#jesse would too until maybe year number three —

[quick-drawn-a]

i still think interdepartmental olympics would be fun —

[fallen-in-dreams]

CHAPTER TEN on AO3.

Chapters on Tumblr: One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Nine.

Pairing: Gaara/Sakura.

Summary: Her descent into madness came after her friends were all dead and before she was sold off like livestock. To him. He knew a thing or two about madness. And there was peace to be found in the violence of that madness. Even if only for a time. Canon divergence AU.

Rated: Mature.

Chapter word count: 9,611.

Status: Ongoing.

Reminder: the tags/warnings are important.

Warnings: dark themes. Arranged marriage (not what you think). Eventual smut (level and degree of that warning being necessary is subjective). Death. Suicide talk. Self-harm. PTSD – expect some well-known symptoms and some not well-known ones. Please don’t read if you’re triggered by psychological &/or emotional-related trauma and effects.

Enjoy. ^_^

[I'm likely going to not update next week. Christmas and all that - more details in the AO3 author notes but it's not necessary to read. Hope you all have a great holiday. :)]

Tumblr version:

… Chapter Ten: A Pound of Flesh. ...

.:.

Hearts aren't supposed to hurt like that They're not supposed to break so fast They say that time's a healer How long is this burn supposed to last?

-- Hearts, by Jesse Ware

.:.

“They’re all dead.”

Darkness was a wave of smudges. A blur of smoke at the edges of her vision. Cold steel at her throat accompanied by a feeling of dread. A familiarity of pain and death. Her dreams never wavered, wave after wave crashing down on her.

The cries in the distance were familiar. Team Seven. No. Team Kakashi. And the numerous people she’d watched die over the years. Friend or foe. They screamed at her but all she could do was scream back. Unintelligibly. What was she supposed to do? They were beyond helping. They were all dead.

Why can’t they just leave me in peace?

Sakura shook violently as she burst into consciousness, the dark red motif of her dream imprinting itself on her mind’s eye. Splotches of paint splattered colour pressed against her eyeballs as she rolled off the bed and dragged herself into the bathroom before emptying her stomach into the sink. Not the toilet. Never the toilet. The smell of that, sweet or disgusting, would just make her vomit again.

She never understood the accepted norm of throwing up in a toilet of all things. Sure, it’s easier to just flush the damn thing, but you can puke into buckets too, and flush them. You can throw up in any number of things that can be used to flush it. Then you just discard the container. And yeah, you might clog the sink but who cares when your body is heaving violently? Maybe it was psychological. All in her head. She hated the idea of it.

But to use a toilet? To put her face near… that? Disgusting. To open her mouth to… to where…

That’s where your poop goes.

Sakura giggled even as she clutched the sides of the basin tightly, her fingers turning almost as white as the porcelain itself. Her stomach turned and her body lurched forward, then she heaved again. Chunks from the previous night’s dinner made her nauseated again and she emptied her stomach into the sink, unrelenting wave after wave until her abdomen was too sore and dry to conjure up more.

Not clogged.

She groaned and leaned her back against the wall, breathing heavily. Her legs were like jelly. She shuddered and slid to the floor. Sakura had felt physically ill after a nightmare before but never this bad.

Has to be the prazosin.

Stealing the medicine from the hospital had been a whim, but she didn’t regret it. Her dreams were still dark, but she felt less dazed coming out of them. Maybe she was just imagining things, though, since results could take one to two weeks to show, with the full benefit taking up to eight weeks. Or so her memory told her. Sakura had only been taking them for a few days. It was too soon for any tangible results.

Must just be my imagination.

It was the only thing she could think of, but it didn’t make sense. Nausea was a possible side-effect of the drug (a rare one), and dizziness. She also felt drowsy often and had increasing headaches. But now that she thought about it, she’d been experiencing many of the common side-effects for a long time. So how was she supposed to know if the blurred vision, dizziness, or palpitations were from the prazosin or her PTSD?

Or maybe I’m remembering the list of side-effects wrong.

Sakura knew it would take time, but her pessimistic side wondered if this was even going to work at all. It didn’t matter. She sighed. She closed her eyes, trying to remember the details of her dream but they were fuzzy already, fading fast. All she could recall were shapes and emotions. Falling asleep had been easy with how happy she’d felt at the time. Because Gaara had asked her out and she felt so good. Emotions she’d tucked away for so long had brimmed to the surface and she felt giddy, like an academy schoolgirl with a cliché crush on the hot boy in class. A feeling that reminded her of others but was now for Gaara alone.

Did he even go to the Sunagakure Academy?

She scoffed at that, ignoring the way her face warmed at the idea. But they were going to go on a date. Well, they had planned to plan for a date. Nothing was happening just yet because… well, she assumed his busy schedule caused the need to make a time and date, to slip his mind. And it felt surreal. She didn’t know what he had planned but at least it would break up the monotony of her day to day. Or evening. Whenever it would be. Would he plan something for the two of them instead of the evening meal shared with his siblings? Maybe it would be wise since he was so busy during the day.

She smiled lightly at that, then climbed unsteadily to her feet. Her vision blurred and she swayed a little but after about a minute, she felt strong enough to leave the bathroom. She didn’t need to clean up after herself other than to wash her mouth out. The sink was still not clogged.

The clock on her wall said it was just after one in the morning. It was too early to be up and too late to start a good night’s rest; she was suddenly wide awake. Her eyes strayed over her belongings.

Why the fuck?

Sakura grabbed the Aloe Vera plant Matsuri had given her on her first night in Suna. Over three weeks ago. It was a stupid thought, what had just popped into her head, but she wanted to try it out, anyway.

She pulled out the scroll she’d been using for the ink creatures and set up the ink well as usual. Moonlight filtering in through the window was her only guide as she drew out an image of the plant. It wasn’t an animal, but she didn’t care. Taking care with the chakra infused ink, Sakura performed the hand signs to bring it to life.

There was no hope in her heart. After all this time, Sakura was used to not hoping. But there was a tug on her heart every time she achieved something, regardless of how probable it had been. And with this ink creation jutsu, she’d had more than a lot of failures. But…

She cackled as her newest creation rolled out of the scroll like a blob of paint that had gained sentience, before toppling over and splattering all over the floor. What a mess. It wasn’t like the snakes or the birds; it didn’t have a viable form. It wasn’t something that she knew could move on its own. But at least it was entertaining watching it lose cohesion to go from a strange succulent shape to blob and then implode on impact with the real world. She set paint to paper again, this time trying to recreate the hazy figures from her nightmares. These had their own momentum in her mind even though the memories were still blotches and all manner of incomprehensible shapes, but she tried to focus on the feelings they invoked as well. Sakura closed her eyes and tried to focus. This jutsu was clearly never meant to be used like this. She didn’t care.

Sakura focused on the outline, the texture, how heavy it had felt. Like it was a real thing. She ran the brush over the scroll by memory alone, closing her eyes halfway through the process. It was too abstract, but she was determined to bring it to life. When it was done, she kept her eyes closed for a moment, surprised by her own desperate expectations.

She looked down at it.

Well, that’s a monumental, fucking let down.

The image was too abstract. There was no other way to describe it. Sakura debated whether or not to just toss it, but if she didn’t lift it from the parchment then it would waste the scroll. It looked nothing like her dreams, in its essence. But she felt a weight drop in the pit of her stomach looking at it. It was creepy. She didn’t want to bring it to life. The sharp, jagged strokes smudged in with softer but hazy edges; they were at odds. It reminded her of her ugly mirage problem. But it couldn’t stay on the paper.

Sakura did the seals slowly, pulling the ink from the page, but then released her chakra from it before it could fully form.

That was so fucking stupid.

Likely nothing would’ve come of it, but her feeling of dread superseded her logic. It had to die. That was all there was to it. She shivered. The soft breeze wafting through the window reminded her of her vulnerability. No matter how strong she became, Sakura was inexorably weak.

And bored out of her mind, once again.

.:.

An hour later, Sakura woke with a start at the sound of a loud bang. She’d dozed off on the floor, leaning against the bed. The ink splatter from her failed attempt at making her nightmare real made fun of her from several feet away. A silent, cackling demon in her mind. She groaned and sat up straight, rubbing at her eyes.

There it is again.

What was with the banging? She stood shakily and tried to listen for it. The next one was softer, but closer. A spike of chakra on the edge of her senses that didn’t belong to anyone who lived in this mansion. To someone who stayed out of it. She sent her chakra out, pulsing, making itself known. The air shifted around her; it was almost harder to breathe. She was so used to only detecting Kankuro and Gaara’s signature; maybe Temari’s was throwing her off? Or maybe she was ignoring the obvious.

And again.

The bang was creeping her out. Maybe a windowpane was loose somewhere? She glanced out her window, seeing nothing. Nothing but shadows, dancing across the nearby rooftops, but no sign of the Root shadow that she could see. She narrowed her eyes at the closest roof, wondering if there was a jutsu that could work like binoculars. She could use one right about now. The way those shadows were moving was unnatural. If only she could get a closer look. But Gaara had asked her not to leave the mansion at night.

Like I’m a child avoiding the bogeyman.

She scoffed and turned away from the window.

Better go take a look.

Another bang. She shuddered and quickly removed her kunai from the window frame, gripping it tightly in one fisted hand. It wasn’t poisoned yet, but it would do as a just in case. She took a deep breath and opened her door slowly. Her heart was racing like it had been expecting a hallway monster to jump out at her. She laughed with a soft croak and stepped tentatively out of her room.

The blackness of the hallway blinded her when she left her room behind, and she held her hand out, running it along the wall to keep herself heading in the correct direction. No lights were on and the stream of moonlight she could see coming in downstairs was not strong enough to guide her, yet. The mansion was creepy at night. She shivered and paused at the top of the internal staircase. The bang was coming from downstairs.

Maybe I should wake Gaara?

She rocked back and forth on her heels for a moment, trying to rationalise that. No, she could do this herself. He’d already seen how weak she was. Sakura didn’t want to give him any more reasons to look down on her. Not that he did. Or so she told herself. He couldn’t, not with how kind he’d been.

Worry about that later.

Sakura was more than capable of checking out a strange sound in the dead of night. She’d done worse. Gripping the kunai to her chest she reached out to grasp a hold of the banister to steady herself. One foot in front of the other, she descended the stairs, keeping her ears and eyes peeled as she tried to sense if there were any intruders. Or if she was just going mad hearing things. All of the above.

She stopped at the bottom of the steps and pressed her shoulder against the wall, peering into the poorly lit, open hallway that connected this are to both the kitchen and the living room; beyond which was the study and front door. She glanced back toward the hallway that retreated to the back of the house, but the banging was coming from in front of her, not behind. The bang in question now sounded more like a thud.

Is there really a difference?

She sighed and moved into the room. Nothing happened. Nothing tangible. Again, the shadows bothered her, but she just ignored them. The sound was clearer now, obviously coming from the front door.

Outside?

The Root shadow?

Sakura decided to check from the window first, pulling a curtain aside and peering into the night. But her field of vision was limited. So, she carefully opened the front door to the Kazekage mansion instead, ignoring the little voice in the back of her head that told her that she was being stupid.

“You are being stupid.”

“Go away.”

The mirage stood in the doorway as though it had been waiting to be let in. The cool air it brought made Sakura shiver, but she was determined to stare it down. It looked more solid now, which was a pain because that meant it was blocking her view.

“Move it,” she snarled.

It grinned stupidly at her, it’s bloodied mouth dry and caked with grime. Sometimes it changed its appearance a little to add a bit of personality. This time it looked more haggard, as though it had been standing in the sun too long, trying to dry the blood that was always on it.

“You’re not ready,” it insisted. “You can’t see what its doing. What it’s been doing. Not yet.”

“It woke me up,” Sakura said, then cursed inwardly that she’d let it draw her into its narrative. “Get out of my way.”

“Go through me.”

Her eyes widened. She couldn’t step through her mirage. She just couldn’t. If she did, Sakura imagined she could feel every one of its wounds, remember all the beatings, the way it had been broken and stabbed. The way it had been tortured. The way she had.

And other things.

She didn’t want to remember all the things she’d forgotten. And it knew it. The mirage was smug as Sakura closed the door in its face.

“Bitch.”

On the plus side, the banging had stopped.

Shivering and suddenly too cold and terrified to do anymore, Sakura ran back up the internal staircase and slammed her bedroom door behind herself. The reality of what she’d just tried to do hit her. She was sure that Gaara had Anbu following the Root, but she also knew from experience that it wouldn’t ever be enough. Root was trained to deal with that. He could slip from their notice, and they wouldn’t even realise. What little of her own training that was still imprinted staunchly in her mind proved that the Anbu guards would not be a hindrance to its movement. Whatever it was planning, the Root shadow would succeed in. They always did.

It’s up to something.

Of course, it was up to something. Banging something at odd hours, flaring his chakra like he was trying to tell someone something. Talking to someone while Sakura stood, talking to herself. The Foundation were insidious.

Sakura let out a deep sigh. All of this night’s activity made her nervous. It meant that whatever the Root was trying to do, he was almost ready to showcase it. She stood and moved over to the window. The Root member had been restless lately. Like a child on a sugar high. She should’ve known its preparation was almost complete.

And here I am, standing like an idiot, still inside Suna.

Still stuck. Still unable to circumvent the gilded cage. Her plans were falling apart, even as she convinced herself that soon, soon she’d be able to leave. She’d flee. Nobody would follow. And she would be alone and with the only person she could ever trust. Herself. Sakura could never trust anyone, no matter their intentions. But that also wasn’t true, because a part of her blamed herself. And a part of her blamed Gaara. The Kazekage. The man who’d asked her on a date but had yet to give a time and place. Like he was just making promises for the sake of promises. Like she was a tiny kitten being drawn in by a string. She laughed of that.

Yes, of course. Let’s lure the insipid Leaf kunoichi into a comfortable ruse where she starts to think she’s actually valued. Then ignore her.

He failed the follow through. Like all men.

Sakura pressed her face against the window, unwilling to open it. The shadows were moving strangely again, this time taking form. She’d wondered again what the Root’s abilities were. Either he could become shadows, or join shadows, or this was a genjutsu. She was good at dispelling jutsu. So, she tried. But nothing changed. No surprise. It had been her weakest theory, anyway.

So, Sakura watched as the Root shadow took form, standing just outside the mansion barrier, staring at her. If only she could see his face and tell what he was thinking. Was he smirking at her? Sneering? Pressing his lips into a tight line of displeasure? Making faces? She wanted to rip the mask off and find out. The memory of when she’d thrown broken wood infused with her chakra at him had kept her happy for a while.

It’s time for more.

But her courage had fled the moment the mirage blocked her view. She didn’t want to rehash that right now. Sakura knew he was coming for her soon. But not now. Not right now. He had a timetable; she was sure of it. Three weeks to infiltrate and map the village. Three weeks to figure out how to slip past the barrier without alerting Gaara. Three weeks of tormenting her with ideas of how he was going to torture and kill her for the betterment of his Master.

Sakura shook her head of those thoughts. It didn’t matter right now. The only thing that mattered was the fact that she couldn’t figure out a way to sneak past him, let alone them. They were watching her too closely. Her ink creatures had, so far, gone unnoticed, but she chalked that up to the nature of them. And the fact that her enemy didn’t know she could make them.

Her repertoire from before her time with Danzo had been impressive if she was being honest about it. But the years had taught her more insidious methods that would shock the Sunagakure council members. All part of her standardised, ruthless Root training. She scoffed.

But that damn shadow knew all her ill-gotten techniques. She could kill a man with shadows. Summon a genjutsu of darkness to swallow him whole. One that he wouldn’t see coming and no-one else could trace. She could dangle that same man over a pit of shadows and kunai while he remained trapped in his mind, terrified and with nowhere else to go. Nothing to say unless to answer her questions. And oh, so many more forms of torture that would go under the radar to someone who didn’t know what to look for. That was the point of them. Death. Pain. Torture.

I miss that.

She wanted to showcase these skills just as much as the Root shadow did. Perhaps more. But, while she might be able to surprise the old buggers in the council, her stalker would be wise to it all. He was going to kill her, she knew it. If she didn’t kill him first. It was part of his plan. His reason for being here. Kill her and then throw the Suna politics into chaos. There was no doubt in her mind about that. So right now, they were in a stalemate of sorts. She wondered which one of them would be the first to break it.

We’ll see.

She smiled to herself.

Sakura held her kunai out where the Root could see, knowing he was looking at it. She tapped the steel against the window, and he inclined his head. In his sick, twisted mind, which was her acknowledging his intent. She almost laughed at how ridiculously macho he probably thought he was. Too much testosterone and not enough common sense.

Why can he suddenly see me?

Sakura pulled away from the window and shut the curtains, heart racing as she suddenly realised. Not all the concealment jutsu were still in place. If that was how they worked.

Or maybe it’s just coincidence that he did that at the same time?

She wasn’t taking any chances. First thing in the morning, she was telling Gaara. Or someone. Her lip curling into a sneer, she peeked at the shadow one last time before pulling the curtain across and blocking herself from his view. With the lights off he couldn’t see into her room. She could only hope, also, that the sealing barrier was more intact than her inner pessimist was presuming.

She pulled away from the window, still holding her kunai, and sat on her bed, eyes darting around. It was still so dark. She was still so wide awake. Sakura took a while to calm down, eventually returning her kunai to the window frame for safe keeping.

I should have been keeping a journal, like I told Kankuro I was.

She pulled out, instead, the list she’d made regarding the missions Danzo had sent her on. Over two weeks after her arrival, she’d sat down and written out all she could remember about her years under Danzo’s thumb. By year, every point that came to mind. She still couldn’t see any pattern to it and was finally accepting that there wasn’t one. She ran her fingers over the ones she remembered most vividly. They were eye openers, each and every single one. They made her who she was today.

Sakura was still no closer to figuring out what Danzo wanted from her, and it was suddenly clear how foolish she’d been to think that listing out her missions would somehow magically reveal everything. Make everything better. She let out a bitter laugh.

Nothing will be better ever again.

The shadow was going to try to kill her soon. And she wasn’t sure if she really wanted him to fail.

I’m so fucked up.

She cocked her head, staring at the wall. “What do you think, am I insane?”

The blank wall remained silent.

.:.

Sakura had a new plan.

She was going to tell Gaara everything.

When the sun finally rose, she stood, discarded the ugly ink blobs she’d brought to life and cleaned the mess she’d made. It was a waste of time trying to use these things for anything useful. Her heart broke a little at the realisation, but she was nothing if not adaptable. So, she bathed and dressed and hummed to herself, feeling energetic about her new idea. The bathroom mirror showed a fuzzy image of herself.

Her mind felt like it was building up barriers to her plans and she tried to hyperfocus on her intent as she dressed, brushed her hair, and ran through the scenario in her head. Would he laugh at her? Would he help? Would he think she was a traitor? Maybe she didn’t have any friends left—

“They’re all dead.”

Sakura turned and glared at the mirage so intensely her eyes began to hurt. “Shut up.”

It just smiled its wicked smile as she walked through it, into the bedroom. She was able to do that this morning but not in the middle of the night. Sakura ignored the implications of this. She stopped at the full-length mirror, noting her reflection was the only one.

“Go away,” she snapped at the mirage.

“I told you already. It doesn’t work that way.”

She needed to get rid of the damn thing. To put her new idea in motion.

“You’ll fail.”

She quirked an eyebrow at it. Fail in getting rid of it or talking to Gaara?

“He doesn’t give a shit about you.”

He didn’t have to.

“You’re useless.”

She pursed her lips, still glaring at the ugly thing. Its appearance shimmered and suddenly it was the proud owner of a deep gash across its stomach; the clothing ripped with it, audibly. This was happening more readily lately. And its words were gut wrenching, but she knew it was true.

This was a repeated mistake of hers, trying to engage with it. She needed to be stronger than this.

Sakura forced her face to relax into a neutral expression and turned away from the mirage. She could imagine its face twisting into bitter rage as she silently decided to ignore it. Spitting and hissing sounds filled the air, and she couldn’t stop the tremble that wracked her body. Sakura pushed her nerves down and giving the mirage one last scathing sneer, then turned and left her room. It was a bold move. It was nerve-wracking. But she wasn’t useless. She wasn’t stupid. She wasn’t going to fail.

She closed her door softly.

“Bitch!”

Its voice was muffled through the door. Sakura didn’t want to unpack the absurdity that implied. She walked without thought, but full of determination. She knocked on Gaara’s door. Her hand had trembled and hesitated, but she did it.

It was only after she’d been standing there for a few minutes and waiting for the loud rushing sound in her ears to fade out that Sakura realised he had to be in the shower. Maybe. Likely.

Her face warmed at that thought.

Okay…

She didn’t want to leave, though. She had to finish what she started. Counting would probably help. Then she could legitimately open the door and not be called a pervert. Okay.

One.

The door was simple, with no scratches.

Two.

The frame didn’t even wobble when she pushed it lightly.

Three.

She always figured a Kazekage’s bedroom door would have bells and whistles.

Four.

Danzo had certainly gone overboard.

Five.

From what she heard, anyway.

Hm. No response?

Not that anything else mattered.

She was standing at his door, wondering if she really wanted to do what she was about to do, when she felt a shift in the air around her.

Am I getting more sensitive to the chakra in this place?

That or the sand siblings made a habit out of flexing their chakra (all the time).

Kankuro was leaving his room and Temari was just beginning to open her door; just around the corner and out of sight, they hadn’t seen her yet. Sakura’s habit was to push down her chakra signature, from so long on the front lines. It was second nature to her now. If she hadn’t learned to do it, she’d have died a long time ago.

Does Temari ever do this?

Sakura didn’t have long to wonder before the brother and sister duo closed their respective doors and verbally greeted each other. They would be on her in a few seconds, and she would have to pass by them to return to her own room.

Damn it.

Panicking, Sakura quickly and quietly opened Gaara’s door and closed it behind her, pressing her back against it just in time as Temari and Kankuro walked past. She closed her eyes, holding her breath painfully even though she had no reason to avoid them. Nothing rooted in logic, anyway.

Do they know I snuck in here?

They couldn’t. Kankuro, for one, wouldn’t be able to stop himself from knocking on the door and teasing her about it. And then teasing Gaara for an inordinate amount of time. What Temari would do she didn’t know, but maybe she’d join in too. It was immature, after all. Sakura had no idea what siblings were like, but the way Kankuro and Gaara bantered at their dinnertime meals made her wonder.

They’re gone.

Sakura waited for a minute before stepping over to the bathroom. She lifted her hand to knock on it before pausing, wondering if she should even be here now.

Seriously? She asked herself, shaking her head. Giving up now?

A groan. Coming from the shower. From Gaara.

Sakura didn’t want to know what that groan meant. The idea struck her hard because she was such a pervert. No longer closeted. She had never thought of the Kazekage as a sexual being prior to her arrival in Suna almost a month ago. Before she’d even met Gaara, she was already obsessed with Sasuke, and she hadn’t even sexualised her former teammate. Not really. Well, she didn’t see it as sexualising. It was just stupid, teenage… hormones. No, a crush. A crush based on hormones. Yeah. Well, that’s the story she was going with.

