlow asks you out. You say yes.

A few days later, at training, you tell Steve. Curious as to his own reaction when the tables are reversed. Not that he knows that hearing Nat had bothered you.

“Who?” He asks, breathing heavily as he lands another punch.

“Brock.” You repeat, licking your lips as you search for the smallest sign that this matters. That you matter. “Rumlow?”

“Oh.” Steve nods. “He’s…he’s dedicated.”

“Yeah.” You frown. “He is.”

Well, that didn’t give you much.

“Have you two gone out yet?” He asks, reaching up to scratch his forehead, avoiding your gaze in favor of cracking his neck and stretching his arms.

“Mm-hmm. Night before last. He took me out to dinner and then we went back to his place.” You explain, trying to remember the night with anything but regret. But you’d needed to get some, and Brock had offered. He hadn’t been so bad.

He’s nice for the most part. His politeness only a little forced. Nothing to Steve…but he asked you out.

Unfortunately, fucking Brock Rumlow isn’t exactly the highlight of your dating career and he’d been an impatient lover. It hadn’t been good; despite his size and the way his hands seem to know what to do, he’d finished before you and you hadn’t had your turn. You didn’t get it either.

Your itch still hasn’t been scratched. Damn it.

“You went back to his place?” Steve asks, stopping his neck cracking to look at you properly.

You nod, chewing on your lip, fiercely trying not to look at Steve in his thermal wear. It hugs his muscles, skintight. Delicious. “He asked me out again but…”

“But what?”

“I don’t know. I’m not feeling it.” You admit, pushing the itch away successfully.

“Then don’t go out with him. I mean…if you’re not feeling it, why should you?” Steve offers, quickly averting his gaze to the bag he’d been pummeling only to hit it harder.

Things change out of the blue. Director Fury is attacked. Steve is chased out of S.H.I.E.L.D. and you’re so confused and torn, and you know that Steve is a good man so how can anything S.H.I.E.L.D. says be true?

Steve and Nat disappear and you’re an anxious mess. No one looks twice at you because you’re no one. Steve had never spoken to you in front of the team other than to give you orders so they have no reason to suspect you. You’re the girl behind the monitor. Nothing more.

You hate to admit to yourself that they’re right to ignore you. Steve hasn’t contacted you since his escape and you’re beginning to realize that maybe this friendship had all just been in your head.

Maybe all you’ve been this entire time is a workout buddy?

With a more flexible schedule, you’re finally able to go to the gym during the day. That’s where you are when your phone suddenly rings. The musk of your place…yours and Steve’s…is comforting.

You sit on a wooden bench, the phone buzzing in your hand as an unknown number flashes up at you.

Something tells you to answer it, like the call of destiny, and you slide your thumb along the bottom, wiping at the sweat on your forehead with your forearm.

“Hello?”

“Y/N?”

“S-?!” You drop your voice down to a harsh whisper, hesitating before you spring to your feet, bag grabbed as you worm your way into the deepest, most secluded room of the gym leaving the din of the daytime regulars behind. You find a storage cupboard full of sweat wreaking mats and cleaning supplies, shut the door, and lock it.

“Is this line secure?” He asks, deep voice shaking as if he’s in pain.

“Steve, what-?”

“I need your help.” He interrupts, and he explains what’s happened. Hydra in S.H.I.E.L.D. Nat’s unconscious. They’re after him. This you already knew.

“What can I do?” You ask, desperate to help. Worried to the brim.

“I need an address.” He says. “In Washington. Man named Sam Wilson.”

“Sam Wilson?” You delve into your bag and pull out your tablet, swiping your thumb along the reader before you’re on your own VPN searching for what Steve needs. “I found it!”

You give him the address and feel a wave of relief to have assisted him in this small way.

“Thanks, Y/N. I owe you one.” He sounds exhausted.

“Don’t be stupid, Steve.” You hesitate. “And…please, be careful. If something were to happen to you I…”

“I’ll be alright. It might be best if you stayed off the grid. Keep out of sight.” He suggests, sounding genuine, as if he might really truly care.

Still, you can’t help but scoff. “What for? I’m the last person they’re going to suspect. You’ve been very thorough in ignoring me at work.”

The seconds of silence that follow feel heavy. Scary.

“Y/N…” His voice full of trepidation, of remorse.

It had all come out of nowhere. This too had surprised you. One day you’d been working quietly at your workstation when Nat and Steve had stopped by to drop off their reports with you.

They’re always perfect and you rarely if ever need to correct anything on them, but they do it because it’s protocol.

~~~~~

Nat asks Steve about the nurse in his building and Steve’s cheeks flush. His eyes meet yours and you turn away quickly before he can see the agony ripping through you, fingers fumbling on your keyboard as you key in their report numbers.

Turns out the nurse is not a nurse. Agent 13. Sharon Carter. Skilled combatant. Full-fledged spy.

How can you, Agent 34, compare?

Steve had even asked her out for coffee…

“I don’t need that right now.” Steve had quickly said to Nat, eyes scanning the area. Fury had just been attacked and he’s on edge. “Thank you, Agent thirty-four.”

Nat scoffs. “Seriously?”

“What?” Steve asks, exasperated and irritable.

“She has a name.” Nat says, gesturing at you as they wait for their confirmation page.

“I know her name.” Steve assures her, sounding more defensive than normal.

“Hey…” Nat says slowly, turning to give you a long hard look. “Why don’t you ask her out? She’s already seen you in a bad mood. No fear that she’s going to run because of that.”

Steve looks at you, stealing quick sidelong glances at you as you shift in your seat, heart pounding, papers printing.

It gets so awkward that the air around you three begins to change. It’s like someone’s filled the room with fog as thick as Jell-O and you can’t move, much less breathe.

“Very funny.” Steve suddenly says, leaning against the higher platform of your desk with his elbow, “She’s not my type.”

Can you die from figurative pain? The knife Steve just sunk into your gut he twists as he turns to you and those storm blue eyes shimmer in the too white fluorescent light.

“No offense.” He offers.

“No offense?!” Nat asks, slapping his arm.

You plaster on a pained smile, wishing you could hide this better, but you shake your head at him, pretending as if you don’t see him almost every day at the gym. Pretending that he hadn’t bought you a cupcake on your birthday or fussed when he saw how you’d been walking around with open wounds on your feet.

Steve continues to stare at you, face stoic, eyes shifting nervously from your hands as you wait for the stupid papers to print back up to your own poorly guarded expression.

“Here.” You snatch the papers as they slide out of the printer and place them by his hand. “I’ll file these for you.”

“Thanks.” Nat tells you; her phone goes off. She pulls it out of her pocket and reaches over to grab Steve’s elbow. “Fury’s in surgery. We gotta go.”

She turns and leaves with Steve hesitating for a moment as you avoid looking at him, eyes glued to your computer screen, then he’s gone.

~~~~~

That was the last time you saw him.

“Do you like Sharon?” It’s a stupid thing to ask in such a dire situation. He’s busy. He’s running for his life and you’re worried about who he’s shacking up with? “Never mind. Forget I asked that. This isn’t the time. Steve, they’re watching all of the safe houses and all of the old facilities, so make sure you get to this Sam’s place and you lay low for a while.”

“I wish you’d get outta there.” Steve frets.

“Trust me. You’re gonna want a man on the inside.”

“Keep your phone with you. Just in case.” In case he wants to get a hold of you? “Stay safe, Y/N.”

“You too.”

The next time you see Steve he’s on the mend and you’re out of a job.

This is the first time you tell Steve goodbye.

He leaves you to go search for a friend…no, he doesn’t leave you. He’d have to be with you in order to leave you. And before he goes you never get the chance to ask him about Sharon.

Thanks to your resume and Steve’s relentless training, you’re hired by the C.I.A. and surprise, surprise, you’re given desk duty.

You find a sense of normalcy here at the C.I.A. Monitoring foreign affiliates and keeping your ear to the ground, it’s a nine to five gig and it gives you the life you thought you’d always wanted.

Only one thing is missing.

Another dull afternoon. Another report. Another bunch of nothing that threatens to drive you insane.

You slump back into your chair, stretching your arms overhead when your cell phone begins to buzz, skidding across your desk in short trembling intervals. It’s laying faceup and the Unknown Number that flashes across it reminds you of the call in the gym.

You don’t know why you think it might be him. He hasn’t called you in years, and yet here is your heart, beating wildly against your ribcage.

With a hard swallow, you answer your cell and know instantly that it isn’t him. When the voice that speaks is female, your heart fully falls into the pit of your stomach.

For a while you’d thought you were getting over Steve. But here you are, in agony all over again.

“Y/N?” The voice is hushed, urgent, but sweet.

“Sharon?” You hear this voice weekly. As part of the Joint Counter Terrorist Centre, she’s often your liaison with the European branch.

“Hey, do you remember that one time we went drinking in Wyoming and you got so drunk that you slept with the bartender?” Sharon laughs, a perfect fake.

“Oh, yeah.” You lie, getting up and making your way to the door. “And you got locked out of our room because I had the key, so you had to sneak in and found the bartender asleep in the tub?”

“Yeah. That was so much fun. We should do that again some time.”

“Yeah.” You agree, moving for the nearest utility closet and turn into it at the very last second. Quickly you reach into your black pants pocket and pull out a small silver cube. It shines with a soft blue light and you know that you shouldn’t have kept any Hydra tech but this one was just so useful!

You place the square on the floor and press the top down. It clicks and then beeps as the radio wave scrambler powers on.

“Okay. We’re good.” You tell her. “What’s going on?”

You and Sharon have never shared drinks much less traveled together. Not that there was anything wrong with her. In fact, Sharon was downright admirable.

Not only was she the sweetest, nicest, most intelligent person in the organization but she’s also one hell of a shot. Weapons training hadn’t been your best subject in the academy, but you’d done well enough to pass.

“I’m with Steve.” She states and just like that you hate her again.

What is it about Sharon? What? Why Sharon? Why not you?

You hate the way it makes you feel. The yearning. The desperate feeling of loneliness as all of those soft moments with Steve in the gym replay in your mind’s eye as clearly as if they had happened yesterday and not two years ago.

He’d smiled at you so often, touched your shoulders and hips—of course he’d been positioning you but even when the two of you had been joking and laughing, he’d reached out and grabbed your arm or your shoulder.

“H-How is he?” You wish you were there. You wish you could see him too. You miss him so much.

“Not great. He’s looking for Bucky Barnes.” She explains and your mind is flooded with news coverage of the bombing in Vienna.

“He’s going after him to save him.” You realize.

Steve had never talked about Bucky or his past all that much. Most of what you know, you learned through reading. You don’t need him to tell you about Bucky to know that he’s important.

“Yes. There’s a file that we’ve kept under wraps. Known sightings. Location possibilities. Hideouts. And all of the new tips coming in. I need you to get me that file, Y/N.” Sharon’s voice drops lower. “I can’t talk long. You’ll find it on the seventh floor. Watch your back. Call me when you have it.”

The line goes dead and you’re not surprised that Sharon somehow knows that you’ll do whatever you can to get that file, to get those tips.

It’s easier than you thought. You go in under the pretense of helping them field calls. They welcome the help.

It’s a lot of noise. A lot of crazies and paranoid people calling with ridiculous or impossible tips. Although getting the information you need is easy, it takes about an hour.

When you have it, you pass it along to Sharon.

“Sharon? Is Steve okay?” You wish you could be there, see the expression on his face.

If there’s one thing you know, it’s how to know if Steve is really alright or not.

You’ve seen him struggle through his rage. Struggle to pull himself out of the past and into the present. You know what he looks like when it’s all too much and the smile that can come afterwards. You’ve helped him find that smile before.

“He will be.” She tells you. “Thanks, Y/N. This means a lot to me.”

To her? Why does it sound like she likes him? How can you still be this into him after so long?!

“Sure, but Sharon-” The line goes dead again. “Fuck!”

You look at it, your hand curled around the sleek phone eyes prickling at the corners and your chest hollower than you’ve felt it in a long time. Heartbreak feels like knives scraping along the bones of your chest leaving shards and caustic bone dust.

You’ve inhaled it and the pain is so precise that it takes your breath away, making you gasp and gape like a fish out of water.

For Steve, everything goes to shit.

You monitor everything and wait with bated breath as he fights his friends. The Avengers fight each other, torn apart by the accords first and Bucky second.

From this side of things, it looks so bad. Very bad. But you know that if Steve is doing this, if he’s planting himself in front of Bucky despite all the laws he’s breaking, there must be a reason. Steve doesn’t do anything without a reason.

The last you hear he’s run off from Germany. After he and the Avengers destroy an airport, he and Bucky escape, assisted by Nat. Tony pursues. Then there’s excited whispers as a new truth is passed around.

Helmut Zemo. It’s a name that echoes around you off the lips of other agents.

Bucky Barnes, framed. Avengers arrested anyway. Wrongly imprisoned, most think. But the accords were violated, others say. The world is split.

They’re heroes. But they’re scary.

You bury your face in your hands, lean your elbows against your desk, wanting nothing more than to know that Steve’s okay.

Your phone buzzes. Absentmindedly, you reach for it and answer, too worried to care who’s calling.

“Y/N?”

You shoot to your feet, heart in your throat, skin erupting into goosebumps.

“S-” Shit! “Hold on.”

You make a beeline for that utility closet, making no attempt to be sneaky about hiding in there this time.

Placing down your scrambler, you wait for the lights to indicate that it’s on before you speak again.

“Steve?” You ask breathless.

“Hey.” And his voice rises and falls, a sound of relief at the sound of your voice? No. But you are certainly happy to hear him.

“Hey, yourself, jerk. You’re a fugitive.” You tell him.

He huffs a laugh and you can almost see that beautiful half smile.

“Couldn’t have dreamt this mess up in our gym days, huh?” He sounds like he’s smiling.

You shut your eyes, fighting the tears that burn, the ache in your chest strong and demanding.

“Where are you?” You gasp.

“…Wakanda.”

You wait, thinking, your mind racing because he’s not just calling. He’s never just calling.

“What do you need?” You lean back against the door, pushing as much of the pining you’re feeling away so that you can focus on what Steve will no doubt need.

“It’s dangerous.” He warns.

“Steve…”

“I need you to break onto the Avengers Compound.”

“Hey!” You freeze, halfway to the jet, adrenaline racing.

So close. You’re so close! It’s right there. Maybe you can make a run for it? You suck as a spy!

“Don’t even try it.” The familiar voice warns. “Hey, I know you.”

Slowly you turn, face slightly shamed. Natasha looks as beautiful as she did two years ago. Her hair is different. A little more free-flowing.

“Agent 34…Y/N, right? What are you doing here? You don’t have clearance for this facility.” The corner of her lip curves up in a snarky smile. She’s all seduction and fun but there’s a weight on her shoulders that darkens her eyes.

“I…” You hesitate, but you can trust Natasha. You know that.

“You’re here for him, aren’t you?” Her smile falls, brow drawn together in a searching look of concern.

“Yes.”

She looks behind her, contemplating her options it looks like. With a part of her lips and a deep sigh of decision she moves for the jet.

“They won’t miss it.” She says, teasing smirk back in place. “Well? Aren’t you coming?”

The jet is fast. You miss travelling in them. This one’s better than the ones you’d been on in your S.T.R.I.K.E. days. It’s sleeker and quieter.

“So, you and Rogers…” Nat begins, swiveling in the pilot’s chair to face you where you sit a few feet from her. “There’s more there, right?”

You swallow hard, the painful feeling of rejection flooding back only it’s a ghost and it doesn’t hurt as much as it did once.

“She’s not my type.” Steve’s voice echoes in your head. He’d said it so long ago, but it lingers, saved away because it had broken your heart to hear it.

“Not what you’re thinking.” You tell her, sitting up too straight from nerves. “Steve trained me. We met at his gym. My gym, when I was training at the academy. We…we were workout buddies, I guess.”

You sound unsure and Nat quirks a brow at you, hearing the uncertainty. “It sounds like more.”

Sitting in silence for a moment, you ponder what it sounds like and she’s right, it had been more. For you.

“It was. For me. Not for Steve.” You smile at her, melancholic and exhausted.

“Why didn’t you say anything? Why didn’t you tell him?” She wonders, brow furrowed again.

“I-” Everything until that day in the jet when Nat had told him to ask out the girl from Statistics had made you think that you and Steve might be more.

It had all felt like it was moving in that direction. Until it wasn’t. And you weren’t his type.

“I didn’t think I had to. And then I wasn’t his type so…” You shrug, finding her jade green eyes piercing. She can see right through you.

When you pick up Steve, he hugs you. No hesitation. He pulls you in for a brief squeeze and your heart stammers and stutters before it finds its rhythm once again.

“It’s so good to see you.” He smiles, the very faint bloom of an old bruise is on his right cheekbone. You touch it and he lets you.

“This was worse.” You state.

“Yeah.”

“Where are we going?” Nat asks, turning away from the two of you to look at the nav.

Steve moves around you as you shut the back ramp.

“Here.” He tells her, an input of coordinates placed into the nav. “We’ll stop off in London and send Y/N home.”

“What?” You demand, shocked by your dismissal.

“You can’t come.” Steve tells you.

“Like hell I can’t. I’m already here. I stole the jet!” You argue, moving towards them.

“Technically I stole it. You’re just along for the ride.” Nat argues, turning to give you a smile.

“I’m not going to turn you into a criminal too.” He tells you, reaching out to grab your right shoulder.

“Steve…”

“I’m gonna need an inside woman anyway.” Nat cuts in. “If you’re willing to help us out?”

The argument to stay beside Steve now that you’re once again in his intoxicating presence begins to dull in comparison to your need to help. If you can offer them any kind of assistance, isn’t it your duty to do it?

“What do you need me to do?” You wonder, seduced by the promise of a mission.

You’ve sat behind a desk for too many years. You’ll need to train hard again, and it’ll suck without your gym buddy, but you can do it. For Steve. For Nat.

Nat smiles, Steve relaxes.

They drop you off on an abandoned carpark. The structure is crumbling and chipped, dusted cement flying up into the air as the jet lands. It’s close enough to the heart of the city that you can easily find a cab but secluded enough that their presence doesn’t raise an alarm.

