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[my-castles-crumbling]

light - Jegulus microfic - @into-the-jeggyverse - word count: 328

Regulus was still shaking as he sat on the cold metal bench, both of his hands gripping James's across from him as if for his very life. His eyes were squeezed firmly shut, and the freezing wind permeated the thin walls of their rocking compartment.

"I promise nothing will happen, love. A million Muggles go on these every day, and-" James's soothing voice began, but Regulus quickly cut him off.

"Muggles also fling themselves in giant metal deathtraps across the air at breakneck speeds instead of Apparating!" he snapped, not opening his eyes. "They wouldn't know safety if it bit them in the arse!"

"A Ferris Wheel is perfectly safe, baby," James answered calmly, even as the creaking machine hauled them into the air. "Do you truly think I'd dream of letting anything bad happen to you?"

Biting his lip so hard he almost drew blood, Regulus mumbled resentfully, "No."

"So d'you think you can maybe open your eyes for me, then?"

Still shaking, heart beating and stomach churning, Regulus slowly opened his eyes.

The first thing he saw was James looking at him, calm and loving reassurance in his eyes. Squeezing the taller boy's hands tightly, Regulus looked around, trying not to look down.

It was beautiful. The lights of the small Muggle Holiday Festival near James's home were small on the ground and Regulus could see so many different lit-up Christmas decorations spread around the area. He felt a similar sensation to flying as he beamed at the trees and people below, feeling almost weightless as he observed them. And though he wished he had the support of something as trustworthy as a broom, James's hands in his made him relax a bit.

"It's...it's nice," he mumbled, a bit abashed at having reacted so terrified.

But James was too focused on him, reaching one gloved hand to trace over his cheek and jawline. "I love you."

Kissing on a Ferris Wheel was nice, too, Regulus found.

[redtsundere-writes]

Runaway | Uzui Tengen & Wives

I decided to finally post this fic. Hope you guys like it as much I do! Woohoo!

Uzui Tengen & Wives x f!Reader

Summary: You have never owned anything in your life. You had no money, no properties nor a healthy partner even. Your time and body were the only things you had, so the idea of marrying a man who only wants to control you terrifies you. Until, a ridiculously big and strong man decides he will marry you no matter what.

PICK YOUR FAVORITE!

AO3 or Wattpad?

CHAPTER 1 PREVIEW ↆ

It was another summer night. Warm winds brushed against your arms. The violet trees swayed gracefully against the currents. You infiltrated the strange dwelling among the violet leafy trees until you reached the armor of the land. You had arrived at a traditional wooden house where the lights were still on despite the hour. The place was huge and spacious, surely it had many things of high value inside. According to the information Mr. Matsuda had given you, the retired leader of the demon slayer corps lived here. That detail made you feel insecure to enter the place.

“He is blind and dying. Also, his guards are common women. If you infiltrate as I taught you, you'll be fine,” the old drunk assured. 

What you hadn't anticipated was that the blind and dying man would have visitors that night. “Looks like I'll have to wait until the visitor leaves and goes to sleep” you planned in your mind before sitting comfortably in the tree you just climbed. Your hands arranged the scarf over your hair to cover it completely so that your eyes were the only ones uncovered. Hours passed, and the visitor never left, but the lights went out. All you could pick up was that there were two adults in the area and several who appeared to be children. “A family?” you thought, not quite sure of your hypothesis. 

You waited another hour going deeper into the night and decided to strike. The entire house was free of locks or fences, it was an open place. The only thing there were paper doors everywhere. You crept into the place and to your impression, the living room had no furniture, that was already a bad sign. There was only a table with a tea set on top and comfortable cushions, but the walls were bare, nothing decorative in sight and there was no hint of luxuries. “Did that old man set me up?” you thought annoyed, but you couldn't give up so easily, you had to dig deeper. 

With the gait of a cat, you went through the other rooms and there was nothing at all. You passed by the guest room and saw the visitor who hadn't left. A ridiculously strong man, with long white hair, large in height, and yet he slept like a baby. You had never seen a man with such proportions. Mr. Matsuda was tall, but he was not an albino beast like the one in front of you. His back was to you as he slept, so you couldn't see if he was wearing anything of value. 

You refocused on your task and moved on, you passed into another room where the owner of the compound was sleeping peacefully. There wasn't much there, except for a magnificently displayed katana. “That screams money” you thought happily at the discovery. You crept up to grab it from both ends, the second the metal squeaked you felt a draft rush towards it at tremendous speed. You didn't think twice and unsheathed the katana. The metals clashed in a duel. 

When you blinked you saw that the burly guest in pajamas was in front of you with a sword two centimeters from your face and the only thing stopping him from slashing your face was the katana you had drawn. Your arms began to tremble from the force he was applying. You looked at the deep fuchsia eye he had uncovered to try to decipher his next move, his other eye was covered with a diamond-studded patch. How did you get into this situation? Everything all happened too fast for your liking. Finally, the man decided to push his katana against “yours”, causing you to fall sitting down and drop your blade. The white-haired man pointed his sword at your unfamiliar face.

“Human or demon?” He asked directly. Then a candlelight flickered behind you and a couple of girls entered the room, panicking. 

“What's going on?” The boss said as he got up tiredly from his bed. 

That's when you realized that the old man was not only blind, but seriously ill. He had a rather grotesque mark covering his eyes. The chillingly similar girls quickly arrived to assist him. The hulking man's katana resounded again, causing you to turn your attention back to the nearly six-foot man before you. 

“I asked you a question!” “Fuck, it's true, they are demon slayers” you thought, quickly pulling the scarf off your face and raised your hands in surrender. 

“I'm human, I swear!” You exclaimed in fright. 

The man stared at you, not knowing exactly what to do. He analyzed you from head to toe. Your body was too small compared to his, but your face and hair shone on their own in the middle of the dark night. Your pink and full lips, your ruddy cheeks, and your adorable button like nose. Your hair was perfectly cut and vibrantly colored. He had never seen a face as unique as yours. She was like the personification of the very sun that warmed him in summer. The white-haired man felt his heart race at the mere sight of her. His eyes widened at this, as he was not used to a woman upsetting him in such a way, plus he had to be faithful to his 3 wives at home.

[ghvst-ing]

It’s not real.

Paring; Simon “Ghost” Riley x Reader

Warnings; Nightmares. Blood. Mentions of torture. Death. 09’ Ghost’s backstory.

The scene Simon is met with was not one he hadn’t witnessed a milion times before, yet it didn’t stop the way his blood ran cold.

It’s grotesque, chilling, revolting; something that could make even grown men hurl. Something he, personally, had grown desensitized from due to his job, the things he’d seen, the things he’d done.

He’s frozen in place as only a spectator, finding himself within the walls of his childhood home, the place he despised, a place he wished to never return to.

Decorated for the holidays, the Christmas spirit floated throughout the apartment, along with the muted smell of freshly baked, gingerbread cookies. Yet he couldn’t focus on the warmth he should’ve been able to, but what was presented before him.

A corny film played from the tv, tucked in the corner of the living room beside a messily decorated Christmas tree, but it’s drowned out by the ringing in Simon’s ears — his eyes trained on the four corpses spread across the carpeted floor, unable to look away from the sight.

It’s almost an unfortunate coincidence for him to have forcefully kicked out his bastard of a father, the only one deserving of such fate, a few months prior.

His mother. His brother, Tommy. Beth, and little Joseph. Dead, a bullet lodged deep in each of their skulls, staining the light carpet underneath a crimson red. His young nephew, somewhat cradled within his mother’s arms, held in a loose embrace, the poor boy not excluded from the same demise his parents suffered.

Even years after he returned to witness this event, it still haunted him; stayed buried in the back of his mind waiting for the right time to come forth, reminded him of all he endured to that point and how he couldn’t have a moment of peace in his god awful life.

Weirdly enough, for the first time he could remember, the image shifted.

From a lively — yet gory scenery, it changed into one resembling a holding cell. A cell he could vividly recall from ages ago and carried, both mental and physical scars from.

But it wasn’t the same to his luck, yet his guard remained high, head turning to examine the musty room.

It was dark, damp, an old-ish wooden table pushed up against the wall next to the heavy, steel door, shut close in order to prevent the person inside from potentially escaping.

A multum of weapons topped the surface, choices upon choices for a tool of torture, dried blood sullying the shiny metal. It all hit close to home. Uncomfortably familiar, painfully so.

But his heart stopped when his eyes landed on a sight he never hoped to see, fingers unconsciously flexing as a lump formed in his throat and his body itched to rush over.

A chair was placed, dead-center of the room. Rough ropes bound someone to it — you, head hung low, wounds and bruises marrying any skin visible on your person, making his breath hitch in his throat.

He was finally released from the mental bounds that held him in place, feet moving in long strides to get to you. Simon could feel his pulse in his ears, his heart pounding against his ribcage almost painfully.

“Love..” He muttered, voice barely audible as the words slipped from his lips, knees bending to crouch before you. “Fuck,” Trembling fingers curled softly under your chin as his eyes surveyed the damaged done to your face.

A split lip, a bloody nose, and a black eye, along with other, smaller cuts littering your face. But it wasn’t what made him fret. It was the coldness of your skin, cool to the touch.

Your name fell from his mouth in a frantic whisper. “No, no..” Simon’s hand slowly fell from your chin to your jugular, the rough pads of his fingertips hesitantly pressing against your pulse point. Only to find none, confirming his fears.

It’s then that he finally awoke in a cold sweat from the terrors his mind conjured up. He sprung up, breaths uneven and ragged as he took notice of his surroundings, brought back to reality.

His eyes grew used to the darkness within the bedroom, the gentle glow of the moon seeping in through the gaps of the curtains. The comfortingly familiar vicinity eased his raging nerves, clammy hands curling in the sheets.

It reminds him that he is safe, that what he just experienced was nothing but a cruel nightmare as his gaze falls to your sleeping figure beside him.

You look peaceful, he thinks.

Simon watches as your chest rises and falls with each gentle breath, eyelids shut and lips ever so slightly parted. Your hair was ruffled, spread across the pillow. But even so, you never looked prettier to him.

You’re safe.

The image he saw within his dream flashed before him; you, held captive, most likely due to the connections you held with him, tortured for information you couldn’t possibly have. It frightened him. For it wasn’t impossible for the situation he was faced with moments before to happen.

It was just a nightmare, he reminded himself.

His tense shoulders sagged in relief, a long sigh pushing past his tight-lipped frown. Under the sheets, he shifts his body and turns onto his side, the side of his face meeting the plush pillow as a burly arm slowly curls over you, bringing you close to his chest.