Sakura almost groaned out loud at that. It would’ve been a soft groan and not at all as loud and erotic as Gaara’s.

I should go back to my room.

But no. She needed to prove her mirage wrong. And get a handle on this recent bout of self-flagellation. She’d been in this position before. But this time she needed to walk away from her conversation with Gaara with something substantial. So, she knocked. The sharp, rapping sound seemed to echo through Gaara’s bedroom. Nothing. The groaning had stopped, anyway.

She knocked again.

This time, Gaara’s gravelly voice, muffled by the sound of running water rang out. “One minute.”

Plus, eternity.

This is ridiculous.

Sakura backed away from the bathroom and to the bedroom door, grabbing the handle. She was about to twist it violently open when the water from Gaara’s shower shut off. Such a strange thing to stop her in her tracks.

Damn it.

She was such a fuck up. He’d know by now who was in his room. She couldn’t flee. She reluctantly let go of the door and turned to lean against it. This wasn’t going well. Sakura was losing focus. She couldn’t even remember why she’d come here.

The Root member.

Right. He was acting suspicious. She snorted. When wasn’t he? It was such a suss reason to bother him at this time of day. Perhaps she should talk about their agreement to date, instead. Nothing had happened on that front yet. Maybe…

Gaara’s taking his time.

Bored, she looked around the room and spotted some scrolls on a desk. They looked like correspondence. She hesitated for only a moment before walking over to them. Sakura fingered the edge of the scrolls, not daring anything more than that. Official insignias sealed the rolled-up missives. She was just looking. It wouldn’t hurt to look. Some of the letters were simply folded and had been written on in great detail. She recognised Naruto’s name on one and Sakura swallowed heavily. She traced a finger over the seal that had been placed on top of it. It was old, of course, clearly dating back at least a few years. But for some reason, instead of filing it away, Gaara had it out on top of his reading desk.

Curious.

There were similar letters with more recent dates and seals on them. These were official looking but still used the folded paper style missive. Sakura frowned at that. The only people she’d seen send this kind of correspondence were those with high ranks in the leaf before Danzo’s takeover. She was positive the old mummy had reverted the system back to the rolls of out-dated versions of the well-known rolls because they’d become cheaper to mass produce. But this… these ones were the standard for Konoha shinobi that Sakura had grown up with.

What are you up to, Gaara?

And how long had he been up to it?

When Gaara finally emerged from the bathroom, he was mostly dressed. His hair was still very damp and messy, and she admired the way it stuck up in different directions. Messy and very attractive. She gazed at it for a moment. But his stern expression brought her down to reality. He paused in his stride when his eyes fell on the missives next to her. A question was forming in his head, she could tell by the way his expression was faltering. In the end he decided to ignore it and continued past her toward his wardrobe.

“Good morning,” he said. His voice was calm, but his eyes belied his confusion. “Are you well, Sakura?”

It was so standoffish. His voice, despite the concerned word choice. She was surprised. But Sakura’s mind was whirring about something else entirely. He had Leaf sealed letters on his desk that weren’t Danzo’s. She stared at the partition that Gaara had moved behind, imagining he was dressing. But she couldn’t think about that. The particulars of him undressing and dressing six feet away from her.

When he emerged, Gaara was dressed in his Kazekage work robes.

Right, another day at the office.

Sakura knew what to say now. Everything was clicking into place.

“Everything was so different,” she said, probably confusing him. “Like a sudden spike from hot to cold. Like from night to day. The shift of power to Danzo,” she added, when he raised his pale eyebrows in question.

He nodded in understanding. She had a captive audience.

Sakura had no idea why she was building this tangent instead of getting to the heart of what she really wanted to say, but the words flowed out organically, as though she’d practised and perfected them. If nothing else, they felt important. She kept eye contact with him.

“Everyone who fled the village that night were cowards and weren’t seen or heard from again,” she said. “Or so Danzo’s propaganda would have everyone believe.”

He watched her more closely now, the calm on his face contrasting with the growing intensity in his eyes. Did he realise where she was going with this?

“I was sent on so many missions. After the new interrogation unit was done with me. When I’d finished my Root training.”

He looked surprised. Why was he surprised? Did he think Danzo would be satisfied with her abilities as they were? She’d been weak. Strong according to Tsunade. Weak according to Danzo. And his opinion was the only one that mattered. The bastard.

Sakura looked away from him, a little self-conscious.

“Almost two years,” she said. “I was on field for two out of the three years. I was so lonely. My other friends had been ordered to stay away from me, to focus on their own missions. They kept us all apart. My friends were gone, either way, dead or alive. I had no-one.”

She looked back at him in time to watch Gaara’s Adam’s apple bob and she got a sick sort of pleasure in his sudden discomfort. He was clearly nervous about this line of storytelling. But he waited, and like an attentive student, enrapt by their sensei, as she continued. They both knew where she was going with this now.

“It’s important to have connections. If you don’t…”

You go mental.

Sakura had certainly lost the plot, herself. She was an extrovert, despite her awkward shyness as a child. She needed human companionship. She needed threads binding her to loved ones. Otherwise, she couldn’t survive. One could argue she had survived. But that one would not be her. And it was her weakness. This desire to be valued. She even went as far as needing someone like Gaara to pay attention to her. It went against the narrative that had kept her alive for three years. Everything from before Danzo’s reign might as well have been a dream. Now she was stuck in this dark void of neediness and Sakura hated it.

“I feel… like there’s so much more we could understand about each other. Learn from each other. Tell each other. Like, how are your friends, Sakura?” She didn’t move from her spot in the middle of the room and Gaara cocked his head slightly, almost imperceptibly. “I know you know who I’m talking about.”

Despite the scathing tone of her voice, Gaara clearly did not consider her a threat, as his stance was so relaxed. Maybe deceptively so, but he was not tense or preparing for a fight. Not physically. And his sand was nowhere to be seen. She had no idea what was going through his mind, let alone how he was really feeling.

Why do I always seem to gravitate to guys who don’t express themselves well?

She cleared her throat. “Did you know that Danzo oversaw a lot of interrogation of Lady Tsunade’s allies after he killed her?”

Gaara shook his head. It would be naïve of him to not have presumed it happened, though.

“The Foundation operates in the dark for a reason. Their methods are barbaric.”

His features softened but she found his pity insulting. “I still have scars I was not allowed to heal.”

She was tired of dragging this out. “Have you been communicating with them?”

There was no doubt who she was talking about. She’d seen the missives and had heard the rumours.

Her people, the ones who escaped and weren’t ultimately killed in the following years, were still alive. They were still out there.

Gaara swallowed heavily. He broke their staring contest, glancing at the communiques in question. But whatever shame he felt didn’t last. A few seconds later, he was staring back at her, nodding slowly.

She took a few slow and tentative steps toward him. Sakura suddenly spotted his sand gourd nearby, not sure how she’d missed it. But it didn’t stir. He wasn’t on alert. He wasn’t gauging her for a threat assessment. She could punch him right now. She could rip him apart in an instant. She was fast. Faster than he knew. And he hadn’t uncorked the gourd yet. She had the advantage. And even if he had his sand armour on, she was stronger than he remembered.

Sakura couldn’t tell if he had his sand armour on.

“You helped them, didn’t you?”

He nodded.

“Tell me where they are.”

“I can’t,” he said, speaking for the first time.

“Why?”

“I have no idea where they are, Sakura.”

“Liar!”

The sudden change in her demeanour coupled with the force of her anger shocked him. His eyes widened, but not in fear. Never in fear. She imagined that Sabaku no Gaara had not been truly afraid of many things in this life. His shock, however, might very well scare the crap out of her. But she wasn’t in control of herself. And insatiable pit of despair and fury rolled over her and she found herself storming toward him, every muscle in her body now itching for a fight.

“How dare you keep that from me? I deserve to know, damn you!”

His sand reacted now. It rushed her quickly. Quicker than she remembered it ever doing so in her memories. She hadn’t even seen the gourd move. The rushing sound of the sand brought back memories. But this attack wasn’t meant to hurt her. As she pulled back to avoid it, the granules stilled. It was just defensive. Sakura had lost her advantage when she chose to scream at him over taking that first shot at him. He would see her coming now.

This was a strange sensation. Sakura felt herself grow hot with desire. And not the kind she’d been expecting. It was a surge of adrenaline, directed at Gaara specifically. Yes. She wanted to hit him.

Why am I not surprised?

Without waiting to see if she was surprising him, Sakura channelled chakra to her fists. Her enhanced punch broke through to a wave of sand that came up behind Gaara’s initial defensive barrier. His eyebrows were scrunched up in confusion, and she didn’t blame him. But her desire to hit him faltered at the sight of his face twisted like that. It only took a second for a lasso of sand to twirl itself around her ankle, like it was trying to trip her. She stumbled backward with the momentum and Gaara spun her around, using only his sand, to push her against the wall and face him.

Another sensation of heat flushed through her. Shame. Embarrassment. Humiliation. A conduit to rage. She pulled more chakra into her hands and fisted both hands. She’d never tried to break free from a defence as strong as his. She yelled at him, pulling her hands free and shoving at his chest. Hard enough to knock him off balance but not enough to do any actual damage. He groaned and wound his sand around her once more. Whatever he was doing to it now, she’d have to break through him to free herself. It would do actual damage.

Sakura snorted at that, and he winced. Gaara opened his mouth to say something but was interrupted when she started struggling furiously. She tried to push more chakra to her hands while screaming internally at herself. How was she going to break this without breaking him?

I can’t.

A part of her wanted to. But she couldn’t bring herself to. He saw the moment she gave up. The instant she made the decision to not rip him in half. Gaara grabbed her wrists to stall any further attack and Sakura faltered for the last time. They were both panting and avoiding eye contact.

But no-one was hurt during the making of Sakura Haruno’s mental breakdown.

She started laughing, stuttering as the noise tumbled out of her mouth. Head bowed and body limp. She had lost because she didn’t want to break him. He might have lost because he didn’t want to hurt her. They were weak, the both of them. Pathetic. Where was the monster within?

Dead. Like the rest of us.

“I didn’t know,” he said, breaking the silence. She looked up at him sharply and at her confused frown, he added, “where you were. That you were alive. That you were in Konoha. I don’t know where they are. I promise you,” he said when she scoffed. “The Resistance communicates on their terms. I get times and dates for drop offs for supplies and missives regarding border patrols and any other movement I’m privy to as a kage. I feed them what information I can.”

He sighed, loosening his grip on her without letting go as he continued.

“I’ve known their general location only a few times: when they’ve directly told me. And they’ve always moved on shortly after. We are working toward joint strikes but it’s taking so long, and I am always on standby. I don’t know where they are right now,” he repeated. “I haven’t for months. And it’s safer for them that way.”

Sakura wriggled under his hold, and he gently moved his hands along her arms to grip her shoulders. Was it an offer to let her break free or something else? Her back against the wall, the closed door to her left, she didn’t know. He was so careful with her, despite the strength of his hold.

“And now?” She asked, going still.

“Now? Now, I don’t know.”

Sakura scoffed. His eyes bore into hers and realised with startling clarity that their lips were inches apart, but he didn’t seem to notice. This close, she could see the whites of his eyes, the flecks of darker green in his pale green. She was acutely aware of her breathing. She licked her lips, fighting the urge to tilt her head closer to him.

Gods.

Of all the times for her libido to kick in! She squirmed against the wall. Her anger had simmered, and she was now fighting a blush instead of her emotions. He seemed to realise; his lips parted, his breath hitched, and eyes wide. When he gently extricated himself from her, she almost cried. But whether it was from relief or disappointment, she didn’t know. They had been so close; close enough to kiss. His body had been inches from hers. All she’d had to do was move toward him to scratch this itch of hers. It had started as shivers along her arms, then somehow teleported itself to her hips, travelling down her legs, and then finally skimmed along the sensitive flesh between her thighs.

An ache began to form.

Fuck.

She remained flat against the wall, unwilling to move. The myriad of emotions that raged through her, from anger to sadness to deep seeded need to release her sexual to relief; they terrified her. Sakura was surprised her eyes were still dry. She felt like crying at the sheer absurdity of it all. But she had to force herself to calm down. Gaara was looking at her funny.

Almost like we didn’t almost just pummel each other.

“We can talk,” he said slowly. “I think we need to.”

“On our date,” Sakura added emotionlessly. If it ever happens. Now she just wanted to bang her head against the wall.

“I need you to understand… I’m so sorry.”

She turned her head away as Gaara stepped close to her once more, her eyes tracing the scrolls on his desk that had started this whole thing before falling to the floor.

“It will get better. I will make it better. I promise.”

She closed her eyes and focused on her breathing as her heart started to race. She felt a light sensation along her arm as though he was hovering a hand over her skin. She looked up at him and stared back into those fathomless eyes. The emotion in his voice almost broke her. “So, you are up to something?”

He stepped away again, making her head spin. “We’ll talk later.”

Sakura nodded dumbly as he left her in his bedroom. The day was just starting, and she was suddenly exhausted. She felt like she’d just run a marathon. Like she’d been running all day nonstop and it was finally sundown. Now she could rest her tired muscles. All the energy had left her. Like her body barely had the energy to tremble in exhaustion. She shuddered and slowly made her way back to her room.

What else am I going to do?

She’d been back to the hospital, to volunteer, once. It hadn’t lasted long, and she didn’t do much. It seemed that Councillor Sajō was determined to make her stay as painfully boring as possible. She didn’t want to go running to Gaara to tell on him for berating her in front of the entire staff. For having her followed home and not bothering to hide that he was responsible for it. She was weak enough as it was.

At least she had the Kazekage training grounds to retreat to. Her katas were getting better, almost like she’d forgotten how to do them, which was crazy. Sakura hadn’t taken her kunai down to the grounds yet, but she was already planning on making a mess of one of the dummies down there. It reminded her of Yamato. She smiled at that. And perhaps she could name it Tenzo just to annoy the image of him in her head.

But right now, there was nothing to do but to wonder how to entertain herself. And Sakura had now completely forgotten what she’d gone to Gaara’s room to do in the first place.

Can’t have been important.

She sat on her bed and debated what to do as her vision blurred. Her body was already exhausted and, realising what was happening, Sakura shifted on the bed. Cracks formed along the edges of her vision. Her eyes stung as a headache rapidly formed behind them and she couldn’t close her eyelids. Everything blurred and she lost herself in time.

.:.

The cracks in her vision eased as her awareness returned. The blurring lessened to her peripherals and the pounding in the back of her eye sockets faded to a dull throb. Sakura blinked heavily. Slowly. She felt like she was coming to from some weird vision. She sniffed, wiping at dry tears that she didn’t remember crying, then sighed shakily. She looked up at the clock and groaned; her stomach twisted as she realised that she’d been sitting there for the whole day. She’d dissociated.

Haven’t done that in a while.

As far as she could recall. She didn’t care anymore. There was no energy in her for that anymore.

Sakura stood up then threw her clothes off, not bothering to grab new clothes, and walked into the bathroom completely naked. Nobody was here to see her finally lose it, anyway. Or be perverted.

Like anyone would, ever.

Sakura set up a washcloth and cleaning products then stepped under the shower head. The water was too hot, and she remembered that scalding showers were more harmful than not. She didn’t care. She let it burn.

She sighed, resting her head against the tiles. An image of Gaara popped into her head. The groans he’d been making in his morning shower. How close they’d stood during their argument. How tantalising he’d smelled. How tempting he’d been. She could’ve just leaned forward and taken his lips in hers. Pushed on him and pushed all inhibition to the back of her mind. Her fantasy played out in her head, sending a trickle of heat into to her core.

“Hmm.”

She smiled, now parting her legs. It was just harmless fun, right? Just lust. Just something to do.

She slid two fingers down her slit, running her thumb along her clit as she went, moaning. She still felt a slight buzz from the reaction she’d had to Gaara earlier, even after all those hours of dissociating.

Her mind drifted a few times as she tried to focus on why that would be, but she pushed it aside. The only thing that mattered was the pleasure she was invoking in her body. Nobody else was in the building yet, given it was almost sundown. No-one would be able to hear her. Sakura wanted to let loose and fuck herself like the rest of the world didn’t exist.

She imagined another set of hands trailing down her body, gently brushing along her erogenous zones, one after the other. Large, calloused, shinobi hands. She gasped as her hips spasmed. She knew those hands. Familiar, tired, but powerful. Her lover squeezed her nipples as she bucked into her own hands.

“Mm…”

Sakura rode her fingers as the ghost-like touch of her lover played with her body. His hair tickled her face as he pressed their cheeks together, whispering all the things he wanted to do to her, in that deep, husky voice of his. She caught a glimpse of red hair in her vision as her grew in volume; gasping turned to moaning, culminating in a half-cry as a violent orgasm tore through her. She unconsciously pushed chakra to her feet to keep from slipping along the wet tiles as she convulsed uncontrollably. A few more times. She was determined to keep at it. Her fantasy seemed to take on a life of its own.

“Fuck!”

The person in her daydream had started to take shape. As though it thought she didn’t know who it was. Sakura would have been surprised if it didn’t take on Gaara’s appearance. The hair had already turned that distinct shade of red of his. Every physical aspect she attributed to him was blossoming in front of her. Naked Gaara, standing with her in the shower, wet, hard body pressed against hers. Driving home her final release.

Fuck.

She was done.

Sakura looked up at the shower head, smiling lightly. It was detachable and she’d used it before. But it was over, and she was done. She quickly cleaned herself and stepped out of the shower on jelly legs, holding onto the wall to keep from falling over. She’d always been the cause of her own orgasm but they’d never, never this intense before. She could appreciate the who and how without attaching her fanciful emotions to it.

Her heart had frozen over long ago. At least, that’s what she told herself. Sakura needed to accept that nobody was ever going to crawl into her heart ever again. Not like she wanted them to. Needed them to.

I won’t be that useless again.

Emerging from the bathroom still towel drying her hair, Sakura breathed in deeply. Walking naked through her room felt so suddenly freeing. The flush from her orgasm and the heat of the shower made her almost giddy at the idea of never putting clothes on again.

She hummed, moving toward the bed when something caught her eye. She frowned.

The full-length mirror.

Sakura hadn’t been looking in the stupid thing every day. The years under Danzo’s thumb had hardened her appearance along with so many other things. But while the person that looked back at her was indeed Sakura Haruno, it also wasn’t. She knew that full course meals in the Kazekage mansion had started putting healthy weight back on her. And she knew this was a good thing. But her self-deprecating view of herself was not so easily fixed.

She wouldn’t be winning any beauty pageants but that hardly mattered anyway.

I used to be pretty.

And now?

I’m still pretty.

What Gaara must think of me.

I’m an idiot for worrying about that. And so is he if he does care.

Thoughts from less than a month ago that felt like years.

Taking a deep breath, Sakura turned the mirror around to look at herself. She held her breath, prepared to be disgusted by what she saw. She’d put on a thin layer of muscle; still lean and taut but different. Her ego was alive and kicking as her eyes roamed over her body, taking in the feminine curves on her petite but soft and well-shaped body. All the little parts that men cared about but she was most self-conscious about; her smaller than average sized breasts, the soft hair between her legs that she’d only recently been diligent about keeping trimmed. She frowned at that. Was it possible to be a pervert on yourself? It had to be her inherent vanity. Nothing Danzo or any of his lackeys had succeeded in completely removing her ego. She’d always had body issues (who didn’t?) but they didn’t stop her from admiring what she had.

Let’s make this more clinical.

Sakura perused the contours of her ligaments. She observed the muscle tone and was satisfied that it was appropriate for her age, sex, weight, and diet. On her arrival to Suna, she’d been slightly malnourished but the nightly dinners with Gaara and his siblings had helped with that, even if she did eat like a bird during the day. So, she still had the body of a lean, fit kunoichi.

Okay.

That wasn’t the problem, though.

Instead of trailing her fingers over the actual scars, Sakura ran them along the mirror, tracing the reflection versions of her scars instead. War wounds. Stab wounds. Things she hadn’t had enough chakra to full heal at the time. Now they were just reminders of what she’d been through. What she’d done to survive. Of all she’d lost. They were the ugliness marring her body, not the shallow concerns she’d had once about her over sized forehead or the fact that her breasts were never going to be huge like young Sakura Haruno had daydreamed about.

It was a good thing this engagement was fake; that Gaara was never going to see these scars. (Her raging libido aside.) They were hideous; an ugly reminder of the meat grinder she’d been living in before.

Nobody wants to play with a broken doll.

Well, that wasn’t completely true. Sakura was sure there was a kink for that out there, somewhere.

She sighed. Despite still being flushed from her time in the shower, her skin was dry and could use some moisturiser. She hadn’t used anything like that in so long. It did a number on the skin, being so mission orientated for so long. But really, if she was trying to be optimistic, Sakura didn’t think any of her actual problems weren’t fixable. She was still young. Still soft and pleasing to look at, to some degree.

Still vain.

She sighed again and turned away. It did not do anything for her to dwell on such things.

Maybe I should just throw the mirror out the window.

“Sakura!” Temari’s voice startled Sakura, her voice carrying up, through the floorboards. “Dinner’s ready!”

Right. In all her musings she hadn’t been paying attention to the fact that she was no longer alone. And maybe she’d dissociated a little.

Time flies.

Her thoughts went to the achingly familiar redhead whose image had gotten her off in the shower. To the man who’d promised so many things. A date. A talk. Answers.

How am I supposed to face him now?

.:.

[manicpixiedgoblin]

Nervous Young Inhumans

Masterpost

Chapter Three.

(This takes place in S1E6, for reference)

She looked at the small thirteen on her wrist. They’d gotten matching tattoos on her last birthday in Albuquerque, 13 for the date they’d met - a normal day one August, walking out of her first day of high school in a new city.

Jesse had friends already, he’d grown up there. Ellie was new, lonely, bored already. She’d buried her parents two months before, moved in with her barely functioning grandmother into a decent apartment - the transition wasn’t so hard, Santa Fe was similar enough to Albuquerque.

But before him, she’d thought she would sleep through the four years before moving away for college, and suddenly she was completely immersed in the here and now of this desert city. Pinkman drew her aside one day in the parking lot and everything after was about a world made up of him and her. Everyone and everything else was background noise.

Now, in the hospital staff lounge where she was eating her shitty pre-packed lunch she stared at it. Wondered if he looked at it often too.

Was it always a dumb idea, a matching tattoo? Even if he wasn’t in her life the way he used to be, she knew he was a part of her forever. Maybe the best and worst part at once.

“Ellie?” a voice broke her out of her thoughts. One of the nurses.

“Yeah? What’s up?”

“Patient in room 304 is asking for you, Mrs. Ackermann.”

She wiped her mouth with a napkin and threw away the half of the sandwich she had left.

“Be right there.”

***

It wasn’t often that she went to the Oncology unit, but she saw his name and ran straight over.

A line of six or seven patients in comfortable reclining chairs sat along the wall. Mr. White was the next to last.

She walked over and sat on the empty chair next to him.

“Can I call you Walter now?” she smiled.

“Elena Sanders! What are you doing here?” he smiled back.

“I work here now.”

“I’m so glad, it’s so good to see that!”

“You shouldn’t be surprised I was the only A+ in your class.”