Both Nat and Steve walk you down the ramp, stopping when their feet hit pavement.

The night is almost over and the in an hour the sun will begin to rise.

Steve’s second goodbye looms over you and it saps you of all previous determination to help them from a distance.

“So, I just go back to the Compound in three days and they’ll have me on file?” You keep your eyes on Nat because the pain of looking at Steve is too great.

“Yep. Just go to the front desk and tell them it’s your first day and they’ll get you upstairs. I’m not sure what Tony will have you doing but they’re going to need to fill our vacancies. I’m sure he’ll find use for you.” She nods.

“Okay.” You lick your lips, hesitating, biting into the soft flesh of your lower lip to give you the courage to look at Steve again and after only a few hours of sitting beside him, you have to tell him goodbye once more.

When you look at him, he’s got his eyes on the ground.

“Why did you have to wait until you were on the run to call me?” You ask him, hating him just a little bit but not enough to matter.

Your tone brings his eyes up and his storm blues search for reproach.

“I’ll be inside.” Nat tells him, then heads back up.

“I’m sorry, I know that I should have-” He begins, looking genuinely apologetic.

“You never answered my question.” You cut in, moving so that only a foot of space stands between the two of you.

“What question?”

“Do you like Sharon?” It almost kills you to repeat the question. All the oxygen in the world seems to have vanished as you see the confusion mar Steve’s handsome face.

Even after two years, you’re afraid of his answer.

“What? I-”

And because you know that if you don’t take the chance to tell him now, to make him see, you’ll never get this chance again. Whatever it is he has with Sharon, whether it’s real or fleeting or if it’s something that’s been going on for a long time—you should feel bad about doing it but you don’t because he was yours first you just hadn’t had the guts to tell him so—you push all your guilt away, fist the collar of his black jacket and pull him down until your lips meet his.

You feel him pull back for a split second, the unexpectedness of your kiss surprises him but then his lips pucker back, but only just. It’s as if he’s still uncertain as to whether it should be happening. Large tentative hands slide along your hips, strong fingers pressing into the womanly soft barely maintained muscle.

The kiss ends quickly. It’s burning and has your heart pounding but it’s meek. He’s not sure if he should be kissing you and still, he pulls back to look into your face.

“Why-?”

“Because you said I wasn’t your type. And you had asked Sharon out for coffee so I…I didn’t tell you. I didn’t want to lose your friendship and I ended up losing it anyway.” You lament. “Things are different now. You’re on the run and I don’t know if I’ll ever see you again, so I just wanted to—I wanted to know what it felt like to kiss you. I’ve been dreaming about it since the day I met you.”

You have nothing else to lose. Why not go all in?

“I love you, Steve.” You let that stand, wallowing in his stunned silence as the jet behind him whirs to life.

“Steve, we gotta go.” Nat calls back, sounding sorry.

“It’s okay if you don’t love me. I just…I needed you to know. Maybe now that you know, I can move on?” You shrug and offer a small smile.

Steve frowns, hesitating once again before he leans down to kiss you again, lips open, the softest caress of his tongue before he’s pulling your bottom lip as he ends the kiss. Too quick. Too fast.

There’s no time.

“I wish you’d said something ages ago.” He tells you.

“You should have said something when I told you about Rumlow.” You counter.

He makes a face, looking of your heard as he licks his lips. He leans back down to meet your gaze. “Did you really sleep with that guy?”

“Yes.” You admit. “He came before I did and then fell asleep.”

Steve growls, his fingers digging into the flesh of your hips.

“Did you and Sharon-?” You begin.

“I kissed her.” Steve admits.

It hurts and you tear your eyes down to his chest. You have nothing to say however, you slept with Rumlow.

“There was nothing there, kid.” Steve assures you, trying to get you to look at him again. “I mean there was something but…it wasn’t this.”

You still can’t look at him.

“It wasn’t us.” He clarifies.

Chest warming, your heart begins to flutter, stomach all a-tumble as you meet those bright storm blue eyes of his.

“We’re both stupid.” You tell him.

“Steve…” Nat repeats, a little firmer.

“I have to go.” He says forlornly. “I don’t know if I’ll-”

“No, Steve. Just…stay safe. Keep moving. Don’t stop. No matter what happens, you cannot let them catch you. We’ll figure things out.” You know that it’s very possible that this, tonight, is all you’ll ever have.

He could be on the run for the rest of his life or he might fall in love with Nat? Or someone else on his journey to outrun the law. He could very well change his name and settle down somewhere with some French woman in some cottage in the countryside and have kids and never think about you again.

“I’m sorry.” He says, reaching up to trace the shape of your cheekbone.

“Me too.” You sigh, rubbing slow circles along the hard planes of his chest. “Go.”

He leans down one last time and this time you’re both on the same page.

He kisses you with feeling, lips parting, tongue confidently tasting you as you kiss him back, hands worming their way into his sunshine hair.

It’s another quick kiss. Too fast. Over too quickly. He presses his forehead to your own, lingering there for a moment too short.

“Please be safe.” You beg him.

He pulls away, hurrying up the ramp before turning to wave at you as the jet lifts off and disappears into the expanse of velvet black. That is Steve’s second goodbye.

When you come to, the world is different.

You can feel it in the air. Too quiet. The world has gone too quiet.

The compound is almost completely silent. You can hear screaming outside but you’re not sure why.

As you stumble for the door, you’ve been sleeping in Steve’s room because Tony had told you that this is your home now and that Captain No Shame doesn’t deserve a room so you should take it, you stop by the mirror and look at the bright red pinprick on the side of your neck.

You hiss, sucking in air as you stare at the injection site.

“Fucking, Nat.”

~~~~~

“Hey, there stranger.” She greets you with ease, all ethereal beauty with pale blonde tresses and the same if not sharper glass edges. Her on-the-run lifestyle has only enhanced Nat’s naturally assertive demeanor, but she looks relaxed in your doorway.

“Nat!” You’re up in an instant, gliding towards her with your arms wide open. She smiles fondly and greets you with a hug.

“Hey, Y/N.” She greets lovingly. “How’ve you been?”

“Me?” You chuckle. “How are you? Where’s-?”

“He’s coming. Running late.” She nods as you pull back and then gestures at your desk. “What are you working on?”

“Oh.” You turn back to your desk and hurry to pull the charts open, spreading them out on the sleek wooden desk.

You bite your lip, trying to focus on what you’d just been so invested in, but knowing that Steve is coming…after years of waiting of wanting and loving from a distance with only a handful of phone calls to keep you going…

“I…I’m getting these weird readings. Or Bruce’s equipment was. Tony and I have been mapping the spikes in energy and we’re not exactly sure what they mean but they’re getting close.” You explain, and as you do you find yourself able to focus.

“Tony, he’s-?”

“Gone.” You sigh. “He and Pepper went jogging with Happy in the morning but…then that thing…”

“He didn’t send any distress calls?” Nat wonders.

“No. Pepper said that he was…was on that ship.” Your voice gets tight, worry and grief because what if he never comes back?

“Tony’s a fighter.” Nat’s hand finds its way onto the back of your right shoulder. “He’ll be back in no time.”

You smile at her words, staring at your charts. “Yeah.”

Because you can’t help it, your mind drifts back to Steve.

“Nat, when you said he was on his way-?” You gasp, Nat’s other hand shooting up to your neck as a piercing pinch stings your neck.

“I’m sorry, Y/N. We both know you and you’ll never stay behind willingly.” She explains, her brow drawn close as she frowns at her own actions.

“N-Nat…” You whisper, trying to grab her wrist but you’re already so weak.

You lean into her.

“S-Steve…” You mutter.

“He wants you safe.” Nat explains, just as your vision blacks out.

~~~~~

It takes you too long to make your way down to the first floor of the Compound. People are still rushing about, panicked looks on their faces. Some of them are crying or huddled in corners of the large lobby.

One girl is simply standing, staring out at the front lawn.

There are too few people. That you know.

Where is everyone?

“Hey.” You call to the girl standing by the window. “Hey, what’s going on?”

“They disappeared. They…they just fell…like dust. Like paper…they’re gone.”

“What do you mean they’re gone?” You demand, staring around at the panic before you move around her to plant yourself in front of her. “Hey, what do you mean?”

She looks at you, almost as if she’s seeing you for the first time. Her eyes spill over with tears as she begins to smile then she suddenly realizes something. “I…I need to call my mom.”

She hurries off, and you move outside, staring across the lawn at strange patches of dark ash. There’s so many of them.

As you turn to look back inside, you see the same strange patches around the floor inside the lobby. At the receptionist’s desk, there’s a smattering of the same ash on part of the floor but then the rest is over the desk.

Fear turns your ice into lead. You fist your pockets for your phone, breathing faster and faster until you’re sobbing as you realize that the patches of ash were people. All you can think about is Steve. Nat. Vision. Rhodey.

When you finally manage to pull it out, you dial Steve’s number and wait as the phone rings and rings and rings.

Night comes. People leave the compound. It’s you and your panic and you don’t know how to fly the jet so you can’t take one to Wakanda because you know now that’s where they went.

You fall to pieces on the lawn. Like the ash that surrounds you, you very nearly crumble into nothing as you wait and wait and know that the longer you wait and hear nothing that it’s more and more likely that Steve is gone. Steve has vanished like the rest of these poor souls.

You’re curled up on the ground, clinging to the sanity in you that remains, when the hum of the jet overhead pulls you up.

You jump to your feet, searching the black for the lights, the tiny twinkles of hazards in the night.

When you spot it, your body freezes and you follow its descent with wary eyes. You’re too scared to hope. Too fragile to think that he’s in there only to find out that he’s not.

The ramp slowly descends and he moves towards you, bearded and sweaty and his old uniform is in near tatters and discolored but there’s pink on his cheeks despite the white of his lips and his hair is grimy but long and he looks so perfect that your legs give out on you.

You fall to the ground with relief and you’re sobbing harder than before as Steve runs towards you.

“You’re still here.” He gasps, his voice strained as if he were trying not to fall to pieces like you have.

You know why. The team, what’s left—Nat, Rhodey, Bruce, Thor?, a raccoon?—need him. They need Captain America right now, more than they need Steve Rogers. But as he looks down at you, when you meet his gaze full of relief and gratitude, you know that it’s Steve looking down at you.

“I thought you were gone.” You cry, gasping as you reach up to cling to him.

He wraps you up, hold you tight, and kisses your head as he helps you to your feet.

The next few days pass in a blur of discovery. So many people are gone. The count is endless.

Fury is gone. Maria, who you’d only met a handful of times during your time at S.H.I.E.L.D. is also gone. Pepper comes to stay on the compound, missing Tony so much it breaks her heart every time she looks at his armor.

You try to comfort her as best as you can but you know that until she knows for certain where he is, if he made it, or if he’s gone…nothing will help.

Bruce, Nat, and Steve find a beeper. They don’t know what it does, but Fury had it and it’s sending a signal, so they keep a close eye on it.

The next day it shuts off. Then she shows up. Carol. She brings back Tony and you’re crying again. You’re a mess. Pepper is ecstatic even thought Tony looks like he’s dying.

Carol is strange, but kind mostly. Powerful. You can feel it radiating off her.

Together with Carol they find the guy responsible for the Snap. Thanos.

You want to go with them. You get dressed in your uniform, lightweight deep plum Kevlar, a vest to match. Guns already holstered at your hips.

“What are you doing?” Steve asks, moving to you.

“I’m coming with you.” You stand up.

“No.” He says gently, “Kid…I…”

He takes hold of your biceps and slowly pushes you back down to sit on the end of his bed. He kneels in front of you, settling between your knees. His hands trace the constricted sinew of your arms, squeezing a few times in his need to feel you.

“I need you to stay.” His eyes are imploringly cruel.

“I’m not leaving your side again, Steve.” You argue, the devastation from before beginning to take hold.

“And I can’t take you out there knowing that something might go wrong. You’re too important, Y/N.” He reaches up, cupping the sides of your face as his thumb traces the soft plush of your lips. “I need to know that you’re here, waiting for me. If I have that then I know that I can concentrate on getting back here. To you. To us.”

“Steve…” You beg, knowing that he can’t stay.

It’s not even a question you’re tempted to ask. He must go. You want to go with him.

“When I come back, we’ll really do this. Us. I’m ready for you, kid. Finally.” He smiles, trying to ease the tension but your face is a grimace of heartache. How many times will Steve Rogers tell you goodbye?

“I can’t lose you.” You whisper, desperate to keep from crying.

“You won’t.” He promises. “We’ll get the stones from him, we’ll get everyone back. I’ll come home and you and I…we’ll move out. We’ll get a little apartment and—”

For some reason he hesitates, swallowing hard while bringing his hands down to the soft flesh of your thighs. He squeezes them, sliding his thumbs closer and closer to your core.

“I wanna make love to you and make you mine.” He whispers shyly.

Suddenly nervous but oh, so excited, you slide closer to him.

“Do it now.” You plead, hoping that maybe it’ll keep him here. Keep him home. “Fuck me, Steve. Love me. I want you.”

You’re not playing fair and you don’t care. He also seems to know that you’re highly aware of how cruel this is of you because he huffs a laugh, shaking his head as he slides those large hands back along your hips to rest on your bum.

“I should have known when you coerced me into training you that you’d try and do it again at some point.”

“I had to try.” You shrug.

“Why did it have to take so long for us to get here?” He asks, not really asking you, just wondering.

“Because you’re an idiot.” You remind him. “And I didn’t think you’d want me.”

“I want you.” He assures you, sending your heart into a barrage of flutters, stomach wheeling. “Trust me. But I have to go.”

You lean forward, burying your face against his shoulder.

“And I need you to stay.” He finishes, and you’ll do it. For him. Because he’s so much more broken than he’s let anyone see. Even you.

“Fine.” You pull back. “But hurry back to me, Steve. Because I’ve been waiting almost ten years to have you inside me.”

His cheeks flame but his eyes darken. He leans into you, catching your lips in a searing kiss.

You reach for his waist, fingers knocking into the tools on his belt. One falls, clinks and clatters on the floor.

Pulling back, both of you look down at the small round metallic item.

“What’s that?”

“My compass.” He tells you, reaching down to grab it.

“Can I see it?” You ask him, curious because of the clear shade of age bronzing the metal.

Steve quickly slides it into his pocket. “When I come back, I’ll show it to you.”

“It looks old.”

“It is.” He states simply but rises, pulling you to your feet with him.

“Keep an eye on Tony.” He tells you when you’ve reached the front lawn, the rest of the team already aboard the Benatar.

“Of course.” You nod, giving him a smile instead of the tears you really want to shed.

He leans in towards you one last time, nose to nose, eyes shut. “I love you.”

Just like that, you want to chain him to a chair and keep him here where he can repeat those three words over and over until you die of old age.

“I love you.” You gasp. “So much.”