A chaste kiss is pressed to your forehead, Simon’s eyes briefly falling closed as he finally relaxed. His brain is swarmed by thoughts, yet one took precedence as his leg lightly nudged yours in search of the warmth your touch provided.

It wasn’t real.

do i like this? not exactly, but let’s roll.

[rootedinrevisions]

Home for the Holidays

SUMMARY: After years of feeling like an outsider, you finally decide to embrace the Christmas holiday - something you’ve never celebrated - with a little help from your friend, Bucky Barnes. As the two of you decorate a tree, share stories, and create new traditions, the bond between you deepens. Bucky starts to reveal parts of himself that you’ve kept hidden for years. As Christmas Eve draws near, your friendship blossoms into something more, and for the first time, you feel like you’re truly home - right where you belong, with him. James "Bucky" Barnes x Witch Reader.

A/N: I wanted to include a quick note to say that this is only my third or fourth attempt at writing something with Bucky Barnes, so I’ll be the first to admit it might be a little rough around the edges. I’m still finding my footing with his character, but I hope I’ve done him justice. Chronologically, this story takes place sometime after Avengers: Endgame but before the events of The Falcon and the Winter Soldier. It’s a little slice-of-life moment that focuses on the softer side of Bucky—a side I firmly believe exists beneath all his trauma and guilt. In my opinion, he’s a sweet, protective angel who deserves all the love and happiness in the world (and yes, I will die on this hill). This story was so much fun to write, and I hope it gave you some warm, fuzzy feelings too. I’d love to hear your thoughts, so feel free to leave a comment or send me a message. Thanks for reading, and happy holidays! ❤️

WARNINGS: Mentions of past trauma (Bucky's past as well as some mentions of the reader's past)

WORD COUNT: 9.9k

TAGS: @missmarveledsblog @lonelysoul50 @missbmc94 @multifandomgirl12

This is what I had listed as my tag list for Bucky Barnes. If you would like to be added to the Tag List please feel free to comment, send an ask, or send a DM and I'll be happy to get you added!

Snow drifted lazily past the frosted windows of the Avengers compound, blanketing the world outside in a soft, silvery glow. The quiet hum of holiday music filtered through the common area, a gentle reminder of the season. Twinkling lights adorned a massive Christmas tree near the far wall, its ornaments carefully curated by the team. The air smelled faintly of pine and cinnamon, a testament to Wanda's insistence that the compound should feel festive, even if not everyone shared her enthusiasm.

You leaned against the doorway, arms crossed over your chest, watching the scene from a distance. Laughter echoed from somewhere down the hall—probably Steve and Sam bickering over how to properly hang a string of lights. You didn’t need to look to know they were failing miserably.

Four years. That’s how long you’d been part of the Avengers. And yet, this time of year always felt... complicated. Christmas wasn’t something you’d ever celebrated growing up. Your coven had been insular, focused on rituals and traditions far removed from anything as commercial or joyous as this. The holidays had always felt foreign, like peering into someone else’s life from the outside.

But this year was different.

You weren’t entirely sure when it had happened, but somewhere along the line, the cold, isolating walls you’d built around yourself had started to thaw. Maybe it was because of the team—their relentless attempts to include you in every mission, every celebration.

Or maybe it was because of him.

Your gaze shifted toward the armchair by the fireplace. Bucky Barnes sat there, his metal hand resting idly on the armrest as he stared into the flames. The warm glow of the fire danced across his features, softening the lines etched into his face. You wondered what he was thinking. Bucky rarely volunteered that kind of information, but over the years, he’d let pieces of himself slip through the cracks. You cherished every one of them.

The two of you had a quiet understanding, an unspoken bond forged in shared silences and late-night conversations. He didn’t ask questions you weren’t ready to answer, and you offered the same courtesy in return. But something about this year—this season—made you want to try.

You stepped into the room, the wooden floor cool beneath your feet. “You look like you’re a million miles away,” you said softly, breaking the stillness.

Bucky glanced up, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Just thinking.”

“Good thoughts, I hope.”

He shrugged, gesturing toward the tree with his vibranium hand. “Trying to remember if I ever actually decorated one of these. It’s been... a long time.”

You took a seat on the couch across from him, tucking your legs beneath you. “Maybe it’s time to start again.”

His eyes flickered to yours, holding your gaze for a moment before he looked away, as if considering the idea. “Yeah,” he murmured. “Maybe it is.”

Bucky’s eyes lingered on the tree for a moment longer before he shifted his attention back to you. “What about you?” he asked, his voice low but steady. “Ever done all this before?”

You tilted your head, studying the tree’s glittering ornaments. They reflected the firelight, casting shimmering patterns across the walls. “Not really,” you admitted. “The coven didn’t exactly prioritize Christmas. Too commercial, too... human, I guess.” A wry smile tugged at your lips. “The closest thing we had was a winter solstice ceremony, but it wasn’t exactly festive. Mostly chanting and lighting candles.”

Bucky raised an eyebrow, his expression somewhere between curiosity and amusement. “No tree? No presents? Not even the tiniest bit of tinsel?”

You laughed softly, shaking your head. “Nope. Honestly, I’ve spent the last few Christmases in my room, trying to stay out of the way while the rest of you celebrated.”

His brow furrowed at that, and you could see the wheels turning in his mind. “Why?”

The question caught you off guard, though you supposed it shouldn’t have. Bucky had a knack for asking the things no one else dared to. You hesitated, tracing a finger along the seam of the couch. “I don’t know. Maybe I just felt like I didn’t belong. Watching everyone else—it was like looking at something I could never be a part of.”

Silence settled between you for a moment, broken only by the crackle of the fire. When Bucky finally spoke, his voice was quiet but resolute. “That’s not true, you know. You do belong.”

You glanced up, meeting his gaze. There was something in his eyes—something earnest, almost vulnerable—that made your chest tighten.

“Well,” he continued, leaning forward slightly, “maybe this year’s the one to change that. Your first real Christmas.”

You blinked, caught off guard. “What?”

He gestured toward the tree again. “We’ll do it right. You and me. Decorations, presents, the works. If you’ve never celebrated Christmas before, we’re gonna make sure this one’s special.”

The idea warmed you in a way you hadn’t expected, though you tried to hide the flutter of hope rising in your chest. “Bucky, you don’t have to do that—”

“I want to,” he interrupted, his tone firm but kind. “We both could use something good this time of year, don’t you think?”

You studied him for a moment, the firelight painting golden highlights in his dark hair. There was no hesitation in his expression, no trace of doubt. He was serious.

A small smile crept onto your lips. “Alright,” you said softly. “But only if you let me help.”

Bucky leaned back in his chair, a satisfied smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Deal.”

For the first time in years, the thought of Christmas didn’t fill you with a sense of loneliness. Instead, it felt like the beginning of something new—something warm and unexpected. And as the snow continued to fall outside, you couldn’t help but feel like this might be the Christmas you’d been waiting for all along.

You and Bucky stand up and make your way over to the tree. Sam glances up and smiles when he sees the two of you approaching.

“Ah, you two finally decided to join the fun, huh? Don’t worry, we saved the best job for you two - tinsel duty.”

You blinked. “Tinsel duty?”

“Yup.” He pointed to a box overflowing with shimmering strands of silver and gold. “Just toss it around. Try not to overthink it.”

You glanced at Bucky, who gave you an almost imperceptible shrug before grabbing a handful of tinsel. “Alright. But if this ends up looking like a glitter bomb exploded, it’s on you.”

Sam grinned. “That’s the spirit, Barnes!”

You couldn’t help but laugh as you and Bucky began draping the tinsel over the tree, your initial hesitation melting away as the room filled with laughter and banter. Wanda teased Clint about his meticulous star placement. At some point Bruce wandered in with a tray of cookies, offering them to everyone.

It was... nice. Warm, even. For the first time, you felt like you weren’t just watching from the sidelines—you were part of it.

As you looped another strand of tinsel over a branch, Bucky leaned in slightly. “Not so bad, huh?”

You smiled, glancing at him. “Not bad at all.”

After an hour or so, the tree was finished, a sparkling masterpiece of lights, ornaments, and, yes, tinsel. The team stood back to admire their handiwork, and for a moment, you caught yourself thinking that maybe, just maybe, this Christmas thing wasn’t so bad after all.

As the others started to disperse, heading to the kitchen or settling onto the couches, you turned to Bucky. “You know,” you began, your voice quiet but thoughtful, “this was fun. But I think... I’d like to have a tree of my own. Just something small, for my quarters.”

Bucky raised an eyebrow, a small smile playing at the corner of his lips. “Your first Christmas tree, huh?”

You nodded, feeling a little self-conscious. “Yeah. I mean, I know it’s silly—”

“It’s not silly,” he interrupted, his tone sincere. “It’s your Christmas. And if you want a tree, we’ll get you a tree.”

You looked at him, surprised. “We?”

He shrugged, slipping his hands into his pockets. “Yeah. I’ll help you pick one out. Tomorrow, if you want. We can make a day of it.”

Your smile widened, and for the first time in a long time, you felt something close to excitement bubbling up inside you. “I’d like that,” you said softly.

Bucky’s grin grew, and he gave you a small nod. “It’s a plan, then.”

As the evening wound down and the team slowly trickled out of the common room, you couldn’t help but feel like something had shifted—something subtle but significant. And as you and Bucky left the room together, the promise of tomorrow lingered in the air, warm and full of possibility.

****

The following day dawned crisp and cold, the snow falling in delicate flurries outside the windows of the compound. You tightened your scarf around your neck as you waited by the door, watching the snow coat the parking lot in a pristine white blanket. When Bucky finally appeared, he was bundled in his usual dark jacket.

“Ready?” he asked, a small smile tugging at his lips.

“As I’ll ever be,” you replied, grinning.

The drive into town was quiet but comfortable, the radio playing soft holiday music as you watched the snowy landscape blur past. Occasionally, Bucky would glance over at you, his gloved hands steady on the steering wheel. There was something peaceful about the moment—a stillness that felt like the calm before something new.

When you arrived at the small Christmas shop nestled in the corner of town, you stepped inside and were immediately enveloped by the scent of pine and cinnamon. The shop was charming, its shelves crowded with twinkling lights, ornaments of every shape and size, and garlands that sparkled like freshly fallen snow.

Bucky stepped up beside you, his hands tucked into his pockets as he surveyed the room. “Alright,” he said, his tone light. “Where do we start?”

You hesitated, scanning the rows of ornaments and decorations. “I don’t even know,” you admitted with a small laugh. “There’s... a lot.”

“Pick whatever catches your eye,” Bucky said, giving you an encouraging nudge. “It’s your tree, after all.”