“Ellie, you were also dating,” he stammered for a moment, his face betraying something, though she couldn’t tell what.

“Pinkman?” she laughed.

“Pinkman,” he looked down at his hands and shook his head slightly.

“We broke up when I went to med school.”

“Well,” he shrugged, “I’m glad you went. Regardless of, uh, Jesse.”

“Have you seen him around?”

“Have you?”

“A few times, but no, not really.”

“Oh, good, good. I mean, not like that, just, you know,” he waved his hand.

“Yeah,” she glanced down, and then gestured to the chemo bag, “well, how’s this going?”

“I guess you can imagine,” Walter sighed.

“More from my grandmother than from medicsl

school,” Ellie said, “I didn’t specialize in Oncology. But how are you feeling? How’s Mrs. White?”

“We’re fine, you know, it’s all a complicated process, but holding up.”

“If I can ever help you in any way, just let me know. I’ll give you my new number, you can also give it to Skylar.”

“Thank you, Ellie, really,” he said, nodding and smiling as she wrote down her number. “It was lovely seeing you.”

***

Jesse was in the RV when Walter slammed the door on his way in.

“You haven’t said anything about this to anyone right?”

“What the fuck man? No.”

“No one?!”

“Jesus, Mr. White, what the fuck? No, no one knows shit, why are you being all paranoid and crazy?” Jesse turned away, and mumbled “bitch.”

“I saw Ellie Sanders.”

“Where?”

“That’s not the point, Jesse.”

“Whatever, man, no, we barely talk.”

“Good,” he backed away.

“Good? Like you were always telling her in high school, good like she’s too good for me?”

“No, Jesse -“ he gestured with his hands, “good as in no one can know about this. About us.”

“Whatever, man. No one knows.”

***

Ellie went to see Mr. and Mrs. Pinkman again for the first time. It had all gone well, until when they were saying goodbye.

“I’m happy to see you so much, sweetie,” Diane had said, “and you know, when one day you meet a lucky guy I hope you bring him around.”

Ellie must’ve made a face.

“Oh, you know,” Diane went on, “Adam and I love Jesse. But he doesn’t deserve you. We know you’re too good to date him.”

“Right,” something snapped inside Ellie. “I’ll see you.”

She practically stormed down the driveway and into her car, turning the music loud before backing out of her spot and driving over the speed limit.

She ignored the turn towards her apartment and drove in a mad daze towards Jesse’s place.

Ellie knocked on the door loudly. She heard shuffling inside and knocked again.

A tired, disgruntled Jesse opened, rubbing the back of his head until he reacted to seeing her. He was wearing a yellow hoodie, his hair a mess.

She didn’t say anything, just wrapped her hands around his neck and pressed herself to him, kissing him violently. He reacted instantly, pulling her inside and kicking the door shut behind her.

He shrugged off his hoodie and put one of his arms around her waist, touched her hair with the other one, groaning already against her mouth.

It was faster, more intense than any time they’d kissed before.

She tossed off her sweater and he pulled off her shirt. They fell onto the couch, her legs straddling him. In between kisses and hair pulling, she took off his shirt.

She hiked her skirt up and he unzipped his jeans, and without taking anything else off, forgetting even to get a condom, she began riding him there and then.

“Fuck,” he moaned against her chest, “fuck, yes.”

She let out a loud moan as he pulled her hair, licked her chest.

Fuck being too good for him. If they really knew them they’d know it was the other way around.

[from-a-reckless-writer]

RE: the tags about being tempted to post a half finished fic and guess the ending, well you are a reckless writer for a reason

this is long overdue, so here have a fic.

It has come to the point that nothing fazes her anymore.

A kidnapping? Been there, done that. It means calling Sam Arias to intimidate the board of members into temporary submission.

An explosion at the office? Just a typical Tuesday. It means relocating to the 23rd floor and sharing the desk with two other interns for 2 months tops.

An assassination attempt? It means bracing herself for at least 3 deliveries of donuts and coffee for the two following weeks that Kara Danvers would be protectively hovering over L-Corp, until her boss snaps and shoos her away back to CatCo.

She’s seen it all, endured it all and she sure as hell is prepared for it all. She’s got three different ironclad statements ready to publish for whatever PR disaster will most likely turn up that week. She’s got contacts from the FBI, DEO, CatCo, Daily Planet, Gotham Gazette-- hell she even has Lillian’s personal cell (just in case the Luthor matriarch ever tries anything y’know? ) and yes, even the number of that 'Mexican place at 5th and Spring, you know the one Kara likes, Jess?'

She’s got two pairs of heels, a raincoat and four sets of outfits neatly folded in a duffel bag, at the back of the office, reserved for any emergency that requires a change of clothes.

The point is, she is an independent Asian-American woman who has worked her ass off for the better part of the decade and has long learned to take no shit from anybody.

Not even stupid superpowered Kryptonians.

See, it takes a lot to be her. It takes unlimited patience to put up with a woman like Lena Luthor, not because she’s a terrible person. Oh no, no, the complete opposite, actually. She is so overwhelmingly kind to a fault, and she doesn’t want nor let anybody see it. It’s infuriating to see sometimes. Okay, fine, she sides with the Krytonian on that one matter. But oh, ho, ho, not today. Today, she’s mad.

She’s livid, actually and it’s all Supergirl’s fault. (and Lena Luthor's too.)

Jess has had her fair share of ‘I-Should-Not-Have-Been-Here’ moments, like that one time she forgot to knock and stumbled unto Lex mid-yell with Lena whose eyes were shimmering but was still keeping a rigid posture.

Or that one time when she thought her boss had long left the office, only to be greeted with quiet sobs and an empty bottle of scotch rolling on the floor. Or that time she happened upon Lena, skirt and sleeves on fire with fumes rising from a green solution.

Apparently, her staff from the lab refused to let her in after three days of their CEO holding herself in isolation with the experiment. Lena had gotten the great idea of smuggling the chemicals to her office instead. Luthors are nothing but determined. Jess still remembers the adrenaline rush of holding a fire extinguisher—as if she were the chosen 5th grader for a school fire drill—and shoving her boss out of the way.

Like she said, nothing fazes her anymore she’s seen it all, except maybe, this one. Yep, definitely this one. This one just made a hot ball of fury unfurl at her very core. This one might just take the cake.

Jess was just going about her day, returned from a hearty lunch and feeling reinvigorated from that dose of sunlight and fresh air. It was a quiet day today, she noticed, which should’ve been a foretelling.

Nothing really is ever quiet. Well, when it comes to L-Corp, at least.

She’s been sitting on her desk for about a good fifteen minutes and finished with screening a few papers from their new contractors, when it occurs to her that the latest blueprints from R&D are still on her desk instead of already being reviewed by her boss.

She grabs the drawing tube and quickly makes for her boss’s private office. They’ve spent enough time with each other that Jess could just come and go as she pleases, instead of having to knock each time. Saves both of their time, that way.

Although, usually, she buzzes through the intercom first to double check, but it was 1:20 P.M and she knows Lena doesn’t have anything scheduled after lunch. So, she pushes the door, confidently strolls in and promptly stops in her tracks.

Jess stops breathing for a moment, blinks once, twice, stares at the scene before her.

Lena Luthor sat atop her work desk; blouse open, eyes closed, cheeks flushed, neck currently being ravaged by Supergirl with legs wrapped around the waist.

She probably should’ve just turned and left while they haven’t seen her yet. That would’ve been the smart decision, right? Yes. Yes, it was so very clearly The Right Decision.

Of course, she doubts she could look Lena in the eye for the next few weeks after that, but at least she wouldn’t know that Jess walked in on them during an er- make-out session? Office tryst? Oh God, she shudders internally. It sounds even worse.

Incident? Yep. Yeah. She’s sticking with incident. Indecent incident sounds more apt really.

She should’ve left. Would have left, if her eyes didn’t just land on the desk—well, more like Miss Luthor’s as- backside—and felt the stirrings of rage make itself known. Because there, underneath Lena’s ass (Backside!! Jess, that’s your boss!) is the squished—probably crumpled—pages of a contract.

A contract they’ve spent 5 months securing!!

Jess decides to do what everyone else would have done in a situation such as this; she clears her throat. Loudly.

Classic move.

Supergirl’s head immediately shoots up and Lena’s eyes snap open.

“Jess!” Supergirl squeaks and she sees the exact moment the realization hits Lena. Her eyes widening at her girlfriend’s exclamation, whips her head to the side, spots Jess, hands scrambling to a panic to close all the buttons of her blouse.

She hears Lena hiss, “Fuck, shit. Oh my God. Shit. How did she even- You have superhearing!!!” as she pushes Supergirl—who lets herself be pushed, stunned by the intrusion, face redder than a tomato.

Lena gets off the desk, fixes herself all the while to futile results. Her hair is tugged down from her usual ponytail, her neck and chest is marked, her lips swollen.

Supergirl's hands twitch at the sides and Jess sees her gulp as blue eyes frantically dart to Lena and her, and then Lena, and then back to her.

Lena finally turns around after those few awkward beats.

"Jess," she begins, clearly trying hard to put on her business bitch persona, but come on, there's a hickey under her jaw for fuck's sake.

"It's not what you-"

Jess doesn’t let her finish, she stomps her way across the office and forcefully puts the drawing tube on the desk. It makes a hollow thump.

“Jess I-”

“Supergirl, do you know how long it takes to finalize a business proposal, pitch it to the board, persuade the board and finally have a contract drawn?”

Supergirl gulps again. Lena’s eyes are wild next to her, she doesn’t like not knowing what the next best move is, Jess knows this all too well.

“Uhhh- no?”

Jesus Christ, you’d think after years of shadowing Cat Grant, she'd had at least learned a thing or two. Then again, if somebody is full on glaring at her after getting caught red-handed, Jess doubts she could answer coherently too.

“That’s right,” Jess says, “You don’t.”

“Jess,” Lena repeats pointedly. She knows that tone. It’s a warning.

“Ms. Luthor.”

A period not a question mark. It’s a challenge.

"I've spent all my evenings working late on that, do you know how many dates I've had to cancel? Just so I can secure a meeting with Qatar and simultaneously sync it with Beijing's time? My boyfriend hasn't seen me in two weeks!” Jess bursts out.

“Two weeks, Supergirl!” She gets close enough to jab a finger to the Girl of Steel’s chest. A feat she will gladly tell all her coworkers later when she’s calmed down enough.

“Not to mention, the 10 other people who worked their ass off trying to make sure that Miss Luthor's presentation is airtight, bulletproof and waterproof!” Lena has the decency to look a little guilty at this point, nothing big though, just a slight tug at her lips, but it was enough for Jess.

“IT TOOK ME 3 FUCKING MINUTES TO PRINT THAT GODDAMN CONTRACT WHICH MIGHT NOT SOUND LONG—” Jess raises a finger in emphasis, “BUT BELIEVE ME WORKING IN L-CORP? A 3 MINUTE DIFFERENCE CAN MEAN AN ASSASSINATION ATTEMPT OR PSYCHOPATH PRESS!”

Supegirl of all people should already know this! For fuck’s sake!

Jess’s chest is heaving. She takes a deep breath, kneads her knuckles to her eyelids, “So, please if you're gonna have sex in the office, please, pleaseeeee clear the desk first. And at least, lock the door.”

She stares them both down, till Lena gives her a solemn nod; cheeks and ears still red. Supergirl squeaks out an, “U-understood, Ma’am.”

“Good. Glad we’ve come to an agreement.” Jess gives them one final nod before finally fulfilling what she came in here to do, “Miss Luthor,” She turns to Lena, “here are the R&D blueprints. Good day, to you Supergirl. I'll be going now. "

When she finally goes home, tells her boyfriend, and wonders aloud if she’ll still have a job the next morning, he tells her she’s such a badass.

And well, Jess can’t disagree with that.

*****

"Did I just- Did I just get yelled at by your secretary?? D-did she just chew us out?"

"She did, and she deserves a raise."

[arsonsamruby]

sam winchester pride

i have a new fic <3 hiiiiiiiiiiiiiii

it’s s1 sam coming out to dean. was THIS close to making the ending sam ugly crying alone but even though dean Is like. microaggressions boy he’s not going to be a bitch about it all that’s out of character. i think he does try very hard to support sam. like he’s not an ally but probably because he doesn’t really know what an ally is. 

anyway wtf am i even saying.

___ Sam has a headache. Dean comes by, ruffles his hair, slouches into the couch. Sam licks his lips, looking away from the screen. It has loud, bright cartoons on it and in the prickling sense of dread he’s carrying with him, the stimulation is too much. 

Half of the headache is from a hard hit he took to the head, lingering pain. The other half is stress and dehydration. Unless beer counts as hydration, then in which- well, he’s covered. The screen of the television is cracked through; it’s playing Friends reruns. 

He stands abruptly. 

“Sammy, I swear to God, if you start pacing again-” Dean warns, throwing a pillow at him. Sam ducks it, somehow. His body takes up half the room. It’s hard to find space. 

He can’t help it. His feet get itchy, his legs pull tight, and it’s nice. Nice, to put in his earphones and walk around for a little while. “I’ll go out to the parking lot, promise. I won’t bother you.” 

He smiles slightly at Dean, but his brother isn’t much looking. 

The parking lot of the motel has the sticky feeling underfoot of summer heat on asphalt, and sweat. The crumbling pollen and flowers from the trees have made his half-present allergies flare up. As a kid, Sam would have allergy seasons that ran out of sync with everyone else’s. 

Go three years without a single cold, until one awful summer would come and he’d sneeze and sneeze and sneeze. He recalls: Oregon, in a rainy patch. It had been a relief to wash all the yellow pollen away with the weekly downpour. Another thing about Oregon, he’d had a best friend there. A girl. 

Huh. He tries to tuck his smile away, but it comes through like the sun through clouds. Sam looks dumb, doesn’t he? Some goofball pacing around a parking lot and smiling to himself. 

After about ten minutes, maybe more, his pace slows. The scenery is getting too humid. He wants to roll back into bed, into those cool sheets. 

“Sammy? Is that you?” 

Sam kicks his shoes off into the dirty corner. Dean’s left a bootprint on the floor there. If Sam was looking for a fight, he’d say something. “It’s me.” 

“You got a call. Someone left a voicemail. For you.” 

His voice is sharp, pounding hail on cement. “A call?” Sam replies dumbly.

Dean nods his head over to the answering machine. “I’ll put it on for you.” 

Sam’s heart begins to slow to a rolling stretch of highway. The cars moving across it are few and far between and his breath is short and dangerous. 

“Sammy?” The effusive warmth dies down after the nickname, realizing Dean’s heard it through. The voicemail, the nickname. “You gave me this number the other day. Outside the Jewel Osco?” 

He laughs. It crackles over the phone in a friendly way. Friendly the way he kissed tiny little butterflies onto Sam’s collarbones, the way his house was cool in the summer night. 

“I guess you’re a big-time developer and all so I’m not sure if you even care. But I have the jacket you left with me? The other night?” 

He clears his throat. “If you want it back, you can drop by.” The voicemail ends. 

“You leave your jacket at your friend’s house, Sammy? Come on, it’s just like you’re little again. You want me to pick it up for you?” 

Sam realizes two things: Dean hasn’t caught what the message means, and Sam wishes he would have. 

“Dean?” 

“Mmm?” 

Sam has never been able to cry with dry eyes. He can’t hide the shaky undercurrent to his voice. His eyelids feel like cement but he keeps staring at Dean. A flush of fear is blooming high on his cheeks. 

“Me and that guy, we’re not just friends. Or whatever.” 

Sam went calling for information, at his house. Said he was a real estate developer, even though the back of his neck went red with the obvious lie. The suit was cheap and he was young. He’d gotten the information and then this guy, his name is Jude, had kissed him. Sam left the suit jacket there. He’s glad he’s getting it back, all things considered. 

He still doesn’t know what possessed him to hand over his number after buying peanut butter and sandwich bread two days later. A crack in his self control, maybe. 

“What do you mean…” Dean isn’t making jokes, at least. Sam squints hard at the floor. His head feels like a matchbox. Being struck over and over again. His headache is back, erupting with a vengeance. 

“Sam, is it something- Dad did? Is it something I did? To make you, uh.” 

Sam shakes his head, sighing deeply. He wants to be a bitch about it and spit out something sarcastic. “What do you think you could have done?” 

Dean shakes his head. Murmurs, “I don’t know,” almost that Sam can’t hear him. “I guess you’re the type, though, Sammy.” Sam knows what he means by that. “As long as you don’t go around falling in love with some starry eyed dude. We still have to find Dad.” 

“About that. Don’t tell him.” Sam pointedly raises his eyebrows. Dean doesn’t have a great record of choosing- choosing him, his secrets that he keeps tight in his fists. He doesn’t have a record of letting any opportunity to be a good son slip by. 

“Sure, sure.” Dean frowns. “Hey, what about Jess? Did you lead some poor chick on up until-” 

“Shut the fuck up.” Sam’s hands are suddenly shaking. Dean leans back. He’s not the shrinking type, his shoulders stay up and guarded. “I’m not gay, I’m- I’m something else. Both, you know?” The inside of his cheek is bitten raw, he can taste the fleshier bits coming alive. 

“I don’t think that’s how it works, Sammy.” 

The telling was easy; now it’s muddier. Sam wades in anyway. “Who here is the expert, you or me?” The sick dread has risen in his stomach and is now lapping at his sodden brain, pulling him under. It’s hot as hell out but he pulls the blankets over his legs. 

“Sorry. Bad take.” 

“I loved her-” Dean doesn’t like hearing about Jess and Sam cuts himself off. 

“Never mind. I’m going to go get more beer.” Dean leaves. 

Sam looks between the ugly green blankets, the TV still on, the white, unearthly light seeping in through every crack. When he told Jess, she lit up with it, went on to ask him questions, run her fingers through his shower-damp hair and let him talk. 

Dean bursts through the door. “Sammy, I really do want to say- thank you for telling me. You wanna talk about it more, we can go get your girly coffee drink and we can talk about whatever.” 

The aimless tears in Sam’s eyes finally come to the surface. “Oh, come on,” Sam groans. “You don’t have to act like I’m that-” 

Dean interrupts him. “Here, Sammy. Here. The way I see it, you’re like Chandler Bing now.” 

Sam blinks at him. “Dean, he’s not-” 

“Well, maybe not in the show, but everyone knows he’s gay anyway. You’re like Chandler Bing. If you want to go with me and get a coffee, uh, tell me about the guy action you got at Stanford, I’ll be your Joey.” 

Sam swipes the back of his hand across his eyes. If tears were blood he would look like a murder victim. Dean approaches him nervously. “Seriously.” He wrestles Sam into a tight hug, holding him for a long few minutes. 

“Do we still have painkillers around? I have a headache.” The walls (brown wood and decades out of date) are no longer closing in on him under oppressive heat and thoughts of Jess. Dean isn’t mad. Just- just Dean. 

Life returns to normal.

[pucksnsticksnhockeyboys]

all my focus on you

summary: all of your focus is on Jake, and yet you can’t see that he loves you.

warnings: mentions of injury

word count: 3.2k

note from the writer: this is the first thing I've posted in months and I really like how it turned out. let me know what you think! also I didn’t edit it so sorry ahead of time.

“Who’s Tuna?”

You had heard the nickname tossed around a lot. At least, you were pretty sure it was a nickname. You were new to the world of hockey, having only really paid attention to the sport in the past few months as a result of your roommate, Jess, dating professional player Brock Boeser. Through him, you had met Elias, Quinn, Thatcher, Troy, and a whole assortment of others. But, Tuna still remained a mystery to you. Apparently, he was going to be joining your group out to the bar that night.

“You’ll like him.” Brock declared, giving you the same response he always did whenever you asked, while Elias’ smile turned the special kind of mischievous that only he could ever pull off. You didn’t have the chance to question how he could have been so certain, because Jess called your name and insisted that you start getting ready to go.

You’d never, not once in a million years, admit it that Brock was right.

You did like ‘Tuna’. A lot more than you probably should have. He was fun and outgoing from the moment Brock introduced you to him at the bar. Your heart stopped in your chest when you realized that Tuna was Jake Virtanen, your secret hockey crush. When Jess started seeing Brock, she showed you the entire Canucks roster. Jake’s piercing blue eyes struck out to you from the moment you saw his picture, but other than a ‘oh he’s cute’ and a mental note of his name and number, you kept quiet.

Now, he was standing before you, handing extended for you to shake with a dazzling smile that nearly made you forget your own name.

“I’m Jake.” He said brightly, and you offered your own smile in return as you slipped your hand into his meekly. Your face warmed at his touch, and if you possessed the ability to look away from Jake, you would have seen the shit-eating grin Brock wore. But you couldn’t, and instead you saw the way Jake’s gaze stayed on you, his own cheeks turning red. “What’re you drinking? I’m buying tonight.”

And thus, an amazing friendship grew. Which, for whatever reason, Brock seemed to loathe.

He was insistent that there was something more between you and Jake, which you vehemently denied, and each time your cheeks would burn brightly. It wasn’t as if you didn’t want anything more with Jake, in the few months that you had gotten to know him, he had become one of your closest friends and the person you told everything too.

And your secret hockey crush turned into full blown feelings. Most of your time was spent with him, even if you felt nothing but butterflies in your stomach whenever he was near. Only a few short months after meeting him, you couldn’t imagine your life without him. He was a constant presence in your life, as sure as you were that the sun would rise, you knew that Jake would be there for you.

With a schedule as crazy as a professional athlete’s, you jumped on any opportunity to spend time with Jake and any of the guys on the team, who all quickly became good friends of yours, along with their partners. Currently, you were at a diner, getting a quick lunch with Jake, Petey, and Brock, the two blondes sharing a side of the booth opposite of you.

Jake was in the middle of animatedly telling a story, and you watched with your undivided attention. Well, nearly undivided, since he had swung an arm around your shoulders shortly after sitting down and the simple contact had your heart beating like crazy. Petey had sent you no less than three shit-eating grins, and Brock was openly chuckling at how flustered you were. You were just thankful Jake was as oblivious as he was.

“You’re coming to the game tonight, right?” Jake asked, jostling you with the arm that was around his shouler to get your attention as soon as he finished his story. You nodded, taking a sip of your drink to cover up the fact that you had been openly staring at him as he spoke. “Perfect. Alright, I’ve got to run. I’m supposed to meet with my nutritionist.”

There was a chorus of ‘goodbyes’ as he tossed some cash on the table, enough to cover both his bill and yours, since he always insisted on paying for you. Before he could slide out of the booth, though, he pressed a quick kiss to your temple, an innocent act that had your heart doing cartwheels. You avoided Petey and Brock’s gazes, trying to will the heat in your cheeks away. It was only when the bell chimed on the door signalling that Jake had left, did someone speak up.

“Oh, come on!” Brock groaned, and you shot him a curious look. He ignored you, turning to face Elias, who was grinning in amusement. “I’m just going to tell her. It’s painful at this point.”

“Tell me what?” You question, nerves seeping into you, watching Elias shrug and grin wider. Instantly, your mind thought about the worst, like someone was getting traded or something similar, but nothing could have prepared you for what Brock said next.

“Jake is in love with you.”