He pulls away, gives you that signature half smile of his, and for the third time, Steve tells you goodbye.

~~~~~

They come home empty handed. Defeated. Broken. Thor disappears shortly after they come home. Tony and Pepper leave. Bruce does too.

Nat, Carol, Nebula, Rhodey, and Rocket start having meetings, discussing the problems the world is facing. They’ve accepted the truth…no one is coming back.

They’re gone.

Forever.

Steve walks into your shared room. He stops in the doorway, stares at you as you wait for it to hit him. For him to give way and finally shed the weight on his shoulders.

He meets your eyes.

“Steve?”

He smiles, holds his hand out for you, and nods towards the hallway.

“Come on, baby. I need some air.”

Buy Me a Coffee!

Forever Tag List - CLOSED! @jessieray98 @crist1216 @rainbowkisses31 @xxloki81xx @the-wayward-robot @quokkatrash @tiffanynguyen03 @basementcafe @kind-sober-fullydressed @moli1497 @badassbaker @awkwardfangirl2014 @shield-agent78 @supernaturaldean67 @sea040561 @jewelofwinter @this-side-of-midnight5 @sebbystanlover-vk @just4muggles @death-unbecomes-you @lilulo-12 @whosmarisaaarw @hiddles-rose @pandazlazykid @alagalaska @theonelittleone @xlittlestarling @moonlessnight14 @natura1phenomenon @pineapplebooboo @spaghettirogers @dsakita @sincerelytlh @booklover2929 @lovefreylove @just-trying-to-survive-marvel @vulpecula-minor @fallinginlovewithqueue @babytrollgirl @wildefire @fairislesheets @mother-of-fire-snakes @xrosegoldwolfx @queenoftheunderdark @mrsdeanwinchester19 @thefridgeismybestie @mcuwillbethedeathofme @peaceinourtime82 @baebeepeach @teller258316 @juustpeachy420 @libbymouse

Steve Taglist @patzammit @darkdragonpheonix @lostinthoughts23

[everwizard]

The Shepherd and The Innkeeper

Chapter 1: The Shepherd Lad

Word count: 1515

Summary: A shepherd embarks on his journey.

AO3 Link

Roman steps out into the sun. He clutches his crook in one hand and his bag in the other. It’s another day of herding sheep. Not that he was complaining, he loved his flock. They even all had names! There was Charlie, the fat one; Sarah, the eccentric one; David, the small one; and so many more. It would take the better part of the morning for Roman to name them all.

“Roman! Wait!” his mother calls from within their cottage. She exits the humble living space, arms hidden behind her, as her son spins around to face her. “My child, I want you to know that I am so proud of you. Your first migration on your own! Are you excited?”

Of course he was. His whole life has led up to this moment. He has been herding since before he could walk. But by himself? This was the opportunity he has been longing for for ages. Finally independent, free to meet people, do things, and go where his heart—and sheep—lead.

“I am, mom,” he smiles, “I’m positively exhilarated!”

“Good!” his mother cheers. “I’m so excited for you. And, as a present, I made you something.”

“Did you now?” Roman asks, intrigued. “And what might that be?”

His mother reveals her hands from behind her, displaying a bundle wrapped in brown paper. She places it in her son’s hands. He looks at the gift in his hold, and back to his mother. “Go on, open it,” she prompts.

He does so, revealing a bright red knit scarf. Woven in at either end are little golden crown designs and small silver sheep. It is skillfully crafted, the wool hand-dyed the most brilliant crimson Roman had ever seen. “I-I love it.”

Roman’s mother smiles warmly. “I wanted to make you something for your journey that was useful and reminded you of me. A good luck charm. Oh—!”

Roman smothers his mother in a hug. “It’s perfect, mom.”

His mother hugs back.“I’m glad you like it. Hold it close whenever you’re missing me.”

“I will.”

Roman’s mother gives him one more gentle squeeze before releasing him. “Now go. Your future waits,” she chuckles, “and your sheep.”

Roman releases as well, pulling back. “And my sheep.”

“I love you, son, be safe.”

“I will, mom.” Roman puts the scarf around his neck and takes one last look at his mom, his cottage, his home before turning back to his sheep. “Let’s go sheeple! Time to migrate!” A few sheep baa in response. Roman begins leading the flock, guiding any stragglers back to the group.

Roman’s mother watches her son until he fades from view.

Roman has been traveling for a few days. He had just finished taking down camp when he hears a rustling. He pays no mind to it, however, as animals make noises all the time. It was probably just a deer.

He grabs his gear and takes out some bread to eat while he walks. The last piece. He would have to stop in a nearby town for more supplies.

He calls for his sheep, doing a quick headcount as he takes a bite of his food. Once he is certain that no sheep have been left behind, he begins his trek for the day.

The shepherd keeps a keen eye on his flock as they carry on through the vast fields Roman has seen so many times before. Even though this was not his first time to pass through the area, it certainly felt like it was. In the past, he never got the opportunity to take it all in. Now was his chance. To see the beauty of a land most thought plain.

When he looks, really looks, he thinks he could see everything this land had to offer. The grass is a rich emerald with soft white dandelions mixed in. Patches of various wildflowers are scattered throughout. There are bright daisies, vibrant purple heathers, dainty asters, and even delicate edelweiss. Roman could smell the fragrances mixing together with the gentle breeze. He could hear birds singing, the trickling of the stream, and rustling. It truly is a spectacular place.

Once he feels he has taken in all there is to take in, he continues on. Once he has finished his bread, Roman begins singing softly to himself. Some of the closer sheep drift towards Roman. He smiles and sings louder for them to better hear.

He makes up the words as he goes. He is by no means a composer, he is just making something he thinks sounds nice. His flock seems to agree.

He sings for the better part of an hour, imagining himself in a grand performance. He imagines his sheep are his adoring fans and he sings his absolute best for them. They came to see him, after all. Roman gets so caught up in his performance that he does not notice the road sign until it hits him. Or, more like, he hits it.

Roman runs face-first into the sign, knocking him on his rear end. With a groan, he stands and brushes himself off. He adjusts his scarf and takes a look at the sign. According to this, if he followed this road, he would end up in the town of Fernsworth within just a couple hours.

“Fernsworth, huh?” he asks nobody in particular. “Seems like as good a place as any to get some more supplies.” Roman picks up his crook. “Alright, sheep, onward to Fernsworth!”

Roman begins down the beaten path, a determined smile on his face. He does not notice the rustling behind him.

Roman makes sure all his sheep are together before falling to the back of the group to keep an eye on them all. Anytime he sees one start to wander off, he gently nudges them back to the group. No sheep gets left behind.

The town had just come into view when Roman hears the rustling again. “What keeps making that noise? This is like the fifth time today.”

He slinks back to investigate when he hears a low growl to his left. “Oh no. No no no.”

Roman runs towards the source of the growl, only to find nothing in the tall grass. He rises and searches frantically for where the animal went, turning his head back and forth at lightning speed.

He spots a grey blur stalking towards one of his sheep. “No! Not Derek, the lazy one!” he shouts, trying to get the animals attention.

It works.

The animal turns towards him and starts running. It is not until the animal is almost on him that Roman realized what it is. A wolf.

Roman tightens his grip on his crook and jumps out of the wolf’s path. He recovers and charges at the wolf, putting himself between it and the sheep. Roman swings his crook at the wolf’s head, resulting in a hard thud sounding out.

The wolf spins and darts towards Roman. It bears its teeth as it pounces. Roman tries to dodge but the wolf’s claws scratch against Romans cheek.

Roman hits the ground and raises his hand to his cheek, feeling wet blood. He groans and tries to get back up but the wolf jumps on him before he can. It stands on its prey, and Roman can feel its claws digging into his chest.

The wolf’s warm breath grazes Roman’s face as it tries to bite. Roman carefully brings his crook closer and waits for the wolf to go in again. As soon as its mouth opens, Roman shoves the crook in and uses his hands on either side to flip the animal off.

He takes his crook back, scrambling to get up before the wolf can. Before he can, the wolf lunges, biting into his hip. Roman lets out a cry of pain and jabs wildly at the wolf, hoping to hit something painful.

He makes contact with the wolf’s eye. It releases with a whine. Roman uses this opportunity to stand. He swings his crook with all his strength at the wolf’s head. There is a crack as the crook snaps in two.

The wolf is left in a daze and Roman uses this chance to drive the splintered wood into the wolf’s shoulder, its blood spraying his hand. He did not want to kill the wolf, only make sure it could not pursue.

Roman wipes the blood on his shirt and grabs the curved side of the crook. He sprints to his sheep, making sure to grab them all and lead them to the town. He turns back towards the wolf just in time to see it run off in the opposite direction, piece of crook sticking out of it.

The danger passed, Roman’s adrenaline levels return to normal and he pushes himself, and his sheep, to the closest building in town.

His breathing is laboured as he slumps against the door of a large stone building. He knocks weakly on the door. A moment later, he sees a tall figure open the door before he passes out.

[shadedrose01]

Burning Hope

Ship: none. Parental/Paternal relationship between Tony Stark and Harley Keener

Summary: Tony goes to visit a boy that he met, and discovers something he shouldnt.

Tags: Alternate Universe - Medieval, medieval times, Knight Tony Stark, Future King Tony Stark, Kid Harley Keener, Even though hes not named at all during the fic, Its him i promise, Magic, Magic-Users, Alternate Universe - Magic, Mages, Mage Harley Keener, I'm Bad At Tagging, I'm Bad At Summaries, Febufluff, Day 20, Butterflies, Fire, Magical Fire, pyrokinesis, Pyrokinetic Harley Keener, Cliffhangers, Badish ending?, Unhappy Ending, sorry :/ - Freeform, Tony Stark Acting As Harley Keener's Parental Figure

Day 20 of Febufluff: "Butterflies"!

Part 2 of the "Devil's Backbone" series

Note: This is apart of my Devils Backbone series. There is a oneshot already written that's apart of this series, but you do not need to read that to understand this one. This fic happens way before that one does, in the past. You can read that oneshot here, but please be mindful of the tags if you do <3

Also this is really bad (especially compared to the oneshot), I'm sorry.

--

Tony walks towards the stables, the tall grass surrounding him swaying into the light summer breeze, and crunching under his weight. His horse, Friday, a beautiful tall brown horse with a blotch of white on his nose, nickers to him in greeting, Tony running a hand up and down her face in response, from her muzzle to her forehead. He takes one last glance at the sky, seeing the sun blazing down on them from the middle of the sky, before he gets to work.

He grabs his leather, hand sewed saddle made for him by his lovely wife, and heaves it into place on Friday's back, making sure its snug into place, before checking the knapsack he had brought with him, ensuring hed have everything he needed for the remainder of the day. Water for him, and some extra, some arrows, some string, some rope, a sewing kit just in case and strung over his back, two separate bows, one significantly smaller than the other. One he had created, hand crafted just the other night. With everything checked off his mental list, he slings the sack over his shoulder, opens the gate in front of Friday, and saddles up onto her, his muscles straining with the effort, even after the countless times he's done this.

He gives her a squeeze of his thighs, and she on the move, galloping out of the stable and towards the town with a steady trot. He passes the stone houses quickly, giving a wave or two to the few people that recognized him, before picking up the pace as they ride towards the woods, towards the edge of the territory.

Towards where a small, rickety straw and mud house stood, cracked and old, deteriorating with time and age. Towards where a little boy stayed, all by his lonesome.

He shouldnt be going this way, shouldn't be getting involved, getting attached the way that he is. He should have left it alone when he found the boy a few days prior, on a random excursion of the edges of the territory. He should have let natural selection take it's course, no matter how cruel it could be. Hell, he didnt even know the kid's name. But, there was something tugging at Tony, twisting up his insides every time he thought about leaving the poor boy alone, to die no less, and it overwhelmed him. He felt compelled to help, felt the knowledge of knowing, knowing that this boy no older than twelve years of age had a part to play in the future of their kingdom, that he had a destiny of some sort. He could feel it, feel it with all of his heart, in the depths of his bones as if God himself had whispered it in his ear, written it into his heart, and sealed it into his brain.

So, he kept returning to the boy, to the house at the edge of the woods, of the world, getting attached to someone he should have never known, hoping that one day he'll understand why. Why he had been lead there, why he had stumbled upon the boy, why he continued to help. Until then, though, he will continue on the path God laid out for him and put his faith into His hands, knowing He would never steer him wrong.

He pulls back on the reins, Friday slowing to a stop as they pull up on the old, worn down structure, the wind whistling through the cracks and holes. He dismounts the beast, rubbing and patting her as he tells her to stay. She shakes her head, puffing air out of her nose in response, as if the idea insults her, making Tony snort in amusement as he walks past her, glancing through the cracks as he goes.

He freezes as soon as he does, eyes widening before he rushes through the door, the creaking wooden slab slamming against the wall, splintering as Tony gapes at the mystical scene in front of him.

What has to be about a hundred or more butterflies are scattered around the room, their wings, their bodies, their being made of a neon, artificial blue fire, flooding the room with harsh light and a sweltering heat. Some are perched around the room, around the structure, but more are flying, flying in some sort of cyclone, some sort of tornado formation, practically swarming around one central point in the middle of the room. One person, one kid sat in the middle of the building, sitting on his legs, eyes closed in concentration, hands held out in a cupping gesture, holding a ball of flames, of fire in his small, small childlike hands.

As soon as the bang of the door echoes, the kid flinches harshly, head swiveling to stare with wide, bright, neon eyes, neon eyes that Tony's only seen a few times, only seen on- no, no he couldn't be a- couldnt be- and all of the butterflies flare up, their flames growing brighter, stronger, before they disappear completely, flickering out into flairs are fade as soon as their formed, the flame engulfing his hands disappearing to. Kid's mouth drops, and he rushes to stand, hiding his hands behind his back and looking absolutely terrfied. "M-Mr. Stark! What- What are you-?"

"You're a mage." He breathes out, his mind reeling with this new information, and the kid flinches back as if stricken, his lighter blue eyes (but not neon blue, not anymore, that having left when the butterflies did, when the magic did) widening even further, looking like the ceramic plates his wife had gotten Peter was born, around eight years ago.

"N-no, I'm not!"

Tony narrows his eyes at the smaller boy, only afew years older than his son seemingly, incredulously. "I saw you, child. With your magic, the butterflies, the- the fire!" He flairs his arms out. "I saw it! I saw it all. You truly expect me to ignore it, and pretend I saw nothing? This is-" he runs a hand through his hair, and starts to pace slightly. "Dangerous, child, this is dangerous! If the town caught whiff of you, much less the guard-"

"Don't tell anyone!" The kid blurts, his eyes looking like oceans, swimming with clear tears and flooded with petrifying fear. "Please, you can't! Momma said if-if anyone finds out, they'll-they'll-" He sobs, his tiny body shuttering, sniffling as hands press up into his face, wiping away the liquid now running down his face. "I'm sorry! I wont do it again, ill- I'll try to control it- I swear!"

Tony feels a rush of adrenaline, a parental, paternal urge rearing his head until Tony's moving forward before he can think, kneeling in front of the trembling child and shushing him gently. "Hey, hey, it's okay, it's alright."

He carefully grabs at the boys hands, covering in dirt and filth, all scuffed and scabbed up, covered in cuts and scrapes, fingernails black, and, ignoring the flinch the boy gives, slowly pries them away from his face, similarly dirt ridden, his entire face marked with brown's and blacks, the only clear part of his face being the trails of tears still running down his face. He looks him dead in the eye, and, even though his mind is screaming at him, says firmly "I won't tell anyone, I promise."

Won't tell anyone?? Is he mad? He needs to tell someone, he's about to become a part of the royal guard! He has to tell the soldiers, the knights, the king, it's a part of the law, now, it's what he's supposed to do, as a man soon to be knighted-

But he can't. He knows he can't, as he feels this fierce wave of protection for this child he doesn't know, this child that isn't his, as he feels the same foreboding feeling as before, as he feels, knows, that this is what hes supposed to do, that this is what's right.

Especially when hope brightens the kids baby blue eyes, the raging storm brewing behind his irises turning into a calm, overcast summers day, and a smile grows wide on his face. "Really?!? You won't tell 'em?"

Tony shakes his head, giving the kid a small smile as he rebrates himself internally, before suddenly letting out a huff as the kid practically knocks him over, embracing him tightly, his tiny, lithe fingers grasping the back of Tony's tunic with a strong hold, almost ripping it in his excitement. "Thank you, thank you, Mr. Stark!"

Tony's nose scrunches up as soon as the kids stench waves over him, but he ignores it, choosing to wrap one arm around the kid's back, patting it awkwardly, feeling his jutting bones through the big, loose shirt the boy is wearing. Over his shoulder, Tony watches as another butterfly forms, the blue fire lighter, wispier than the others were earlier, watches as he flaps its wings a few times in front of his face, the flames licking at his nose, his chin, before it takes flight, flying around the pair once, twice before sprialing upwards and squeezing through one of the cracks in the foundation, flying away, its neon flames blending into the sky.

Tony's smile widens at the unconscious act, at the innocence and purity of it, and wonders, wonders why people believe magic is so bad, why mages are so awful, when they can create beauty like that, at the snap of their fingers, without even a second thought? He wonders, and throws his other arm around the kid, fully embracing him, holding onto the warmth of the moment for a few seconds longer, while he still can. While he still has hope.

A few days later, Tony is send to war, serving his kingdom as a knight. A few months later, he comes home a king, the memory of warmth, of butterflies and of hope vanished like a dream.

[ashesandhalefire]

we had it (almost)

michael guerin x alex manes canon compliant pre-1.09

---

As a rule, Michael tries to avoid injecting himself into the business of the town beyond the property limits of Sander’s Auto, the Wild Pony, or Foster Ranch. If he can’t earn himself a paycheck, get a stiff drink, or find somewhere quiet to hide out during the long hours of insufferably lonely nights, he figures he shouldn’t let the problems of Roswell weigh on his shoulders.

 That’s been his policy for over a decade, so when he notices a strange light in the window of a closed storefront on his way home, he has every intention of minding his own business. The town’s rising larceny rate is only partially his fault, and he has no responsibility to look after the vagrants he comes across at two in the morning. Leave that to Max and his badge and his hero complex. Michael has a mattress and a pillow and a second bottle of acetone calling his name.

 The traffic light turns red at the end of the block, and he drums his fingers as he waits at the empty intersection. Glancing back towards the window is mostly an accident. Honestly, it wouldn’t surprise him to find the old members of Wyatt Long’s high school posse breaking and entering. They have enough money to buy their ways out of whatever trouble they land in, and they’ve been fidgety since Long took a bullet to the leg. They rove like hyenas, slobbering and mangey and stupid. Destruction of property would be very on-brand for them. But when he looks, he doesn’t see anyone in the shadows. It’s a cool, clear night, but the only thing illuminated by the large swaths of moonlight is the marque on the building.