You smiled at him, warmth blooming in your chest at his easy acceptance. Slowly, you made your way through the shop, stopping every so often to admire something—a tiny reindeer with jingling bells, a delicate snowflake made of glass, a cheerful Santa with rosy cheeks.

Bucky followed close behind, offering the occasional comment or nod of approval. When you paused to inspect a set of miniature ornaments shaped like stars, his voice softened.

“That one’s nice,” he said, reaching for a small wooden sled nearby. “This reminds me of... something from when I was a kid. My ma used to have one like it on our tree.”

You looked at him, the nostalgia in his tone tugging at your heart. “You should get it,” you said gently.

He hesitated, turning the sled over in his hand as if weighing the decision. Finally, he nodded, slipping it into the basket you were holding. “Maybe I will.”

A few minutes later, as you reached for a small silver ornament shaped like a bird, Bucky’s hand brushed against yours. You both froze for a moment, your fingers tangled over the delicate decoration. Then, almost simultaneously, you broke into laughter.

“Guess I’m not the only one who likes shiny things,” you teased, handing the ornament to him.

Bucky smirked, taking it from you but placing it back on the shelf. “Nah, you can have it. It suits you better.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help the smile that lingered on your face.

By the time you left the shop, your basket was filled with an assortment of ornaments and decorations, each one a little piece of your first Christmas. Bucky carried the bags to the car, brushing the snow off the windshield before climbing into the driver’s seat.

As he started the car and the heater roared to life, you turned to him, your breath misting in the cold air. “Thanks for this,” you said softly. “For... helping me figure all this out.”

Bucky glanced at you, his blue eyes warm beneath the shadow of his beanie. “Anytime,” he said. “Everyone deserves a good Christmas.”

The car hummed softly as Bucky steered it back toward the compound, the snow outside swirling in lazy spirals under the gray December sky. You rested your hands on the shopping bags at your feet, the ornaments inside clinking gently with each bump in the road.

“Hey, Bucky?” you asked after a moment of quiet, your voice tentative.

“Yeah?” His eyes flicked to you briefly before returning to the road.

“What was Christmas like... you know, for you? Back then.”

Bucky’s grip on the steering wheel shifted slightly, his jaw tightening for a moment as if considering the question carefully. He exhaled through his nose, his breath fogging slightly in the cold air. “I don’t remember much,” he admitted, his voice low but steady. “A lot of it’s... blurry. Like looking through a frosted window, you know?”

You nodded, watching him closely. He seemed lost in thought, his gaze distant as if reaching for a memory that hovered just out of reach.

“But,” he continued after a pause, his tone softening, “I do remember one Christmas. I must’ve been... seven or eight. It had snowed like crazy the night before, and my ma was in the kitchen making these cookies—pfeffernüsse, she called them. Little spiced cookies covered in powdered sugar. The whole house smelled like cinnamon and cloves.”

He smiled faintly, the corners of his mouth tilting upward as the memory came into focus. “My sister and I were running around, trying to peek at the presents under the tree. My ma kept shooing us out of the living room, telling us to let the tree ‘rest’ before Christmas morning.” He chuckled softly, shaking his head. “Like the tree needed a nap or something.”

You couldn’t help but smile at the image. “That sounds... really nice,” you said quietly.

“It was,” he agreed, his voice tinged with wistfulness. “That was the year my dad made us this little wooden sled. It wasn’t anything fancy, just some planks nailed together, but... man, we thought it was the greatest thing in the world. Spent the whole day outside, taking turns sliding down the hill behind our house.”

You watched him as he spoke, his expression unguarded in a way you didn’t see often. It was like the snow outside, rare and fleeting but beautiful in its clarity.

“Do you still have the sled?” you asked gently.

Bucky shook his head, his smile fading slightly. “No. Most of that stuff’s long gone. Especially since I was…away for so long. But... I don’t know. Sometimes I think about that Christmas and it feels... warm. Like a piece of home, even if it’s just a memory now.”

The car fell quiet again, the soft strains of a holiday song playing faintly on the radio. You looked down at your hands, fiddling with the edge of your scarf.

“I think it’s nice that you remember that,” you said after a moment. “Even if it’s just a piece of it. It’s... kind of comforting, you know?”

Bucky glanced at you again, his expression unreadable but his eyes soft. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “It is.”

As the compound came into view, you felt a warmth settle in your chest, like the glow of a fire on a cold night. Maybe this Christmas wouldn’t just be about creating new memories—it would also be about finding pieces of home, even in the unlikeliest of places.

Your quarters were bathed in the soft amber glow of the small lamps you’d lit earlier, the snow outside casting a faint blue tint through the frosted windows. The scent of pine filled the room as Bucky helped you set up the tree you’d picked out earlier. It stood proudly in the corner, a little uneven at the top, but perfect in its imperfections.

“Alright, let’s see if we can make this thing shine,” Bucky said, crouching by the box of lights. He began untangling the strands with practiced patience, while you dug into the bag of ornaments you’d chosen earlier.

You laughed softly as you pulled out the first ornament, a sparkly snowflake. “How is it possible that these lights tangle themselves when no one’s even using them?”

“It’s one of life’s great mysteries,” Bucky replied, shaking his head with mock seriousness. “Right up there with why Steve always insisted on going to battle without a helmet.”

You laughed, handing him the snowflake. “Here, start with this. We’ll figure out the lights after.”

Together, you worked to string the lights around the tree, pausing every now and then to adjust a strand or laugh when one of the bulbs flickered out. By the time the lights were glowing softly against the green branches, you felt a quiet contentment settle over you.

“Not bad,” Bucky said, stepping back to admire your handiwork. He reached for one of the ornaments, the small wooden sled he’d picked out earlier. As he held it in his hand, his expression softened, a hint of nostalgia flickering across his face.

“Do you remember something?” you asked gently, watching him closely.

Bucky nodded, turning the ornament over in his hand. “Yeah... I was just thinking about when I was younger decorating the tree with my mom and my sister. My mom had this old box of ornaments she’d pull out every year. Some of them were cracked, some missing hooks, but she insisted on using every single one. My sister and I would try to sneak the broken ones back into the box, but she always caught us.”

He smiled faintly, his eyes distant. “She’d put on this old record of Bing Crosby, and we’d all sing along while we decorated. I wasn’t much of a singer, but my mom didn’t care. She said Christmas wasn’t about being perfect—it was about being together.”

You felt a lump form in your throat at the warmth in his voice, the way the memory seemed to wrap around him like a blanket. “That sounds... really nice,” you said softly, placing a hand on his arm.

Bucky glanced at you, his smile fading slightly. “What about you? Did you ever...?”

You shook your head, lowering your gaze to the ornament in your hand. “No. My life was... different. I never really felt like I belonged anywhere, not with my coven, not with anyone. Holidays were just another day to remind me of that.” You hesitated, then looked back up at him. “But... being here, with the Avengers, with you... I don’t know. For the first time, I feel like I’m part of something. Like I have a family. Like I finally have somewhere I belong.”

The words hung in the air between you, soft and vulnerable. Bucky’s gaze lingered on yours, something unspoken flickering in his blue eyes.

Before either of you could say more, you turned to grab another ornament, your foot catching on the edge of the tree skirt. You stumbled forward, a startled gasp escaping your lips—but before you could fall, Bucky’s arms shot out, catching you effortlessly.

“Careful,” he murmured, his voice low as he steadied you.

Your hands gripped his shoulders, his strong, steady presence grounding you. For a moment, neither of you moved. The room seemed to shrink, the glow of the Christmas lights casting a soft halo around you both. His hands rested gently on your waist, his touch warm even through the fabric of your sweater.

“Thanks,” you whispered, your voice barely audible.

He didn’t let go right away, his gaze searching yours as if he wanted to say something but couldn’t find the words. The air between you felt charged, every breath a little too loud in the quiet room.

But then, just as quickly, he stepped back, his hands falling to his sides. “You okay?” he asked, his voice steady but softer than usual.

“Yeah,” you said quickly, brushing your hands down your sweater as if to smooth away the moment. “Guess I’m not very graceful when it comes to decorating.”

Bucky chuckled, but the sound was softer than usual, almost hesitant. “Good thing you’ve got me to keep you on your feet.”

You smiled, picking up the ornament you’d dropped and hanging it carefully on the tree. As you worked side by side, the moment lingered in your mind, the warmth of his hands on your waist and the way he’d looked at you etched into your thoughts.

****

The days slipped into weeks, the festive atmosphere of the compound becoming more pronounced as Christmas drew closer. You found yourself caught in the whirlwind of preparations alongside the team, but your thoughts often drifted back to that night with Bucky.

You’d replayed those moments over and over again—his quiet laugh as you picked out ornaments together, the way his hands had steadied you when you almost fell, the warmth in his eyes when he’d talked about his family. It was silly, really, how those memories clung to you, but you couldn’t help it. For the first time in a long time, someone had made you feel seen.

But then... nothing.

Bucky had been called away on a mission not long after that night. You’d overheard someone mention something about Siberia, and though you weren’t sure of the details, you knew it must have been important. The days without him had stretched on, each one marked by his absence. You told yourself it was no big deal. He was an Avenger, after all. Missions came first, and it wasn’t like you had any claim to him.

Still, you couldn’t shake the way your chest felt heavier when you passed by his empty quarters or the way you caught yourself glancing at the door to the common room, half-expecting to see him walk through it.

With a sigh, you dropped onto the couch in your room, tucking your feet beneath you as you stared at the softly glowing tree in the corner. The lights twinkled, casting a warm, comforting glow across the room, but tonight they only seemed to remind you of how quiet things had become.

Your fingers toyed with the edge of a blanket as you tried to push the thoughts away. He’d be back soon, you told yourself. And when he was, things would go back to the way they were—comfortable, easy. That’s all it was. Just... comfort.

****

The compound was quieter than usual, the emptiness pressing against you as you moved around the kitchen. Christmas Eve wasn’t supposed to feel this... lonely. You glanced at the clock above the stove. Another hour had ticked by, and there was still no word from the team. They were supposed to be back days ago.

You sighed, brushing your hands down the front of your apron as you tried to push the ache in your chest aside. The menu you’d planned—a simple, homey meal—sat scribbled on a piece of paper beside you. Roast pork loin, roasted vegetables, and sugar cookies. It wasn’t extravagant, but it felt like something you could offer as a small gift to the others.

Even if no one else was around to enjoy it, cooking gave you something to focus on. You’d spent the morning shopping for the ingredients, carefully selecting the best cut of meat and the freshest vegetables. Now, as you peeled carrots and diced potatoes, the steady rhythm of your knife against the cutting board was almost soothing.