“What? No, he’s not.” You spluttered, eyes wide and cheeks warm. Brock rolled his eyes at you, a scoff leaving his lips as if he thought his teammate’s apparent affection was obvious.

“He talks about you all the time.” Petey offered, and you fell silent. Elias wasn’t one to mess around with something like that. Sure, he made sly comments that had you laughing everytime, but this was different.

“He thinks you could never like him back, so we have to listen to him complain about it.” Brock’s tone was serious, but you could hear the subtle chirp. You pursed your lips, dropping your focus onto your plate to avoid meeting either of their gazes.

“You guys are ridiculous.” You settled on saying, though just because you dropped the conversation, it didn’t mean that you stopped thinking about it.

Even hours later as you were walking through the doors of the arena, you were still thinking about it. Though, you were quickly distracted as Jess led you through the crowd to find your seats and watch warm-ups.

Despite your inner turmoil, the Virtanen jersey felt right on your shoulders, now a regular part of your wardrobe. When Jake had found out that you had no idea about hockey, he had bought you the number eighteen Canucks sweater, along with tickets to just about every home game, claiming you were his good luck charm. When he gave you his jersey, he stated that it was to make your hockey experience complete—thought now you weren’t so sure.

Brock’s words from earlier in the day were still bouncing in your head. You had a hard time believing they were true, but then you thought over nearly every interaction you had with Jake. They all had a common theme—Jake was always looking at you with a softness to his eyes that you had, at the time, chaked up to his friendliness. Now, thinking back, you recognized the look. It was the same look you gave him.

A look of utter adoration and total love.

You settled into your seat to watch the game with a wide smile on your face, borderline giddy with the conclusion you had come to. You decided that after the game, when you would be going back to Jake’s for a movie night and a sleepover, a tradition that had been established after celebrating a win too hard one night and you spent the night at his place, and at the following brunch it was decided his guest room would be yours after any home games. Though, if you played your cards right, you wouldn’t be sleeping in the guest room.

Your happiness only lasted until halfway through the first period, and quickly dread formed in the pit of your stomach. The game was back and forth, neither team able to keep possession of the puck for very long. Petey scored first, and you cheered loudly, but clamped your mouth shut when a player on the opposite team—you couldn’t see a name on his jersey, and even so, you didn’t pay attention to any hockey team outside of Vancouver—started shoving Jake. Of course, Jake was running his mouth and shoving back, and it was only when a ref skated between the two players did you let out a breath of relief you hadn’t realized you were holding.

Apparently, Jake pissed off the other team a lot more than you originally thought.

You would have sworn he was being targeted. Everytime he was on the ice, it seemed, that an opposing player would check him into the boards. He wad getting hit hard from all angles, he got tripped twice but only drew a penalty on one—and if you screamed bullshit! at the ref, then who would have blamed you—and got into a fight late in the second after an opposing player shoved into Thatcher.

It was the third period when things really went awry.

It was the final minutes of the period, Vancouver up by one, thanks to Bo’s goal at the end of the second. The Canucks were fighting to hold on, maybe score an extra point to cement their victory, while the other team was getting desperate. And they were playing dirty, too.

You didn’t really register the gasp that fell from your lips as some unknown opponent slammed Jake into the boards, head on, with clear intent to injure him. You did remember jumping to your feet, as if that would make everything better.

Jess, who you hadn’t really acknowledged was sitting next to you in your stress, gripped your arm tightly. You watched in horror as Jake stayed down, hands holding his head as the athletic trainer jogged across the ice with the assistance of Troy Stetcher. You couldn’t tear your gaze away from Jake, but if you could, you would have seen Brock looking worriedly from his injured teammate to where he knew you were in the stands.

It felt like years later when Jake finally stood, and while leaning heavily on his trainer and Troy, he went down the tunnel. You sat down stifly into your seat, leg bouncing in nerves and fingers tapping an unknown pattern as you anxiously waited for the game to be over so you could check on Jake.

Five minute major, game misconduct.

Good, you thought, but you kept your mouth clamped shut as nausea swirl in your stomach. Distantly, you heard Jess say that the opposing player was most likely going to get fined for his actions. You knew hockey was a hard hitting sport, but that was terrible. You had seen Jake hurt before, blocked shots, highsticks, and the sorts—but not once had it taken him that long to get back up.

You couldn’t focus on the rest of the game, you were pretty sure that at some point Quinn had scored, but eventually Jess was leading you down to the tunnel where had to meet the other players. Holly, Bo’s wife, had tried to assure you that Jake would be fine the moment she saw you.

“He’s got a thick skull.” She tried to lighten the mood, but all you could muster was a weak smile and a laugh that sounded forced and foriegn to even your own ears. You listened to the other wives and girlfriends of players chatter about who knows what—certainly not you, you were staring at the door you knew the boys emerged from—for minutes. The girls knew you, how you were always around Jake, acting like a couple but not once taking that extra step, so they knew how stressed you were, waiting for the verdict.

Elias was the first one to exit the room, heading straight to you with a tiny, reassuring, smile on his face. Your arms were crossed tightly across your body, an indicator of just how uncomfortable you were in the moment.

“He’s fine. He’ll be out in a few minutes.” He told you quietly. Though it helped calmed you slightly, you couldn’t get the imagine of him laying on the ice out of your head. You nodded your head in thanks, before he patted your shoulder comfortingly and departed. Quinn was next out, shooting you a pitiful smile. Tanev, Toffoli, and Edler all came out before finally, the brunette you had been waiting for emerged with Brock at his side.

He looked terrible, his tie was loose around his neck, hair a mess from the quick post-game shower he had just taken. His shoulders were slumped, and he looked so tired that your heart clenched in your chest.

“How are you?” You asked quietly once he stopped before you. Jess and Brock left to give you some privacy, but you didn’t notice in the slightest. Your focus was on Jake—like it always was.

“A little beat up, nothing I can’t handle.” He waved off his injured like it was nothing. You pouted for a moment, knowing he was playing down the severity of it. He seemed to sense your disbelief, because he wrapped his arms around your shoulders and pulled you into his chest. You sank into the embrace, reciprocating the hug with a deep sigh.

“Don’t you ever do that to me again.” You threatened into the fabric of his suit, wrapping your arms tiger around his middle. He chuckled lowly, holding you just as tight in return. Your heart was thundering in your chest, your stomach a lightning storm of nerves.

“I’ll try not to.” He assured you quietly, dropping a kiss to top of your head. You thought back to your decision before the game, how you were going to confront both his feelings and yours, and decided that it could wait just a little bit longer.

“Come on, let’s get you home.” You mumbled, pulling away sightly. He nodded and you, and you were pleasantly surprised as he slipped his hand into yours, threading your fingers together, as you headed in the direction of his car.

You insisted on driving, and Jake only protested slightly. The ride was quiet, and you could tell something was bothering him, but chose to stay quiet and let him come to you when he was ready. Or at least until you got back to his home. Instead, you listened to his music play softly from the car as you weaved through the streets of Vancouver, taking the familiar path to Jake’s place.

When you finally arrived, he slipped into his bedroom to change into something more comfortable, and you made yourself comfortable on his couch. When he returned, he was in a Canucks hoodie and pair of grey sweats, and instead of sitting next to you on the couch, he laid across it so his head was in your lap. Instantly, your hand threaded though his hair and you scratched at his scalp, something you knew he loved. His eyes fluttered shut at the action, and he hummed contentedly.

“You scared me tonight.” You said softly after a moment. You tried to will away the tears that welled up in your eyes, remembering how it felt to see him laying on the ice, injured. It tore you in two, you had never felt more sick to your stomach at a sight than you did when he was down.

“I know.” He sighed queitly in response. Not trusting yourself to keep your voice steady, you chose not to respond right away. He reached a hand up, grabbing yours out of his hair and pressing a kiss to your palm, before threading your fingers through his and resting it on his chest.

And then, you couldn’t stop the words from tumbling past your lips—

“I love you too much to see you get hurt like that.” You hated how your voice cracked, and most of all you hated how you confessed your feelings. You wanted to do so during a happy moment, one shared with smiles and he’d tell you he felt the same, but no, you were holding back tears on his couch as he tensed, your words registering.

“What?” He questioned, sitting up abruptly. You would have thought that you had screwed everything up, if it weren’t for the near-death grip he had on your hand. Still, you couldn’t meet his gaze, and instead focused on the coffee table. Gently, with his free hand, he cupped your jaw, turning so you were facing him. It was then that you realized that you were crying, silent tear tracks running down your cheeks that he brushed away carefully as he studied your face intently. “What did you just say?”

“I love you.” You choked out, voice tight. “And I’m new to the hockey thing, so I’m not used to seeing hits like that and I—”

Your ramblings were cut short as Jake surged forward, connecting your lips to his. It took you a moment to react, but your free hand eventually moved to the back of his neck, your other still gripped in yours. The kiss wasn’t heated, but loaded with so much passion and emotion it made your head swirl. Months of casual flirting and innocent touches built to this moment, and you would be lying if you said you were aware of how long you actually were pressed against him.

Eventually, he did pull back, a wide and dopey grin on his face. You smiled just as brightly, the hand on the back of his neck toying slightly with the strands of hair there. Chasing your lips for a few quick pecks that your readily complied with.

“I love you, too.” He hummed, seemingly unable to tear his focus from you. You didn’t mind, not one bit, considering he had you attention from the moment you had met.

“I know.” You grinned, watching as his brows pull together in confusion, a silent question and urge for you to elaborate. With a giggle, you explained. “Brock told me.”

“Of course he did.” Jake groaned, tipping his head back. You chuckled at his dramatics, looking at him with the same fond look you always did. Only this time, you didn’t have to worry about him finding out. Your hand moved from behind his head to his jaw, thumb brushing across his cheekbone. You smiled as he brought his attenton back to you, and you leaned forward to press a quick kiss to the tip of his nose. “You know, he’s been trying to set me up with you this entire time.”

“Yeah, he told me that I’d like you the night we met. He and Petey were planning this.” You explained, watching as he lifted your joined hands and kissed the back of yours, a barking laugh leaving him as you finished your sentence.

“Was he right?” He asked cheekily, swinging an arm around your shoulders and pulling you into his chest so he could cuddle you. You admired him with a soft smile, watching as he grabbed the remote on the couch beside him to put on a movie. Never in a millions years would you admit that Brock was right, but you with the way Jake was smiling, you decided to make an acception.

“Definitely.”

[butgilinsky]

maybe someday you and me can run away // jf

warning; none, i don’t think

summary; one bad pick up line at a bar leads to an odd dynamic between you and joel that somehow works out

word count; 2.5k+

add yourself to my nhl taglist!

You can feel the weight on your shoulders fade with every drink you throw back. It’s a Saturday night and while you’re not always one to agree to a round of shots three times in the same night, you’ve had a rough week and let your friends sway you into drinking the stress away. That along with the fact that you’re here for Jess, trying to help her get over her recent break up. If she wanted to take shots, you’re not in a place to deny her that. 

The bar is packed, the line outside rolling down the sidewalk, and you’re just happy to be out of the cold. The long sleeve shirt and jeans you have on doesn’t shield you from much more than a light breeze, and with it being October in Philly, being inside seems to be the safest place for you. 

You don’t notice the band of rowdy boys spilling into the bar, given that you’re pressed against the bar and waiting patiently for your drink. Your attention’s on one of the screens above the liquor bottles when a boy sidles up beside you and sends you a wide smile. 

“Hey Juliet.” you look at him, an unimpressed smile finding its way to your lips as you laugh at his attempt at picking you up. You’d been offered a drink twice tonight alone, and while you planned on denying it, you were just waiting for him to offer another. 

“That’s not my name.” your nose scrunches and you shrug, the unimpressed smile turning into a gentle one. “Must have the wrong girl.”

“I think Romeo knows his Juliet.” you mock a gag, one with your finger pointing to the back of your throat that has the stranger bubbling up a laugh that’s strangely melodic in your ears. You smile at the sound and sigh softly. 

“I’m flattered, truly, but my name’s not Juliet and I’m sure yours isn’t Romeo.” he cocks his head to the side and adjusts the hat on top of his head. His eyebrows raise and he sucks on his teeth gently. 

“Well if you know everything then what is my name, sweetheart?” you sigh and look him up and down a few times, going through various lists of names you have stored in your memory. 

“I’m getting a Bryce vibe.” he scoffed then, one from the back of his throat that tells you that you’re way off, but there’s a hint of a smile settling on his lips and you enjoy the view. 

“So you think I'm a frat boy who can’t tell the difference between a PBR and a Sam Adams?”

“No, I think you can tell the difference between a PBR and a Sam Adams but for whatever reason, you prefer the PBR.” his smile only widens and another laugh slips past his lips, another melody playing between your ears that you truly don’t think you can get enough of. 

“I think you’d be surprised to hear that your reading is a tad off since I don't spend my time doing keg stands in a frat house. I actually play hockey.” you rolled your eyes on instinct, the image of the boy in front of you that currently lived in your head now washed away and replaced with a tainted version. 

“What’s the difference?” his tongue clicks, unsure of how that didn’t get you. That usually caught ears and eyes in seconds. 

“In the NHL.” he tries to clarify, hoping that your indifference is because you don’t know he’s a Flyer. Maybe you think he plays for a minor league team, or maybe even college. 

“Good for you bud.” you smile when the bartender sets a glass in front of you and you turn, a smile dancing on your lips as you grip your drink and give the boy a pat on the back before you turn and leave the bar. 

“What’s your name!” you just smile and wave at him over your shoulder. 

“Bye Bryce!” 

He watches you for the rest of the night, losing for one second when he runs to grab another drink but by the time he gets back to his spot with his friends, you’re gone. Morgan told him you left, knowing all too well that the slump in his shoulders is due to the absence of the girl he’s been gawking at all night long. 

The next time he sees you, he has to do a double take. He’s thumbing through racks of clothes at a department store, Nolan and Travis at his side as the three of them talk about something that Joel quickly loses track of when he hears your voice.

“Hi Bryce.” you smile gently, looking over the rack of clothes you stood behind. You were only a few feet from them, and Joel almost wonders how he didn’t see you until now. 

“Hi Juliet.” The smile that hangs off of his lips is gentle and you have to ignore the way your heart thumps in your chest. It’s easy to do when there’s two other people there for you to acknowledge. You scoff at the name, though you should’ve expected it at this point. 

“Are these your frat brothers?” Travis and Nolan share a look that’s beyond confused. They’re both even further confused at the fact that Joel is acting like this is normal, like you’re not calling him by the wrong name and asking him about a frat he isn’t even in. 

“Wanna take a crack at ‘em?” you hum, pausing your browsing for clothes to lean your arm on the rack and thumb through names one more time. 

“James,” you point at Travis, “and Grayson.” Nolan smiles at the name that came completely out of left field, and Travis lets out a laugh that’s almost uncontrollable. They’re not sure where that came from, but it’s surely entertaining for them. 

“You’re so far off you’re not even in the fairway anymore.” the smile stuck on your lips has Joel’s full attention. 

“A baseball reference from a hockey player? Interesting.” you hum softly and Travis’s jaw goes slack. He assumed you had no idea what they did or who they were, given your clueless guesses of what their names would be. Alongside that, you’ve been calling them frat boys the entire time you’ve been in front of them. It was all confusing and he wasn’t sure how Joel was keeping up with it all. 

“Well Juliet, you up for a name swap now?” Nolan’s hit with the realization of who you are then, shocked to find out that you went out of your way to speak to Joel first. He was sure that Joel just had someone to look at for the remainder of the night, not one that would acknowledge him outside of a bar on Saturday night. He had no idea that you were the girl Morgan was telling him about the next morning. 

“Would you stop calling me Juliet if you knew my name?” the way his nose scrunches has your smile growing, and Travis and Nolan pick up on it quickly. They don’t know you but they know Joel, and he never acts like this with anybody in front of them. It’s always a goofy and confident demeanor that gets him to home plate, not this playful banter in the middle of a department store. 

“Probably not.” you hum, plucking the shirt that caught your eye off of the rack and walking to the end of the section. 

“Then it looks like you’re still Bryce.” you shrug gently and walk away, leaving Joel with a dazed smile and a far off look in his eyes. 

That and two very confused friends that would be demanding an explanation out of him. 

It feels like forever passes before he sees you again. He’s caught off guard, almost slammed into the boards when he comes to a screeching halt at the glass in front of you. You’re wearing a Flyers shirt, which is a good start, but he notices it’s not a jersey and it doesn’t have his name or number on it. 

Your eyes light up when there’s a knock on the glass that has you looking up from your phone and over to the boy that’s a complete mystery to you. You smile brightly and wave, surprising the people that are sitting around you and your friends. Gage, your best friend since sophomore year of college, looks between you and Joel and can’t believe that you’re waving at him like it’s nothing. 

“You know Joel Farabee?” he asks and you shrug gently, about to explain when Joel signals things to you that you have to spell out for yourself. 

Wait for me.

You nod and shoot him a thumbs up, a sign that you heard him and would indeed wait for him after the game. You know you’ll have to fight off your friends afterwards, explaining to them how you knew Joel and why he was “infatuated with you” as Gage claimed him to be. Gage is now aware of why you suddenly had an interest in going to a Flyers game with the group, as opposed to all the times he’s asked you to come with him and you’ve denied him. 

Joel scores and gets two assists in that game, and you’re on your feet for all of them. He looks up at you after he scores and smiles brightly, nothing but the hope in his mind that you’ll wait for him after the game. 

You do, as promised, and he runs down the steps with wet hair and a wide smile before he jumps on the step beside you, plopping down in the seat right next to you. 

“Hey Juliet.” you roll your eyes but smile, a smile that Joel’s eyes latch onto and his heart yearns for. 

You’re beautiful, that much Joel is sure about. He doesn’t know your name but he knows that this is the third time he’s run into you, though it’s hardly out of nowhere, and he’s sure that he wants to know more about you. He wants to know how you’re wired, what makes you smile and what makes you tick. He wants to know your darkest thoughts and your happiest days. He wants to learn everything there is to know about you, but he knows that he has a lot to go through in order to get there. 

“Good game, Bryce.” he laughs gently and lets a soft silence fall over the two of you before turning towards you with a wide grin that has you worried about what’s to come. 

“Do you want to go grab a cup of coffee?” you mock a gasp, hand pressed to your chest and feigned offense. 

“Are you trying to seduce me, Bryce? Because I hate to break it to you, superstar, but I’m not going home with you tonight.”

“I didn’t expect you to. I do, however, expect you to call me my name now that you obviously know it.” you hummed for a second, pretending to think about it before shaking your head gently. 

“I think Bryce suits you, and I know you’re still going to call me Juliet.”

“Only because I still don’t know your name.” 

“That’s what makes this so much fun.” you whispered gently, squeezing his thigh before popping up onto your feet and holding your hand out. “Let’s go get coffee.”

He takes you to a 24 hour diner you’ve never seen before, one that he swears is better than any other diner you’ve been to. He only laughs a little when you order a strawberry milkshake instead of a coffee, and you gasp when he orders a chocolate one. 

You’re there for a few hours, losing track of time as the two of you dive into random facts and stories that have the other enthralled. You learn about Joel’s upbringing, how he grew up playing hockey and despite always being one of the smaller guys, he made sure he was one of the strongest. You tell him about growing up a football fan, not much interest in hockey due to all of the violence. 

The two of you are lost in conversation, not paying attention to either of your phones or any of the clocks on the walls. You find yourself letting down your walls slightly, more than you normally would with someone you hardly know, but that’s the thing. You’ve only met Joel a few times, never calling him by his name and never offering up your own, but you feel like you’ve known him for years. 

You feel like he’s important in your life, despite just entering it a few weeks ago. You’re not sure where he fits into it, if he’ll fit into it, but you’re sure you have to try. You’re sure that the feeling in the pit of your stomach isn’t a coincidence, and that the way your heart flutters every time he laughs or smiles is completely brand new and you never want it to stop. 

Your bubble is popped when you catch the eyes of someone you went to high school with, someone you barely like and has never given you more than a headache and a coffee stain on your perfectly thought out essay on how the education system fucking sucks. 

“Y/n! Hi!” you bite down on your lip and look at Joel for a second, who’s sending you a shit eating grin while he sips on his milkshake. 

“Hi.” you turn to Stacy, the girl now standing at the end of your table that’s trying to look interested in seeing you for the first time since graduation. In all reality, you know she’s here for Joel. The way she leans onto the table and pushes her breasts in his face is telling enough. 

But Joel doesn’t pay much mind to her. He offers her a gentle greeting and a handshake when she silently sticks her hand in her direction, but he turns to you after that’s over and gives you his undivided attention. 

Stacy gets the idea that she’s not entirely welcome and leaves soon after she leaves, but the damage is done. It’s evident that Joel both heard and remembered your name falling from his lips, because as soon as she stalks off and out of the diner, his grin has reached a level of annoyance that has you wanting to smack it right off his face. 

“Hi y/n.” you want to be mad, but the way your name falls off his lips has you swooning in ways you didn’t think were possible. You find yourself tripping over yourself while sitting down, and you’re not sure how to handle it. 

The sigh that tumbles past your lips is covered by a smile, and the way Joel raises his eyebrows at you shows that he’s waiting for you to return the sentiment. 

“Hi Joel.” he’s never smiled so wide, cheeks aching from the movement but he laughs anyways. He dives back into his story about setting off a smoke bomb in the locker room a few months ago, and you’re enthralled all over again. 

-

bee taglist; @extratragic​ @pierreslucdubois​

[roswellnmsource]

Michael Trevino Talks The Valenti Legacy & Roswell, New Mexico's Exciting Season 3

So, I'm just jumping right in here. Kyle has had a lot going on in season three, to put it mildly. How would you describe his journey so far this season?

Well, as I'm sure you know, Kyle is continuing to put out fires. He's there for as many people as he can be, but he's definitely called upon. And whenever he's needed, I feel like he shows up, but in episode 3x09, that's going to air next week, I think we kind of see things. He's reached his limit. And you sense his frustration. And I feel that it's warranted even though it comes in a bit hot, but we're in season three, and his life has taken a turn. And he's finding out more and more about his own family history, and I think it's just been a bit frustrating for him.

Sure. And while Kyle was recovering, the audience got the big bomb dropped on us that Ramos is Kyle's uncle. And that adds another layer to the Valenti history and legacy. So can you kind of speak to where Kyle currently is in regards to his feelings about his father and his feelings about the legacy of his family?

Well, I think what the writers have done is really, from season one to season three, has painted a picture of who Kyle's father was. Who is Jim Valenti? And at first, we thought he's this great guy that Kyle had looked up to and always wanted to make proud. And maybe that is the driving force in everything and anything that Kyle does. Well, now we're finding out a bit more about who Jim really was. We've been on this journey of season two with Jesse Manes, that whole interaction. And now we're finding out a bit more in season three. And that really flips Kyle's world upside down. I don't see how it couldn't. So he becomes this angsty, frustrated individual because you're thinking you know somebody, and you're finding out all these different things about him or her. And so with Eduardo, I feel that it's like, "What else? What else am I missing?" What else can be thrown his way? Because now we find out that, yeah, Eduardo, "Oh, you're my uncle. Interesting. Why hasn't anybody ever told me that before? Where have you been? Can you help me understand what is going on?" And when you think about that, Kyle probably thinks, "Well, who am I really? What is this really about?" So I don't know if he's, maybe, in the middle of wondering or questioning his own identity of what is this Valenti code? Has that been a lie? Because that's something that he's lived by, so that's where we're at.