 Roswell’s UFO Emporium.

Grant Green’s perpetual construction project has sat untouched in the center of town for just under six years. Town supervisors had been livid when construction began just before the height of tourist season, but Grant had assured them everything would be settled in a few months. Bigger and better, he had promised. At the time, Michael had bitterly hoped an electrical mishap might burn the place to the ground, so he’s more than a little confused when he instinctively pulls into a quick U-turn the second the traffic light turns green again. He parks at the curb and takes a deep breath.

 The museum was defunct by the time Grant got his hand on it. Even on its best days, it hadn’t turned much of a profit. It was the kind of place people wandered into when they were looking for a way to escape the triple-digit temperatures, but it hardly received glowing reviews. No doubt Grant planned on using it more as a recruitment center for his delusional followers than anything else. Now, it’s only a matter of time before the town claims the property rights from his estate.

 In a few months, after fresh paint goes up over a new layer of drywall and somebody replaces the old incandescent lightbulbs, the museum will open, lazily refurbished as a more lucrative tourist trap. Any damage done by a few trespassers will be patched and forgotten.

 Still, Michael idles his truck at the curb.

 With a scowl, he reminds himself that sentimentality has gotten him nowhere lately. It got him a couple of decent kisses and a few nights of sex that didn’t end with bloodshed or an acetone binge, but the net gain at the end was heartache and disappointment. He should go home.

 He looks over at the building, twisting his hands mercilessly around the steering wheel. The stupid sign still hanging in the window of the ticket booth says “I’ve been abducted! Back in 5.” One of the chains that should be holding the front doors closed dangles uselessly from the metal handle.

 Michael swears, ripping the keys out of the ignition, and shoves his way out of the car.

 The UFO museum never inspired warm and fuzzy feelings. Most of the exhibits were grossly inaccurate, and the display descriptions all took on alarmist tones that made planet-wide invasions sound inevitable. He still gets a particularly troubling feeling in his stomach when he thinks about the room with the interactive dissection display. The dummy was six feet long and bright neon-green with three fingers on each hand and a head shaped like a spade, but the way its foam flesh had been peeled away from its chest cavity still sends shivers down his spine when he thinks about it. Children, two at a time, had been allowed to reach inside and squeeze the fake organs, coating their hands with green blood the consistency of papier-mâché paste. The first time he saw it, on a middle school field trip, he had run to the bathroom to throw up. Isobel told everyone it was because he ate too many chicken fingers at lunch, and one of Kyle Valenti’s friends joked that foster kids always got too excited about free meals.

 But there was one day—one hour—when it was his favorite place in the world.

 Tucked away in the back room with hands on his face and his shoulders and his back, he had felt potential stretch out infinitely in every direction. There was a whole summer to plan, and it wasn’t difficult to imagine sitting in the alleyway behind the building to share sandwiches on lunch breaks or loitering in the empty exhibits on slow days or riding out into the desert after closing and taking time to pick out fake constellations in the real stars. For the first time, his future wasn’t about escape.

 The room is probably an empty shell of damaged drywall and scratched floors now, all the exhibits taken out and moved to Grant’s warehouse, and the energy of that afternoon had burned out and died by nightfall of the same day. Potential scattered in the breeze like ash. Everything changed. Still, the idea of Wyatt Long’s drunken friends littering the place with beer cans and pissing in the corners to cure their boredom makes his jaw twitch. The museum doesn’t belong to them.

 When he slips inside, everything is darker and quieter than he expected. There’s no sign of anybody having been in the deconstructed lobby, and an eerie silence seems to inhabit the rest of the building. Drunken vandals wouldn’t be nearly so stealthy, and that should be enough to satisfy him, give him leave to turn around and go home, but the curiosity wins out. Somebody wanted to get inside badly enough to risk standing on the street to pick the chain lock. The only thing Michael thinks might be worth stealing in here is the copper wiring, which would require breaking open the walls, and that wouldn’t be this quiet either.

 Listening for any signs of movement, Michael creeps forward, working his way between the forgotten sawhorses, and checks the room on the right that used to be the gift shop. A faint bit of moonlight streams through the front corner of the window where the newspaper has peeled back with age, and he runs a fingertip over the dusty glass countertop. It used to be filled with poorly-designed plush and cheap plastic necklaces with almond-shaped heads on them. Now, it’s just empty glass cabinetry waiting to be demolished.

 He should be glad to see the kitsch go, but he isn’t. It leaves him feeling unsettled.

 The old manager’s office on the other side of the foyer is undisturbed in its abandonment, and Michael drums his fingers lightly against the wall as he makes his way deeper into the building. The first exhibit room is completely empty, and it’s swallowed in shadows without the light from the front windows. He presses forward, gently nudging obstacles out of the way with a jerk of his chin. The second and third rooms are crammed tight with piles of garbage that was never removed, and he tries to ignore the way that gnaws at him. He works his way past the broken drywall and splintered two-by-fours, careful to avoid the exposed nails and razor-sharp remnants of display cases, and then a soft click echoes from through a doorway on the left. A soft glow from inside guides him the rest of the way across the room.

 When he peers around the corner, two thoughts occur simultaneously: it isn’t who he was expecting, and it never would have been anyone else.

 “Remind me again which one of us is supposed to be the criminal,” Michael says after a deep breath, and it’s a little satisfying to watch Alex startle. His crutch hits the side of an overturned spackle bucket, sending it skittering loudly across the floor, and he winces at how the sound echoes in the empty room. Alex has his own phone sitting face-down on a crate, and the flashlight splashes a dull circle of light onto the ceiling.

 When the stillness settles over them again, Michael cross his arms and leans against the wall. The acetone he slipped into his drinks at the bar has officially worn off, which means the ache in his hand will return soon. It’s a constant, dull pain. With enough acetone in his system, it fades to the background like the hum of the electric wires or Grant Green’s alien podcasts, Roswell’s special brand of white noise. Eyes raking over Alex’s rumpled sweatpants and half-zipped hoodie, he thinks he feels the beginnings of twinges radiating from his wrist down into his pinky.

 Finally, Alex licks his lips and asks, “What are you doing here?”

 “Really?” Michael raises an eyebrow. “I’m the one who just caught you breaking and entering.”

 Lifting his chin defiantly, Alex squares his shoulders. “Well, unless somebody gave you a key, you’re breaking and entering, too.”

 “You did all the breaking,” Michael says with a shrug. “I just entered.”

 “That’s still trespassing.” Cocking his head, Alex says, “You do know that criminal records aren’t bingo cards, right? There’s no prize for filling in all the rows.”

 Alex’s new mean streak is a delicious twist on his high school sarcasm, and Michael leans into it without meaning to. He likes when Alex pulls his hair, too. “Actually,” he says, “I’m in the process of executing a citizen’s arrest, so I think the sheriff’s department will let this one slide.”

 “Doubtful.”

 Michael clicks his tongue. “I have an in with one of the deputies.”

 “I hope you don’t mean Max.”

 “God, no,” Michael scoffs. “He’d be first in line with the handcuffs.”  

 That earns him a small lift at the corner of Alex’s mouth, and some of the stiffness in his spine eases away. Michael feels his own shoulders relax. Every interaction with Alex has been wrought with tension, and he wants desperately for this night to not end in a fight.

 “Aren’t you staying out of town these days?”

 Shuffling around an overfilled trash can, Alex works his way forward.

 “I couldn’t sleep,” he admits with a shrug. He flexes his grip around the handle on his crutch and averts his eyes. The shadows on his face sit heavily beneath his eyes, and Michael frowns.

 “Most people would try warm milk first,” he says. “Or Ambien. Trespassing doesn’t usually make the list of top five insomnia remedies.”

 “Then consider it my last resort.”

 With an indelicate hop, Alex hefts himself up onto the crate in the middle of the room and settles his crutch between his knees. His cell phone sits behind him, plunging him into pure silhouette, and Michael steps farther into the room. Purple Heart Airman Alex Manes is not the kind of man to drive across town in the middle of the night in order to break into a construction site. But this isn’t just any construction site.

 “Why would you want to come here?” Michael asks. Alex stares silently at his hands, and Michael taps the toe of his boot against a stack of two-by-fours. “It’s not exactly—”

 “Don’t play dumb,” Alex interrupts, looking up sharply. “I’m not in the mood. You know why I would come here.”

 It hangs heavily between them.

 Alex had been swift and decisive when he ended things at the drive-in, leaving no room for interpretation. But it also hadn’t been the first time he walked away, so Michael can’t be entirely surprised to be stumbling into the middle of his late-night backslide. The pattern repeats again, a twisted version of an unhappy ending that hurts more than never having him in the first place.

 With a huff, he hops up onto the crate beside Alex. It groans beneath their combined weights but holds firm, and he claps his hands down on his knees.

“Look around, Alex. Everything that made this place what it was? It’s long gone,” Michael says. The wall to the left is where the model UFO hung, backlit by a wall of twinkling little lights. It’s half-torn out sheetrock now. “Whatever you’re looking for, it’s not here. Not anymore.”

 Alex shakes his head. “That’s not how it works. This place doesn’t just stop being important—” He breaks off, tapping his crutch against the ground. Michael watches him swallow. “Never mind. You obviously don’t— forget it.”

 Scoffing, Michael leans back and looks at the ceiling. The only reason he even walked through the front door was because of some desperate need to protect the memories living in the walls. But he never loved the cheesy UFO museum. In the years since Alex left town, he never felt himself drawn back to the building itself. Even before Grant took the exhibits out, Michael never felt there was anything inside for him. It’s strange that now, when Alex is finally on the same continent—in the same town, in the same room—he felt drawn to it. Or maybe it isn’t strange at all.

 “I try not to think about that day,” Michael says. It’s a truth and a lie at the same time, and it’s much bigger than a secret kiss or a shattered hand. At first, everything had bled together for him. He couldn’t think about the cave without thinking about the toolshed without thinking about the museum. When he closed his eyes, he saw burning cars and the curve of Alex’s naked hip and his own blood all at the same time. But his mind has worked miracles compartmentalizing that day. Certain parts have never left him. Others are best forgotten.

 Alex spins his crutch in his hands and says, “I think about that day all the time.”

 “I’ll bet. I hear PTSD is a bitch.”

 “Actually, it was one of the best days of my life.”

 Michael scoffs. “Shit, Alex. That’s not saying much for your life.”

 “Don’t do that.” Alex frowns.

 “Do what?”

 “Don’t minimize it.” Wringing his hands, Alex keeps his eyes fixed on his lap. “I’m not stupid, alright? We only had a few hours, and I’m not delusional enough to think— I know what it was. But you have no idea what it meant to me.” His voice wavers, and Michael feels frozen on the spot. The ten lost years have reduced them to unfamiliar strangers, and sometimes it feels like they don’t even speak the same language anymore. They hadn’t needed to say much to each other for things to things to fall into place the first time. It hasn’t been nearly as easy on their second—third, fourth, fifth, he loses count—try.

 Alex takes a deep breath and turns away, offering the rest of his confession to the empty room.

 “You were mine when I didn’t have anything else. And I know— I know how it ended. I know what it cost you. But you’ll never understand what it meant to me to have you for as long as I did.”

 Heart in his throat, Michael stares at the darkened silhouette of Alex’s profile.

 A few weeks ago, he stood in front of Alex and laid himself bare entirely by accident. I never look away. Not really. Alex had seemed surprised and then pleasantly flustered, but Michael had assumed it was because of how much time had passed. Ten years is a long time for a heart to stay alone someplace, just waiting to carry on, but Alex had admitted to it first. Alex had reopened the door.

 But he doesn’t sound like a man who understands how pathetically Michael has wanted him.

 With Max’s voice still whispering in his ear, Michael bites back, You still have me.

 It isn’t the sort of promise that can be a comfort to Alex now. Michael isn’t really what he wants anymore, isn’t what he remembers having. He isn’t that boy from the back of the truck that just wanted a safe place to sleep. Or maybe, somewhere deep down, he still has it in him to be that soft, but he’s built up a layer of callous and scar tissue on the outside that makes him unrecognizable.

 I can’t be with a criminal, Alex had said, and he hadn’t even known the half of it.

 Max was right when he said that they couldn’t be with the people they love. And still, he’s angry at Alex for the way he’s been hurt, and it makes him feel like an idiot. He hates that the two contradictory truths can live inside him so easily. Like a trap getting angry at a bear for being wary, he resents Alex for running away while hating himself for being undeserving of keeping him.

 It says a lot about Michael that his greatest regret is not letting Alex kiss him the first time he tried.

 Alex takes a shuddering breath suddenly, head ducked low, and rubs a hand against the back of his neck. He seems embarrassed, curling in on himself like it can erase his admission. Leaning closer, Michael bumps their shoulders together to stop his retreat.

 “You know,” he says, “you and me getting together was kind of, like, the most romantic thing that’s ever happened in this town.”

 “Fuck off.”

 “I’m serious,” Michael insists when he catches the bitterness in Alex’s tone. He isn’t trying to tease him, and he doesn’t want Alex to think he doesn’t appreciate the weight of what happened between them. “It was like a movie.”

 “Are you incapable of sincerity, or do you just enjoy being an asshole?”

 “I don’t know. Do you enjoy expecting the worst of me?”

 Alex kicks his heels against the side of the crate. “We made out under the UFOs for ten minutes, and then you went to wait at The Crashdown until my shift ended. If that’s the most romantic thing that’s ever happened in this town, the population should be dwindling. People should be fleeing.”

 “I wanted to wait with you,” Michael reminds him. “You wouldn’t let me into the booth.”

 “I was trying to be subtle.”

 Michael rolls his eyes. “There was nothing subtle about that eyeliner. Or the nose ring.”

 “You didn’t mind.”

 “No,” Michael says. “I didn’t.”

 Alex turns towards him, still mostly a silhouette, and licks his lips.

 “No,” he breathes. “You didn’t.”

 A beat passes between them, and Michael’s breath catches in his chest as the realization settles over his shoulders like a heavy blanket. Alex loves him. He’s suddenly surer of it than anything else in his life, and heat rushes to his cheeks. It should be a pleased flush from his racing heart, but his stomach twists with misery as he stares at Alex’s shadowed face. Alex loves him. Alex has always loved him, maybe, for reasons neither of them can fully explain. They could have been happy. If things had just been a little different, they could have been happy.

 The light disappears suddenly as Alex’s phone dies.

 Michael stares out into the dark to where he knows Alex is, and then he lets his eyes drift shut just long enough to steel himself.

 “I guess that’s our cue,” Alex sighs.

 “Yeah, I think I’m parked next to a hydrant,” Michael says, clearing his throat as he slips off the crate. He rolls his shoulders, trying to settle the rippling tension radiating down his back, and then holds out a hand to help Alex back to his feet. “Can’t afford another ticket.”

 “I thought you had an in with the deputies.” Alex dusts off the back of his jeans and then returns his hand to the crook of Michael’s arm as he adjusts his crutch. Michael figures it’s the steadiest influence he’s has ever had on Alex.

 “We both know that was bullshit. Come on. Let’s try to get out of here without killing ourselves.”

 Alex fists a hand into the back of Michael’s shirt as they pick their way through the dark, and Michael adjusts himself to the task of subtly moving obstacles out of their way without being able to see what he’s moving. They make it to the first exhibit room, less than a hundred feet from freedom, and then Alex loops his fingers loosely around Michael’s wrist.

 “Guerin.”

 The word is a whisper against the back of his neck, and the hand slips off his wrist and finds his hip instead. Alex curls his arm around Michael’s waist, and he presses himself forward until the lines of their bodies curve together seamlessly.

 This part always comes so easily to them. It’s the rest that gets messy.

 Alex nudges his nose against the knob at the base of Michael’s neck, and he splays his hand wide across the middle of Michael’s chest. Body flushing, Michael lets his eyes drift shut as he relaxes against Alex’s warmth. Alex inspires stillness in him that he imagines total peace is meant to feel like, but he knows it’s only the eye of a hurricane. The rest of the storm still rages around them.

 “We can’t,” Michael exhales.

 Pressing his mouth to the curve of Michael’s shoulder, Alex hums. “Why not?”

 There are so many answers, all of them true.

 He can imagine the seductive tilt of Alex’s head as he leans forward, and he can imagine the anxious hunch of his shoulders in the morning light as he slinks out of the Airstream before anyone notices where he spent the night. If Michael closes his eyes, he sees sweaty strands of Alex’s hair sticking to his forehead and spread out on a pillowcase as easily as he sees the angry sneer of disgust that will follow Michael laying his secrets bare.

 The truth is that Michael is a coward. He won’t survive having and losing Alex again.

 “Because I love you.”

 Without the light from Alex’s phone, all they are to each other is shapes in the dark.

 It’s fitting, considering how lost Michael feels navigating the foreign terrain of an emotion this elusive. Anger is easy. He’s seen enough anger manifested in front of him to know exactly what it is. It’s curled fists and free-flying hands and bared teeth and acidic vitriol that seeks out a person’s soft spots and eats away at the tender flesh until he’s crippled by it. It’s ugly and familiar. But Michael has never been loved. He doesn’t know what it’s supposed to look like. All he knows is that being with Alex makes him feel still. It changes the energy in the air, slows the vibrating chaos inside him, and splits him at his loosely-patched seams when it’s over.

 He’s never said those words before.

 “I love you,” Michael repeats into the dark, and he reaches down to cover Alex’s hand with his own. His scarred fingers ache as they twine. The bones don’t bend like they should, and most of the strength is gone, but this feels like the last chance he’ll get to hold Alex’s hand. Distantly, it occurs to him that this is also the first time he’s ever held Alex’s hand. “And it’s too easy to think it can still be like it was.”

 Alex shuffles forward. “Guerin—”  

 When Alex finds out, he’ll hate Michael like he deserves.

 Michael has never given a damn about the people of Roswell because they never gave a damn about him. A decade in foster care taught him that humans can’t be depended on for anything more than consistent disappointment. He survived just long enough to get himself out, and he did it without help from anybody. Then things went sideways, and then then things turned upside down, and then everything got blown to hell.

 He spent the summer after senior year telling himself new truths. He repeated them like a mantra until they were fully incorporated into him. Katie Long was an asshole, just like her brother, and so was Jasmine. Rosa Ortecho was an on-and-off crackhead on a long road to nowhere. If not them on a slab in the morgue, then Isobel, Max, and himself on gurneys in a secret government facility, locked away somewhere nobody would hear them scream.