Almost.

You paused, your hand lingering on the edge of the counter as your gaze drifted to the twinkling lights of the Christmas tree in the common room, visible through the doorway. It had been weeks since you’d decorated your own tree with Bucky, and you’d replayed that night so many times in your mind. You’d held onto the hope that he’d be back in time to celebrate with you, but as the hours slipped away, it was starting to feel like this Christmas might pass quietly, like all the others before it.

You were so lost in thought that you almost didn’t hear the faint creak of the kitchen door opening. The sound drew your attention, and you glanced up, your heart skipping a beat when you saw who was standing there.

Bucky.

He lingered in the doorway, his duffel bag slung over one shoulder, his dark hair slightly damp from the snow melting on it. His blue eyes softened when they met yours, and for a moment, the tension in your chest eased.

“You’re back,” you said, your voice softer than you’d intended.

“Yeah,” he replied, stepping further into the kitchen and setting his bag down. “Mission took longer than expected.”

You nodded, gripping the edge of the counter to steady yourself as a wave of relief washed over you. “I didn’t think anyone would be back in time for Christmas.”

Bucky’s lips quirked into a faint smile as he took in the sight of the half-prepped meal spread out on the counter. “Looks like you’ve been keeping busy.”

You glanced at the cutting board, suddenly self-conscious. “I just... thought it’d be nice to make something for everyone. If they came back.”

He tilted his head, his gaze lingering on you for a moment before he moved closer. “Need a hand?”

“You’ve just got back,” you said, shaking your head. “You should rest—”

“I’d rather be here,” he interrupted gently. His voice was steady, but there was something in his tone, something unspoken, that made your chest tighten.

For a moment, you simply stared at him, caught in the quiet intensity of his gaze. Then you nodded, stepping aside to make room for him at the counter. “Alright. But don’t blame me if you end up peeling all the potatoes.”

Bucky chuckled, the sound low and warm as he shrugged out of his jacket and rolled up his sleeves. “Deal.”

As you handed Bucky a few potatoes and pointed him toward the sink, the two of you slipped into a quiet rhythm. Cooking felt easier with someone there to share the work, and you couldn’t help but notice how naturally he fell into step beside you. He peeled the potatoes with steady, practiced movements, while you worked on seasoning the pork loin and tossing the vegetables with olive oil and spices.

It wasn’t exactly what you’d envisioned for your first Christmas dinner, but the ease between you and Bucky made it feel... right.

“You’re pretty good at this,” you said, glancing at him as he rinsed off the peeled potatoes.

He smirked faintly. “Peeling potatoes isn’t exactly rocket science.”

“No, I mean all of this,” you gestured toward the counter, where bowls and ingredients were strewn about in organized chaos. “You’re a lot more... domestic than I expected.”

Bucky chuckled, his gaze softening as he dried his hands on a towel. “Grew up helping my ma in the kitchen. She made sure I knew how to cook a decent meal.”

The image of a young Bucky helping his mother in a warm, bustling kitchen tugged at your heart. You smiled, trying to picture it. “Well, consider me impressed. I was expecting more of a... ‘break things and punch stuff’ skillset from you.”

“Don’t worry,” he said, a playful glint in his eyes. “I’m still pretty good at that, too.”

You laughed softly and handed him a cutting board. “Alright, tough guy. Chop those into chunks while I get the roast ready.”

He followed your instructions without hesitation, his knife slicing through the potatoes with precision. You couldn’t help but watch him for a moment, the way his hands moved deftly, his brow furrowed in quiet concentration. There was something grounding about his presence, something steady and reassuring that made the kitchen feel warmer.

As you worked together, the sound of soft Christmas music from the compound’s speaker system filled the room, mingling with the rhythmic chop of the knife and the clatter of pans. The smell of seasoned pork and fresh herbs began to fill the air, cozy and inviting.

The door to the kitchen creaked open, and Wanda poked her head in, her nose twitching as she sniffed the air. “That smells amazing,” she said, stepping fully inside.

“Dinner’s not ready yet,” you said with a laugh, glancing at her over your shoulder.

“I wasn’t rushing you,” Wanda replied with a grin. Her gaze flicked between you and Bucky, her eyebrows raising slightly, though she didn’t say anything else. “Let me know if you need any help. Otherwise, I’ll just sit here and enjoy the smell.”

She wandered off toward the common room, leaving you and Bucky to exchange a quick glance and a quiet laugh.

Not long after, Clint wandered in, rubbing his hands together for warmth. “Whatever’s cooking in here, I want in on it.”

“Noted,” you said, rolling your eyes good-naturedly.

He grabbed an apple from the fruit bowl on the counter, gave you both an approving nod, and left just as quickly as he’d arrived.

“Is this what Christmas is supposed to feel like?” you asked aloud, half to yourself, as you slid the roast into the oven.

Bucky, who had just finished chopping the last potato, glanced at you. “What do you mean?”

You shrugged, wiping your hands on a towel. “The smells, the warmth, the people coming and going... it’s nice. Feels... cozy.”

Bucky smiled faintly, his gaze lingering on you for a moment before he turned his attention back to the cutting board. “Yeah,” he said softly. “It does.”

As the minutes slipped by, the kitchen grew warmer, the scents of roasted meat and caramelizing vegetables filling the air. You and Bucky worked seamlessly together, trading jokes and small smiles as you moved around the small space. It was easy—easier than you’d ever imagined—and for a moment, you let yourself believe that this could be what home felt like.

The dining area was simple but welcoming, with the table set for six. You’d managed to find a festive red tablecloth in one of the compound’s storage rooms, and Wanda had added a few candles and some greenery she’d somehow conjured up at the last minute. It wasn’t anything fancy, but it felt warm and inviting.

Everyone filed in slowly, drawn by the smell of the meal you and Bucky had prepared. Sam was the first to sit down, followed by Clint, who made a show of sniffing the air and declaring, “This is going to be the best Christmas dinner I’ve ever had that didn’t involve takeout.”

Bruce arrived next, carrying a bottle of wine he’d found in the compound’s pantry. “Figured this could help wash down the meal,” he said with a small smile, setting it on the table.

“Classy touch, Doc,” Sam said, giving Bruce a thumbs-up.

Wanda floated in last, her eyes lighting up as she saw the spread on the table. “This looks amazing,” she said, taking her seat beside Clint.

You stood at the head of the table, looking around at the assembled group. Bucky lingered near your side, his presence steady and reassuring as always. He caught your eye and gave you a small nod, as if to say, You did good.

“Alright, dig in before it gets cold,” you said, gesturing to the food.

There was a brief scramble as everyone reached for plates and serving spoons. Conversation soon flowed effortlessly around the table, voices overlapping in that warm, chaotic way that only happened when people felt comfortable.

“This pork is incredible,” Sam said, pointing his fork at you. “You sure you’ve never done this before?”

You shook your head, laughing. “Beginner’s luck, I guess.”

“Well, you’ve set the bar pretty high,” Clint added, slicing into his roasted vegetables. “Next year, we’re expecting a full five-course meal.”

Bucky chuckled softly beside you, his own plate half-finished already. “Ease up, Barton. You’re lucky she didn’t make you a peanut butter sandwich.”

You nudged Bucky with your elbow, grinning. “I could’ve done that, you know. Would’ve saved a lot of time.”

The table erupted into laughter, and for a moment, you let yourself soak it all in. The warmth, the banter, the feeling of being part of something.

As the conversation drifted to other topics, your eyes found Bucky’s across the table. He was leaning back slightly, his fork idly pushing a roasted carrot around his plate as he listened to Bruce explain some scientific experiment. When he felt your gaze, he glanced over and offered you a small, almost shy smile.

You smiled back, your heart doing a little flip.

“So,” Wanda said suddenly, breaking you out of your thoughts, “what’s everyone’s favorite Christmas tradition?”

The question sparked a flurry of answers. Sam talked about how his mom used to make beignets every Christmas morning. Clint shared a story about a Christmas Eve prank war with Natasha that had involved a strategically placed mistletoe and a very grumpy Steve. Even Bruce opened up, reminiscing about reading “The Night Before Christmas” to his nieces and nephews when he could make it home.

When it was Bucky’s turn, he hesitated, his gaze flickering to you before he spoke. “We used to decorate the tree together,” he said, his voice quieter than usual. “My mom, my sister, and me. She’d make hot chocolate, and we’d argue over who got to put the star on top.”

The table fell silent for a moment, the weight of his words settling in.

“That sounds nice,” Wanda said softly, breaking the quiet.

Bucky nodded, his lips curving into a faint smile. “It was.”

The conversation picked up again, but you found yourself watching Bucky out of the corner of your eye. There was a softness to him tonight, a vulnerability that he didn’t often show. It made your chest ache in a way you couldn’t quite explain.

As the meal wound down, Clint leaned back in his chair with a satisfied groan. “Alright, I’m calling it. Best Christmas dinner ever.”

“Agreed,” Sam said, raising his glass of wine. “To the chef—and her assistant.”

“Assistant?” Bucky scoffed, raising an eyebrow. “I did half the work.”

“Sure you did, buddy,” Sam teased, smirking.

You laughed, shaking your head. “Alright, alright. Thanks for the help, Bucky. I couldn’t have done it without you.”

His gaze met yours, and for a moment, the noise around the table faded. “Anytime,” he said softly.

As the others began to clear their plates and drift off, you couldn’t help but feel like this was exactly what you’d been missing. A family, a place where you belonged—and maybe, just maybe, something more.

The kitchen was quiet, save for the soft clinking of dishes and the steady rush of water from the sink. You stood at the counter, sleeves rolled up, as you rinsed off the last of the dinner plates. Bucky was beside you, dish towel in hand, drying each plate you handed him with quiet efficiency.

“You really don’t have to help,” you said, glancing at him. “You’ve been on a mission for weeks. Go put your feet up, or something.”

Bucky smirked, taking the plate you passed him and wiping it dry. “Nice try, but I’m not leaving you to clean all this up alone.”

“I mean it, Bucky,” you said, though your tone lacked any real conviction. “You’ve done enough.”

“And yet, here I am,” he replied, his voice calm and steady.

You let out a soft laugh, shaking your head. “Stubborn as ever.”

He chuckled under his breath, the sound low and warm. “Takes one to know one.”

For a while, the two of you worked in companionable silence. You washed, he dried, and every now and then, your hands brushed as he took something from you. Each touch was fleeting, but it sent little sparks through you nonetheless.

After a few minutes, Bucky broke the silence. “You know,” he said, his voice softer now, “I haven’t really done this...celebrated Christmas, I mean, in decades.”