Will we get to find out more about what happened the night that Kyle was attacked?

No, not really. I'm trying to think fast here of exactly, no, I mean, when we started episode 309, we find out, has he been in a coma? Was he injected with something? Was he knocked out? So, it was briefly explained, but I think, more so, we get into Eduardo and Kyle. Who are they to one another? And that is a jumping-off point for Kyle.

You touched on this a little bit earlier, but Kyle is not only the doctor that everyone needs, but he's also a confidant as well. Can you speak to Kyle's role, how you see Kyle's role within his group of friends?

Yeah. I think Kyle is somebody that you can depend on. He's somebody who has everybody's best interest at heart. If you call upon him, he's going to be there for you. And I think that what I've enjoyed about being on the show is how Kyle is interwoven between all the storylines, everything that's happening. He is a part of that, in some capacity. So that's been fun to play just as an actor with everybody on our cast, but that's just going to continue. And I feel like it's just going to get heavier. Just a heavier burden on Kyle, on what else needs to be done, how he can help, what is asked of him, needed of him to finish off the season.

And that also kind of flows into my next question, which is that Kyle is a character that has deeply personal relationships with pretty much all of the core characters, but is there a certain dynamic that you wish could be explored a bit more on the show? Like this season, we've got you with Michael some more and some more with you and Rosa, is there any particular dynamic you'd like to see explored more?

Great question. A hundred percent. Kyle and Isobel. I want to see it. I want them to...what is their dynamic? Cause I think the energy that Lily brings to Isobel is so... it's not infectious, but it's... it is infectious, but it's also, she just has so much energy. She's a ball of energy, and I want to see...and she's powerful. She's just fierce. And so, I'd like to see more Isobel and Kyle scenes. What is their friendship relationship to one another? And I'd like to explore that.

Yeah, that'd be great. Cause I also think with Kyle, every person he gets to interact with brings out a different side to him, which is really nice to see as well.

Yes, very much so. I'm glad you noticed that because it's true. It's true. And that's why I picked Isobel because I think that out of everybody, you see the most, you see such a different side of Kyle whenever he's interacting with Isobel. For whatever reason, I feel like it's always there compared to any other character. And so, I'd want to explore that more.

Yeah, I'd like that too. So last season, we saw Kyle in a relationship with Steph, but this season we haven't seen him pursuing anyone romantically. Will that be something that changes as the season progresses, or will his focus kind of lay elsewhere?

No, I think the focus at this point is not only is he going to be more involved with Deep Sky and Eduardo. But everybody, in some way, is going to have to deal with Jones. And that's gotta be priority number one. So, I don't see any time for any romance.

Earlier in the season, Kyle was presented with an opportunity to potentially leave Roswell for new opportunities. If that were to ever happen, which I hope it never does, where do you think Kyle would end up?

Ooh! That's fun. I think Kyle would go to New York. I think he'd go to the East Coast. I think he'd want to be in the big city. He'd want to be in Manhattan and just have that energy. Because we all love Roswell, but it is a bit of small-town living. And so, I think I would see him pursuing more in the medical field in the big city.

This season feels like a bit of a rebirth in some ways. And it's been a lot of fun for the audience. So, is there anything about season three that you particularly enjoy? Not just for Kyle, but the show as a whole?

Ooh. Listen, where we're at now in the season is Jones. Jones is our "big bad," if you will. And what's fun is, one to see Nathan Dean play two characters, right? And trying to see him add different layers to both of them. So that's been fun. I know last season he was working his ass off, and I think it shows. But to do that, to play two characters, is a lot. I really enjoyed him tackling that, but all of us have that in common, right? It's like, okay, we have to all come together, join forces almost like it's The Avengers or something to take care of Jones. This is our big bad. This is priority number one, and this is what we have to take care of. And I know in the later episodes, it's everybody joining forces. I mean, it's exactly what you would think of all of us in one scene, coming together, being like, "Okay, we got to get rid of this guy. How do we do this?" And everybody has their job.

I know you are shooting season four now. What is it like being back in Santa Fe and stepping back into the role, and how much do you enjoy filming in Santa Fe and everything that kind of goes with it?

Well, I noticed, we shot season three a little later in the year, and so it was the dead of winter; it was freezing. I think you can see that in the episodes that are currently airing. We may seem like we're not cold, but we are freezing, freezing. I liked that we started a bit earlier for season four. So right now, the cold hasn't set in yet. We're shooting very beautiful exterior shots, and it's been nice. It's been nice. The show is still going. I do want to thank all the fans that continue to watch week to week and are still invested in the story that we're telling and the characters that we're playing because we're getting into that rare territory. It's season four, and we're all still happy to be here. We're all still working. I've been on series' that last a long time. And sometimes the dynamics can shift, right? But I can honestly say that I think everybody on this series is happy to be here and happy to work and grateful for that. And so, it is a nice feeling. We're plugging away right now. It's season four; things are going really well. I really like these episodes. And it's a different energy because we're working, but then we're also able to get instant feedback on which episodes are airing currently. That's a really nice feeling, but me, I enjoy Santa Fe. It's a beautiful part of New Mexico. And we're all great right now until maybe in about a month and a half until it gets freezing again. But right now, we're good.

Yeah, and congratulations to you because, like you alluded to, getting four seasons nowadays is no easy thing to do. So, you guys should be very proud of that.

And trust me, I'm reminding our cast every chance I get. I'm like, "Hey, this is a good thing here." I think people are still engaged in what we're doing. People are still tuning in. And so as long as that's happening and we're doing our jobs, everything should be fine.

This is just a little bit of a fun question. If you could think of a Vampire Diaries character that you would like to see swoop into Roswell for a bit, who do you think that would be?

Oh, damn. That's a great question. I'd love to have more time to think on this, but off the top of my head right away, gut reaction because I'm envisioning my buddy, Zach Roerig, in a Sheriff's uniform. And I'm envisioning Max in a Sheriff's uniform. And I don't know why I want them to... maybe they don't get along. Maybe there's a new sheriff in town. I don't know what. I don't know what, but it would be very awesome to see Zach Roerig play Matt Donovan in Roswell, New Mexico. But him be that character. Have him be Matt Donovan and just kind of react to what's going on here. And if it's the same character, you'd think he'd be like, "Okay, first I was dealing with witches, werewolves, and vampires. I'm coming to this town. You're telling me there's aliens here." Let's make this a comedy. I want to see that play out. That would be hilarious.

Yes, it really would be. Last question for me, with this season winding down, is there anything you can tease for us about where Kyle's story goes from here?

I think what we're going to see him and Eduardo be allies to one another, and Kyle's involvement in Deep Sky is going to be greater, and everybody has to come together for this guy, Jones. It's all hands on deck. Cause Jones is very powerful, manipulative, and we have to get him out of here.

[marindram]

full transcription of Marin's blog from Omega Mart!

huge thanks to @b0chelly for recording a scroll-through, which i typed this out from. (and warning for Omega Mart lore/story spoilers. second half is in reblog)

Marinknows.best

Location: Seven Monolith Village

Last Login: 12/31/2019

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About me: I love listening to music and glitter

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June 26, 2018

Happy Birthday to meeeeeeeeee!

So 14 feels way different than 13. For real. I think it's because I was expecting 13 to feel different, but sometimes when you expect something it turns out the opposite ya know?

Plus, 13 is like, "I'm new to being a teenager!!"

14 is more like, "I'm becoming the person I want to be." At least that's how I want it to be. I wanted to start this blog as a record of all that.

I should ask Did you guys feel the same way when you turned 13 and 14?

But probably nobody's gonna read this because I'm just a weirdo in the weird dessert. I mean, I know my best friend Jesse is reading this (hi Jesse). Besides her, crickets.

But yeah, if you are reading this and you don't know me - I live in Seven Monolith Village, a teensy tiny town that you've only heard of if you're into aliens or homesteading. And I'm literally stuck. As in, I'm physically unable to leave. My first memories are of all the adults in my life (Charlie, my great-uncle/father-figure - Rose, my what? Roommate? Mother-figure? Pseudo-aunt? All of the above? and my mom, Cecelia. who doesn't live here) telling me that for some reason, there's something wrong with me that makes it so I can't leave a certain radius of where we live. I got older and thought that they were just exaggerating to keep me safe, but then last year I tried. And it was, let's just say not good.

Anyway. That part of my life sucks, but not everything sucks. This year is all about Marin Dram 2.0. Not new, but definitely improved.

And maybe someday, somehow somebody will read this and care about what I have to say. Somebodies, even. Until then, this is Marin Dram signing off and sending my lame contemplations into the void!

July 1, 2018

Things I Want To Do Before I Turn 20 (and some of these will never happen like are literally unable to happen but JUST LET ME DREAM

1. Kiss someone (who???)

2. Meet HTB (kiss him) (jk he would never) (plus meeting him would be enough)

3. Go to Paris

4. Go to Rome (or somewhere cooler in Italy, look up where is the best pasta???)

5. Go to Greenland (why not???)

6. Go to New York City

7. Go to LA (with a dream and my cardigan lol)

8. Go to the Grand Canyon (this isn't mine, but 9, Jesse is sitting right here and she went to the GC when we were 12 and she's like blah blah blah it's my favorite place in the world and you'll love it. I'm doing this so she'll shut up.

9. Live in a normal house with normal rooms → ideally 12 of them: living room AND TV room, kitchen, dining room, 3 bathrooms, 3 bedrooms, study/library.

-plus an upstairs downstairs

-I'm willing to compromise on the number of rooms as long as there's more than ONE for TWO PEOPLE and I got my own

-plus an upstairs/downstairs

-I'm willing to compromise on the number of rooms as long as there's more than ONE for TWO PEOPLE and I get my own room with an actual door. Very into doors.

10. Go to a mall (Jesse says there's a bunch of bonkers ones in Vegas)

11. Make friends who aren't Jesse (no offense, Jesse)

12. Get Cecelia (my "mom") to teach me about business stuff so I can open my own cool coffeeshop/bookstore someday

13. Learn to drive (ask Charlie to teach me, he's obsessed with his truck) (Jesse says she can teach me because she's Little Miss Mechanic and thinks she knows everything about cars but news flash Jesse: you're you get than me)

14. Figure out my signature style- like I want people to send me pictures of things and be like "this just screamed Marin" and for that to be true

15. Liquid eyeliner??

16. I'm stopping here because I just read over all this and want to die/cry because easily 3/4 of these are literally impossible?

17. Kill me

18. Bye

19. Lololol Charlie just came in and I was complaining about this, not being able to leave and stuff, etc and he said that I should visit new places by... reading books?? And I mean I like to read. But dude. That's the dumbest thing I've ever head.

July 30, 2018

Okay so this is what I want my life to look like:

I want a pink room. Not just pink... P I N K. Cool pink wallpaper (floral? jacquard??), pink carpet, lots of pink flowers everywhere, a four-poster bed with a pink silk canopy, lots of cool pink throw pillows. Like, so pink that

people think I'm being sarcastic! Oh, and BOOKS. Floor-to-ceiling bookcases, and some of the shelves have, like, STUFF on them that isn't books, like gifts people gave me, or things I've collected on my JOURNEYS. You know, normal stuff that people who live on normal places and do normal things have.

If I lived in in this room, it'd be in awhite three-story house at the end of a cul-de-sac (did you know "culs-de-sac" is the plural? Not "cul-de-sacs"? crazy) and I'd wear very classic girly clothes and my hair would always do what I wanted it to. It'd be one of those towns that people call small, but it's actually a city. just one with a kinda small, cozy feeling. Somewhere that gets cold enough to wear cute jackets but not so cold I have to to like, shovel my driveway. Not a non-place with like 100 people where you can't even go outside without going crazy.

August 2nd, 2018

I guess I should explain where I live, for all my avid fans out there! (lol) (hello??)

So like... I don't live on Earth. At least, not the Earth you think of when you think of EARTH. I live in some some weird off-brand version of Earth called the Forked Earth where there are aliens and magic wells of magic energy and everything is MAGIC but like the crappy kind of magic, where the sun never fully rises and some goo called "runoff" has made everything wacky and oh yeah, my mom is responsible for that and everyone here hates her!! LOL

Also, I can't leave! Like, literally can't! Rose says I'm a "special child of Source" and that's why but that LITERALLY explains tells me nothing, in fact it just raises further questions that no one can seem to answer! AHHHHHHHHHH

Anyway, the last time I tried to leave I felt. When I try to leave I feel like I'm being pulled back by something, like you know those old cartoons where someone's on stage doing something dumb and then someone offstage pulls them away with a giant shepard's crook? It felt like that, and when I opened my eyes I was back in 7 Monolith Village. UGH.

I know this sounds crazy!!!!! But believe me when I say that I am the least crazy person here. Also, """here""" is C R A Z Y. Runoff has made everything the bad kind of psychedelic and then people here actually DRINK IT! Not only do I not DRINK THE STUFF THAT HAS MADE THE WORLD INSANE, I also do not talk to aliens (or whatever Nula are) like Rose or believe crazy conspiracy theories like Charlie, so I believe that qualifies me as the most normal person in the Forked Earth, thank you for this honor, I accept this award with humility and grace!

September 4, 2018

I had the weirdest dream last night?? I was swimming in a pool full of cereal, and when I came up for air, my mom was pouring milk on my head like she was rinsing my hair. She had her hand over my face like I was a little kid and she was shielding me from soap getting in my eyes.

Anyway I have no idea what it's supposed to mean. I went to bed hungry and I need to take a shower? Lol

October 16, 2018

I was trying to hide this entry from Jesse, but JESSE IS A NOSY PERSON. She says that blogs are for readers, and if I wanted something to be private then I should "Just write in a fucking notebook and hide it under your bed like a normal person, Marin." I'm allowed to have secrets!! Anyway, I'm making her a freaking playlist, that's why I wouldn't tell her what I was writing about. but EVEN STILL! I'm allowed to have secrets!! But I have this blog because I wanna get my feelings out, I wanna see everything in my head typed out all nice in a way that doesn't make it look insane. You know? I don't know who I'm asking.) Because, it's not like I go to a normal school or have a normal life where I'm surrounded by normal people I can talk to. No one knows about me! I'm trapped in this crazy place and This blog is my only outlet to the world outside. I KNOW that's heavy but it's true! The point is: Jesse's birthday is coming up. The central consistent thing in pretty much my whole life is sharing headphones with her and listening to music. The soundtrack to my entire existence is her. I wish I had money and could buy her the best presents of all time, but I can make her the best playlist of all time. I want it to be so good it feels like magic. I want her to think I'm magic. I had another dream the other night. I don't remember much, just glitter. I must be crafting too much. Or looking at festival makeup tutorials. Or both.

November 12, 2018

WARNING- Weird thoughts ahead, lol.

I can never tell which feelings are normal, and which are me being a giant weirdo. But for as long as I can remember, I've had this feeling like every part of my body that's possible to have a ribbon tied around it, has a ribbon tied around it. It's so weird. I can't see the other end of the ribbons - how far they go. where they're attached, nothing. And sometimes it's fine, because sometimes I can hardly feel them. I can forget about them for days at a time, weeks, months if I'm lucky. But then other times I can feel them like, pulling at me. It's freaking spooky, to have something pulling at you from somewhere you can't see. I can't tell if it's pulling me toward whatever it is? Or if it's trying to warn me? Or if I'm just insane??

Does that make sense? Does anybody else feel that way? (she asks into the void)

So idk I guess this ribbons-feeling is why I'm really careful all the time. Like I'm just a careful person. Charlie tried to give me a hard time about it, and I can't be like "I don't wanna pull back in the ribbons too hard without realizing it and wreck something!" because he'd be like "WTF Marin, do we need to get you help?" But also, more and more, I want to be the opposite of careful. I want to take a pair of comically oversized scissors and cut the ribbons into so many pieces that nobody can even tell what they are any more.

I don't know why I'm such a freak, only that I am. I don't know why I can't leave 7 Monolith, only that I can't. But there must be a reason, even if I can't see it, and I feel like it makes sense that the ribbons-feeling is part of that reason, right?

There's just a lot.

January 15, 2019

Happy new year! Lol I forgot to write on the actual first day of 2019, but OH WELL!

I got this new glitter nail polish, thanks to the monthly makeup subscription box my "mom" sends me as an outlet for her abandonment guilt. It has like, every color glitter imaginable without quite reading as "rainbow" which is fine just not really what I was in the mood for and it's vaguely halographic and shifts into all these different colors depending on the light. I'm obsessed. Anyway.

I was putting on another layer because I chipped it like 20 minutes into wearing it, and all of a sudden I had this feeling like I recognized the glitter? Like I felt this thing way deep in my gut and for a minute I couldn't breathe. It's the closest thing I've felt to how books and movies make Christmas look. Like I was home, with family, cookies and cider and all that stuff. Familiar and safe. I almost didn't recognize that feeling. And it came from the nail polish. How weird is that.

I mean, I don't want to make it sound like I've had this awful Charles Dickens childhood - Rose and Charlie are the best ever and always there for me and I love them a lot. But things never feel like...home. You know?

My mom always says this cryptic stuff about how I'm "special" and I wanna strangle her because I'm not, but you try getting my mom to stop doing anything she wants to do. Rose told me once that one day, I would "lead the charge into a new era of existence and access" because I'm "of the Source" and I was like uhhhh okay?? Charlie mostly treats me pretty normal, except when I ask him questions about our family. my mom or any Dram. He knows that I want to know more about them and he's my only real entrypoint, but apparently he's like the black sheep of that whole family. He and my mom were close way back right before I was born, but now whenever she comes to visit he barely even looks at her.

So that's to say: nobody tells me anything, ever.

January 16, 2019

Okay this is so weird. I wrote that entry yesterday about glitter and then last night I dreamed about glitter. Then I woke up with purple glitter in my bed?? Like not a lot, so at first I thought it was from my nail polish, but it was just a handful of purely purple glitter that looks nothing like my nail polish. SO WEIRD!!!!!!

February 14, 2019

Rose has an old book full of "ye olde" style fairy tales, and I flipped through it for the first time in forever today.

Not so weirdly, I've always been drawn to the story of Rapunzel.

Rapunzel couldn't leave the tower, or else she'd break her neck and die.

Same.

February 19, 2019

I was reading this article the other day in one of the teen magazines my "mom" gets me a subscription to and it was all about body positivity, which is great, but it was basically just like "wear a crop top if you wannna wear a crop top! it doesn't matter what size you are! You go, girl!" And like, sure. Yes. I am all for that. But doesn't it seem like there are some steps missing in there? Like, I can physically put on a crop top and wear it outside. But how do I convince myself that everybody isn't looking at me and making fun of me in their minds? How do I unlearn the last almost-fifteen years? How do I get actually positive about my body, not just put on a crop top and fight the urge to cry all day?

It's the same thing like when my mom sends me brochures from the CEO camp she ten when she was my age (her dad started the camp for her, which is an insane thing just by itself, but she did all the work, which is even more insane) and she's like "Marin, you lack direction for your life" and I'm like, cool mom. Yeah. I can see that. What I can't see is how to get there from here.

March 2, 2019

This is what I want my life to look like, volume 2:

The walls of my room are covered in Polaroids of me and my friends. There are lots of mirrors in all kinds of shapes. hearts and moons and stars. There's a record player and a lot of vintage records by Billie Holiday and Lena Horne and Peggy Lee and Nina Simone. And Christmas lights! Everywhere! Lots of of pink and purple Christmas lights everywhere.

If I lived in this room, I'd have so many friends and be part of so many clubs. My best friend would have a collection of vintage cameras, and every place we go to that has a photo booth, we'd get photos taken. Every time I'd look at myself in one of those mirrors, I'd feel happy at what I see and never weird or sad. (Jesse hates taking pictures, so even when I actually do normal stuff with her there's no evidence. What even is a life supposed to be without evidence? That's not an actual question you need to answer Jesse, it's just a question)

Anyway, if I lived in this kind of room, my mom would probably be like, an art history professor at a liberal arts college. That's how come everything looks so cool, because I would know stuff about art. My mom and I would love to try new recipes together. We get each other new cookbooks for every special occasion, and right now we're working out way through a Moroccan one. Moroccan Mondays.

In actuality, there's a dust storm happening outside and my eyes sting.

March 9, 2019

Here's what I'm obsessed with lately.

Can. You. EVEN???

February 3, 2020

Omg I totally forgot this blog existed!!

I lost the password and instead of just resetting it I got in one of my super stubborn moods (Taurus moon lol) and just kept putting in guesses and jokes on me, it locked me out. Anyway, that's a boring story.

But my friend Ximena is really good at hacking and stuff, so she got me back in. Yeah you read that right - I have friends. Obviously a lot has happened since my last post. Ximena moved out here a couple months ago (X's family used to live here but they moved away a while ago) and she introduced me to Lora who I sorta-not-really already knew, and Jesse and I have been hanging out with them a ton. Jesse kind of more than me. Which is fine!!

Anyway I'm 15 now? If I lived somewhere normal I'd be psyched about almost being 16, because I'd get a car and have a Sweet Sixteen and eat a huge PINK cake, but I don't!

February 16, 2020

I read this fanfic the other night that was written in the second person so everything was like "you." "you're doing this" etc you know?

So... You go to a drive-in movie with Heartthrob Boy, and he spills soda on you by accident. And you take off your shirt ( you have a tank top on, don't worry) to clean it up, bit you're still all sticky and self-conscious about being sticky and HTB like... used his tongue to get it off??? AAHHHHH I'M DISGUSTING

but also I wonder if a boy will ever touch any part of me with his tongue

March 2, 2020

Hi I don't know if you heard but I have friends :)))

March 15, 2020

I think I'm so into painting my nails and doing my hair because those are things that always fit. I don't have to worry about places not carrying about a size 8, or places that carry XLs but when you read the measurements they're actually size 8s too and it's like jesus if that's an XL what am I

My "mom" was confused why I needed new pants because mine still look new, but I showed her the thigh holes and she was like "that's a weird place for a hole, how did that happen" and I realized that when your legs are a certain size, you just don't know about thigh rub and what it does to clothes. Pants could just last for years.

No matter what, I can paint my nails with a different color nail polish on every finger, and I can always do a braid crown. And I know I'm cute as hell, etc, so this is not a Marin Needs to Learn to Love Herself thing. It's just an UGH thing

April 17, 2020

So Rose does all these Source experiments on plants and flowers and stuff. Tbh, it's just one if those things I hardly even register anymore because it's just always there. She's explained to me a million times what Source is/does/means, but the way Rose explains things sometimes is just a LOT to take in and she refers to me as a "child of Source" but I kinda figure that's like "child of God" right? What else would that mean?

But anyway, it's really annoying because dried flowers are a part of my new aesthetic and I pinned a bunch of them up on my wall but I woke up this morning to a freaking jungle of very alive flowers. I freaked out. on Rose, and she Rose said she didn't do it and I was like WELL THEN WHO DID and she said that I did??