 Reality is too terrible to bear if those aren’t his truths. That day, what he is became inextricably linked to what he did, and it can never be undone. There are no apologies to offer. Besides, it spiraled out towards disaster more horribly than any of them could have ever imagined, so even their apologies wouldn’t have mattered. There’s no forgiveness, no absolution, and he would do it again in a heartbeat, if given the choice. Sometimes that feels like the worst part.

 Still, knowing that the people of Roswell would hate him for what he is and what he’s done doesn’t mean much. He’s had years to practice turning his own guilt inside out, and he doubts that public opinion would weigh too heavily on him. The more pressing concern has always been discovery, capture, and the inevitability of experimentation. Fear of being strapped to a table, of hearing Max and Isobel scream through a vivisection, the worst word he ever learned, is a more persuasive motivator than anything else.

 But when Alex finds out, he’ll hate Michael like he deserves, and Michael will feel every ounce of it.

 That, in itself, is all the evidence he needs to know that he isn’t a good man.

 It’s unlikely that their DNA has corrupted them or that they carried murderous instincts halfway across the galaxy, but their hands are soaked in blood from what they did and they will leave fingerprints on everything they touch. Max may have found his way to that conclusion in a heap of self-pitying misery, but Michael hasn’t been able to find a flaw in his logic. Always terrified of being unloved, they have made themselves unlovable.

 Alex has suffered plenty at the hands of people pretending to be good men. Michael can’t stomach being just another in a long line of betrayals. If the best Michael can do now is stay away, it should be enough to redeem some small part of him that remembers an Alex who just wanted to be safe.

 “It doesn’t have to be what it was,” Alex finally says, voice unbearably soft. “It can be new.”

 Michael pulls their hands up to his mouth and presses a kiss to the center of Alex’s palm.

 One day, Alex will have to ask himself what it means to be loved by a monster. He will think back on every time that Michael touched him with softness and reverence and wonder what it means that someone so drenched in horror could look at him and want so desperately. If he asked, Michael would tell him that it means he embodies the best of what lesser men want for themselves: bravery, integrity, and an unyielding capacity for kindness. But Alex won’t ask. Instead, he’ll consider every time he walked away and wonder why he came back. He’ll scrub himself raw trying to get rid of an invisible stain. He’ll thank saints he barely believes in for the narrow miss of almost that Michael will cherish for the rest of his life.

 “We can’t.”

 “Guerin—”

 Alex isn’t the type to beg, so Michael is entirely unprepared to feel the grip around his waist tighten in protest. He holds himself shock-still, terrified to hear what Alex will say to change his mind and what he’ll need to say to protect himself from it. But Alex doesn’t say anything else. He just squeezes his fingers around Michael’s gnarled hand and draws a long inhale through his nose.

 Then, Alex lets go, and, for the first time, Michael is the one who runs.

[aurora-the-kunoichi]

Here is the final installment for the story I wrote for my friend @blossom-skies. I hope you enjoy it! Warning: Smut! Meeting Ms Jones Part Five – Final Jen glared at the man who had ruined her life, her tail slowly enclosing around his neck extinguishing his oxygen inch by inch. His eyes wide with terror he couldn’t pull them from her face all the while his fingers tried in vain to pry the death grip of her tail from his throat. “You’re going to change me back Stockman, or I’ll rip the spine from your body. Do I make myself clear?” She growled with distain bringing his face inches from hers. Unable to form words the flailing scientist nodded quickly now gasping frantically for air. A large hand rested on Jen’s shoulder reminding her she wasn’t alone in this tense standoff. Keeping Baxter Stockman in her clutches Jen turned to see the four battered and bleeding turtles standing behind her along with their sensei and her disoriented brother. “It’s ok Jen, let him go.” Splinter’s soothing voice cut through the haze of her rage making the grip of her tail loosen just enough to let the mad scientist a reprieve of much needed air. Looking up to Leo’s bloody face for guidance he nodded in silent agreement. As her tail lowered the man to solid ground Jen let out a shaky breath feeling the adrenaline wane from her body. She suddenly felt so tired but she couldn’t imagine what the turtles were feeling. Her gaze traveled over them now taking account of each bloody gash and bruise that covered their bodies. Leo’s one closed eye was so caked in blood she was unsure if itself had been damaged or if the over flow from the wound above spilled over to seal it shut? Seeing his blue mask stained with his own blood was heart wrenching. “Jen let him go I have him.” Jen’s head snapped around feeling Stockman’s body jerk around in her tails grip to find Casey trying to pry the remainder of her tail from around his neck. Jen allowed her brother’s hands to release the man and she returned her vision to the four brothers a few feet from her and their master who was just before them, a warm smile softening his old features. The old rat’s furry hand came out gathering Jen’s now trembling one in his, “My dear child.” He started urging her to kneel to his level which she quickly obliged. “I told you to stay behind..” Jen started to try and defend herself but the old rat lifted his hand halting her response. “Be as it may, I am thankful you did not listen. If it wasn’t for you following us here we all would no doubt be at the mercy of this madman. Your skills were on full display today showing me you have some natural tendencies for self defense. I have a feeling your brother has helped you with that. Along with these new abilities that are coming to light you are a formidable force.” Master Splinter watched Casey beam with pride over his sister. “Master Splinter?” Donnie interrupted resting his hand on his sensei’s shoulder. “I called Rebecca they should be here any minute. Casey will you take Sensei home, it think this has been enough excitement for him for one day.” Splinter eyed his tallest son contemplating his options, he hated leaving his sons in such poor shape but he knew they would be worrying about him if he stayed here so taking a distraction from the equation would ease the situation. Finally agreeing he nodded and turned to Casey who was dividing his attention between Jen and Master Splinter. Jen could see the inner turmoil coursing through her brother, “Its ok Casey. I’m fine I’ll be back when we’re finished with the police.” Letting out a frustrated puff of air Casey handed over the struggling Stockman to Raphael before ushering the old rat from the destroyed room. It took five more minutes for the doors to burst open filling the room with swat and the chief of police. The members of swat left the turtles alone and began to gather up the unconscious bodies strewn about. Two of them snapped handcuffs on Stockman and removed him from the red brute’s custody. “So this is Jones’ sister. I see Stockman did get his hands on you.” Rebecca moved through the chaos and came up to Jen looking her up and down. “Donnie called me when it happened I’m sorry we couldn’t do anything sooner. Everything happened so fast and by the time we got here he removed everything that incriminated him. Now we have surveillance and proof, he’ll be going away for a long time but not until he comes up with a way to chance you back to normal.” “Thank you, I really appreciate it. This would have been a horrible experience if it wasn’t for these four.” Jen gestured to the four tired brothers behind her. “They took me into their home kept be safe and comfortable until I can be returned back to normal. I can never thank them enough.” Rebecca the chief of police laughed and smiled warmly at the turtles. “Yes they are pretty amazing. They have helped us numerous times and hope we continue to rely on each other in the future.” After everything was concluded at Stockman’s lab, Donnie and Jen took back the van she brought and Leo, Raph and Mikey took back the garbage truck. After what felt like forever they were safely back in the lair and they all made their way into Donnie’s lab were Splinter and Casey were waiting to tend to the turtles various wounds. One after the other the four took showers cleaning away the caked blood and gore. Casey took special care making sure Jen’s minor scratches were bandaged properly. When all was said and done only Leo required stitches for the gash above his eye. Donnie was the only one to help with that but Jen stayed close watching the leader wince with each puncture of his green flesh by the needle. Donnie disinfected the wound and placed a large white bandage over the newly closed wound and released him from his lab. That night Jen lay in bed staring at the ceiling unable to fall asleep. The day’s events kept running through her head. She kept thinking of Stockman and his concoction that changed her life. She was Chameleon and alligator, she should be horrified and disgusted but she found herself surprisingly at peace with it. She knew Stockman was a scared little man and would do what he promised and chance her back but part of her wasn’t in any hurry. The past few weeks down here getting to know the turtles had been an eye opening experience. They were considered freaks, and would be shunned if they were found out by the world but in all reality they were more human than most people she knew. Each of them were amazing in their own way with wonderful personalities. When her mind finally wandered to the leader in blue she felt herself melt a little. The thought of leaving him when she was back her to normal self left her feeling a little….disappointed. It was mind boggling how fast she had grown attached to him, well maybe that wasn’t the right word for it. She was much more the attached to the leader in blue, more like loved him. When she saw him lying on the gurney bloody and battered her heart nearly lurched out of her chest. She wanted to make him feel better, to help him. Suddenly the urge to see him grew too strong to deny. Pushing the covers from her body Jen padded out of her makeshift room and down the hall to the closed door that lead to Leonardo’s bedroom. Rapping softly on the wooden door with her knuckles she only waited a few seconds before she heard his deep booming voice call out to enter. Turning the knob she entered finding the room mostly cast in darkness besides the lamp that sat next to his bed. From the dim light it cast the leader in a warm yellow light showing the eldest brother reading. Even through the shadows she could see the dazzling hue of his gorgeous blue eyes and they were locked in on her. Suddenly she felt a little vulnerable in her cotton shorts and tank top. “Can’t sleep?” he called across the room slowly closing his book and setting it on the table next to his bed. She could see he was still maskless and saw the white bandage covering the large gash on his forehead. No words formed on her tongue so she shook her head. Seeing her struggle Leo smiled and ushered her forward with a curl of his long green finger and pulled the covers open inviting her into his bed. It took Jen a few moments to get her feet to move but after a silent argument with her inner self, her feet moved carrying her to the offered up part of his bed. Crawling beneath the covers she laid down curling herself around his warm body and gasped finding Leo slept in the nude. His dark chuckle made her cheeks redden and her senses begin to tingle. “Sorry I didn’t know I’d have company.” Jen swallowed the lump in her throat and remembered two nights ago on the couch feeling him pressed against her, so close yet so far away. That thought made her hum at the pleasant memory and slid over him straddling his hips catching the cool and collected turtle off guard. “That’s alright I don’t mind.” She felt his hands grip her hips holding her in place careful not to cause friction to his lower extremities just yet. “Did you come in here with the intent on taking advantage of a wounded turtle?” Leo growled low testing her intentions. “No, I really didn’t come in here with the intention on having you naked beneath me, but I’m not going to lie I’m liking the turn of events. And if I remember correctly I do believe he have some unfinished business to attend to that wasn’t completed on the couch the other night.” Jen could see the moment his eyes ignited with a fire and turned the tables in a blink of an eye. With the speed that was his hallmark she was no longer straddling the leader in blue but beneath him, his large muscled body nestled comfortably between her spread thighs. Leo leaned down his lips mere inches from her ear, “Is that so? Refresh my memory, what were we discussing?” when he finished his sentence Leo’s hips rolled forward giving Jen just the right amount of pressure against the thin fabric of her shorts letting her feel his already titanium hard cock. Biting her lip Jen moaned tilting her head back at the sensation. “L-Leo, I-I don’t…..” “It was something like this?” Leo growled thrusting his length again through the crevasse of her shorts catching the moister quickly saturating the flimsy cotton. “Yes, yes like that, oh god.” Jen’s heart began to race coming to terms what position she had put herself in. Leonardo was on top of her naked teasing her through her shorts aching to have closer contact. But the thing was she had never been with a man before and that sobering thought came crashing down making her tense a bit under the large mutant. Leo sensed the change in her and stopped, looking down his blue eyes swirling with the pent up sexual frustration. “Did I hurt you?” he asked breathlessly stilling all movements. “No, god no, I um….just I’ve never…..” “Been with anyone? Neither have I.” Jen watched the fire cool in his stare slightly at his confession, which made her confused. A few minutes ago he was acting like he had done this hundreds of times, he was oozing confidence like he did in all things. “You mean you’ve never?” Leo shook his head looking away from her now, “No, looking like this you don’t get a lot of offers for sexual encounters.” His voice was low almost a whisper. He was struggling with the thought of being alone for the rest of his life never getting to experience things like love or a relationship. Jen’s hands moved to his face cupping his cheeks pulling his gaze back to hers. “I think you are very attractive and I’ve been a human 99% of my life. I think all of you are worthy of love and I think if you gave the human world a chance you’d be pleasantly surprised. A lot of women aren’t looking for conventional. You are exotic, heroic, caring, and selfless. I mean I could keep going if you want me too. I would be hopelessly blessed to call you mine.” That last sentence made her blush because of the truth behind it. She did, she would love to call Leonardo hers. “You would be mine?” his voiced changed with the question; it seemed to drop an octave and became velvety rich like decadent dark chocolate. It sent her core twitching with excitement and she found herself suddenly breathless. “Yes I would.” She surprised herself, she didn’t hesitate at all. Once again the fire behind his blue eyes roared to life and Leo lowered himself down crushing his lips to hers pouring every ounce of himself into the gesture. When his tongue demanded entrance Jen obliged parting her lips allowing Leonardo to deepen the kiss. The feeling of his plastron against her breasts was erotic; she could feel the scrutes of the hard plates rub with the returning movements of his hips. Breaking their contact Leo began kissing down her slender neck, “I want you to be mine.” His words were coming out rough and exasperated as he worked lower. When his mouth reached Jen’s collar bone his kisses turned into soft little bites marking the colored flesh of her chameleon skin in red perfect little welts. “Then I’m yours.” Jen whimpered elongating her neck giving the turtle better access. Lower Leo moved finding the helm of her tank top lifting it up exposing her breasts to his impatient stare. When his hot mouth latched onto a colored peak Jen cried out arching her back grasping at the back of his green head. “Ohhh uh!” His warm tongue worked the flesh nipping, pulling and he was living for the sounds she was making. He was finding it harder and harder not to rip the clothes from her body and take her then and there. By the scent in the air she was willing and able, but this would be the first time for the both of them and he didn’t want to rush into this, Leo wanted to savor it, take his time. Besides Leo knew the sheer size of him could split her in two if she wasn’t properly prepped and he would enjoy every single syllable he planned on coaxing from her lips while he did it. He had been dreaming of his moment since he first set eyes on her, she was beautiful, courageous and accepting. After giving each of the lustrous mounds enough attention to leave Jen panting under him Leo continued south licking warm wet trails down her midriff, swirling his tongue at her navel to tease her. With all his fineness he hooked his green digits on the waistband of her cotton shorts and rid her of them in one fluid motion. Leo scented the air again and Jen’s arousal was pungent filling his senses making him slowly go mad with desire. Careful not to squish her wiggling tail Leo settled himself back down giving himself a perfect view of his glistening prize. “I’m going to taste you now Jen.” Jen tried her best not to thrash around as Leo’s mouth sampled her flesh leaving her a puddle on his bed. But nothing compared to the feeling of his talented tongue slip passed her folds finding the sensitive bead at the hood of her sex. It felt the sun had settled inside her stomach warming every inch of her body slowly but with a raging intensity. When his teeth took control Jen gasped and lifted her pelvis pressing his face further into her warmth and was rewarded with the delicious slid of his tongue pushing into the tight sheath of her entrance. Her toes curled and tail snapped around his bicep when he let out a rumbling growl sending vibrations against the heated flesh of her sex. “L-Leo, oh godmmphff….” Jen tried to call out but her gasping moan was cut off when his broad tongue began to fuck her, stretching the virgin walls of her cunt. As he worked her into bliss, Jen fisted the sheets feeling her impending climax begin to take hold. Again Leo moved taking the swollen bead back into his mouth and when the thick digit of his hand gathered the collecting moist from her arousal it slowly sunk into her canal and Jen’s climax broke loose. In waves it began to crash over her making her arch up, her backend leaving the bed. Jen’s mouth opened to scream as it hit full on but her lungs refused to work sending out gasping breaths instead. His strong hands gripped her hips pulling her back down as Leo’s tongue worked harder extending the life of her orgasm. When her body began to come down from its high Jen struggled to get her breathing back under control. Her chest heaved with the long deep breaths she sucked in trying to keep herself from passing out from the sensory overload. She had never experienced anything like that before. Even now she was finding it difficult to form words. Looked down between her quivering legs she saw Leonardo’s blue eyes locked in on her. The smile on his glistening lips set the dwindling fire in her belly to a steady roar once again. Jen could feel her tail twitching beside her eager to participate and it slowly uncoiled around his immense arm and slipped down the cored muscle between his plastron and carapace. She could feel him shiver with the slight contact but when it dipped below the heavy weight of his body and found the pulsating member stuck between his bed and stomach she felt him suck in a sharp intake of air. As the tip of her tail wound gently around the base of his engorged cock Jen smiled feeling his hips roll into the tight grip groaning out his approval. “Jen, f-fuck that feels amazing.” Slowly it started to encircle around his cock stimulating the sensitive flesh catching the moister beading at the helm using it to guide it movements. Jen could feel the pulse in the thick rod of flesh all the way up her tail into her palms. She was becoming impatient and pulled him gently making the large mutant lift up onto his hands and knees freeing his turgid length from beneath his body. Faster her tail moved stroking him to full mast. When her name dripped from his lips like sweet honey Jen urged Leo forward bringing the helm of his weeping cock to her entrance. “Please Leo, I need it.” Careful not to crush her, Leo lowered himself down taking his shaft from her tail lining it up. His lips slanted over hers and slowly pressed inside drinking down her moans and whimpers as he stretched her body to its limit. When Leo breached her Jen felt the stretch immediately, and thankful from their earlier play his cock slid in without resistance but god did it burn. She could feel every inch, every vein as he sunk all the way down to the base embedding himself fully inside her slippery warmth. He gave her a few seconds to