You looked over at him, surprised. “Really?”

He nodded, his eyes fixed on the plate he was drying. “After everything I lost—my family, my friends—it just felt...too painful. Like I didn’t deserve it anymore. Or like celebrating would make it harder to forget what I’d lost.”

Your chest ached at his words, and you reached out, placing a hand gently on his arm. “I’m sorry, Bucky.”

He shrugged, but his expression was pensive. “It is what it is. But tonight...” He trailed off, his gaze meeting yours. “Tonight didn’t feel so bad. You’ve got this way of making things feel...lighter.”

You blinked, caught off guard by the raw honesty in his voice. “I—thank you,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. “And thank you for helping me. This whole holiday thing is new to me, and...I don’t know. I feel like tonight was the happiest I’ve been in a long time.”

Bucky’s lips curved into a small smile, one that reached his eyes. “I’m glad,” he said simply.

The moment stretched between you, the air charged with something unspoken. You glanced down, focusing on the water in the sink to keep yourself grounded.

After a moment, you handed him the last dish. “Well,” you said, clearing your throat, “that’s the last of it. We make a pretty good team, don’t we?”

“Yeah,” he said, drying the plate and setting it on the counter. “We do.”

You turned off the water and wiped your hands on a towel, feeling strangely reluctant for the moment to end. “Thanks again, Bucky,” you said, meeting his gaze. “For everything.”

He nodded, his expression soft. “Anytime.”

For a moment, neither of you moved. The kitchen was quiet, the warmth from the evening lingering in the air. It felt like there was something just out of reach, something waiting to be said or done. But neither of you took that step.

“Goodnight,” you said finally, your voice soft.

“Goodnight,” Bucky replied, his voice low and steady.

As you turned to leave the kitchen, you felt his gaze follow you, and you couldn’t help but wonder if he felt the same pull you did.

You paused just as you reached the doorway, your hand still resting on the frame. A thought struck you, sudden and vivid, and you turned back toward Bucky, your heart skipping a beat.

“Bucky,” you called softly, your voice carrying across the quiet kitchen.

He turned immediately, his blue eyes meeting yours with an almost questioning look. “Yeah?”

You hesitated for a moment, suddenly feeling nervous. “I, um... I got you something. For Christmas.”

His brows lifted slightly, surprise flashing across his face. “You got me a present?”

You nodded, your fingers fidgeting with the towel in your hands. “It’s nothing big, just...something I thought you might like. Do you—do you have a minute to come to my room?”

For a moment, Bucky just stared at you, as if he couldn’t quite believe what he was hearing. Then, a small smile broke across his face, warm and genuine. “Yeah,” he said, nodding. “Of course.”

Relief flooded through you, and you smiled back, gesturing for him to follow. Together, the two of you left the kitchen and walked through the quiet hallways of the compound. The soft hum of the lights overhead was the only sound, and the air between you felt charged with anticipation.

When you reached your quarters, you opened the door and stepped inside, glancing back to make sure Bucky was following. He lingered just inside the doorway, his gaze sweeping over your room. The Christmas tree you’d decorated together stood in the corner, its soft, colorful lights casting a warm glow across the space.

“You did good setting the rest of the stuff up. It looks good,” he said, his voice low and approving.

“Thanks,” you replied, your nerves returning as you moved toward the small dresser where you’d stashed the gift. You pulled out a small, neatly wrapped box and turned back to face him, holding it out with both hands.

Bucky’s eyes flicked from the box to your face, a flicker of something unreadable passing through his expression. “You didn’t have to get me anything,” he said, his voice soft.

“I wanted to,” you said simply, stepping closer. “Go on, open it.”

He hesitated for just a moment before taking the box from your hands. His fingers brushed yours briefly, and the small touch sent a shiver up your spine. Carefully, he unwrapped the paper, revealing a small, vintage-style pocketknife with a dark wooden handle. The owner of the shop said it was from the 1940s but you weren’t sure if that was true or not.

He turned it over in his hand, his thumb running over the smooth surface of the wood. “This is...” He paused, his voice thick with emotion. “This is really nice.”

You shifted on your feet, suddenly self-conscious. “I thought it might remind you of...well, of home. Of a time before all the chaos. I figured it might be something you’d actually use, too.”

Bucky’s gaze lifted to meet yours, and for a moment, the weight of his gratitude was almost overwhelming. “Thank you,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “This...this means a lot.”

Your cheeks warmed under his steady gaze. “I’m glad you like it.”

He looked down at the knife again, turning it over one more time before tucking it into his pocket. Then, he stepped closer, his blue eyes fixed on yours. “You know,” he said, his voice low and earnest, “this might be the first Christmas in a long time that’s actually felt...real. Like it means something.”

You swallowed hard, your heart pounding in your chest. “I’m glad,” you said softly. “You deserve that, Bucky.”

For a moment, it felt like time stood still. He was so close now, close enough that you could see the faintest trace of stubble on his jaw, the way his lashes cast soft shadows under his eyes. The air between you was heavy with something unspoken, something fragile and electric all at once.

But then, with a small, almost shy smile, Bucky stepped back, breaking the spell. “You’ve got good taste,” he said, patting the pocket where he’d tucked the knife. “Thank you.”

“Anytime,” you said, your voice steadier than you felt.

Bucky lingered, his eyes still locked on yours. Just as he seemed ready to turn and leave, he paused, reaching into the pocket of his jacket. “Wait,” he said softly, his voice barely above a whisper.

You tilted your head in curiosity, watching as he pulled out a small, carefully wrapped package. Your breath caught when he held it out to you.

“I, uh... I got you something too,” he said, a hint of nervousness in his tone.

“You did?” you asked, your heart skipping a beat as you reached for the package.

Bucky nodded, his gaze flickering down to the gift in your hands. “I wasn’t sure if I should give it to you, but...it felt right. I saw it a while back, and it reminded me of something my mom used to wear.”

Carefully, you unwrapped the package, your fingers trembling slightly. Inside was a delicate vintage bracelet, its silver chain adorned with a single charm—a tiny engraved locket that opened to reveal enough space for two small pictures.

Your breath hitched as you turned it over in your hands. The craftsmanship was intricate, timeless, and utterly beautiful.

“Bucky,” you whispered, looking up at him with wide eyes. “This is...it’s stunning.”

He rubbed the back of his neck, a faint flush creeping up his cheeks. “It’s nothing fancy. Just thought it might be something you’d like. Something that...you could carry with you, you know? To remind you that you’re never alone.”

Your throat tightened, overwhelmed by his thoughtfulness. “I love it,” you said, your voice thick with emotion. “Thank you, Bucky. This means so much to me.”

You looked up at him, your fingers still clutching the bracelet. The room felt charged with a warmth that wasn’t coming from the soft glow of the Christmas lights. It was him—his presence, his quiet strength, his unspoken care that seemed to radiate and fill every corner of the space.

“Bucky...” you began, hesitating as the words bubbled up inside you. “I—there’s something I need to say.”

His eyes softened, his full attention on you now. “What is it?”

You swallowed hard, summoning the courage you’d been holding back for so long. “I care about you,” you admitted, your voice trembling slightly. “More than I’ve ever cared about anyone. You’ve done so much for me, and being around you...it feels like I’ve finally found where I belong. I’ve never had that before, not until you.”

Bucky’s expression shifted, his lips parting as if he hadn’t expected your confession. But then, slowly, a smile touched his face—a real one, not the guarded half-smiles he often wore.

“I’ve cared about you for a long time,” he said quietly, his voice deep and steady. “But I wanted to give you time. To find your place here, to heal, to figure out what you wanted. I didn’t want to push you before you were ready.”

Tears welled in your eyes, your heart aching with a kind of happiness you’d never experienced before. “I am ready,” you said, barely above a whisper.

Bucky took a small step closer, his hand reaching out to gently brush your cheek. The touch was soft, tentative, as if he was afraid you might pull away. But you didn’t. Instead, you leaned into his touch, your eyes searching his.

“Are you sure?” he asked, his voice so quiet it was almost a breath.

You nodded, your answer coming without hesitation. “I’ve never been more sure of anything.”

That was all the confirmation he needed. Slowly, he closed the distance between you, his lips brushing against yours in a kiss that was gentle yet filled with unspoken longing.

You responded instantly, your hands finding their way to his chest as his arms wrapped around you, pulling you closer. The world outside faded away, leaving only the warmth of his embrace and the quiet hum of the Christmas lights.

When the kiss ended, Bucky rested his forehead against yours, his thumb brushing against your cheek. “I don’t want to rush you,” he murmured. “But I want you to know how much you mean to me. How much you’ve always meant to me.”

“You’re not rushing me,” you assured him, your voice steady despite the rapid beating of your heart. “This feels...right. It feels like home.”

Bucky’s lips curved into a soft smile, his eyes filled with a mix of affection and relief. Without another word, he leaned down and kissed you again, deeper this time, as if to seal the promise between you.

****

The room had grown quiet, save for the soft hum of the Christmas lights strung around your quarters and the faint whistle of the wind outside. You were curled up on the couch with Bucky, your head resting against his chest as his arm stayed wrapped protectively around your shoulders. The warmth of his body and the rhythmic rise and fall of his breathing had lulled you into a hazy calm.

Bucky’s hand absently traced slow, soothing circles on your arm as his gaze drifted to the window, where snowflakes swirled in the darkness. He glanced down at you, noticing the way your breathing had slowed and how your hand, resting against his chest, had slackened.

“Hey,” he murmured softly, his voice low and tender. “You falling asleep on me?”

You stirred slightly but didn’t lift your head. “Mm...maybe,” you mumbled, your voice heavy with sleep.

Bucky chuckled quietly, the sound vibrating through his chest. “C’mon, let’s get you to bed,” he said, shifting slightly to sit up.

But the moment he moved, your arms tightened around him instinctively, and you pressed closer, your cheek nuzzling against the fabric of his sweater. “Don’t go,” you murmured, your voice barely audible.

Bucky froze, his heart skipping a beat at your words. He leaned back against the couch, his hand brushing your hair gently. “I’m not going anywhere,” he promised softly. “I just don’t want you to wake up with a stiff neck from sleeping on the couch.”

You finally tilted your head up to look at him, your eyes heavy-lidded but filled with a quiet plea. “Stay,” you whispered, your voice more certain now. “Just for tonight. I don’t want to be alone.”

Bucky’s throat tightened, the vulnerability in your voice cutting straight through him. He searched your face, his brow furrowing slightly as if trying to gauge if this was truly what you wanted. “Are you sure?” he asked, his voice gentle.