Which like. Obviously that doesn't make sense. I asked her what she meant and She just shook her head and said " It's happening. We should have known" which is some horror movie shit that she refused to elaborate on. I love to feel safe and normal!!

Or maybe it's not a horror movie at all. But maybe it's a superhero movie? Maybe there's some kind of origin story I don't know about yet, and all of this will be worth it once I figure out my powers. I wonder what my costume will look like. Lol.

April 23, 2020

Is it possible to die from longing? I know that sounds melodramatic, but I'm also kinda serious?? Because it seems like one of those things that could fester and get infected and kill you. It's like when you fall down and bang up your knee, and you need to put a band-aid on the scrape for a while, but THEN you need to air it out - but how do you know when you're supposed to do each one of those things? And if you do either one too much, your knee gets infected. What if I smother my heart with band-aids for too long and it gets infected? This isn't about anybody. I just keep having these dreams about someone I never expected to have dreams about and they're so intense that they keep leaking into my life and I wonder if I need to do something about them.

May 2, 2020

So Jesse's gotten really into metal music, and I tried to get her to play me something since, AS PREVIOUSLY ESTABLISHED, that's what we've literally ALWAYS DONE with music and each other, and she kinda looked at Ximena out of the corner of her eye and said like "I don't think it's really your thing" And it was the meanest thing anybody's ever said to me.

So later I looked up Zenion, the band she was talking about, and I listened to every single fucking song they've ever recorded turned up as loud as it could go with my own headphones that are better than hers anyway, and I loved it. And I didn't love it just because she said I wouldn't. I loved it because it was loud and weird and wild and when I listened to it it made me feel like it's not crazy when so feel stuff so hard it's like my heart's gonna vibrate out of my body. And I would have told Jesse all this and we could have shared it, but I guess she thinks just because I like HTB and glitter and stuff, I don't have the capacity for anything else.

She clearly doesn't know me at all. So much for any kind of whatever, why would she ever want to kiss someone she clearly sees as like a stupid baby.

May 7, 2020

The dreams are getting weirder and they're happening more. I'm getting scared to go to sleep. Not that the dreams are always scary (they almost never are, or not scary like in a typically scary horror movie way). I mean, I've only ever been me. I don't know what other peoples' dreams are like.

The other night in one I was jumping on a trampoline, which is something I've never done in real life. I told Rose about it when I woke up, and she said "do you even know how to jump on a trampoline?" and I said "Rose, it's not like riding a bike. You don't have to learn. You just jump." and then we got into this whole thing about how some things we just know, and jumping's one of them, and how that's so weird. Sometimes I really like talking to Rose about stuff.

May 19, 2020

So, it's prom season in the real world. If I lived somewhere normal, my prom dress would be pink with lots of tulle and silk flowers at the shoulders, and it would fit perfectly and trying in dresses would be fun and not anxiety-inducing.

But since there are only like 10 teenagers currently in 7MV, were not having a homecoming. Cool.

May 27, 2020

So, mom came to visit this weekend, and I asked her about her prom. She was Typical Cecelia at first, very "Prom is a waste of time and money, Marin. It's a night when lesser people play dress-up to engage with their aspirations of grandeur." And I was like eyeroll forever and just stopped talking. BUT THEN she actually talked to me like a human being. She was like, "I actually didn't go to my prom" and when I asked her why she said that she didn't have a date, and was very self-conscious about it. I almost passed out at her admitting that she's ever been anything less than perfect.

(gonna continue this in reblog)

[apocalypseornaw]

Walk Away-3

After so long apart you finally agree to see Sam and tell him the truth

You groaned as you sat back against the wall hoping this newest wave of nausea would pass.. It was normal according to the obgyn Tasha had helped you get into. You had just entered into your second trimester and found out the gender of the baby at your last appointment. She was growing perfectly and doing a number on your insides in the process. You heard someone clear their throat and looked up to see Max leaned against the doorway leading into the bathroom with a cup of tea in his hand. He held it out to you with a smile “Ginger tea with honey and lemon” You thanked him as you took the cup and allowed yourself a small sip of the warm liquid. 

He walked a little further into the room before sitting down next to you his long legs stretched out in front of him “Donna Hanscum called again” you nodded before saying “That doesn’t really surprise me..has Jody and the girls started their rounds again?” he let out a sharp laugh “Not yet, it holds them off when they can talk with you but I had to tell Donna you weren’t here considering you don’t want Sam to know you’re currently starting to move past smuggling a basketball into smuggling a beach ball” “He doesn’t need to know” you mumbled but Max shook his head “He loves you Y/N. I don’t know what happened but he wouldn’t be trying this hard to get you to talk to him if he didn’t”

You leaned your head back against the wall then rolled your head over to look at Max “If and it’s a big if but if I was to agree to see him and Dean could you put a glamour on me?” his eyes went to your ever growing stomach “Oh you mean to hide the bump?” you nodded and he scratched his chin in thought then nodded “I think I can manage that with Alicia’s help. I’ll call Erik too, he's better at stuff along those lines” “Thanks Max and thank Erik for me too” he stood to go call Erik who was his boyfriend of a little over three years. You’d known him for a while but had gotten to know him better over the last few weeks considering his mom was your doctor. “When are you going to call Sam?” he asked from the door so you shrugged “When Jody calls I’ll tell her it’s fine to give Dean my new number then go from there” he nodded then walked out the room.

------

Sam was sitting at the table in the kitchen nursing a cup of coffee and trying to ignore just how much the bunker itself seemed to miss your presence. How had he messed everything up this bad? How had Dean been able to see just how much pain you were in but he couldn’t? Christ he was an idiot. If he could do it over he would have never gone on that very first hunt where all of you met Lila.

She didn’t hold a candle to you. You were...hell you were a force of nature. Everyone who knew you was drawn to you. You were caring but strong, courageous but smart. You would dive in feet first to help someone you cared about and even strangers. He’d seen you go toe to toe with more than one demon just to save a life. You were a soft touch when needed but also was the first to make someone shake off any self doubt and get their fire back.

When Alex had needed help paying for college you’d found grants seemingly out of thin air. When Patience would get upset about her broken relationship with her father she’d call you. You were one of the few people Claire would take advice from without rolling her eyes.

As for the way you’d changed not only his life but Dean and Cas’ as well he didn’t have the words for. Dean never got a chance to withdraw into himself with you around because you’d be at his door slipping new cds under it or bribing him out with food and western movie marathons. Cas always seemed to brighten up when you walked into a room because you never let a day pass without reminding him just how important he was to what you called your family group.

When you’d come into Sam’s life you’d knocked him flat on his ass metaphorically speaking and literally speaking. He’d ended up catching a punch from you on accident. Dean had teased him that your right hook was what made him fall in love with you. Looking up to see a woman as beautiful as you were apologizing but calling him an idiot for getting in your way at the same time did help matters. From that day forward you were all he could think about. The day you finally moved into the bunker was the happiest day of his life. 

The dreams of a so-called normal life was behind him but with you a new normal started to form in his mind. He never felt more whole than when you were in his arms. Waking up to you curled against his chest or with his arm around your waist was the most peace he’d ever felt. He loved you more than he ever dreamed possible to love someone after losing Jess. He felt like such a failure because he had apparently not shown you that. When you started to talk with Donna, Jody and the girls at least he knew you were alive,healthy and indeed staying with the Banes twins. 

He knew they lived near a small town on the upper west coast but that was all he did know. He wanted nothing more than to track them down and beg for the chance to see you but for now at least knowing you were ok was the best compromise he was going to get. He sighed and looked down at his laptop. He had a few news websites up but his heart wasn’t in trying to find a case, his heart was wherever you were. He could hear Dean talking to someone in the library and thought maybe he had a case until he heard Dean say your name. 

He quickly moved around the corner to see Dean pacing across the floor as he spoke on the phone. He caught a few words of what Dean was saying “Are you sure?...Yeah I promise...look you have my word...I will...ok...and sweetheart it’s good to hear from you” Was Dean talking to you? Why had you called Dean? Was something wrong? Were you hurt? He was so wrapped up in his own thoughts he hadn’t realized Dean had not only hung up but had called his name three times.

“SAM!” Dean spoke harshly and he blinked a few times glancing at the phone still in his brother’s hand “Was that Y/N?” Dean nodded “Yeah she told Jody it was ok to pass her new number on to me..She’s willing to see you but she has a few conditions” “Anything, I’ll agree to anything” Sam answered quickly his mind going into overdrive at the thought of seeing you. 

Dean nodded again then said “Grab your stuff. I’ll text her and let her know we’re hitting the road. I’ve got to call Max when we get close enough and he’ll come meet us to lead us up to their place”

------

“Are you sure you can’t tell?” you asked Erik for the sixth time since he’d finished the glamour. He sighed and shook his head “I’m sure. I’ve hid entire buildings, your little baby bump isn’t even a challenge” you smiled then smoothed the shirt you were wearing self consciously. 

“Alicia why did I agree to talk to Sam again?” She walked in behind you and held out a bottle of water “Because you’re still in love with him, it’s blaringly obvious no matter what happened he’s still in love with you because they’ve made the trip from Lebanon in record time. Even if today doesn’t go well at least you know you tried” you took a deep breath and nodded. She was right of course. When Erik’s phone went off you nearly jumped out of your skin but his hand on your arm kept you in place “Calm down Y/N, that was just Max. They’re coming up the driveway”

No sooner than the words came out of Erik’s mouth you heard the familiar rumble of the Impala’s engine. Any other time that was music to your ears but now it made you a little queasy. Erik shot you a smile before grabbing his jacket “Me and Max are headed into town but when you want to lower the glamour I showed Alicia how ok?” you nodded “Thanks again Erik” “Anytime”

------

You took a deep breath when you heard the boots on the porch so Alicia moved to answer the door. You weren’t in direct eyesight so you heard Dean first say “Alicia, good to see you” she greeted him then said “Hi Sam” you felt your heart flip when he said “Hey Alicia, I um thank you for being a place she could come to” “She’s always welcome wherever me and Max are and we make sure she knows it” that was one of the many things you loved about Alicia. Her words and tone of voice was friendly but the underlying venom of having comforted a hurt friend was still very much there.

“Y/N?” Alicia called out as she shut the door behind the boys as if she didn’t know for a fact you were hiding in the small hallway between the front door and kitchen. “Right here” you replied stepping around the corner. Dean smiled when he saw you “Well you’re a sight for sore eyes” you were glad when he just hugged you with one arm around your shoulders on the off chance of him brushing against your stomach.

“I see you’ve actually managed to stay alive without me which is a miracle in itself” you teased with a tense smile trying to calm your nerves before meeting Sam’s eyes. God those fucking eyes of his. You stood there for a second staring at each other before Dean turned to Alicia “You got something to drink? Alcoholic or otherwise. I’d settle for tea or coffee” she gave him a small smile before winking at you and herding him towards the kitchen.

Once the two of you were alone you both started to speak at the same time. You laughed nervously “You want to go first?” he nodded then let out a harsh breath “I’m sorry. I know that probably falls flat but I am. You are the most important person in my life. I love you with everything in me and I failed to show you that. I failed to realize how much my actions were hurting you. I made you think I wanted someone else and I pushed you away. I don’t expect you to forgive me and I don’t expect you to come back with me but I’m grateful you chose to let me come here and tell you that face to face”  You should’ve known with pregnancy hormones on top of everything else that you’d end up in tears. You wiped them away before they could fall before saying “Sam..god just tell me why? Why did you act like that towards her? Was the attachment to me the only thing stopping you? The fear of all our friends taking my side? Of your brother siding with me?” 

“Baby no” he breathed and took a step towards you but when you quickly crossed your arms over your chest and stepped back he froze in his tracks. “I guess it was the feeling of losing someone you love to a demon. I’ve been there before then with what happened to her husband. It got me thinking about what happened to Jess happening to you. That’s not an excuse because you told me that you wanted other hunters backing her and I didn’t listen but please baby please know I have never wanted anyone else since the day I met you” 

“But you didn’t listen to me Sam. That’s why I left! That’s why I came here and got them to ward me so you couldn’t find me. I couldn’t sit around waiting for you to break my heart and I’m not coming back with you no matter how much I want nothing more than to jump into your arms right now. If you want us...If you want a second chance before I tell you something I need a promise that you’ll be ok with it taking time, with me being here and you in Lebanon. I need you to actually think about it before you answer me Sam” you were trying so hard not to cry because you knew for a fact Dean and Alicia were standing just on the other side of that kitchen door waiting to intervene if you needed them to.

“I’d do anything for a second chance for us, to prove to you just how much you mean to me” you nodded slowly then called out “Alicia can you and Dean come here?” the door swung open quickly to both of them nearly stumbling over each other. “Yeah sweetie?” she asked so you braced yourself then said “They need to know” “And you’re sure?” she questioned so you nodded “Yeah I’m sure” 

“Need to know what?” Dean asked but Alicia was already repeating the words Erik had told her would drop the glamour. The moment it faded and your stomach was back visibly rounded Dean’s eyes widened and poor Sam looked like he may faint or puke. “Is that why you left?” Sam asked quietly and you shook your head “I didn’t find out until about a month after I left. That’s why I came here”

Dean recovered quicker and held a hand out “Can I?” you nodded “She is your niece after all” “Niece, so it’s a girl?” he asked with a grin. Your hand came to cover Dean’s so you could place it on the light movements but your eyes never left Sam’s as you said “Yeah I just found out last week” a light kick made Dean’s grin get bigger “Look at that. She’s strong already” “Just like her mom” Alicia replied then reached for Dean’s arm “Let’s give them another minute” Dean nodded and kissed your cheek before saying “I love you kid and I’m gonna love her too” then followed her back into the kitchen.

Sam had remained silent so you finally looked up at him “Are you going to say anything?” a slight smile slipped onto his face before he quietly said “Can I touch you now? Because I really want to hug you and feel our daughter move” you moved towards him and he pulled you against his chest without hesitation. One large hand held your back while the other rested on your stomach “I love you Y/N. I’ll prove to you that things will be different. Nothing means more to me than you and her” you smiled up at him through the tears in your eyes “I love you too Sam” 

Tags: @delightfullykrispypeach @fofisstilinski @chengukargbo @rosalynshields @hunting-the-grievers @spngirl05

[autumnleaves1991-blog]

Day 1: “Who keeps hanging all this damn mistletoe everywhere?”- Poe Dameron

A/N: It’s here! It’s here! The 12 days of Christmas writing challenge has begun! Everyday up until Christmas day I will post a new story! All the prompts have been requested! Thank you so much for reblogging, commenting, and liking! 

This was requested by @poedameronloverx​ I hope you enjoy it! 

Pairing: Poe Dameron x F! Reader 

Warning: 18 + for language 

Taglist: @oldstuffnewstuff @yespolkadotkitty @heythere-mel @justanotherblonde23 @artsymaddie 

My Masterlist 

12 Days of Christmas Writing Challenge Masterlist 

During the middle of a war is not the most ideal time to celebrate the holidays. War doesn’t stop just because you hang some lights. The resistance was a depressing place to be at the moment. Small incursions resulting in heavy losses, the lack of new intelligence, and the overhanging threat of the First Order dampened the season. 

Although some never gave up it was becoming harder and harder not to be pulled under the cloud of hopelessness. Poe Dameron was not one of these people. Poe never gave up hope even when things had become desperate. BB-8 faithfully rolling by his side, the two of them went around spreading cheer around the base. They started with the decorations. Large garlands made from the forest leaves outside strung together with white lights and bright orange bows tied together from old flight suits. How they managed to hang them that high you had no idea, and frankly didn’t want too. Then came the music, classic songs from eons past filtered through the comms during missions, in the mess hall, and even the cantina. The atmosphere began to shift around base as the colorful decorations and music began to lift their spirits. 

The third step of their plan began the week before Life Day. A strange green plant with white berries began appearing. In doorways around the base the plant appeared. 

“What the hell is all this stuff?” you said aloud to yourself. 

“Mistletoe,” Jess snaps you from your thoughts and you turn to her questioning. 

“What the hell is mistletoe?” 

“Mistletoe is the common name for obligate hemiparasitic plants in the order Santalales. They are attached to their host tree or shrub by a structure called the haustorium, through which they extract water and nutrients from the host plant, very toxic. Although in the custom of Life Day they are used as a decoration under which lovers are expected to kiss. A most strange custom,” you and Jess both turn slowly to see 3PO standing behind you pointing his gleaming arm toward the plant. 

“So you're telling me someone put a toxic plant all over the base so that people would be forced to kiss each other?” 

“Precisely,” 3PO says cheerfully. 

“Right,” you nod sarcastically, “perfect.” 

“I think it’s kind of romantic. Who are you hoping to kiss?” Jess sighs. 

“No one,” you scoff. 

“Not even....Poe?” she wiggles her eyebrows and nudges you with her elbow playfully. 

“No way, the poster boy for the resistance doesn’t even know I exist...I think the existence of the other person is probably the first step of getting someone to kiss you.” 

“Don’t you hang out with BB-8 all the time?” she teases. 

“Yes, BB-8 assists me with my work on the ships but I’ve never really spoken to Dameron before. Sure, a word here or there but he doesn’t really notice me I’m just a mechanic. Plus I am waiting for a special person to kiss me on Life Day this year,” you start walking toward the mess hall, Jess following alongside. 

“You mean your secret admirer?” she coos giggling. 

“As a matter of fact, yes. They promised that during the week before Life Day they would leave me some more hints around base and then reveal themselves on the big day. But I haven’t received anything in two weeks...with all those casualties last week...I think my secret admirer might be gone.” The darkness hanging overhead seeps into your bones and you rub your eyes in exhaustion. 

“I wouldn’t be too quick to write them off. Maybe they are just waiting for the right time...like right now.” She points to your usual table in the mess hall overflowing with bright white and orange daisies. 

You walk in a trance toward the table and see your name scrawled on the cover of an envelope. You tear it open and devour the words, holding the letter tight to your chest you sigh. They’re alright, you thank the maker and ask Jess for help carrying the daisies to your work station. Trying to ignore the murmuring crowd around the table. It takes three trips but finally your workstation is overflowing in the colorful flowers, their sweet scent permeating the air. You inhale and smile still clutching the note. Jess walks over smiling patting your shoulder and giving you a one armed hug before going off to work. You look down and let your eyes flow over the note again. 

Hello Gorgeous, 

I’ve missed you so much these past few weeks. With the recent losses we have faced I have been busier than usual. These past few months of exchanging letters with you have been some of the happiest in my life. I can’t wait to finally meet you and reveal myself to you on Life Day. I hope these flowers bring a smile to your face as bright as mine was picking them for you. 

All yours, 

Your secret admirer 

You look around again at the sheer number of flowers covering every space of your workplace, and laugh imagining them picking each one special. Tucking the note safely into the pocket of your jumpsuit you get started working on the x-wings. By the end of the day you are starving from skipping lunch and exhausted. You take a sniff and wince at the sharp smell of engine oil and grease soaked into your skin. 

In the mess hall it’s late not many people are still up but they are luckily still serving food. Although it’s debatable what the resistance is serving can be called such. You poke hesitantly at the food and pull your notepad from your bag penning a response back to your secret admirer. 

Hi,  I’ve been so worried that you may have been one of those casualties that my heart melted when I saw my name on the envelope. You have spoiled me with the sheer number of flowers, and they smell so sweet. I have missed your letters and can’t wait for Life Day when we can finally meet.  All yours,  Your secret admirer 

You tear the paper off and fold it up before finishing the meal. You yawn as you take the long way home and pass your spot. You pull at the loose brick in the wall and place the letter inside before going back to your room for the night. 

The next morning, the sun streams through the small window of your room. Your roommate is already gone for the morning so you take your time in the fresher and pull on a fresh jumpsuit before grabbing a nutrition bar and leaving. When you get to your workshop BB-8 is waiting. The droid quickly became your friend when you first arrived several months ago as a transfer. He was great company on the larger projects around base. 

“Are you here to help me out?” you greet the droid dropping to a knee. He beeps happily back to you and you grin back at him. 

“So this is where my droid spends his day?” The voice behind you startles you and you rise quickly tripping over a canister on the ground. You feel the ground quickly come up to meet your back when you're flipped and land solidly on the chest of Poe Dameron.

“Are you okay?” he runs his hands over your head. You look into his deep brown eyes nodding. “Damn, I...I didn’t mean to scare you.” 

Your brain just suddenly realizes that you’re still laying on top of him and scramble to get up, brushing yourself off and clearing your throat, “Oh uhm, thank you for catching me Commander.” 

“Poe,” he instantly corrects, and you say his name causing a smile to break out across his cheeks, “As I was saying, I wanted to meet the mechanic that has my droid making heart eyes,” he teases making you blush. 

“Oh...BB-8 is a wonderful droid. I am lucky enough to have him help me out,” you avoid eye contact, attempting not to make a complete fool out of yourself. 

“He speaks very highly of you, and I can see why,” he grins. You're sure at this point you must be the color of a tomato when he takes another step toward you taking your hand gently, and bringing it up to his lips. “I hope to see you again, very soon.” He places a gentle kiss on your knuckles and smiles before leaving. 

When he is gone you sigh and look down at the droid who quickly opens a compartment and lights the flame into the form of a thumbs up causing you to giggle. “Not the smoothest interaction I’ve ever had buddy but thanks for the support.” 

The rest of the week is a flurry of activity around the base as everyone tries to complete their work ahead of schedule for the Life Day celebration. The days are long in your workshop but luckily a steady stream of notes between you and your secret admirer make the days seem to go by quicker. 

Until the day finally arrives. The base while still maintaining itself is mostly run by droids today as people make their way over to the mess hall for the festivities. You check yourself over in the mirror again, smoothing out any wrinkles in your green dress, and placing the white snowflake hair-clip in place. Satisfied with your appearance you head off to your spot to check for any notes. Pulling the stone away and giving a slight squeal at the paper stuck inside. 

Today’s the day we finally meet. I can’t wait to hold you in my arms and tell you how I feel about you. Meet me under the mistletoe.  All yours,  Your secret admirer 

You tuck the note into the pocket of your dress and race off to the mess, linking arms with Jessika as you pass her in the hallway and all but dragging her to the room. Your breath catches as you arrive. The room illuminates with twinkle lights in white, red, and green. Large candles are flickering in the center of the tables, and the room smells heavenly of tip yip and roasted vegetables. But one thing stands out amongst it all and your heart sinks. 

“Who keeps hanging all this damn mistletoe everywhere?!” Jessika asks, walking toward the buffet line. 

Everywhere you look sprigs of mistletoe hang. From the ceiling, the doorway, and everywhere in between. How the hell were you going to find your secret admirer now!? Jess shouts over to join her and you reluctantly do. The Life day celebration is a blast. People playing games, exchanging gifts, and the liquor flowing freely. You could almost forget for a minute we were in a war. 

The night slowly starts to wind down and you feel even more heartbroken as you start to pack up your small gifts from friends when BB-8 crashes into your side. Beeping hysterically. 

“What buddy, slow down! Poe...Poe WHAT?!” you shout and several heads turn to look at you as you follow the droid who is racing from the room. You run as fast as you can to keep up and when you turn into the hangar your steps falter. Standing under the open bay doors in a colorful sweater with BB-8 sewn on it is Poe Dameron smiling broadly. 