adjust to his massive girth and then started a slow steady rhythm moaning at the tight fit. “God, you’re so tight. Jen you feel so g-good.” Slowly his hips began to roll giving her the full length of him over and over making the burn fade into something delicious. This feeling that was growing at the center of her core was different from when he was consuming her whole. This feeling felt like lightening flashing with an intensity that made her body sing. Each plunge he bottomed out pressing deep for a few seconds before pulling back out almost completely before filling her once again with every inch he had to offer. Jen’s body rocked with each power drive grasping at his back trying frantically to ground herself to the onslaught of emotions that were bubbling up engulfing her consciousness. Leo pressed desperate kisses to her throat feeling his body start to tremble with his impending release. His breath was coming out fast and short and he couldn’t stop the constant rumble that rolled out of his throat as he took his pleasure inside her. She felt so perfect, like she was made for him, her body eagerly grabbing and pulling him deeper into her body. “Jen, oh god.” His words came out in whispers as he started to take longer more sure strokes. He was close and the heat of his climax was rushing up to consume him. Grabbing her leg Leo hoisted it up and over his shoulder gaining a new angle making Jen’s eyes snap open and her pupils dilate to black saucers. When Leo lifted her leg over his shoulder she could have sworn she had gone blind, the enlarged tip of his thrusting length brushed up against something sensitive inside her setting her off like a firework . Everything inside her erupted and the slowly building orgasm ripped through her abruptly making her scream out his name, uncaring who heard it. Every muscle she had tensed clamping around him, even her tail coiled up tight into a ball overwhelmed with the new sensation. When Jen came undone around him, Leo felt her body clamp down on him like a vice milking his climax. His hips faltered and slammed forward seating himself as far as her body would allow roaring out as he gave her hot thick ropes of his cum, painting her womb with his release. Lost in the delirium of the second mind numbing high Leo had brought her too Jen could somehow still feel him swell inside her filling her spasming walls with the delicious warmth of his overflowing essence. She had never felt so full before and being full of Leo was exquisite in so many ways. In the dim light of his room Jen and Leo watched each other come down trying to catch their breath and regulate their rapid heartbeats. Thin sheets of sweat covered their bodies making them slick from their love making. Leo took another deep kiss giving one final thrust of his softening member making sure he had given her every drop of himself before pulling free of her body sliding down to the bed pulling her to him. His hands wound around her touching softly along her textured flesh. “You’re mine now, you know that right?” he growled into her ear nipping at her lobe. “As long as you’re mine?” “Of course.” Jen leaned back into the warm arms of Leonardo letting out a long heavy sigh linking her hand with his, “Whether or not Stockman can change me back or not I’m not going anywhere Leo. I love you.” “I love you too Jen.” Part Four

[thegrumpygroomer]

The New Groomer’s Guide

Hello! If you’re following this account, I’m assuming you’re either already a groomer or interested in becoming one. And for both, I’d like to say: Welcome! For today’s post, I would like to pass on the knowledge I gained and kinda wished I could’ve figured out earlier. Many of you might go “yeah, duh” to a lot of this shit. Other’s might go “haha, yeah.” Hope you get something out of this either way.

1) It’s more than just ‘playing with puppies’- In this sense, I was kinda lucky. In my interview, my boss actually leveled with me and said “look, this job isn’t glamorous. It’s not about playing with puppies and having a good time. We clean dog assholes for a living.” That always stuck with me.

I’ve met some newbies that clearly didn’t get the same talking to as me. Or they thought it was fewer dog assholes and more puppies.

Either way, you learn quickly whether or not you want this just by that.

2) You will get bit- You’ll start out being wary of some dogs. Typically, those are the ones you should worry about least. I don’t know if you’ll ever get bit bad enough to make you bleed, but I’m talking from my own first and second-hand experience. I’ve seen some of the best groomers who’ve been doing it for far longer than me, stride out of the back with a bleeding hand. Sometimes it can’t be avoided because them motherfucker’s quick.

On the bright side, you can see it as training for a zombie apocalypse. No bitch-ass dead bitch gonna get you when Fido already taught you how to stay away from teeth.

3) Get a good pair of tweezers- This is something just about everyone forgets to tell you directly. Hair splinters are a BITCH. I have about twenty little shits permanently infused into the side of my pinky finger. They get to stay put for now because they didn’t cause any pain and alert me to their presence. To me, the ones on the palm are the worst. Especially the little white ones.

You will have a very intimate relationship with tweezers. One of those tiny magnifying glasses might help too.

4) Maybe get yourself a face mask and goggles too- Hair. It’ll be everywhere. There will be days you’ll walk out from drying your dog and your hair will have a new layer to it. You’ll find it hard to breathe then blow your nose and find out that husky from a week ago is still lodged in your nasal cavity. It’ll spiderweb all over your eyes. So, protect yourself so you can breathe and see.

Also, nail dust is a thing so the mask can be used again.

5) You’ll make a dog bleed- This is a very sad reality of grooming. But, there will come a time when you’ll draw blood. Maybe it’ll be a nicked paw pad, maybe your blade caught a scab. Most likely, it’ll be cutting a nail too short. No matter what, you’ll probably have a similar reaction to both me and a few people I trained.

You’ll cry and be afraid of doing it again. You might even react more than the dog you think is bleeding to death. It’s going to be okay; you’re going to get through it. It’s probably the crappiest part of the job but it is still a thing to prepare for. But, if you want this, you’ll have to get up from the floor where you passed out and learn all the steps to take to keep this from happening again.

And a better way of reacting if it does. Can’t have groomers always passing out.

6) You’ll gain breed prejudice- Huskies and German Shepherds? Get the fuck out of here. Yorkies? Those little shits better calm down! Border collies? Dude needs to take an ambient or something. Pit bulls? Fuck yeah! Always room for a pit bull bath!

You might think it’ll be obvious. Of course, you’ll love one type of dog over another. It’s not. Not at all. I’m more wary of a Pomeranian than I’ve ever been of a dog that comes up to my hip and I was attacked by a Shepard mix when I was seven.

This one’s pretty cut and dry. Hate some breeds, love others. There’s no telling what direction it’ll go.

You’ll never wanna do a pug nail trim though. That’s pretty universal.

7) Your tolerance levels are gonna change dramatically- When you do get a puppy, it’s both the best and the worst. Because, holy hell those little shits are adorable. But also, holy fuck this dog has never done this before and is scared shitless of everything! Puppies take practice and patience. A whole shitload of it. And that’ll be where your tolerance level should skyrocket. Remember, it’s a baby. It doesn’t know any better. (this should also hold true for any first timers and older dogs. Or just straight up nervous animals)

Now let’s talk about where tolerance will have the opposite effect: people.

Many will still have the whole “customer is always right” philosophy. Unfortunately, this is one of those places where that simply is not true. If you neglect to brush your dog? He gets a shave down rather than a light trim. You wanna shave you’re golden retriever because she’s shedding? That’s not how things work, ya dumbass!

I lost count of how many times I wanted to tell someone to do their fucking research before buying an animal. I didn’t get into this job to torture dogs.

It often helps to think that maybe this owner doesn’t know better. But, when you know for a fact they should know better, then you’re just going into the back to slam your head against the wall for a little while.

Also, those are the people who will usually become your request clients. So, you’ll have plenty of time trying to explain this shit to them. Enjoy!

8) You’ll be blamed for dumb things- The other day someone called to blame a groomer for giving a dog a mole. Not nicking a mole, GIVING him a mole. As if she had some kind of lame superpower to add something that usually takes forever to develop. Another time, I was accused of not giving a dog a bath because he went home and, the next day, “smelled like a dog.”

I don’t know why some people feel the need to do this. Maybe they lost touch with what it’s like to be a person with emotions. Maybe they think these are the best ways to get free things. Maybe their lives are just so miserable they need an outlet to dump all their crap. And what better scapegoat than a person in retail/service? You know, the one you just paid to get literally shat on?

(little gross extra for you: you will clean up shit. Sometimes, you’ll find it in your pocket. Don’t wear nice clothes to work…)

9) You’ll be in pain, like, 80% of the time- That’s a low ball too. I’m not a person who likes to be touched anymore than necessary. I don’t really hug unless I know you pretty well. I really like my personal space and strangers should never be in it.

But I would kill for a good back massage right about now.

If I could look into the future when I was in high school and saw this life, I would’ve done better in P.E. to prepare for it. I’m naturally a pretty strong person. I can lift some pretty heavy dogs without much of an issue. Even so, there are times my body screams at me for it. My main reason for wanting to go back to the gym is for upper body strength.

And then there’s carpal tunnel. It’ll be a bitch and you may need surgery down the line if you’re not careful. Just something to keep in mind.

Aches and pains will be a normal part of your day. Just think of them as a reminder that you are alive, I guess.

Now, I know you’re thinking that you just heard me bitch and moan about all the terrible shit in this job. Why would you wanna stay? Ore you may be thinking “Okay, so this is the part where they say something nice and return a bit of hope to our hearts.” Well, fuck you! I’m not some kinda straw man, Buzzfeed ass bitch here for your entertainment!

…..

Anyway.

10) it does have its upsides- I’ve had a lot of different jobs, most of which were a creative field. One of them paid a lot better than grooming. Many of them had their benefits like… not having to clean literal shit out of your pocket. But, it’s rare to find a job that can actually be fun.

All the bullshit I listed above is true; it’s all happened to me or around me. But most of the stuff are things that happen to everyone. That in itself brings you a certain amount of community. The people in the salon are very close-knit; it becomes almost like a family. And, like a family, we fight and bicker. But within that same hour, we’re laughing at bad puns and poop jokes. Immature? Maybe. But there’s not many other jobs where you can make these jokes without worrying about offending someone or just making things awkward.

There are days where I’m actually excited to go to work. Not many people can say that. Years ago, I couldn’t say that! So, I guess I’m lucky in a way.

This is not a job for everyone, don’t get me wrong. But when a job is geared for a certain type of person, it kinda sets up for a truly strong, supportive relationship.

-

Alright. Enough of this mushy sentimentality. This has been my New Groomer’s guide. Or, as it probably should’ve been titled “Ten things I wish someone told me when I became a Groomer.” But, ya know, I didn’t like that title.

Hope you enjoyed!

[danfanciesphil]

Edgelord!Dan x ObliviousBisexual!Phil AU [CHAPTER SEVEN] (based off the 80′s classic Some Kind of Wonderful)

Synopsis: Dan has one friend, and only because he was forced into it. Phil is loud, excitable, and irritatingly happy all of the time. Phil seems to find Dan’s perpetual attitude funny, and despite Dan’s best efforts to shun him and everyone else, wants to be around him all the time. That is, until Phil starts talking about Amanda Jones. Word Count: WIP (Estimated 12-15 chapters) updates every Tuesday Rating: Explicit Warnings: Smoking, swearing, implied prostitution, broken home, class divide/classism, pining, light homophobia, sex

[Chapter One] [Chapter Two] [Chapter Three] [Chapter Four] [Chapter Five] [Chapter Six]

[Ao3!]

Dan wishes he woke up to soft arms cradling him, and the fond, familiar twinkle in Phil’s vibrant blue eyes. He wishes he woke up to a kiss, as passionate and searching as it had been yesterday. He wishes he woke up to warmth, and tentative happiness, and a sweet, slow beginning of something hopeful and beautiful and new.

Instead, he wakes up alone. He only stirs because he hears a sound, a general shuffling from afar. He blinks, blearily, at the empty space beside him. The indent of Phil is still pressed into the quilt and pillow. He sits up with some difficulty, trying to make sense of the morning, and trying to pinpoint the source of the noise. It’s only when he sees Phil, at the foot of his bed, pulling on his socks with the haste of a fugitive on the run, that he remembers.

Happiness, romance, sweetness - these things are reserved for girls like Amanda. Beautiful, charming people that spend their lives skimming cloud nine, a lucky clover tucked behind one ear. Boys like Dan get strife, and futility, and their hearts stomped on by people that don’t care. He swallows a sharp needle, feeling his eyes sting. Phil glances up, like he’s heard the murmur of Dan’s realisation; there’s guilt brimming in his eyes.

“Oh,” he says softly. He doesn’t seem to see that it’s too late for him to be quiet. Dan is awake now. “I didn’t want to wake you up.”

“You’re leaving?” Dan asks, though the answer is perfectly obvious.

Phil straightens, and nods, avoiding Dan’s eye. “Yeah, I’ve… got a lot to do today.”

“Like what?”

The wave of Phil’s answering smile crashes over Dan’s head, but as it breaks, he feels the guilt lurking beneath the water.

“Tonight is Prom night,” Phil answers. “The big night.”

Dan’s eyes sting ferociously. He has to squeeze them shut. He hopes Phil can’t see the moisture from this far away. “Oh,” he says, chewing the inside of his cheek. “You’re going through with it, then.”

“Of course!” Phil’s voice is too high. “You know that this is the only thing I’ve talked about for weeks.”

Dan nods, his lips pressed together. If Phil weren’t already halfway out the door, he’d kick the guy out himself. “Right.”

“You’re still gonna come, right?” Phil asks. There’s no mistaking the nervousness of his stance, the tremor in his voice.

Dan screws his eyes shut again. “Yeah, I’ll still come.”

“Okay,” Phil says quietly. “Well, I’ll see you later then.”

Without his permission, Phil’s name forces it’s way out of Dan’s mouth, and Phil hesitates, warily. “Don’t you wanna… talk about it?” The words are spiky; they stick in his throat, choking him.

“Talk about what?”

“About last night,” Dan says.

“Oh,” Phil says awkwardly. There’s a flush edging his sharp cheekbones. “About the kiss, you mean?” He laughs, and the sound of it is jarring. “Yeah, thanks again. Needed the practise. You won’t, um… won’t be needing to do me any more favours now.”

Dan nods, silently. If Phil wants to pretend the other bit, the second bit, didn’t happen, Dan isn’t going to humiliate himself by trying to bring it up. Maybe they’ll never talk about it again. Maybe that’s good. Maybe one day, in the distant future, it’ll be such a vague, hazy memory that Dan could convince himself it was all a dream.

“So I’ll see you this evening,” Phil says after a while.

Dan doesn’t reply.

When he lifts his gaze to the door, Phil is gone.

*

“Where’re you going?”

Dan freezes. If he’d just come downstairs a few seconds earlier, he might have made it out of the door without being caught. He swallows, trying to remain calm as he turns slowly on the spot, his hand still on the knob, ready to dart out. His mum is leaning against the wall, staring at him. There’s a can of beer in her hand, half empty, and a smirk twisting her lips. Her half-lidded gaze drags over him, head to toe, absorbing the sight.

“Dressed pretty fancy for work, aren’t’cha?” She brings the can to her lips.

Dan looks at her feet, feeling hot and uncomfortable in this stupid outfit. He’d just about convinced himself, after hours of staring into his mirror, plucking and fussing at every item of clothing, every stray hair, that he looked okay. Now he wishes he could just rip everything off and crawl back into bed.

“I’m not going to work,” Dan mumbles.

“What’s that?” His mum asks loudly, stepping closer towards him. She wobbles unsteadily on her feet, indicating that this is not her first beer of the evening. “You slacking off, Daniel?”

Dan drags his eyes up to meet hers, sighing. “No, Mum. I’ve got the night off.”

“And why’s that?”

Dan hesitates, wondering if there’s a way he can get out of telling her. But she’s staring at the outfit he’s wearing again, ripping it apart with her sneer.

“It’s Prom,” Dan admits, quietly.

There’s a silence in the wake of his words that Dan doesn’t expect. When he looks up at his mother again, there’s a strange, distant expression on her face. A minute or so passes, and Dan wonders if he should maybe just leave. Then, she lowers the hand holding her can, letting it rest at her hip.

“That’s why you’ve got a shirt on,” she says, her voice unusually calm.

Dan nods, his brow furrowing as he tries to make sense of her mood.

“I bought you that shirt,” she says, staring. Dan shifts under her gaze, wriggling around in the stiff material. He’s still not used to the feel of it. “Did I?”

She looks up at him, her eyes wet and lost, searching his face for answers. Dan sighs, but nods at her. “Yeah, mum. You bought it for me. For the funeral.”

She nods, biting her lip. “Does it still fit?”

Dan shrugs, trying not to let her see how difficult the restrictive material makes this simple movement. “Well enough.”

“Can I get a picture of you, baby?” Her voice breaks a little.

Dan presses his lips together, cheeks burning. “I’m late,” he says, turning away. “I have to get going.”

“You takin’ a girl?”

Dan pauses, his hand still gripping the doorknob. He shakes his head, not sure if she’ll even see the movement.

“A boy?” It catches him off guard.

He doesn’t bother turning around. “What, you care about my love life now?”

There’s a split second where a look of distress splinters his mum’s face, but it’s gone in a moment, replaced by a hardened, weathered glare.

“Oh, fuck off then, I’m only tryin’a be nice,” she growls, taking another swig from her can. She walks back towards the kitchen, practically snarling. “Don’t pretend like you’re so goddamn innocent, Daniel. Don’t think I dunno what you get up to when you’re not in this house. Fucking slut you are, an’ the whole town knows it. No surprise you couldn’t get a date to your own Prom. Just this mornin’ I saw some skinny kid sneaking outta your door before the damn sun rose-”

The door slams shut behind Dan as he hurls himself out of it. His mum’s ranting is a muffle now, but it’s still going on, even as he walks, speedily as he can, down the path. His hands have curled into fists again, and he can feel how hard he’s digging his nails into his palm, but he can’t stop himself. It hurts, but he just keeps walking, vaguely aware of the cold wind whipping against his skin. Perhaps he should have brought a coat or something, but he can’t feel much, so it probably doesn’t matter.

He had the sense to snag Ricky’s keys off the counter earlier on, when his mum was still asleep, so he opens the car quickly and hops in. At the driver’s seat, he takes a minute to breathe, waiting for the vicious fangs of his mother’s words to drain of potency. He shoves it all down, word by word, compressing it in a dark corner of his mind. Then, he starts the engine. He goes through the routine of reversing, pulling onto the street, flicking on the headlights, mind blank. Before he knows it, he’s outside Phil’s door.

*

It’s a testament to how well Phil truly knows him that he asks if something’s the matter the second he catches sight of Dan’s face.

“Why? Can you think of any reason I’d be upset?” Dan bites out in response. That chokes any further questions from Phil’s mouth.

They pack themselves into the car, Phil being rigid and awkward, trying not to crease his suit.  

“I’ve never been in your brother’s car before,” Phil says, looking around. “It’s nice.”

“It’s a car,” Dan replies, turning the key in the ignition. “If it’s not good enough for your precious Amanda, you’ll have to find another way to Prom.”

Phil doesn’t say anything, but the look he gives Dan, small and apologetic, softens Dan’s hard exterior. He sighs heavily, pulling off the kerb. There’s a pause while Dan waits at the end of the road for a space to pull out.

“You look really nice,” Phil says softly.