You nodded, your fingers clutching the front of his sweater. “Please,” you said, your voice so soft it was almost a breath.

Bucky exhaled slowly, his resolve crumbling. “Alright,” he said finally, his tone filled with quiet understanding.

Carefully, he shifted you in his arms, standing and carrying you effortlessly toward your bed. You clung to him, your arms looped around his neck as he gently laid you down. The warmth of the blankets enveloped you, but you refused to let go, your fingers still clutching his sleeve.

Bucky hesitated, his weight balanced on the edge of the bed as he looked down at you. “You really want me to stay?” he asked again, his voice softer now.

“Yes,” you said without hesitation, your eyes meeting his. “I feel safe when you’re here.”

The honesty in your words made something inside him shift. Slowly, he slid onto the bed beside you, careful not to crowd your space as he leaned back against the pillows. You immediately nestled into his side, your head resting against his shoulder as your hand came to rest on his chest.

Bucky let out a quiet sigh, his arm wrapping around you once more. “Alright,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. “I’m here.”

For a long while, neither of you spoke. The only sounds were the faint crackle of the heater and the distant howl of the wind outside.

As your breathing evened out, Bucky tilted his head down to look at you, a soft smile tugging at his lips. He pressed a gentle kiss to the top of your head, his hand brushing lightly against your arm.

“Goodnight,” he whispered, his voice filled with a warmth that matched the glow of the lights around the room.

And for the first time in what felt like forever, both of you fell asleep with a sense of peace you hadn’t known you were missing.

****

The soft glow of morning light filtered through the curtains, blending with the warm twinkle of the Christmas tree lights still glowing from the night before. The compound was quiet, the usual hum of activity stilled by the early hour and the calm of Christmas morning.

You stirred first, the warmth of Bucky’s body next to you a grounding presence. His arm was still draped around your waist, his chest rising and falling steadily beneath your cheek. For a moment, you stayed still, savoring the peace of the moment—the steady beat of his heart, the faint scent of cedar and something uniquely him, the weight of his arm holding you close.

You shifted slightly, your movements stirring him. Bucky let out a soft, contented groan before his blue eyes fluttered open, still hazy with sleep. His gaze found yours, and a small, sleepy smile curved his lips.

“Morning,” he murmured, his voice low and gravelly from sleep.

“Morning,” you replied softly, your own smile spreading as you propped yourself up slightly to look at him.

For a moment, neither of you moved, the quiet intimacy of the morning wrapping around you like a warm blanket. Eventually, you broke the stillness, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “Coffee?” you offered, your voice gentle.

Bucky nodded, his smile growing. “Coffee sounds good.”

You slid out of bed, your bare feet padding softly across the floor as you went to the small kitchenette in your quarters. Bucky followed a moment later, tugging his sweater back into place as he moved to help. You waved him off with a playful smile, insisting, “You just woke up. Sit. Relax.”

He smirked but obeyed, settling himself on the couch as he watched you move. The rich aroma of brewing coffee soon filled the room, mingling with the scent of pine from the Christmas tree. You brought over two mugs, handing one to him before curling up next to him on the couch.

The tree’s lights cast a soft glow around the room, their colors reflecting faintly in the steaming surface of your drinks. You pulled your legs up beneath you, leaning against Bucky’s side as you cradled your mug in your hands.

“This is nice,” you said after a moment, your voice quiet and thoughtful. “I didn’t really know what to expect for my first Christmas, but... this? This is perfect.”

Bucky glanced down at you, his expression softening. “Yeah?” he asked, his voice filled with a kind of tentative hope.

You nodded, meeting his gaze. “Yeah. Last night... and now... this is the best first Christmas I could’ve imagined.”

His arm tightened around you, pulling you just a bit closer. “Good,” he said, his voice steady and warm. “Because I meant what I said last night. There’ll be more. As many Christmases as you want.”

Your heart swelled at his words, and you turned slightly, resting your forehead against his shoulder. “Thank you,” you murmured.

Bucky’s free hand came up to brush softly against your hair. “For what?”

“For everything,” you said, your voice quiet but full of emotion. “For being here. For making this feel like home.”

Bucky didn’t reply right away, but you could feel the weight of his gaze on you, the way his thumb brushed absentmindedly against your arm.

When he finally spoke, his voice was a low murmur. “You’ve given me more than you know,” he said. “I didn’t think... I didn’t think I’d ever feel this again. This kind of peace.”

You looked up at him, your eyes meeting his. For a long moment, the two of you just stared at each other, the words unspoken but understood.

The moment lingered, soft and quiet, as the snow continued to fall outside, blanketing the world in a serene stillness. It was a Christmas morning you’d never forget—the first of many, just as Bucky had promised.

The hum of activity and cheerful chatter echoed down the halls as you and Bucky eventually made your way to the common room, hand in hand. The soft buzz of excitement in the air was unmistakable—it was Christmas morning, and despite the team’s various histories and struggles, they had all come together to celebrate like a makeshift family.

As the two of you stepped into the common room, the smell of freshly brewed coffee, hot cocoa, and cinnamon pastries hit you instantly. Wanda and Clint were seated on the couch near the towering Christmas tree, their attention briefly shifting from the pile of wrapped gifts underneath it to you and Bucky. Sam stood near the fireplace, gesturing animatedly as Bruce tried to hang a strand of garland that kept slipping off.

It didn’t take long for them to notice.

“Well, well,” Sam said, turning to face you with a sly grin as his eyes zeroed in on your intertwined hands. “What’s this? I step away for one mission, and suddenly you two are attached at the hip? Called it!”

Wanda turned to look at you both, her lips curving into a knowing smile. “I did sense something was different when I walked in earlier,” she added playfully. “But I didn’t want to pry.”

Clint, perched on the arm of the couch, raised an eyebrow and smirked. “About time, Barnes. Didn’t think you had it in you.”

Bucky rolled his eyes, his free hand rising to rub at the back of his neck, but the faint pink that dusted his cheeks gave him away. “You’ve been back for all of five minutes, and you’re already running your mouth,” he quipped, shooting a halfhearted glare at Sam.

“Oh, come on, Bucky,” Sam teased, folding his arms and leaning casually against the fireplace. “I mean, look at you! The guy who used to sit in the corner and brood now looks downright cheerful.”

Despite the teasing, the warmth in the room was palpable. No one was being cruel or overbearing—it was clear they were genuinely happy for you both.

You squeezed Bucky’s hand, shooting him a small, reassuring smile before addressing the team. “Alright, alright,” you said, your voice light but firm. “Get it out of your systems now. We’ve got presents to open, and I’ll be damned if I let Sam’s running commentary delay the fun.”

Sam threw his hands up in mock surrender, grinning. “Fine, fine. But don’t think I won’t circle back to this later.”

The morning unfolded with laughter and lighthearted banter. The group gathered around the tree, taking turns opening gifts and sharing stories. Wanda surprised you with a beautiful scarf she had hand-knit, and Clint gifted you a set of books he had noticed you admiring during a rare team outing. Sam gave Bucky a “World’s Okayest Teammate” mug, which earned a hearty laugh from everyone except Bucky, who muttered something about breaking it “accidentally.”

As the festivities carried on, you found yourself glancing at Bucky every so often, catching his gaze as he looked back at you. Each time, a small, private smile passed between you, a silent acknowledgment of the new chapter you’d both begun.

At one point, Bruce approached you with a warm smile, his voice quiet amidst the lively chatter. “You seem happy,” he said simply.

You nodded, your eyes drifting toward Bucky, who was laughing at something Clint had said. “I am,” you replied, your voice soft but filled with certainty. “More than I’ve been in a long time.”

Bruce gave you a knowing nod before stepping back into the group, leaving you with a sense of peace you hadn’t felt in years.

As the morning turned into afternoon, the team began to scatter, some retreating to their rooms, others lingering in the common room to enjoy the warmth of the fire and the quiet buzz of the holiday. You and Bucky stayed together, finding a comfortable spot on the couch near the tree.

Bucky reached over to take your hand, his thumb brushing gently against your knuckles. “You alright?” he asked softly, his voice low enough that only you could hear.

You turned to him, your heart swelling as you took in the warmth and tenderness in his gaze. “Yeah,” you said, your voice steady. “I’m more than alright. For the first time in a long time, I feel like I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be.”

Bucky’s lips curved into a soft smile, his hand tightening slightly around yours. “Good,” he said simply, his voice carrying the weight of unspoken promises.

The two of you sat there for a while longer, surrounded by the quiet hum of the compound and the soft glow of the Christmas tree lights. It was a moment you’d cherish forever—a memory of warmth, love, and belonging that marked the start of something truly beautiful.

[thirteenthdoor]

Okay, so that's the keys and their locks sorted, but what about the doors themselves?

This is another place where the designers obviously put so much time and effort into design and creation of actual physical props, and the final product often never makes it fully into a single shot. So here with go, with the aid of some helpful screenshots!

The first door that appears to Lin Qiushi on the street is the Illusory Life door. We'll (sort of) see that one again.

The Snow Village door is an appropriately rustic wood door. The dark of the tunnel means there's never a good clear shot of it; the best light comes from the second between when Lin Qiushi starts to open it and when the bright light behind it washes it out. The twisted metal that looks like tree branches reminds me of the barbed wire around the family photo.

The Fitcher's Bird door is another door that never gets a full, good, well-lit shot. I love the contrast between this angry metal door and its cute little heart lock.

These first two door world doors are push doors -- by which I mean, you unlock them and then push them into the brightly lit void. Most of the other doors open when pulled, but these first two have to be pushed.

By contrast to how badly lit and framed the previous two doors are, we get a real good look at the Sister Drum door from several angles, including watching it emerge, semi-vaginally, from the drum and seeing its inside -- which looks just like the outside. I'd almost think they just flipped the door and used the outside as the inside, but no! You can see the bolts where they affixed the handle! So some clever craftsperson bothered to decorate both sides of this lovely metal-looking pull door in a mirror image.

There's a small interlude here for Tan Zaozao's wooden door that we don't get to see them escort her through. This is another pull door that looks the same on both sides.

Somebody must have loved the silver Sako door a whole lot, because that's the central door in the first shot of the show's opening credits. It's another pull door mirrored inside and out, complete with a handle on the outer side of the door. It's not the only one with a handle on the outside, either, which raises some interesting questions.

There is just no good shot of the metal Waverly Hills door. It's all but completely shadowed and appears onscreen for a whole five seconds (not an exaggeration). However, we know what the design is, because it's the Art-Deco-looking door all the way to the right in that initial door lineup. It's also one of the few push doors!