“What...what’s going on?” you stammer, “BB-8 said you were hurt, that you needed help…” 

“I wanted to get you alone,” he reaches for your hand and pulls you closer until you're standing directly in front of him. 

“Poe...what?” he sticks one finger up and points, your head tilting up to look above you and seeing the mistletoe hanging from the open bay doors. Your blood pounds in your ears and your lips turn up into a small smile and your voice gets very quiet, “It’s you.” 

“It’s me...are...are you disappointed?” he’s surprisingly shy and you shake your head no quickly stepping closer. 

“No...not at all...I...I wanted it to be you,” you whisper and his smile is almost blinding. 

“Can I kiss you?”

“I would be disappointed if you didn’t,” you match his smile and he leans forward capturing your lips with his own. He’s warm and soft and tastes like peppermint and chocolate and you sigh opening your mouth to his. You’re so caught up in the moment that the shrill beeps of BB-8 capture you both by surprise, and Poe holds you close in his arms as you both smile down at the droid. 

BB-8 beeps at you happily and Poe nods laughing before kissing you again, “Yeah buddy, happy Life day to you too.” 

[dreamy625]

This rockstar life - 3.1 Mail call

Words: 599

Content: Swearing

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

“Bill, advert, letter, letter, advert, bill, advert, one for you, advert, card, or invitation maybe?”

Steve hands Alice her letter, drops the rest of the post on the table, and sits down opposite her, tearing open the stiff envelope. 

“Oh god.”

“Oh god.”

“It’s got my name on it. And it came here.”

“It’s a card.”

“To me. Here.”

“A birthday card.”

“This is my address now.”

“With a big three-oh on it.”

“Oh shit. I live here!”

“Oh fuck. I’m thirty!”

“What?”

“What?”

Stirred out of their individual reveries, they look at each other, confused.

“I’ve just realised I actually live here. Like… for real.”

“I’ve just realised I’m really fucking old.”

“How did this happen?” 

“I was nineteen about five minutes ago!” 

They reach across the table and grip hands, united in shared but separate horrors.

“Does this mean we’re grown-ups now?” asks Alice tremulously.

“No? No. Definitely not.” Steve shakes his head vigorously. He turns the card face-down so he can’t see the big scary number any more and stands up. “Beer?”

“It’s 10am?”

Steve lifts his eyebrows in the facial equivalent of ‘So?’.

“Yes. Beer.”

As he goes to the fridge, Alice finally opens the letter. When he hands her the bottle, her anguished expression has faded into amusement as she reads.

“So who’s it from?”

“Jess. My cousin. She says ‘Mum says you’ve shacked up with a rockstar. Is it Simon Le Bon?’”

“She’s going to be terribly disappointed.”

“Nah, she’ll be happy. When we were fifteen we were fighting over which one of us was going to marry him. Now he’s all hers.”

“Do you regret it?”

“What, not marrying Simon Le Bon?”

“Moving in with me?”

“No, course not. It just seems… big. A big step… in retrospect. I guess I maybe… didn’t really properly think about it until now.” She looks over at Steve, who has his head bowed, tracing swirls around and around in the spilled sugar on the tabletop. “I wanted to. I still want to. Because I love you. But…”

“I know. It’s cool. It’s okay to have doubts.”

“Not doubts, just… sudden surprise adulthood!”

“I could call you my roommate if that would help?”

“Haha, maybe. Or lodger?”

“Or…” he narrows his eyes mischievously, “I could call you my common law wife.”

Alice looks momentarily horrified, then narrows her eyes back at him, “Of course, when I moved in here you were only twenty-nine. Living with a thirty year old, whole different thing. Do we need to get a stairlift? Or one of those baths with the door in?”

“Fuck off!” he bats at her head with the offending birthday card and she ducks, giggling. 

“So do you want to celebrate this momentous milestone? Or just pretend it’s not happening?”

“Dunno. I don’t really like parties when they’re for me. Too much fuss.”

“Something small then? Just with the lads?”

“Yeah, maybe.” At that he looks a little downcast, “We’re all so… dispersed now though. I don’t think anyone would come.”

“You’ll all be together at Wisseloord at the end of the month, right? So we could do it there? Just be a few days late, that’s all.”

“Oh, that’s true. Okay, let’s do that then.” he says more brightly.

“And we could just do something local for the day itself, with the guys from the pub or something?”

“Can it just… can it just be us?”

“Of course, whatever you want.”

“Can I have cake?”

Alice smiles fondly at the endearingly boyish eagerness in his expression, “Definitely. Lots of cake. All the cake in the world!”

(April 1990)

[passable-talent]

ya boi is back with a new niche character played by hayden christensen for yall to enjoy.

CW: blood, wounds, cursing, piercings, tattoos, guns, fighting, deaths of unnamed characters

AJ x gn!reader - Takers (2010). the stupid hat grew on me.

dedicated as always to @haydens-moles and @iscariot-rising for being my friends and for appreciating hayden as much as I do

The story of your life, as you loved to explain it, boiled down to a little math joke. Excited five, you called it, or it’s official terminology- five factorial. Written as “5!”, hence the awful pun.

“Factorials,” you’d say, “for those that don’t remember, are a multiplication of every number up to the one that’s being discussed. As such, five factorial is five, times four, times three, times two, times one.”

Your life, your excited five, was as follows: five major scars, four tattoos, three piercings, two eyebrow slits.

“The one is usually ignored,” you’d say, “as it makes no multiplicative difference. That’s why I don’t have a ‘one’.”

In August, 2009, you got your ‘one’. Its a doozy. But we’re not there yet.

~~~

Five major scars.

December 25, 1983. It’s your first Christmas. Your parents think you’re just being a cranky infant, but something way more serious is going on- they find out the next day that you’ve got RSV, a respiratory virus that’s especially dangerous for infants. You spend the next three years periodically using a ventilator whenever the coughing acts up. You don’t remember much of it, other than the vaguely crayon-looking piece of the machine, but you can’t forget that it happened, due to the pretty white scar over the bridge of your nose. It’s not such a gnarly wound as it is a reminder- not of the ventilator that wore through your skin thanks to frequent use, but of the virus that almost took your life only a few months after it had begun.

July 28, 1993. You’re seven years old, staying at your grandmother’s house with your cousin, who’s six months older than you. You’re playing cops and robbers- he’s the cop. The forest streaks by as you run the length of the property, slightly faster than him, but he catches you and throws you down. You land on your back on a jagged rock, not only painfully impacting your spine but digging deeply into your muscles beside it. It was the first hospital visit you remember, and the dark, long scar halfway between your tailbone and your shoulders reminds you never to fall without controlling it.

January 15, 1998. You’re in sophomore year of high school, and not the most popular. You like to play by the rules, and some asshole junior decides that he doesn’t like the way you won’t let him cheat off of your trigonometry homework, and decides that a knife is the best way to settle the problem. Those homework answers weren’t worth the long white line over all four of the knuckles of your left hand, but it is a pretty little reminder that lowlifes do what they want. And law enforcement, or whatever your school called the ‘anti-bullying league’, does jack shit about it.

October 30, 2002. You’re almost done with your certification to become a cop- thank god. You couldn’t stand the people who were to become your graduate class. They were so ready to become cops just to bully people, just to get to weild an iron fist and hide their bloodlust behind the law. Not you- you’re here to do some real good. That’s what they don’t like about you. And that’s why Fred Young splits open your cheek when just he’s supposed to be practicing his sparring. It’s an ugly scar, needed six stitches, but it’s a reminder that even the cops aren’t always the good guys.

May 14, 2004. You’re a new cop, working under detective Wells. There’s a robbery of a jewelry store a few blocks from where you’re patrolling, and as you’re making your way to the scene, a man in a fedora runs smack into you, taking you both to the ground. Broken glass digs into your shoulder, but he apologizes, and his blue eyes look so genuine. He’s afraid. You’d not realize until a month later that he wasn’t a scared bystander, but in fact one of the thieves. The fifth of your scars matches your first meeting with AJ- who would, by the end of the summer, become one of the most important people in your life.

~~~

Four tattoos.

August 4, 1999- Left wrist, inside knob of the bone. The little symbol had represented something to you when you were sixteen, but it had long lost whatever meaning you’d given it. Now, it was just a pattern to pass your thumb over whenever you got restless.

February 16, 2002- The cap of the right shoulder. It was your bunk number, from when you were training to be a cop. Nothing extravagant, but it was supposed to represent the beginning of the rest of your life- it was supposed to represent your calling.

June 1, 2004- Left arm, the outside of the forearm. Bleeding from your first tattoo was a new one, the largest one on your body. It was geometrical and high contrast, black lines loosely following your veins up toward your elbow, as though that left hand was bringing darkness into your body. It did- you shot with your left hand.

July 17, 2004- Right collarbone. A single, circular monogram, made up of six letters.

T A K E R S.

~~~

Three piercings.

April 7, 1989. Your father took you to get your ears pierced, but insisted upon arrival that it was too expensive to get both done, so you only got your left. The assymetrical style would have to grow on you- at six years old, you hated it.

May 19, 2003. You couldn’t have piercings at the academy, they were unprofessional, they were dangerous. So the night of graduation, you went out and got a hole punched into your nostril- the pain made tears well up, but more than anything, it was the satisfaction of giving a pretty little ‘fuck you’ to your superiors, who you’d never see again.

July 18, 2006. AJ takes you to a fancy beauty salon for an eyebrow bar after hearing maybe once that you’d wanted another piercing. You knew you were in love with him- who else in your life had ever paid such close attention to you?

~~~

Two eyebrow slits.

June 23, 2004. You leave the police force. You tell Wells that it’s because you’re pissed you can’t find the guys that robbed the jewelry store, but that’s not even close to the truth. You’ve found them- hell, you got a good look at one of them on the very day of the robbery. But you’ve done the looking, and didn’t have the heart to bring them in. They had families. They donated ten percent of every heist to a charity. They did more for the community than the police you worked for, and they did it clean- they didn’t hurt anybody, if they didn’t have to. They did what you’d hoped to do, when you joined the force. What you’d never gotten to do. Eyebrow slits were considered extremely unprofessional, so the moment you were free of your two week notice, you split open your right eyebrow. It would give a good balance to the bar piercing you hoped to put through your left someday.