The blunt blow of the unexpected compliment winds him. Dan stares resolutely out of the windscreen, his lips pressed together. Finally, after what feels like years suspended in this bizarre limbo of Ricky’s crappy car with his best friend and worst enemy, Dan snags a space between two cars, and pulls onto the main road.

“She lives-” Phil starts to say, but Dan cuts him off.

“I know where she lives.”

“Okay.” Phil’s voice is subdued, like a told-off toddler.

Amanda Jones lives quite close to Dan, as it turns out. He hadn’t realised this until recently, because he never sees her around, but then he doubts she’s often home. From Dan’s front door, it’s a few streets over, and under the bridge. PJ told him where exactly. He walked there once, a few days ago, disguising his  stalking session as a meandering walk.

He doesn’t know what he expected to find. Some marker on the house maybe that might indicate who lived there, and that she wasn’t the same as the residents of the neighbouring ones. That this girl had betrayed her upbringing to climb into bed with the enemy. But there was nothing. Amanda’s house is just the same as those either side of it. As Dan drives up to it now, he turns to look out of his window, trying to see anything he might have missed.

The houses on this side of the street are classic council houses – red brick, semi-detached, stuck to one another like they’ve been glued into their situation. A slim black railing separates the sliver of grass in front of Amanda’s house from the one next door. None of these ‘front gardens’ are particularly pleasant to look at, but Amanda’s in particular is overgrown and riddled with weeds. There’s a bike, cloaked in wet, coppery rust leant against the outside wall. Some toys – deflated footballs, a broken nerf gun, pieces of toy cars and tractors – litter the ground, rejected.

“Well,” Dan says. “Here we are. Want me to slay the dragon while you climb the tower?”

Phil lets out a snort of laughter. He doesn’t move. “I’m nervous.”

“I’d be weirded out if you weren’t,” Dan says.

For whatever reason, this seems to be enough to spur Phil onwards. He nods, and opens his door. Simply because he feels he should, Dan opens his own door, and joins him on the pavement. Dan side-eyes Phil, who appears to be stuck to the pavement. His hands are twitching.

“Go on, then,” Dan tells him, inclining his head towards her door.

Phil turns to him, eyes frantic. “Maybe this is a stupid idea.”

Yes, Dan wants to say. Yes, it fucking is a stupid idea. Why the fuck did you ever think it up? Why can’t you be interested in boys, and me in particular? Why do you, of all people, have to have fallen into Amanda Jones’ ridiculous, pretty, doe-eyed trap?

“Bit late for all that now,” Dan says instead, dropping his eyes to the floor.

Phil seems to be waiting for him to say something else, but at that moment, a burst of shouting erupts from inside the house, sounding like an argument. Phil looks up worriedly, dithering on the spot, clearly wondering whether to go and intervene. Instead, the front door flings itself open, and out flounces Amanda in a pink, shimmery dress. It falls down to her dainty ankles, the wafting material floating like wisps of candyfloss as she storms down the few steps from her house towards them, her Barbie heels click-clacking along the short stone path. She kicks a piece of toy tractor out of her way as she goes, sending it flying into one of the railings. When she gets to the two of them, she stops, closing her eyes and taking a deep breath.

Crap, and she looks incredible.

It makes Dan want to curl up on the floor in front of her and weep. It might as well all be over now, he might as well surrender himself to a life of inconsequentiality, because he will never, in a thousand years, be able to compete with the stunning, ethereal, angelic, feminine beauty of Amanda fucking Jones. Her high cheekbones are dusted with an iridescent highlight, which glitters each time she turns her face. Her eyelids sparkle, dusted with varying shades of expertly blended pinks, matching her dress exactly. Her hair is naturally curly, but now it falls in perfect, loose ringlets, at once effortless and elegant, pinned in some places with tiny rose coloured gems. Dan had been joking before about the dragon, but if someone walked along and didn’t assume she is a Princess, he’d be amazed.

“Sorry about that,” Amanda says. Her long, fake eyelashes flutter as she rolls her eyes. “You know parents. Anyway, hi.”

She looks Phil up and down, smiling in approval. Dan doesn’t blame her; Phil looks like he was cut out of a Cosmo article on ‘Prom Night Looks For Your Man’.

“Hi,” Phil says, practically whispering.

There’s a blush on his cheeks at the sight of her. She smiles at him warmly, then her eyes slide towards Dan, and she frowns. “What’s this, then? Two dates for the price of one?”

For a moment, Phil doesn’t react. Then, his brain seems to catch up with his ears. He laughs, his blush deepening.

“Oh, no, um,” he glances at Dan, clearly struggling for an explanation. “Dan’s just- he’s, um-”

“I’m gonna drive you guys,” Dan says, saving him. “So you can drink and not worry about getting home.”

Phil nods, agreeing silently; he seems even more on edge than before. It’s agony to observe him in this bumbling state, knowing full well it’s Amanda’s immaculate silhouette that has him in such a tizzy.

“That’s… very good of you,” she says, sounding suspicious.

“That’s me. Such a good guy.” Dan sighs, opening the door to the driver’s side. “Let’s get this over with, then.”

Before they can reply, Dan just slips into the car, pulling the door shut behind him. Unfortunately, this is not fast enough to block out the sound of Phil, getting ahold of himself at last, leaning down to whisper in her ear:

“You look beautiful, Amanda.”

*

“So… I’ve been trying to play it off like it’s totally cool we’re not heading in the direction of the school for the past five minutes,” Amanda pipes up, breaking an awkward silence that has descended over the three of them. “But it occurred to me that I don’t really know you guys that well… so like, could you maybe tell me where we’re going?”

“Oh, sorry,” Phil says from beside her. “I told Dan to take us to get something to eat first. I mean…” Dan flicks his eyes up to the rearview mirror, watching Phil assess Amanda’s reaction. “If- if it’s okay with you.”

She shrugs, looking amused. “Sure, I could eat. What did you have in mind?”

Phil beams, shoulders slumping in relief. “Pizza.”

Dan’s gaze shifts to Amanda in the mirror, studying carefully. To his astonishment, she grins, her white teeth sparkling. “I love pizza.”

Phil leans forwards to poke Dan in the shoulder. “Told you.”

*

Dan has genuinely no idea why he agreed to do this. Later, when this horrendous night is over with, Dan will be stuffing skittles into his mouth to the tune of N-Sync’s Bye Bye Bye. Hardly a worthy commiseration prize given that he will have had to spend hours watching a sickening display of heart-shattering cuteness featuring the boy he loves. With someone else. He drags on his cigarette, fingers shaking. It’s not even cold.

He found a pack of Ricky’s Marlboro Reds in the glovebox, but to his disappointment, discovered only one single cigarette left in the box. At least he can stop stinking of cherry for a while. He’s leant against the boot of the car, which isn’t an easy task considering how much it wobbles and shudders each time either Phil or Amanda shift the tiniest bit. They’ve spread their takeaway feast on the car bonnet, then perched up beside it, backs against the windshield as they share slices of pizza, talking about school, the town, their favourite music.

The night is so perfect it’s as if the Gods sculpted it for them. Dan raises his chin to look up at the sky, which is littered with hundreds of stars. They barely ever shine down on this bleak, grey town, but tonight they are bright and abundant. Perhaps Amanda just attracts them with her radiance. Or perhaps they came out to peer down at the ultimate third wheel, pathetically hiding just out of view.

Dan swallows, tasting nothing but ash on his tongue. He can hear them talking, still. The spot Dan has driven them to is a popular ‘make out’ destination. It’s only because it’s Prom night that there’s nobody here this evening. It occurs to Dan, belatedly, that Phil will probably, at some point this evening, kiss Amanda in front of him.

The thought is a lance of pain striking through his gut. It’s debilitating just to entertain it; for a good few seconds, Dan can’t so much as move his limbs. The cigarette between his fingers becomes heavy and leaden. It drips ash onto his hand, and he curses, flapping his hand at the pain. He leans his head back against the car, trying not to think of anything. Clearing his mind, however, only makes it all too easy to focus on the conversation happening a few feet away.

“So, got any other surprises in store for me before we actually get to the dance?” Amanda asks.

“If I told you, they wouldn’t be very good surprises, would they?”

Dan shakes his head at Phil’s lame attempt to seem enigmatic. He’s probably bursting to tell her a step-by-step itinerary of the night ahead; he’s not exactly the world champion at keeping his lively emotions inside.

“Ah,” Amanda says. “I see how it is.”

There’s a pause, and Dan relishes it, willing it to go on longer, to cross the border from an ordinary lull into a painfully awkward gap between their banter.

“It was nice of your friend to do this,” Amanda says unexpectedly. Dan flinches. “Really nice. What’s his name, again?”

The car jostles a little, as if Phil’s fidgeting. “Dan.”

“How’d you get him to give up his whole night to drive us around?” Amanda asks, clearly itching with poorly concealed curiosity. “Does he owe you some massive favour or something?”

The car jostles again, making Dan’s head knock against it. “Hah,” Phil chokes out, “no. Um, I just bribed him, y’know? Used his weakness. He loves Skittles.”

“Skittles?”

“Yeah,” Phil replies, chuckling. “He’s mad for them.”

There’s a pause, and Dan finds himself straining to hear the next words.

“You’re telling me…” Amanda says slowly. “Dan agreed to miss out on Prom, dress up all smart, drive us about, wait around for us to chat or whatever, drive us to school… all for some Skittles?”

Dan smirks to himself, though he knows none of this is the slightest bit funny. It is kind of ridiculous that anyone would actually believe such a ridiculous story. It seems absurd, suddenly, that Phil hasn’t caught on to the real reasoning behind Dan’s unending generosity.

Phil forces out another fake sounding laugh. “I guess he just really likes Skittles.”

“How many packs?”

“Four? Five, maybe? I can’t remember what we settled on.”

It was five, Dan thinks bitterly. And if Phil thinks he can forget the Skittles, he’s very wrong. Dan might be hopelessly in love with him, but he’s not doing this for absolutely nothing. There’s another pause, and Dan sighs, wondering for the millionth time what on earth he’s doing to himself, and why.

“Wow,” Amanda says. “Good friend.” 

“Yeah, he is,” Phil says unexpectedly. “I know he comes off all tough and moody, but he does care about me. He’s been really good to me recently. Listened to me prattle on about you, for one thing.”

Amanda laughs. “You talk to him about me?”

“Oh, all the time,” Phil says, sounding glad for the change of subject. Dan fumbles for his phone, trying to distract himself. “I talk his ear off, actually,” Phil says. “He’s probably sick of it. Actually, I know he’s sick of it.”

“Poor Dan,” Amanda jokes.

Dan rolls his eyes, nodding silently. Poor Dan, indeed.

“Yeah,” Phil laughs. “I should stop annoying him about it. I mean, he tends to look annoyed sort of permanently, but I can always tell when he’s actually annoyed because he gets this little jumpy twitch in his jaw right here, like he’s clenching his teeth too hard.”

Baffled, Dan unclenches his jaw, rubbing it with one hand.

“You must annoy him a lot, to notice something like that,” Amanda says, teasingly.

Though Dan would hate to admit it aloud, Amanda’s actually pretty funny. She sounds easy to talk to, which is hard to find in anyone, let alone one of the Elite crew.

“Probably,” Phil agrees, chuckling. “But I’ve also studied his face a lot, so I know a lot of his quirks.”

“Um, what?”

Dan facepalms mentally, wondering if Phil ever actually rehearses what he’s about to say before letting the words spill off his tongue.

“Oh, I mean I draw him a lot,” Phil says, laughing. Amanda titters politely, but it sounds confused. “I use him for practise because we hang out all the time. He doesn’t usually mind, I don’t think.”

“You draw?” Amanda asks, and Dan frowns.

She doesn’t even know he’s an artist. She can’t care about him much to not have learned his one hobby.

“Yeah!” Phil exclaims happily, not seeming to care. “That’s what I want to do. Well, art anyway. I draw and paint. I like drawing people, but I’m bad at keeping to the rules. That’s what my teacher says. I tend to want to make them into birds or give them antennae or rainbow skin or something. So, I make myself practise every day at just drawing people normally. Usually it’s a pain, but I don’t mind drawing Dan for some reason. Maybe it’s because I know him so well. I could probably draw him blindfolded at this point.”

A heat creeps along Dan’s cheeks. It’s ridiculous to feel so pleased about something so obviously innocent. His place in Phil’s life is essentially as his mannequin. Yet somehow, it’s one of his proudest achievements.

“That’s sweet,” Amanda says. “You two must be very close.”

“I guess,” Phil replies. “Um, would you excuse me a sec? All this soda is going right through me.”

Amanda bursts into laughter. “Are you gonna pee in the hedge?”

Phil just laughs along with her. “Don’t see a convenient port-a-loo.”

“You’re a brave man,” Amanda says.

The car jostles, and then the tramp of Phil’s footsteps indicates his wander off into the wilderness. Dan pokes his head around the side of the car just in time to see his vague silhouette ducking into a thicket of branches a few meters away.

Dan pushes off the car then, pacing a few steps away to smoke in silence. A few moments of peace go by, and then he gets the uncanny sense that someone is closely observing him. He spins around to find Amanda stood a foot away, her glittery eyes trained on him.

“Sorry,” he says, though he doesn’t mean it. “Is the smoke bothering you?”

“Smoking will kill you,” she says, then steps towards him and plucks the cigarette from his fingers. “Or so they tell us.” 

She lifts it to her lips and takes a long, deep drag, eyes fluttering. In the milky moonlight, the sparkles refract, sending shimmery pearls rippling over the bracken nearby. 

Dan watches all of this in abject shock. Only a minute ago he’d have bet good money on the fact that Amanda Jones has never so much as sucked on Hardy’s vape stick. 

“Maybe I don’t wanna live that long,” Dan says, still wide-eyed as she hands the cigarette back to him. 

“Ooh,” Amanda says with a smirk. “Edgy.”

Despite himself, Dan feels his own mouth twitching. “Did you want something?”

“Yeah. I wanna know why you’re doing this.”

“Smoking? Well, I need some sort of vice to get through this. And I don’t have any coke to hand.”

Her features are utterly perfect, symmetrical and dainty. Even in the low evening light, she is an angel. “I mean the driving.” 

“I’m his mate,” Dan says, turning from her; he can’t look at something so beautiful anymore. It’s almost painful. “I’m doing him a favour.”

“Pretty big favour,” Amanda says. She holds out her hand for the cigarette again. Dan thinks about refusing her, but it would only make things awkward. He hands it to her carefully, and she takes a drag, sighing in pleasure. When their eyes meet, she says: “Are you in love with him?”

“What?” Dan almost drops the cigarette as she passes it. His heart pumps wildly. “Of course not.”

Amanda shrugs, smoothing down her long skirt. “Hey, my boyfriend of two years wouldn’t even open the car door for me. And look what you’re doing for your ‘mate’ for a few packs of Skittles.”

Dan scowls. “Maybe that’s more to do with your choice of boyfriend.”

Amanda fixes him with that laser stare again. There’s a glimmer of perpetual amusement in it, as though she sees something in Dan’s very essence that is laughable. It sets Dan’s teeth on edge.

“You don’t like me,” Amanda surmises, one eyebrow arching.

For a moment, Dan doesn’t know how to respond. If he verbalises his hatred, and all the reasons behind it, Phil will be angry.

“We’re not gonna be best buds, let’s put it that way,” Dan says.

“You don’t think I’m good enough for Phil, is that it?”

Dan rubs his eyes, exhausted by the evening already. He didn’t exactly get a lot of sleep last night. “Nobody is.”

“Except you?” Amanda smiles at the withering glance he gives in response. “Okay, fine. But Dan,” she sighs, glancing over her shoulder to make sure Phil is still out of sight. “We’re not that different, you know.”

The snort of laughter is so abrupt that it makes Amanda jump a little. “Right, yeah. We’re practically twins. Shall we get a blood test?”

She maintains her calm stare. “Think about it. We’re both from broken homes. Grew up on the wrong side of the tracks with families that don’t give a shit.”

“You, me and millions of other people all share that lovely background,” Dan says.

“Yes, true. But there’s more, isn’t there?” Amanda leans against the car, craning her neck towards the night sky. “We deal with our problems in the same way.”

“Whatever.”

“Look, I know the rumours about you,” she says. “Let’s just say I’m not the only one using my looks to get into places I don’t belong.”

“You don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about.”

“Don’t I? Dan, if I wasn’t pretty and skinny, I’d have no chance. I’d be like you, stuck here with no options. But I saw the opportunity to live a better life and I took it.” Amanda shrugs. Her eyes are hooded, sad. “I know Hardy’s a cheating dirtbag. I’m not blind. But being with him gets me the dolce vita. And yes, it’s superficial and elitist and despicable. Trust me, I hate myself enough for the both of us. But it’s better than the alternative.”

“If you really feel like that, then why are you here?” Dan spits. “Phil can’t take you to glamorous yacht parties or whatever bullshit you do with Jenns.”

Amanda smiles sadly, looking to her shoes. “I know that. I guess I just wanted a taste of this. To know what I’m missing. To know what it would be like if I’d been stronger, said no to Hardy’s advances, not taken the diamonds and the dresses. If I’d found myself a nice, normal boy, even if he had to save for three months and bribe his best friend to show me one fun night.”

“I don’t appreciate people using my friends,” Dan tells her, coldly.

“Oh, and he’s not using me?” Amanda rolls her eyes. “He doesn’t even know me, Dan. We’ve spoken twice before tonight. He tells himself he wants me because I’m pretty, and coveted. Quite clearly, he can’t see five feet in front of his nose to what he really wants.”

Dan frowns. “What are you getting at?”

It doesn’t look likely that Amanda is going to clarify her strange statement, but as it turns out, she doesn’t get the chance. Phil walks over, rubbing the hand sanitizer he’d brought along into his palms. As he approaches them, his expression drops into wariness.

“Hey,” he says cautiously, eyes flicking between Dan and Amanda. “Everything okay?”

“Whatever,” Dan says, then promptly stalks back to the driver’s seat. He brushes past Phil, who shoots him a ‘what’s going on’ look, but Dan ignores him, climbing into the driver’s seat without a word. Five minutes later, after collecting the pizza boxes and blankets from the bonnet of the car, Phil and Amanda get into the back, all smiles and chatter again.

“Next stop school please, driver,” Phil says cheerily. If he thinks Dan is going to find his pretence that Dan’s an actual chauffeur for this awful event cute or charming, he is very much mistaken. “Did you want some pizza, Dan? There’s a few slices left.”

“How considerate,” Dan almost snarls. “I’m fine, thanks.”

He turns the key in the ignition and backs the car out of the lot. It’s fourteen miles to the school from here, and it takes ten of those for Dan’s tight knuckles to un-whiten from where they’re gripped around the wheel.

(Chapter Eight!)

[jenanigans1207]

The Memories We Shared (Now Hurt More than Ever) [2] |Klance|

Chapter 1

Find it on Ao3

“Keith, no. I’m your boyfriend.” Lance took a few tentative steps forward, a hand hanging awkwardly in the air between them. “We’ve been together for almost two years!”

    The expression on Keith’s face closed off. It felt like slow motion as Lance watched Keith push him out of his heart and lock his emotions down. “I don’t know what kind of sick joke you’re trying to play on me,” Keith said, “but I’ve had enough of it. You’ve done enough damage.”

    It felt like the world was splintering beneath Lance’s feet, as if there were a crater about to open up and swallow him whole. Briefly, he hoped it would, because nothing could be worse than standing in front of the love of his life and getting a look of hostility in response. “It’s not a joke. I’m not kidding. Keith, babe--”

    “Don’t call me that.”

    Lance swallowed thickly. He felt Shiro take a step closer to him but he didn’t turn to look. He couldn’t turn away from Keith. He couldn’t stop. He was terrified that he would lose Keith if he turned away, that somehow Keith wouldn’t be there waiting for him when he turned back. There had to be a way to make him see. Something. Anything. “Keith--”