The wooden Woman in the Rain door is a pull door, enough so that we actually get a better look at it from the inside than from the outside. It's also the only world that has substantial shots framed through the other side of the door, which I guess makes sense, considering how small and ill-lit the actual landing is. It has a little brass lion head handle on both sides.

Also, I know it's hard to tell from the shots I have here, but this is another case where both sides of the door are mirrored, down to the part where, from inside the door, only the top left side has a little ornamental scroll on it -- and it's reversed when opened. That's quite an attention to detail.

The wooden River God door is another mirrored pull door, and another one where the design is clearest when the door is opened. I'm glad that we get a good shot of it, because it's so pretty.

The Sunny Doll door is almost disappointingly boring. Its design so closely matches the design on all the other doors in the building that I have to assume this was just the actual door that was there in the wall when they arrived to start filming, so they went with it instead of building a new one. While most of the doors match the general aesthetic of the rest of their worlds, nothing else matches like that.

There's a cool tree-themed door in Cheng Yixie's unspecified door world in episode 31. Hard to say which way it opens, as we don't actually see him go through it. I don't see any hinges, though, so I guess we push!

The spiral-painted Hako Onna door is unique for a number of reasons. For starters, it's the only door we see at the start of the world, as Lin Qiushi enters. Everywhere else, our players just sort of appear from nowhere, but here, he's got an actual starting point. And I'd say this does kind of answer my unstated questions about having handles on both sides of the door, except ... no, it doesn't! Both ways it gets entered here, the person entering has to pull to open it! Okay, I'm still confused.

Along with the Sister Drum door, it's the one of the few doors that gets a big CG appearance on the way out. The chests in the center fountain fade away, revealing it in a suitably flashy manner. It's also the only door we see from from the back side as people are going through it.

And finally, in tandem, the Illusory Life and Authentic Death doors, helpfully labeled presumably because coder bros are sometimes not good at picking up literary metaphors. Both of them are pull doors.

What's wild to me is that that is not the Illusory Life door from the first episode. It's not even just that they're different colors -- you could explain that away with lighting and color grading. They are actually different doors. They obviously were built according to the same basic design, but the sticks and leaves are placed differently enough that it's clear they don't match.

Now, given a) how the door in the gaming cafe is a pull door, but the frame makes the door on the street (which we never see open) look like a push door, and b) the pattern we have established of doors being decorated on both sides, it is 100% possible that these are the same physical object, but two different sides of it. That's an explanation from a production standpoint, though. Whatever tinfoil hattery you want to get up to with this information, you go for it.

Bonus! In the last episode, when we're pulling the whole Wizard of Oz ending of things, Wu Qi shows the version of the Spirealm he's familiar with -- which features adorable little drawings of Lin Qiushi, Ruan Nanzhu (with his hair parted on the wrong side), Toast, Chestnut, and the Snow Village door! Friends on an adventure!

[fritz-federleicht]

You should do Corey, Joey, and Jim with reader who’s a model!

... with reader who's a model (Corey, Joey & Jim)

Words: 968

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

Corey:

- you remember many years ago when the first headline came up: Model Y/N and singer Corey Taylor a couple?

- that was the first time you were photographed together, Corey grinning and holding your hand while you laughed at one of his jokes

- he accompanied you to your apartment

- after that there were more and more rumors, positive and negative. Whereby it was more negative against Corey

- there were articles about your relationship. Why is a model like you with a bad boy like Corey Taylor? Or what do you see in him? Your relationship was not official yet

- you were not too famous as a model. You got jobs you liked to do. But there was one person you liked modeling for the most. And you do it over and over again. For Corey... well actually Slipknot. At some point he asked you if you could model for the store. Of course you didn't hesitate and said yes right away. Since then you model for every new collection

- when people suddenly saw you on the website it was clear that you and Corey are a couple. You officially confirmed your relationship

- all the attention didn't hurt you no. On the contrary. You got more jobs for designers that never considered you before

- whenever possible Corey accompanies you to fashion shows, sits in the audience and looks at you in love

- part of all the headlines were true. Corey was a bad boy. That's how you came to know and love him. But he quickly changed, became calmer and more relaxed because he finally had the love of his life with him

- eventually, all the headlines about you guys died down. The next ones were years later when you got married and later had your first child

- despite the fact that you are often far away from each other your relationship has lasted over the years and you are happy together

- Slipknot fans only know you as a couple

Joey:

- It is unusual to have a metal band as a guest at a fashion show, this night was probably the first time ever (maybe just because you begged the promoter to invite Joey)

- Slipknot is standing in front of the building, masks on and giving interviews

- you just wanted to check if they are already there, Joey sees you out of the corner of his eye and grins proudly under his mask

- next to him is Shawn answering a reporter's question

- you can't help it. You scurry to Joey and kiss the cheek of his mask, you can literally feel his smile

- as quickly as you came you are gone, the reporter and Shawn look confused. "Was that Y/N?"

- later the show starts, you look like a decorated Christmas tree

- you are supposed to end the show with your walk

- when it's finally time, you step onto the catwalk

- all nine members are sitting in the front row, Joey is sitting at the head

- it looks a bit funny, the men are sitting there bored in suits and masks

- when they see you they straighten up in their seats and watch your performance

- you pose at the end of the runway and turn around, wink at your boyfriend and disappear behind the wall

- Joey is speechless. How can you move so gracefully and seductively at the same time?

- Chris leans toward Joey, the long nose of his mask touching Joey's shoulder. He whispers. "You're really lucky." He pats your boyfriend's shoulder appreciatively

- after the show, pictures are taken with the models. Slipknot comes up to you immediately. They congratulate you on the successful performance

- Joey puts his arm around you. "You were wonderful honey."

- the photographer comes to your group and asks if he can take pictures, you agree

- Joey pulls you to his chest, the other members stand next to your sides like bodyguards

- days later the pictures appear in different fashion magazines, you find the strong contrast between your colorful outfit and the black suits funny

- in the future Joey accompanies you whenever he can

Jim:

- he really tries to be at every photo shoot or fashion show, to support you

- in the beginning he was not liked by the photographers because... well he is in Slipknot. But once they get to know him they find him quite nice. What should he do? Yell at everyone for no reason and destroy everything?

- when you're elegantly lolling in front of the camera he cheers you on, says things like "You look fantastic babe."

- in the breaks he comes to you immediately, asks if you are well, if you have eaten and drunk enough

- sometimes it happens that you model in your underwear, which Jim likes the most

- when you come out of the dressing room and are perfectly made up, he stands there with his mouth open

- when he first saw you like this, he came to you and said softly in your ear. "I think I'm in heaven. I just saw an angel."

- you slap his arm laughing, you've never heard such a corny line from his mouth before

- today he just stares at you, when you stand in front of a white wall and the light caresses you perfectly, nothing makes him happier than to see you like this

- when he then sees the resulting pictures... according to him they should be 'forbidden', no one else should get to see something like that except him...

- Jim keeps all the articles and pictures about you, he says he wants to show them to your kids later so they know how beautiful you are, but you know he just keeps them so he always has something of you with him on tour

[loving-the-cambridges]

The Snow globe

This is my story for the Life Day exchange 2024 for @alegendoftomorrow.

Prompts:  “The lights are beautiful.”-  “Yeah they are.” Neither of them are looking at the lights. || “Are you sure this is part of the celebrations?” -  “Positive…. maybe….. probably.”

A/N: Thanks again to @cloneficgiftexchange for making this possible. They were some fun prompts to work with. I apologise for the day's delay, I had been going at it, it's pretty long as you'll see and work had been crazy, I wanted it to be perfect. I just hope that you'll love every second it as much as I had fun writing it. It's a bit different, but that's fine in these sorts of things. I'd love to know your thoughts on it.

there are no warnings needed for this story, maybe just for it's length.

On A03

word length: 14 323

The hum of the ship’s engines filled the cabin, steady and rhythmic, as the stars of hyperspace streaked across the viewport. The ship was alive with the sound of voices, playful banter bouncing off the metal walls. It had been a long time since they’d all been together like this—no battles, no orders, no looming war. Just brothers, traveling through space toward a promise of peace and something new.

Jesse stretched out on a crate in the corner, helmet balanced on his knee. “I’m just saying, if this thing falls apart mid-flight, I’m blaming Tech. He’s the one who’s supposed to know every single bolt and wire in this tin can.”

Tech didn’t even glance back from the co-pilot’s chair. “The Havoc Marauder is structurally sound and fully functional. Any mechanical failure would be statistically improbable.”

“Right, and ‘statistically improbable’ means nothing when you’re spiraling toward a planet,” Jesse shot back with a smirk, leaning his head against the wall. “Fives, back me up.”

“Depends,” Fives replied from across the cabin, leaning lazily against the bulkhead. “Do I get to be the one piloting when it happens? Because I bet I could land this thing better than Cody.”

Cody turned his head from the pilot’s chair, arching a brow. “You’d be lucky to hit the planet at all, Fives. Remember the time you drove a speeder into a tree? Or should I say, through a tree?”

That earned a round of laughs. Even Echo, who usually kept his comments to himself during these exchanges, let a smile slip. Fives raised his hands in mock surrender. “That tree came out of nowhere! Besides, we’ve all made mistakes.”

“Not mistakes like that,” Echo said under his breath, his grin widening when Fives pointed an accusing finger at him.

“It’s not my fault that tree had something against me,” Fives huffed, crossing his arms. “Anyway, what’s this planet called again? Idelmor?”

“It’s supposed to be some kind of winter paradise,” Jesse said, tipping his helmet off his knee and spinning it idly. “Snow-covered hills, cozy villages, all that storybook stuff.”

“Storybook?” Crosshair’s voice came from the shadows where he lounged, his toothpick twitching lazily between his fingers. “Sounds boring. Unless there’s a good fight waiting.”

“No fights,” Cody said firmly, turning back to the controls. “That’s the point. We’re supposed to relax for once.”

“Relax?” Wrecker’s booming voice came from the back of the ship as he stood, cracking his neck with an audible pop. “I’ll show you relaxing. You just point me in the direction of this ‘Christmas roast’ they’re supposed to have, and I’ll handle the rest.”

“That’s all you care about, isn’t it?” Crosshair muttered, though his smirk betrayed his amusement. “Food.”

“Damn right,” Wrecker said with a grin. “If this ‘Christmas’ thing involves feasting, count me in.”

“Christmas,” Tech interjected from the front, pushing up his goggles, “is an ancient tradition originating from Core Earth. It involves gift-giving, communal meals, and decorative customs designed to foster goodwill.”

“Yeah, yeah, goodwill,” Jesse cut in, rolling his eyes. “What about snowball fights? I heard they’re big on that here.”