March 4, 2007. You’re cleaning up your slit when AJ walks into the room and stands behind you so that you can see him through the mirror. You keep your eyes on the trimmer you’re so delicately running over your skin, but when he opens up a little felt box with a pretty ring inside, you whirl around with such panic that you make the slit approximately half an inch wider than it should’ve been. Lilli helped you fill in the gap for the engagement photos, but you decided to keep a second slit on the other end of the unfortunate shave- a little reminder of the evening in which he proposed to you.

~~~

“The one is usually ignored,” you’d say, “as it makes no multiplicative difference. That’s why I don’t have a ‘one’.”

On August 27, 2009, you got your ‘one’.

You’d been out of the game for two years, choosing not to take a cut of the winnings. You’d advise, you’d plan, you’d set up, but you did not want to be on site when the heist went down. The boys had it taken care of, and you butted heads with Jesse far too often for anyone’s comfort.

You especially couldn’t work on this project, thanks to a little fucker named Ghost- he didn’t trust you, as a member of the Takers he’d never met, and you didn’t trust him, as a criminal you’d never grown to respect.

You knew that most of them didn’t trust Ghost either, but everything he brought forward checked out- AJ must’ve mumbled the plan thirty times in his sleep in the five days from its suggestion to its fruition. There were no holes. Knowing Gordon and John, they had some ‘insurance’ for Ghost, anyway. In case it went wrong.

Still, you stayed at the Hotel Roosevelt through it all. You were their sitter, keeping the hotel room warm and ready for their arrival. They arrived back one by one- and like usual, AJ got there first. He, Gordon, and John were usually the first to get out, but he always made it back to the room first, because that way he could get some time with you. That way, he could have a private reunion, fresh off of a job.

“Hey, baby,” he said as he closed the door, and you waited for him to turn his eyes to you before you gave him a smile. He threw down his bag onto one of the chairs, and it landed with a heavy thump, but you’d long grown used to the sound of the score. However much he pulled, good for him. You were just happy to slip your arms around his neck and feel him kiss the scar on your cheekbone before sliding his lips to yours.

He always kissed different right after a job- before the boys had all gotten back, before the total was counted. He had a confidence to his movement, but there was fear, insecurity, just a tinge. He wasn’t just a taker, he was a man, who had worries and risks just like every other man.

You were out of the game for a few reasons. They had it taken care of. You butted heads with Jesse. You didn’t trust Ghost. But you knew that you were AJ’s biggest fear- you knew that if you got hurt on a job, he’d never forgive himself.

So he kissed you, he held you close, he reminded himself that you were here, you were fine. His long fingers seems to take up half your back, and his hair was already in his face, as though you’d tugged it there yourself.

With just one more pass of your lips over his, you pulled away.

“How’d it go?” You asked with a soft voice, rolling your first finger through the curls at the back of his neck.

“Could’ve gone better,” he said with a chuckle, “but we got it done.” You heard a knock at the door, and Gordon was the next arrival- then John, then Jake, then Ghost. Jesse came last, and with him, a whole host of new problems.

A bullet splintered the door and caught AJ somewhere under the ribcage. Everyone hit the floor, diving behind couches, and you popped your head up long enough to see AJ launch over the kitchen island. The room shattered into gunfire and feathers from expensive pillows, glass shards littering the ground like raindrops. It all moved so fast, and the air exploded into noise. You could barely track AJ through it all, he was so far away, all the way across the room. And you wanted to keep your eye straight down the barrel of your gun.

“AJ!” Jesse called from beside you, hidden behind a brown leather couch, “You okay?” You looked around the side of it, and saw him ten feet from you, the longest ten feet of your life, behind the kitchen island. He was struggling, on his hands and knees.

“Get up,” you snarled, knowing he’d already taken a hit.

“Out the back!” John ordered from the doorway behind you, and you started to realize the moment, the dangerous, heavy moment. AJ was all the way across the room- he couldn’t cross it. Not with these mobsters holding ground.

“Let’s go!” Gordon shouted, and your eyes connected with AJ’s. He saw the same thing you did.

“Go,” he said, voice calm, and it cut through the chaos of the room, cut through every hardened lesson ever pounded into you, cut through every wall you’d ever built around you, around your heart. “I’m coming.”

AJ was a good liar. But he couldn’t lie to you.

“No,” you growled through gritted teeth, and you made a rash decision.

You’d always been good at gymnastics. You had strong control over the movement of your body, and had, ever since you’d learned from your cousin throwing you down onto that stone that split open your back. You could move and slink and roll and dive in ways that would keep you not only from falling, but even from being noticed.

Using the chaos as your cover, you did a tight diving roll across the room to him, slipping between shelters unscathed. This brought you just a bit closer to the mobsters, but further from the back door exit that Gordon had been trying to guide you toward. You’d chose AJ over your safety any day- the surprise and the fear in his eyes said that he wished you wouldn’t.

Making sure you had enough ammo, you considered your final move- this didn’t end until these mobsters did. There were five of them left, after all this commotion: four in the room, one in the hall. You couldn’t take all five, not with their guns being so much more than yours, but you could take out a few. You could shift attention, you could buy time.

And hopefully, you could stay breathing, too. That’d be nice.

“Stay down,” you hissed, leaving AJ behind the island where he’d be forgotten about, or assumed dead. Then, you rounded the corner and rolled to the feet of the closest mobster. As you came out of the roll you caught his legs in yours, wrenching them from under him and taking him to the ground with one of the first moves you’d learned in basic training. He hit the wall hard, and was unconscious by the time he landed- the same could not be said for his friends.

From your right, you could see Gordon, still firing, still hopeful for your and AJ’s escape. Your shoulders were above the couch, so you knew he saw as you turned your weapon to the second mobster before he could turn to you, and stopped his heart.

Your commotion had caught the attention of the other three who still remained. You whirled around and raised your gun to one of them, but they managed it first.

Gordon had to swallow back his horror as he saw a bullet enter the front of your side profile, and blood explode from the back. He took out the mobster who still had his attention on you- but your shoulders smacked to the ground outside of his view, and he closed the door.

Luckily, their aim was spotty. You now had a useless left arm, but you were still breathing. Not that you’d let the one remaining mobster notice that.

You and AJ played dead, only a few feet from each other, but the kitchen island becoming a thicker wall than any you’d ever been split by. As you stared blankly at the ceiling, taking shallow breaths hidden by the folds of your shirt, you hoped he didn’t think you were dead. You hoped he wasn’t bleeding out.

After what felt like agonizingly long minutes, the shooting finally stopped, and the door opened again. Gordon was the first to enter the room, and rounded the couch to you, grief in his eyes, expecting the worst.

But you could give him a smile.

“Surprise,” you groaned, and he lit up in relief, helping you sit up with your good arm.

“Look at you, playing dirty,” he said with a laugh, “I thought you were gone for sure.”

“AJ,” you heard Jake say from across the room, and finally AJ could sit up from where you’d forced him down. The two of you had both bled straight through your shirts, but there wasn’t any time for sweet reunions- everyone had to get out, and fast.

AJ left his car wherever it was. John gave the two of you a ride to the airstrip where Gordon was going to disappear for a while, and on the way you and AJ attempted to give each other first aid until the personnel on the plane could take care of it.

Eventually, you leaned against his left, and he against your right, your wounds still stinging and sticky with blood, but manageable, for as long as they needed to be.

The night didn’t get any easier, but that didn’t matter- you were home free, they’d managed the job, and Ghost was out of the picture, and neither of you were going to die.

And someday, when you felt brave enough to recount your near-death, near-loss, near-jailed experience, you’d say:

Five major scars, four tattoos, three piercings, two eyebrow slits. And one gun shot wound.

-🦌 Roe

[quwarichi]

heard from your mother au - The Ripple Effect

this is my early birthday gift for @schmuzz1 Ever heard of the ripple effect? you probably did but let's go over it once more; the ripple effect is like if you took a rock and threw it into a lake. Where the rock would hit and sink a ripple would be created, and from there it would only grow bigger and bigger, taking over more space, until the water settles again.

HFYM is the ripple effect ficsonified. The premise is simple, for those who watched the episode Despair in the last season of Supernatural. Castiel confesses his love to Dean, gets taken by the Empty. He wakes up in 2003 in a motel room, without his memories and only a memory saying “Don’t do this, Cas” which helps him figure out his name is Cas, and that he’s a hunter. Simple.

Then he meets Dean.

Now, we’ve all read various pre-series fics, haven’t we? It’s a token when giving fans a time-gap that we don’t know much about, they’d try to fill it as best as their imagination limitations will help them. So what is so special about HFYM?

In a word; Cas.

Meet this angelic being, who without his memories fully believes his humanity, and drives around the US not looking for answers, exactly, but just trying to help out to the best of his ability. By putting Cas in a setting pre-series, and letting the readers know that this Cas is their Castiel, the story already kicks into gear with a race to see when and how Cas will affect the story.

We didn’t know about angels until season 4. We didn’t THINK there was a better way to kill demons other than the Colt until season 3. Characters and themes that we would’ve taken years to get to know in the show are being used and constantly appear throughout what HFYM would call season 0 (or is that just me? make some noise). But Cas changes all of that just by being. For this next part, I recommend you stop reading this post if you haven’t read this fic, go read it in its entirety, and come back here after you’re done and had time to adjust.

We good? Good.

Pamela Barnes, the love of my life and a five-episode cameo in the Supernatural show. In HFYM, she acts as Cas’ best friend most of the time, teaching him the highs (hehe) and lows of having what they all figure is a really developed psychic ability. Bringing Pamela in chapter 16 was not only a brilliant use of character but a ripple effect. But I get ahead of myself. To understand why Pamela is suddenly there, we need to identify the biggest ripple of them all; Dean fucking Winchester.

Dean and Cas, from the start, develop a sort of kinship. It’s reminiscent of their first meeting in Lazarus Rising, where Castiel rescues Dean but also has its own charm. Here, Cas has no idea he’s an angel, and that’s why humanity is so strange to him. Dean views Cas as a weirdo that is not to be trusted, and later as a weirdo that he can kinda trust but make sure to watch his back around him.

In a way, they’re mirrors. Cas’ effortless way of creating acquaintances highlights just how isolated Dean is from people because of John’s influence. Whenever they’re together, Dean finds himself surrounded by others too, but apart it’s clear that Cas (to much of my, and probably his, surprise) is the social one.

Quoting the fic tags: “like maybe if he [Pre-series Dean Winchester] got a boyfriend he would have calmed down” is the very abstract explanation of the ripple effect. By being isolated for so long, without even Sam to keep him company, Dean couldn’t develop properly, resulting in the Dean we get in season 1. But ripples (courtesy of Cas) reach him and that’s where it all comes together. By meeting Cas pre-series Dean is given two things; one, no more isolation, time to grow sunshine. Two, a romantic subplot.

Now I don’t know how much you know about media - but romantic subplots are usually very character forwarding if done right. The best thing about the romantic subplot in HFYM is that it’s not immediate. Fuck no. It’s built on months of friendship and a bond forged in hunting, in putting each other’s lives in the other’s hands like it’s nothing. When they finally get together (I did the math, they get together when the story is like, halfway over. 52% to be exact) it makes sense because you watched them forge the bond and thus pushing their character development further. Romantic subplots are one of the best ways to push a character to their limits (looking at you, chapter 49) and then break those limits. So the biggest ripple was basically Cas and Dean thinking “huh, lemme smooch” and then doing it instead of eye fucking for twelve years.

But that’s not what I’m talking about, exactly. The biggest ripple effect that Cas did with Dean is that when season 1 starts (did I mentioned this was a canon rewrite? We love multitasking), when Dean goes to get Sam for Jericho and everything is put into hyperdrive, Dean is different. It affects how people around him act, especially Sam. The first season is very Sam-driven, but the main character will be changed by changing the “supporting” cast. It doesn’t help that Cas ripple effect number 2932#: Save Jess has definitely quelled the grief-rage thing that Sam has going on in canon since she’s not gone, and is actually around them for a while before leaving to work with Bobby and Jo. Sam immediately notices that something’s different about Dean, but he can’t put a finger on it. Requoting tags: “he would have calmed down”. Gone is the aimless rage and loss that makes him reckless and drinking too much. Gone are the women chasing days because he’s in a committed relationship. Heck Dean has a bit of self-esteem now, having bagged that (points at frog-shirt wearing Cas) and it affects the story in the way he and Sam interact.

Sam can feel that Dean’s hiding something from him (Cas) and it makes a rift between them because he doesn’t get who’s this hunter Dean hangs out with that is definitely replacing Sam in Dean’s eyes - the same guy who used weird powers to save Jess from a demon. Dean is still hurt over Sam leaving for Stanford and anxious about him finding out about Cas and John and everything. Basically, take season 1 brother dynamics and throw a live grenade in the mix. That grenade is Cas, btw.

Ripples, man.

Cas affects the story - he gets Dean to get back in touch with Bobby because he’s looking for an explanation for why he heals from mortal wounds like it’s nothing, why he doesn’t need sleep, and why he’s never hungry. Bobby connects Cas to Pamela, thinking Cas is an odd psychic, and Pamela becomes inherently important in the way that she helps Cas control his powers and provides his first real… non-platonic experience (off-screen, dw they’re friends) that later helps him discern what Dean is to him. Through Bobby, he also meets Ellen and Jo, in the Roadhouse. He goes on hunts alone, and finds a knife that helps him save a possessed girl named Taylor who is later a part of an actual episode (Hookman) and there’s recognition, she’s not just a standby person and that connects with Jess’ storyline, that connects with Sam’s storyline that connects with Dean’s storyline. By being him, Cas creates ripples everywhere he touches because he’s not supposed to be there.

The otherwise undisturbed surface is broken because Cas is there to break it and create ripples that connect with each other, all unknowingly, and the way it’s constructed is incredible.

I could add more about Dean’s bisexuality journey or realization, or how lack of trauma makes Cas a lot more narrative-free but it could all come crashing down on him if he remembers the past, or how Sam and Jess are so interesting like yes girl flesh out the revenge reason we see in three episodes, but this is getting long and I could always make new posts about this fic that I love so much.

Happy birthday, Jenn, you’re an incredible friend and writer and I’m so lucky to have found you in this mayhem of a fandom.

Go read heard from your mother (she don’t recognize you) on ao3, you magnificent people.

[lifeofclonewars]

Voices Long Gone

As always, AO3 link below. Sorry to my want to write for Kix and the next chapter of Beginn, apparently Domino took over the writing brain cells today

Summary: 

It shocks him the first time Echo does it after Rishi. Not because it’s new – far from it, actually. In fact, Fives is certain Echo doesn’t even realize he has a habit of mimicking his brothers when he quotes them. 

With the others, it’s noticeable, but mainly only if you look for it. But with this particular one… as long as someone understands Basic, they pick up on it. Because Cutup had kriffing decided to speak like that when they were six.

--

Or, Fives' journey through hearing Echo mimic Cutup's accent following Rishi, and then some.

----

It shocks him the first time Echo does it after Rishi. Not because it’s new — far from it, actually. In fact, Fives is certain Echo doesn’t even realize he has a habit of mimicking his brothers when he quotes them. It’s another reason they call him Echo, though his brother doesn’t know that. They hadn't said so on Kamino and he's only picked up on the fact that they started to call him that for his repeating phrases and commands.

With the others, it’s noticeable, but mainly only if you look for it and know the various inflections the same voice could have. It’s more noticeable to those who knew the full squad, like 99. 

But with this particular one… as long as someone understands Basic, they pick up on it. Because Cutup had kriffing decided to speak like that one Military History/Sparring Instructor they had had when they were six he had thought was cooler than the rest. He’d purposely made the accent thicker and himself more and more difficult to understand when they'd protested against it until they gave in. 

It always is obvious when Echo mimics something Cutup had said, matching Cutup's ridiculous (but unique) accent almost uncannily for someone who doesn’t speak that way as often as their batchmate. Echo had started doing it when quoting Cutup within weeks of the accent's appearance. Nothing new now, but for some reason…

For some reason, following the disaster on the moon, Fives had assumed Echo wouldn't do it anymore. But of-kriffing-course his twin would, he didn't even know he was doing it. And Fives knew that, yet he had still thought differently.

It shouldn't even be as big of a deal as his mind was making it out to be. They were eating with their new squad in the 501st (the 501st!), talking more. Both of them had been quieter than normal after everything, but their squad didn't know that. Within a few weeks, when everything didn't ache and it was only when he focused on it or was reminded by random things, they would. But not quite yet, even if they were speaking what some squads might call an average amount. (Domino had never been average, in the worst and best ways.)

“After all,” Echo says, “it’s like I’ve been told many times: never wear three sets of blacks at the same time.”

The squad laughs lightly, slightly confused on the accent change, but Fives freezes, fork halfway to his mouth, as the pain that hasn’t gone away yet intensifies. He misses Cutup so much and he didn’t think he’d ever hear his voice again. And while he technically isn’t, Echo does a karking good job of making it sound the exact same way Cutup said those words. 

He struggles through the rest of the meal, trying to not drown under the grief that washes over him. Still, he dismisses himself early and leaves to find a quieter, less public place to try to not break down. Echo gives him a worried look as he stands and leaves, oblivious to what was racing through Fives’ mind. The squad lets him go, understanding and knowing to leave him alone, that Echo will find him soon enough. The way it has been with both of them the past few weeks. It’s not like they have anything immediately scheduled for after the meal, anyway.

Later, he doesn’t tell Echo the full story. He’s not sure how telling Echo he sounded just like Cutup would affect his brother’s ability to do it the way he did. So he skips over that and focuses on how hearing that phrase again made him miss Cutup more than he would’ve expected a year ago.

Echo apologizes for causing him grief, but Fives tells him an apology isn’t necessary. It’s not his twin’s fault they both have more trauma than most of their brothers have at their age. It’s certainly not Echo’s fault for trying to keep his memory of Cutup intact by repeating what he’s said. (Especially when it fell under why-Echo-is-named-Echo in both categories.)

The second time it happens, Fives isn’t as shocked. He knows it’s a possibility this time, sees the way the conversation is heading and the variety of answers Echo could give. The grief still twists sharp, but the time that’s passed means it’s slightly easier to bear. 

He surprises himself by not frowning or freezing when he hears the mimic. He’s missed hearing his three batchmates speak, and it’s oddly comforting to hear their words the way they said it once more. Though he doesn’t always pick up on Echo mimicking Droidbait and Hevy, especially as they meet more brothers who must’ve had the same trainer or something and say things just similar enough to how those two said them. But Cutup’s isn’t one he’s encountered elsewhere, isn’t one he thinks he’ll ever encounter again, so hearing it from Echo is the closest thing he’ll get to hearing him speak again until he’s marching on, too.

Echo continues to unknowingly mimic Cutup after the first and second time and Fives can’t bring himself to stop him, can’t bring himself to want Echo to stop doing it anymore. Even if he has to explain to a puzzled brother every now and then after the conversation is over.

Through Saleucami, Kamino (99 smiles widely when he notices Echo doing it after they explain what happened), ARC training, and beyond, Echo continues to do it. One day, having just returned from an ARC mission with the 104th and trying to get some rest in the general barracks instead of alone in the ARC ones, Fives overhears some of Torrent talking about it. Eyes closed and across the room, after clearly being exhausted when he’d greeted them, they think he’s asleep.

“Has anyone told Echo he switches accents sometimes? It’s odd, isn’t it?”

Hmm, that sounds like one of the shinier troopers. One who has been around long enough to get more used to calling Fives and Echo by their names and not just “sir” or “ARC Troopers Echo and Fives” but not long enough for anyone to tell him why Echo did that yet.

“He says stuff like his batchmates when he quotes them. The other brothers he’s known for a long time, too,” someone — Jesse, maybe — tells the kid. “If you listen closely enough, you’ll catch when he mimics Fives, Kix, Rex, and so on. Fives said it’s subconscious.”

“So why not tell him? Wouldn’t he want to know he’s saying things like his batchmate? I think I would.”

A silence follows long enough for a shrug. “Well, Fives said he’s sure if telling Echo he did it would affect his ability to do it the way he did. Ya know, if he becomes aware of it he might become overly aware of it and either not mimic it properly or stop doing it.”

“Yeah,” that sounded like Kix. “Plus, it makes Fives smile. I think he even nudges conversations in certain ways because he wants Echo to do it when one of them is missing their batchmates particularly hard. We don’t want to take that away from them.”

Oh. That wasn’t something he’d consciously been doing, either. But now that he knows, he isn't going to stop. In fact, it might actually make him do it more frequently. No, he will do it more frequently. He always misses Domino so much.

Too soon after this revelation, however, it never happens again. 

Too soon after Rishi, too soon in his life, too soon too soon too soon. Now he’ll never hear something Cutup used to say the way he used to say. (He never had the same mimic abilities as his twin, after all.) Now he’ll never hear any of his batchmates speak again, whether themselves or through Echo’s insanely accurate subconscious impressions. Now they’re really voices long gone.

Too soon, Echo’s voice becomes another of the long gone.

Fives keeps the memories of Domino and Echo mimicking Domino the best he can. He can’t bring himself to reference things they said as often as he used to. It’s like the Force or fate or whatever decided to play some cruel, ironic trick on him, only and specifically him. Throw in the name of their squad and, well…

When brothers start to take notice of what he’s doing, of the lack of the mimicking, too, they ask questions. Questions Fives avoids, deflects, only really talks about with the members of Torrent he’s known the longest (that number shrinks with every battle). 

But Fives will take what he can. Even if he’s the last of Domino Squad, he can still talk to Kix and Jesse about them and reminisce on reminiscing about his batchmates with them and Echo. He can tell Tup about Cutup, Droidbait, Hevy. He can tell Tup about Echo’s mimicking habit and other things he didn’t get to experience himself and what Fives misses. 

He takes what he can get, what his conscious and subconscious mind will let him take. Some, in this aspect and part of war, are better than none. The brothers that do learn and listen to him, the ones he can talk to about most (but never all) of it are better than none. They’ll keep memories of Domino going on longer than he could by himself, as long as everything plays out right.

Nothing plays out right. Some of the brothers he talks to die, he doesn’t open up to more. Fives hears Cutup’s voice once again; it’s actually coming from Cutup himself. Rex’s voice fades out and his batchmate’s fades in. It reminds him of just how accurate Echo’s impression was and then it reminds him what exactly hearing Cutup himself implies.

The more time passes, the more 501st members there are that don’t know about Echo’s habit or Fives’ reaction or how they honored their batchmates or anything past the rumors about them. There’s only so much that can be shared when it’s learned second-hand, after all. Those that know try their best, though. Fives and Echo would appreciate it if they knew, they think.

(Things change when Echo returns. Suddenly, Rex is the one reeling when Echo says something the exact same way Fives had said it years and years ago and less than a year ago. A recall of something Cutup said quickly follows it. Torrent remembers conversations both long ago and recently passed.)

(Later than that, Fives isn’t around to explain to the Bad Batch the first time Echo mimics his brothers around them. They don’t know how to ask Echo about it, either.)

Fives was right, in more ways than one.

[kaitycole]

chapter two: how it all began

Summary: Two little friends have always desired one thing: to end up as siblings. So when the chance presented itself after a finalized divorce, who were they to decline such an opportunity to finally bring their parents together?

Pairings: Bokuto Kōtarō x f!Reader

Word Count: 2577

Warnings: Angst. Fluff. Mentions of divorce, cheating, cussing

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters portrayed in this series. Part of the @babythotshq​​ Dearest Daddy Collab

Tags: open (send me an ask to be added!)

October 2018

Jess wasn’t sure if she should take Bo up on his offer, her mind had her convinced that it was just him being friendly. He saw the way he had looked at you and yeah, he said you had just gotten married, but that doesn’t mean feelings just fade.

She had pulled up his contact several times in the two weeks since she’d gotten it. Since she wasn’t familiar with Osaka or Japan at all, there were no run-ins with him which Jess couldn’t decide if that was good or bad.

It was a rainy Friday when she finally texted him; her thoughts had caught up to her and it dawned on her that no number of miles would cure the pain in her heart.

The adult part of her understood that people are busy and Bo wasn’t ignoring her, he is a pro-athlete after all. But the other part of her, the part that isn’t so mature, chalks up the 20 minutes that passed as he didn’t really mean his offer.

Bo was finishing up in the locker room after practice, he pulled his phone out of his bag before stuffing in his practice clothes. He was on his way out when he finally glanced down and saw two notifications.

Y/N: Just wanted to remind you that I won’t be able to text until next Friday! I’ll bring back souvenirs! (4:05 pm)

He didn’t reply, it was painful to hear about your honeymoon and to be fair he didn’t really want a souvenir either; some constant reminder that you were with someone else. Not to mention all you talked about was how much Youta wanted to start a family. Yeah, he really didn’t need that reminder.

He did perk up however when he saw the second text, one from an unknown number.

Jess: Hey. It’s Jess. (3:12 pm)

Bo quickly noticed that it’d been over an hour since Jess texted him and he panicked. Should he call her or text her back? He groaned when he got to the main exit only to see it was pouring and he once again forgot an umbrella.

Bokuto: Hey! Just got out of practice, sup? (4:40 pm)

Jess smacked the palm of her hand against her forehead, instantly feeling dumb for not realizing it sooner. She stared at her screen, suddenly unsure of what to say.

Jess: I was wondering if your offer was still available? (4:44 pm)

A huge grin spread across Bokuto’s face as he read the message. It no longer mattered to him that it was raining heavily as he walked to the bus station or that he’d have to shower again when he got home.

Bokuto: ‘Course! When are you free? (4:50 pm)

Jess: Sunday? Noon? (4:51 pm)

Bokuto: See you then! (4:52 pm)

Saturday was spent texting Bo most of the day, eagerly deciding where they should go. They ended up agreeing to go to the Shinsaibashi district once Jess mentioned needing to pick up a few things for her apartment. They were both surprised when they learned they lived in neighboring complexes, just a short walk to the others.

On Sunday, Bo all but bounced his way to Jess’s apartment. He had mentioned their texts and conversations to Kuroo who was almost as excited as Bo was; Kuroo liked you, he always had, but he didn’t like seeing Bo so hung up on you and Jess gave him a way to let you go. Jess opened the door and was taken back for a moment, the last time she’d seen Bo he was post-game sweaty in a volleyball uniform, but here he was in her doorway wearing tight black jeans and a hoodie taking her breath away.

Bokuto smiled when saw Jess dressed up; when they met she had on a pantsuit, but here she looked more comfortable. She had one a maroon knee-length dress, stockings and brown boots, accompanied with a scarf; her brown hair was down and curled.

“Ready?” He reached out his hand.

“Ready!” She took his hand as she shut the door.

*                      * A few hours shopping around Shinsaibashi and Bo’s hands are full with most of Jess’s bags. She swore to him that she really didn’t mind carrying them, they were hers after all, but Bo wouldn’t hear it. What kind of gentleman would he be if he didn’t help? She has a few new pieces to add to her wardrobe, a couple of picture frames for prints she wanted to hang up and a few beauty ideas.

He motioned for her to head to a café, sitting her bags in a spare chair at their table.

“You sure there’ll be room in your apartment for all this?” He teased.

Her cheeks burn red as she tried to hide her face with the menu, “I’m sorry. I could’ve gone shopping on my own. I’m sure you don’t want to waste a day off running errands.”

He waved her off, “It’s fine. This is fun. My only plans were to watch TV.”

“Oh. I guess I thought you might hang out with Y/N.” Jess smiled at the waitress as she ordered.

Bo quickly ordered what Jess had, not really paying much attention the mention of you had thrown him for a loop. “I…uhm…she’s out of town.” He cleared his throat, “Honeymoon.”

“I…I am so sorry! I shouldn’t have said anything!” Jess’s eye widened instantly feeling awful. “Wow I just keep messing up today.”

“It’s fine. Really.” He took a sip of his water, “I’m having a lot of fun.”

Jess bit her lip before she began to pick at the croissant she had ordered. Bo ate quietly too which was odd for him but he really wasn’t sure what to say.

“So?” They both spoke at the same time causing them both to laugh.

“You go first.” She offered with a small smile.

“What brought you to Japan?” Bo asked, mouth slightly full of croissant which makes her laugh for a second.

She fiddled with her napkin, her mouth dried slightly. “Can I speak freely?”

Bo cocked his head to the side, not fully understanding, “Of course.”

“I guess you could say I have a Y/N of my own.” She bit the inside of her cheek. “His name is Mark and for years he told me that when he fulfilled his goals, he’d finally be ready for a relationship. Well six years is a long time and 5300+ miles seemed far enough to start over.”

Bo nodded, part of him was glad that he met someone who understood, but the other part, the bigger part of him hated it because no one deserves to feel that way.

“Well, Mark sounds like a dick, but I am glad that it brought you here. I like you.” Bo smiled, noticing her cheeks turned bright pink.

“I like you too.” Jess smiled.

*                      * It didn’t take long for Jess and Bo to become attached at the hip; after the first few hangouts they quickly learned they had a lot in common. And for the things they didn’t have in common? They just taught each other about it.

The moment she expressed interest in volleyball, Bo jumped on the opportunity to teach her; even bringing her to the gym to show her a few moves with Hinata and Kuroo. The latter spent most of the time teasing Bo by flirting with Jess, even picking her up when she assisted in a block. Kuroo lived to pick on Bo, but he was happy Bo had someone in his life to help him get move on. He even managed to snap a photo when Bo picked up her, cheering with a sparkle in her eyes when she spiked a ball.

When Bo mentioned that he had always liked plants but couldn’t seem to keep on alive, Jess jumped on the chance to help him. Her apartment was filled with various types of plants; flowers and herbs and Bo loved listening to her go on and on about them. She went out and bought pots, soil and seeds and made it a challenge to see who could grow their plant the tallest; Bo quickly accepted and then in the same breath overwatered the seeds. Jess gifted him a fake plant short after.

Mid-April 2019

“Are you sure I look okay?” Jess asked, for the fourth time since Bo picked her up. They were sitting in his car outside of Kuroo’s apartment. Just like the other three times, he assured her that she looked beautiful.

“You’ll be the best looking one there.” Bo smiled as she rolled her eyes at him. He wasn’t lying, based on what Bo heard from Kuroo it was mostly just going be you, Jess, Bo, Kuroo and Kenma.

She looked down at her outfit one more time; dark blue skinny jeans, a pale pink flowy top with a thin gray sweater. She knew she’d looked fine, this was her go-to outfit back in California, but for some reason she didn’t feel confident in it. Maybe she should’ve worn her black ankle boots instead of her chestnut brown ones.

Her thoughts are interrupted when Bo opened her door, reaching his hand for hers. She gave him a straight smile as he pulled her into a hug. Breathing in his woody scented cologne instantly relaxed her; sandalwood quickly became a scent she yearned for since meeting him.

He lifted her chin with his index finger, making eye contact with her, “You look stunning. Stop worrying so much.” He pressed a kiss to her forehead causing her to smile.

He intertwined his fingers with hers before they walked into Kuroo’s apartment. Kuroo quickly answered the door.

“HEY HEY HEY!” Bo shouted in reply to Kuroo’s “HEY HEY!”

“Hey, Kuroo.” Jess smiled and then blushed when Kuroo grabbed her free hand, kissing the back of it.

“You know you can call me Tetsu.” He winked which caused Bo to pull Jess into the apartment, muttering that Kuroo worked just fine. Bo knew Kuroo was doing it to get under his skin, he wasn’t clueless, but Jess meant the world to Bo and he wanted to protect her. Kuroo was one of his closest friends and yeah, he trusted him, but Mark was still constantly on Jess’s mind. She needed more time to heal.

You were sitting on the couch when Bo and Jess walked in. You smiled at the pair, noting that Bo was still clinging on to her hand and how he had stiffened at Kuroo’s suggestion for her to call him by his first name.

After failing to agree on where to go to enjoy the night, Kuroo suggested seeing which set of best friends knew each other better. Kuroo clearly feeling that he and Kenma would have a landslide of a victory. Kenma shrugged since Kuroo took his gaming console and hid it which Kuroo and Bokuto took as agreeing. Bokuto was game for anything to show off his competitive side and to beat Kuroo.

The only issue was who would be Bokuto’s partner. Jess awkwardly stared between everyone not wanting to step on anyone’s toes.

“Bo, you can have Jess and Y/N. You’ll need all the help you can get.” Kuroo winked at Jess.

“It’s fine, I can sit this game out.”  Jess said, holding her hands up. “I’ll pick the questions to ask.” “Oh no, it’s fine.” You smiled at her, “I don’t mind seeing what you got.”

“Are we gonna have a cat fight?” Kuroo raised an eyebrow which gained a glare from you, an elbow to the ribcage from Kenma and Bo shaking his head.

“No. I just think it’d be fun. If I play, we’d smoke ya!” You teased Kuroo, sticking out your tongue.

“What do ya, Jess? Be my partner?” Bo smiled and you couldn’t help but see the way Jess’s face flushed as she nodded before moving to sit next to him.

You watched the two of them scoot closer to each other, Bo’s hand resting gently on her thigh as if that’s the most natural thing. Bo was a touchy person, you weren’t blind to that but it made you feel…jealous?

Once upon a time, during the first year you met Bokuto, you developed a crush on the two-toned haired boy. You thought that you had been obvious about it and had dropped hints, but Bo never seemed to reciprocate it or catch on. So, you moved on, leaving the idea in your first-year classroom.

“Y/N, ask the first question!” Kuroo shouted.

“Hold on, hold on.” You scrolled on a website until you found what you were looking for. “Okay, we’ll start with Team KuroKen: What’s your best friend’s favorite food?”

“Easy peasy! Apple pie!” Kuroo smirked, knowing he was right.

“Grilled Mackerel.” Kenma sighed, clearly uninterested.

“Correct!” You cheered. “Now for Team Bess.” “Bess?” Jess scrunched up her face.

You shrugged, “All I could think of on short notice.”

“Cool name or not, we’re gonna win!” Bo wrapped his arm around Jess’s waist, pulling her tighter to him. “Jess’s favorite food is mashed potatoes.”

Jess grinned towards you, “And Bo’s is BBQ meat.”

“C’mon Y/N, give us a hard question!” Kuroo begged.

The four of them continued to answer question after question until both teams had a tied score of 20. You began to smirk to yourself when you found the perfect question. It wasn’t that you didn’t like Jess, she seemed nice enough, but Bokuto had been your best friend for years and you didn’t like the fact that someone thought that six months was long enough to act like they knew Bo.

“Here we go, perfect question.” You winked at Jess, “What was the last movie your best friend watched?”

Team KuroKen quickly answered and a confident Kuroo started gloating about how they already won.

“Bo last watched Coco!” Jess exclaimed.

“Actually, it was (your favorite movie) a few weeks ago when I was upset.” You shrugged with a smirk on your face. Jess got up, excusing herself to go to the bathroom.

“WE WON!” Kuroo shouted before teasing Bokuto that maybe he’d have better luck next time.

“Kuroo, calm down.” Kenma sighed.

“No, Y/N, it was Coco.” Bo stood up, shaking his head, “We watched it together a few nights ago.”

“Well,” you stammered, crossing your arms. “How was I supposed to know?”

“You could’ve waited until I answered.” He let out a deep breath.

“That doesn’t make her your best friend.” You all but shouted.

“I can have more than one best friend.” Bo started walking towards the bathroom to find Jess. “You do, you have Youta, right? Why can’t I have Jess?”

Kuroo let out a low, awkward whistle before Kenma shook his head, heading into the kitchen.

“Youta is my husband. Jess is just...Jess. You’ve known her less than a year.”

“But you always said you’d marry your best friend. And so what? Jess is important to me, that should be enough for you to accept her.”

He walked down the hall, knocking on the bathroom door before gently opening it. He found Jess sitting on the side of the tub, tears in her eyes. Bo kneeled in front of her, pulling her into his arms, apologizing.

“Guess I should’ve just picked the questions, huh?” She laughed and a small sob mixed with it.

Bo started to laugh, “You’re something else, you know that?”

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