    “I think I have enough going on right now, thanks,” Keith said bitterly, breaking their gaze himself. It left Lance feeling empty and unmoored, as if he had just lost the last connection they had to each other. Fear spread through him slowly, numbing him as it went. “I don’t need you here messing up more stuff. I still don’t even know why I’m in the hospital.”

    The doctor cut in before Lance could respond, not that he knew what he was going to say. He pulled his hand back and pressed the back of it against his mouth, trying desperately to hold some semblance of composure. “You were in a motorcycle accident.”

    “I don’t even have a motorcycle.” Keith said, pointedly looking at the doctor and not at Lance, his voice confused.

    Lance threw his arms out to the side, “You don’t remember your--”

    “--No,” Keith cut in harshly. “I don’t remember and that’s clearly the problem.”

    Stunned, Lance dropped his arms to his side. The doctor turned to him then, a frown twisting his mouth, “Lance, I’m sorry but you’re going to have to step outside right now.”

    “But--”

    The doctor shot him a firm look and Lance relented, hanging his head as he shuffled for the door. He could feel the gazes of everyone burning holes into his back as he exited the room and pulled the door shut behind him.

As the door was closing between them, Lance caught Keith murmuring, “He can show up here but he can’t show up to our date? Who does this guy think he is?”

As soon at the door clicked shut, Lance collapsed to the ground, pressing his forehead into his knees and sobbing into his lap. He knew there were other people in the hallway but he didn’t care if they saw him fall apart. He didn’t care about anything other than Keith and the fact that he had, apparently, forgotten the two years they had spent together. The two happiest years of Lance’s life. He forgot all the plans they had made for their future. The hole in his chest was so large, Lance was absolutely certain nothing could ever fill it again. He was destined to be a hollow shell of a person for eternity.

A minute or so passed before he straightened up a little, leaning his head back until he was resting against the door, still seated on the floor of the hallway. Faintly he could make out voices through it.

“Keith,” It was Shiro. His words were gentle, as if he were afraid of upsetting Keith further. “Lance isn’t lying. You guys have been together for two years.”

“That’s impossible,” Keith said. Lance knew that agitated tone well. It was the tone he used when he refused to be reasoned with. Trying to get him to see another side of things when he was like this was hopeless. What was left of Lance’s heart shattered in his chest. “Even if I’ve forgotten the last two years, I am certain I wouldn’t have gone out with him. Not after what he did.”

“He has a good reason for why he missed that date.”

“I don’t want to hear it.”

Lance was going numb. It was the only thing left for him, really. His heart had shattered into so many pieces he didn’t think he’d ever be able to put it back together properly and he had cried so many tears that by now he had to be out. He was already sick to his stomach with fear and his mind was running a mile a minute replaying everything from the last two years. Really, the only thing left was to go completely numb, to sink into the depression that only this could cause.

“Clearly you have some retrograde amnesia. It’s common after an injury as severe as yours. Your head took a pretty serious beating.” The doctor was explaining, his words making Lance feel worse. “As you’ve noticed, you seem to have forgotten the last two years of your life. I know this can be confusing and hard to accept.”

Lance closed his eyes, listening to the conversation through the door, even though most of his hope had already left him.

“You said I was in a motorcycle accident, right?”

“Yes, you were.”

“How can I be in a motorcycle accident if I don’t have a motorcycle?”

There was a moment of silence and Lance tried not to picture what everyone in the room was doing. He tried not to picture Keith’s face, even though he could. He would have no trouble imagining the way Keith’s eyebrows were drawn together in a mixture of confusion and annoyance, the way his lips turned down only at the corners when he was waiting impatiently for something. Lance’s heart ached.

“Like Lance said, you do have a motorcycle. You got it shortly after the two of you started dating.”

Keith truly was an enigma. The more Lance got to know him, the less he was able to predict things about him. From the outside Keith was cool, aloof and completely collected. But the truth was: he was super lame. Lance loved it, of course, but it didn’t stop him from teasing Keith from time to time.

“You know, babe,” Lance was leaning against the doorway, watching Keith get ready. “You look exactly like the kind of person who would own a motorcycle.”

“Yeah?” Keith glanced into the mirror, their eyes meeting through the reflection.

“But now that I know you, I can say with absolute certainty that you're not that kind of person.” Lance was smiling a smug smile.

Keith ran his hands through his hair, pushing his bangs away from his face and turning around to settle an exasperated gaze on Lance directly. “And why not?”

“You are not cool enough for one.” Keith frowned, his eyebrows furrowing. Lance pressed on, “Don’t get me wrong, I love that about you. But you look like this super cool bad boy with your mullet and your leather jacket when you’re actually super lame. I mean, you have a stuffed animal that you still sleep with, for god’s sake!”

“I do not still sleep with it,” Keith retorted, crossing his arms over his chest. “I still have it because it’s the last thing I got from my mom before she died. Sorry I have a sentimental attachment to it.”

“I love Hippy the Hippo,” Lance couldn’t keep the grin off of his face or out of his voice at the name. In truth, he really did love Hippy, he thought it was very sweet that Keith kept it. He remembered the first time he saw Hippy and the way Keith had stammered out some excuse for why he still had it, as if Lance were going to care. Lance didn’t find it anything other than incredibly endearing, but that was true about almost everything Keith did. “I’m just saying. No biker dude still has a stuffed animal that they care about.”

“Aren’t you late for class?” Keith waved his hands in front of him, shooing Lance away.

Lance laughed and pushed off the doorframe. He stepped into the bathroom and gave Keith a quick kiss before heading out the door, slinging his backpack over his shoulder as he did so.

The following Monday he was sitting on the law of their apartment complex, waiting for Keith to get home. He had been busy with a school project most of the weekend and had only really seen Keith for a few minutes before bed each night. He knew Keith understood and supported him, but he still missed his boyfriend and was very excited to be having dinner with him after the days apart.

He was leaning back on his hands, face turned towards the sun when he heard the revving of an engine that he had never heard in their area before. He looked up just in time to see a motorcycle coming down their street and… stopping at their apartment building? Surprised, Lance watched as the person parked and climbed off the bike. He didn’t know any of their neighbors rode a motorcycle.

The longer he looked, though, the more he realized that he recognized that leather jacket and those ripped jeans. He knew the way that person was moving. Still, when they pulled the helmet off a few moments later, Lance could barely keep his jaw from hitting the ground.

“Hey babe,” Keith tucked the motorcycle helmet under his arm while he removed the gloves from his hands, looking at Lance with the biggest shit-eating smirk he had ever seen.

“What the--” Lance bit off the rest of his sentence, standing from the ground and walking over to Keith. He was seized by the sudden urge to reach out and touch him, just to ensure this was really happening. Keith laughed as Lance pressed his palm to his chest. “What is going on here?”

Keith looked at the bike, smiling broadly. Lance followed his gaze. He didn’t know anything about motorcycles, so he couldn’t appreciate anything other than the fact that this motorcycle was red and somehow that seemed right to him. “I just picked her up. Do you like her?”

“When did you learn to ride a motorcycle?”

“Oh, this weekend. I managed to find a class last minute that squeezed me in while you were working on your project.”

“Did you…” Lance met Keith’s gaze then. “Did you do this to get back at me for teasing you about Hippy?”

“Would I do something like that?” Keith pressed a kiss to the corner of Lance’s mouth.

After he pulled away, Lance replied without any hesitation, “Yes, you would.”

Keith laughed. “You’re right,” he conceded. “I would. And I absolutely did. But hey, I also got you a helmet so you can ride her with me!”

“You want me to get on a bike you’ve owned for all of ten minutes with you when you’ve only even known how to ride one for a day?” Lance looked skeptically between Keith and the bike. “You genuinely think that sounds like a good idea?”

Keith shrugged, “I’ve had worse ideas.”

For the first time, Lance thought about the bike--Des, as Keith had named it after some technical thing that Lance didn’t even pretend to understand--and how he assumed he would never see it again. If the accident were bad enough for Keith to land in the hospital with memory loss, it was probably bad enough to ruin Des. And if it weren’t, well, Lance certainly wouldn’t be keen on Keith going near a motorcycle ever again so he didn’t really want her back.

Pushing that thought from his mind for the time being, Lance stood up from the floor and trudged miserably towards the waiting room. He couldn’t handle listening from the outside anymore, it made his feeling of loss even greater. What he needed was to not be alone.

“Lance?” He walked through the doors and back into the waiting room where Pidge and Hunk were still seated. They stood up as he entered, both looking very worried. Hunk placed a hand on his shoulder comfortingly. “What happened?”

For what felt like the millionth time that night, Lance was overcome with emotions--mostly heartbreak--and wishing he could just disappear. When would he stop having to say these awful, terrible, life-ruining things out loud? Surely the world would have to give him a break eventually? “He… doesn’t remember me.”

“What?” It was Pidge’s sharp intake of breath that cut straight to his heart.

“I mean, he- he thinks it’s May 18th, 2016.” Lance was officially out of tears, because he managed to choke the words past the lump in his throat with dry eyes. He wasn’t honestly sure if that was a good or a bad sign. “He thinks I’m just the guy who stood him up for our- for our first date. He doesn’t remember…” his voice trailed off, “he doesn’t remember the last two years.”

“Oh, shit.” Hunk says, and it’s the only response he gets.

Suddenly the urge to laugh overcomes him. He wants to laugh at Hunk’s reaction, at the fickle way fate was beating on him like a drum. He wanted to laugh because he could no longer cry and the situation still demanded some sort of reaction out of him. He bit the corner of his lip trying to maintain the very minimal grasp he still had on his sanity.

“He doesn’t remember any of it. Not a thing. It’s like- it’s like the last two years were for nothing.”

“Don’t say that,” Pidge meets his gaze fiercely. “They weren’t for nothing. You two were so happy together. That has to count for something. Plus, you don’t know that he won’t get his memories back.”

“He literally referred to me as the guy who stood him up. There’s nothing else there, Pidge!” The need to laugh was turning into a sort of hysteria inside of him and he launched back into pacing. It was really the only thing he could do with the anxious energy inside of him. “He remembered Shiro, but not me.”

“He’s known Shiro basically his entire life. He was there when Keith’s mom died-” Pidge cut herself off, shaking her head. “Of course you know that already, I’m sorry. I just, I don’t want you to give up hope.”

The truth was, Lance didn’t want to give up hope either. And despite how bleak and impossible things seemed at the moment, he knew that he would never give up that hope. He would never willingly give up Keith. “I know,” He smiled weakly down at her. “I appreciate it. But can you do me a favor?”

“Anything.”

“Will you go in there and be with him right now?” It hurt to even ask. It should be him in there. It should be him sitting at the side of the bed, Keith’s hand in his, taking on whatever challenges they were facing together. “I want him to have all the support he can get right now.”

The tears were back in Pidge’s eyes and Lance had to look away to maintain his composure. She agreed with a nod and headed towards the door to the interior of the hospital, leaving him and Hunk standing in the impersonal waiting room alone.

Just as she reached the doors, he added one more thing. “And Pidge? Please remind him how much I love him.”

With a second tearful nod, she disappeared through the double doors.

Hunk had spent an hour trying to get Lance to leave to no avail. Lance refused to leave until he saw someone again and got an update on Keith’s conditions. Hunk had insisted, in every way he could think of phrasing it, that it was unhealthy for Lance to be obsessing like this but he wouldn’t hear it. He jumped every time the double doors opened until that time when, finally, Keith’s doctor was actually the one coming out of them.

“I thought I would still find you here,” He said as he approached Lance. Lance didn’t say anything back. “Unfortunately, his memory loss of the last two years seems to be complete. Your friends have been mentioning different things to him and he seems to remember none of them. Now, there’s no saying if it’s permanent or not. I don’t want to get your hopes up, but sometimes patients do spontaneously recover their memories.”

“And the rest of the times?”

The doctor frowned back at him. “It’s permanent.”

There were a million more questions swirling in the depths of Lance’s mind, but he honestly didn’t want to ask them. He was overwhelmed and exhausted and did not need any new information added on to it. “Can I visit him again?”

“Not tonight,” The doctor said and then quickly added, “Visiting hours are nearly over. Your other friends will have to leave soon, too. You’re welcome to come back tomorrow. But Lance?”

“Yes?”

“If he doesn’t want you there tomorrow, and I caution you that it may happen, you need to respect his choice. Right now things are very difficult to process for him and you need to let him handle it his own way.”

“Of course,” Lance said, his words as hollow as his insides. “Thank you for all you’ve done.”

The doctor shot him a worried look but didn’t say anything else. Feeling defeated and depressed, Lance nodded at Hunk who sprung from his chair. He offered his own thank you to the doctor before guiding Lance to the doors and out to the car.

“Do you want to stay at my place tonight?” Hunk offered as they buckled their seatbelts.

“No,” Lance said quietly. “I need- I need to be around our stuff.”

“Okay, but I’m staying the night with you.” Hunk said, leaving no room for argument and Lance was incredibly grateful.

The apartment was bare save for a few knick knacks the previous owners hadn’t taken with them, but it didn’t matter. Lance was standing in the middle of what was now their living room, beaming.

“Can you believe we get to live here?” Lance turned his smile onto his boyfriend. “Can you believe we get to live together?”

Keith walked into the room too, stopping next to Lance. “We get to live together,” he echoed, his own soft smile on his lips.

“I think we should put the couch over there, and…” Lance began describing exactly how he pictured the apartment laid out, incredibly giddy about the whole thing. He knew the reason he was so excited was because it was their apartment, not just his. He had lived in apartments on his own before and it was never as thrilling as this moment. He knew Keith wasn’t paying much attention to what he was saying about furniture placement, but when he glanced back, Keith was staring at him with the fondest smile.

“I get to sleep next to you every night,” He said, his expression tender.

“I get to wake you up every night because you stole all the blankets and I need some back,” Lance teased, leaning into Keith.

Keith laughed and threw his arms around Lance’s shoulders, “We really ought to look into having two comforters on our bed.”

“Why? So you can steal them both from me?”

It took a few minutes of standing outside his door, key poised in front of the lock, before Lance was finally able to take the plunge and let them in. Hunk had stood by quietly the entire time, waiting for Lance to be ready. He knew he wouldn’t ever be completely ready, of course, but some things just had to be done.

They entered the house, kicking their shoes off just inside the door before treading down the little hallway that opened up into their living room. Lance stopped in the living room, taking deep breaths to try and keep himself calm. It wasn’t working.

“Lance?” Hunk took a tentative step towards him but didn’t touch him. He had been Lance’s friend for years and had seen him through every up and down the world had thrown at him. It gave him the ability to recognize what kind of mental state Lance was in and the experience to know how to handle it. “Talk to me.”

“He should be here.” Lance choked out, looking around the room. “He should be here with me right now. He should at least know who I am.”

“I know he should be here right now,” Hunk agreed gently. “I know, but he can’t be.”

“But he should be!” Lance threw his arms out, gesturing generically to their entire apartment. There were pictures of them together on nearly all of the shelves in the apartment. Keith’s favorite blanket was draped over the back of the couch. Everywhere Lance looked, there were reminders of Keith. Because this was their apartment, it was where they had shared their life. “He should be,” his voice broke as he plopped down onto the couch.

“Let’s just try for getting some sleep tonight, okay? We can go back first thing in the morning and see how he’s doing then. But you won’t be any use to him if you don’t get some sleep.” That line always worked on Lance and Hunk knew it. Making his personal wellbeing in some way beneficial to Keith was the only thing that could get him to even attempt to take care of himself at a time like this.

Lance relented, “Fine, but we’re sleeping out here,” he gestured to the couches. There was no way he was going to sleep in that bed alone. There was absolutely no way his heart could handle laying in it without Keith keeping the other half warm. He wasn’t sure he could even look at it. “And I need you to get my pajamas out of my room. I don’t--I can’t go in there right now.”

Before Keith and Lance had moved in together during their senior year of college, Lance and Hunk had been roommates. So Hunk knew the way Lance organized his items and had no trouble fishing out a pair of pajama pants and a tshirt from the dresser on Lance’s side of the room. He also snagged his toothbrush from the bathroom and brought it back out with a tub of toothpaste.

Lance set up the couches while Hunk was gone. Keith and Lance both slept with two to three pillows each, so when they moved in together, they had an abundance of pillows. They kept their favorites on their bed and the rest they just threw on the couches for added comfort. Lance was grateful for it currently because it meant he could get the couches ready for sleeping on without having to go into his bedroom. He lifted the two blankets off the back of the couch--they were the exact same blanket but his was blue while Keith’s was red--and hesitated.

Hunk walked back into the room to see Lance standing there, frozen, with the blankets pressed to his chest. “Lance?”

Startled, Lance turned around, shaking his head to try and clear his mind. “Sorry,” He said.”I think- I think I’ll take Keith’s blanket tonight.”

“Of course,” Hunk traded the supplies he had grabbed for the blue blanket and went to settle down onto his couch.

Lance carefully set the red blanket down and headed to the bathroom just off of the living room. Under the harsh bathroom lights he looked paler than normal, and his eyes were obviously red and puffy. He brushed his teeth quickly, wanting out of the bathroom. His reflection looked ghostly and seemed to match the emptiness he was feeling. It unnerved him and he rushed through changing too so he could leave.

When he entered the living room again, Hunk had turned the tv on and the lights off. He had put on the first Harry Potter movie--something Hunk knew Lance didn’t associate with Keith--and laid down on his couch. Lance deposited his old clothes on the ground at the foot of the couch and hopped up, covering himself in the red blanket.

“Thank you for being here, Hunk.” Lance focused on the movie and not on the way Keith’s blanket was soft and warm and smelled like him. “Thank you for staying the night.”

“I’ve got your back,” Hunk answered, adjusting his position on his bed. “I’ll stay here as long as you need me to, just don’t hesitate to ask, okay?”

“Okay,” Lance said and they lapsed into silence. Despite his discomfort with the situation, he was exhausted, mentally and physically, from everything he had been through that day and was able to fall relatively quickly into a luckily dreamless sleep.