“Snowball fights?” Kix, who had been quietly cleaning his medkit, raised an eyebrow. “You mean pelting each other with frozen water?”

“Exactly,” Jesse said, sitting up straighter, his grin widening. “It’s like a battle simulation, but fun.”

“Only you would think throwing snow at people is a battle simulation,” Kix replied, shaking his head. “You’d probably twist your ankle trying to dodge a snowball.”

“Twist my ankle? I’d be unstoppable!” Jesse said, puffing out his chest. “Mark my words, I’m going to bury you all in snow.”

“You’ll be too busy running from Wrecker,” Echo muttered, earning a chuckle from the others.

“You’ve got that right!” Wrecker bellowed, punching the air. “I’m gonna flatten you all.”

“Not if you trip over your own feet,” Crosshair said, smirking. “Again.”

The cabin filled with laughter, the kind of unguarded sound that only came from moments like these. Rex, leaning against the bulkhead near the cockpit, watched it all with a faint smile. His arms were crossed, his stance relaxed, but there was a quiet weight to his expression. It felt good, being here with them like this. It reminded him of the barracks, back when the galaxy wasn’t such a heavy place to carry.

“You’re quiet,” Cody said, glancing over his shoulder at Rex. “You alright?”

Rex shrugged, his smile lingering as he looked out at the glowing blue of hyperspace. “Yeah. Just… good to see them like this. Feels normal.”

Cody nodded, a rare softness in his tone. “It’s been a long time coming.”

Rex didn’t reply, but his eyes lingered on the group—the way Fives leaned into every word, the way Kix shook his head at their antics, the way Wrecker’s laugh echoed like thunder. They were all still here. That was enough, for now.

The ship shuddered slightly as it began its descent, Tech adjusting the controls with practiced ease. “Approaching Idelmor,” he announced. “Optimal landing conditions. Minimal atmospheric interference.”

“Minimal interference?” Wrecker grinned. “Sounds like a smooth landing for once.”

“Try not to break anything before we even touch down,” Crosshair said.

“Try not to break the planet with your bad attitude,” Wrecker shot back, folding his arms.

As the ship pierced through the atmosphere, the viewport filled with a dazzling view of Idelmor: rolling hills blanketed in snow, evergreen trees that glistened like crystals, and a cluster of warm lights marking the small village below. Smoke curled from chimneys, and the faint glow of lanterns illuminated the streets, casting a golden hue against the soft blue of twilight.

For a moment, the cabin fell silent as the sight sunk in.

“Well,” Fives said, breaking the quiet, “if that doesn’t look like the perfect vacation, I don’t know what does.”

“Let’s hope their food’s as good as their scenery,” Wrecker added, his excitement evident as he grabbed his gear.

Rex remained still, his eyes fixed on the village below. The glow of the lights reflected in his gaze, stirring something faint but steady in his chest—something that felt, just for a moment, like hope.

*** 

The ramp of the Havoc Marauder hissed open, spilling cold air into the ship’s warm cabin. Rex was the first to step out, his boots crunching against the packed snow at the base of the ramp. His breath misted in the frigid air as he glanced around, his senses keenly aware of the sudden stillness that came with setting foot on a new planet.

The village of Elycara lay a short walk ahead, nestled into the base of a hill that rolled up toward a dense forest of evergreen trees. Lights flickered warmly from the windows of stone and timber cottages, their rooftops heavy with snow. Smoke curled from chimneys, mixing with the faint scent of pine and something sweeter—spiced, comforting. Lanterns hung along the main path leading into the village, casting a soft glow over the white ground.

The galaxy, for all its vastness, had rarely offered Rex a sight like this: untouched, quiet, alive without chaos.

Behind him, the others stepped out into the cold. Jesse whistled low, his breath visible in the sharp air. “Would you look at that,” he murmured, eyes scanning the scene before them. “I didn’t think places like this actually existed.”

“They do,” Cody said, descending the ramp with practiced precision, his boots crunching into the snow. His gaze swept over the village, assessing as he always did, but there was no tension in his expression. “Rare, but they do.”

“It’s picturesque,” Tech said from behind, his tone clinically observant. He adjusted his goggles, the lenses catching the lantern light. “Precisely the sort of settlement one would expect to find associated with a holiday tradition. Communal, centered around warmth and shared experiences—quite fascinating, really.”

“Fascinating is one word for it,” Fives muttered, brushing his gloves together as he stepped off the ramp. “Another is freezing.”

“You’ve survived harsher than this,” Echo replied, pulling his scarf tighter around his neck. His voice was soft, but his tone held the familiar, dry humor that always came out when he felt at ease. “Don’t act like a cadet.”

Fives grinned, nudging him with an elbow. “A cadet would’ve taken one look at this snow and gone back inside. I’m still standing, aren’t I?”

The sound of snow crunching behind them was punctuated by Wrecker’s booming laugh. “Standing for now, maybe. You’re gonna fall on your face as soon as you hit that icy patch over there.” He pointed toward the trail leading into the village, where the snow gleamed slick in the lantern light.

“Careful, or I’ll push you into it first,” Fives shot back, though the smile on his face softened the threat.

Crosshair, lagging at the back of the group, clicked his tongue as he adjusted his coat. “You’ll both fall if you keep flapping your mouths instead of watching where you’re walking.”

Rex couldn’t help but smile at the exchange, the corners of his mouth tugging upward. The banter felt… normal. Like the old days. Before everything had been taken from them.

His attention turned toward the village again, and as they began walking down the trail, his thoughts quieted. The snow underfoot was firm but not slippery, and the cold was sharp enough to sting his nose. He glanced around, catching the expressions of his brothers as they took in their surroundings.

Kix was walking with his head slightly tilted, his sharp eyes scanning the buildings for any sign of their local medical center—always assessing, always ready. Jesse walked beside him, hands stuffed into his gloves, his gaze drawn to the glowing windows of the cottages, where faint shadows of movement hinted at the lives inside.

Wrecker, on the other hand, couldn’t seem to stay still as they walked. His grin was broad, and every few paces, he pointed something out—a particularly tall evergreen, a child’s sled abandoned near the edge of the road, a flickering lantern swaying slightly in the breeze. “Look at that!” he said, nudging Crosshair, who merely rolled his eyes but didn’t bother responding.

Rex’s gaze settled on Cody, walking slightly ahead. His old commander’s posture was straight as ever, but there was something different in his expression. His eyes, usually so calculating, lingered on the village’s distant square, where a towering tree glittered with golden lights. Cody didn’t speak, but there was a faint crease in his brow that Rex recognized—thoughtful, maybe even wistful.

“You ever think we’d end up somewhere like this?” Rex asked, his voice low enough for only Cody to hear.

Cody glanced at him, his breath puffing in the cold. “No,” he admitted after a pause. “Not once.”

Rex nodded, his attention shifting back to the village. They were close enough now to hear the sounds of laughter and faint music drifting through the air. A group of villagers passed them on the road, carrying baskets filled with brightly wrapped parcels. One of the villagers—a boy no older than seven—stared at them wide-eyed, his gaze sweeping over their gear and their faces with unabashed curiosity.

“Evening,” Cody said, offering a nod. The boy’s mother smiled at them before gently steering her son onward.

“They’re not afraid of us,” Echo observed, his tone quiet but tinged with something hard to name—relief, maybe. “Not even wary.”

Rex knew what he meant. For years, their presence on a planet had been accompanied by war. They were symbols of conflict, instruments of strategy. But here, walking into a village lit with lanterns and filled with laughter, they weren’t soldiers. They were just… visitors.

The thought stuck with Rex as they entered the square. The towering tree at its center was breathtaking, its branches weighed down with ornaments of every size and shape. Garlands of greenery looped between the buildings, and wooden stalls lined the edges of the square, their shelves stacked with trinkets, steaming mugs, and warm pastries.

“It smells amazing,” Wrecker said, sniffing the air like a man starved. “What is that?”

“Likely cinnamon, nutmeg, cloves… possibly mulled wine,” Tech answered, his tone as clinical as ever. “All traditional holiday spices.”

“Traditional or not, I’m finding out where it’s coming from,” Wrecker declared, already scanning the stalls for the source.

Rex let him go, his attention drawn to a nearby shop at the edge of the square. Its windows were fogged from the warmth inside, and the faint glow of golden light spilled through the cracks of the wooden door. Something about it pulled at him, though he couldn’t say why.

Cody noticed. “You alright?”

“Yeah,” Rex said, though his voice was distant. “I’ll catch up with you.”

Cody gave him a long look before nodding. The others moved on, drawn by the liveliness of the market, but Rex stayed behind. He stood there for a moment longer, watching the shop as if waiting for it to reveal something to him. Then, shaking his head, he stepped forward, pushing the door open with a creak, followed by the soft chime of a bell overhead. 

Warmth wrapped around him instantly, a stark contrast to the biting chill outside. The air smelled of aged wood, faintly sweet spices, and something softer—vanilla, maybe. It was the kind of scent that invited you to linger, to breathe it in like a memory you didn’t want to let go of.

The door eased shut behind him, cutting off the distant laughter and chatter of the village square. In its place was the quiet murmur of a crackling fireplace tucked somewhere in the back. Rex took a step forward, his boots sinking into a worn but colorful rug, and he paused to take in his surroundings.

The shop was small but overflowing with character, every inch of it thoughtfully curated. Shelves lined the walls, filled with books whose spines ranged from leather-bound tomes to tattered paperbacks. Trinkets and antiques rested on tables and in glass cases, everything from ornate clocks to delicate porcelain figurines. A cozy nook in the corner drew his eye, where a plush couch sat beneath a window frosted with snow, a small stack of books and a steaming mug resting on a low table beside it.

It was the kind of place you could lose yourself in. Not by accident, but because you wanted to. Rex found himself lingering near the threshold, his hand still resting on the door as though afraid to step any further, like his presence might break the spell of the room.

“Welcome,” came a voice from behind the counter, soft but clear.

Rex turned, and for a moment, he forgot to speak. The woman standing there—(Y/n), as he’d learn later—was leaning over a small box of ornaments, brushing her hands free of some glittering powder. She had a warm but easy expression, her lips curled into a natural smile that somehow felt like an invitation rather than politeness. Loose strands of chestnut-brown hair fell from her braid, framing a face lit with curiosity. Her eyes, a bright, striking blue, flicked up to meet his, and she tilted her head ever so slightly.

“Not many visitors come in and stop right there,” she said, her voice laced with a hint of amusement. “You’re either deeply unimpressed or deeply overwhelmed. Which one is it?”

Rex blinked, his hand dropping from the door as he realized he’d been standing there too long. “Neither,” he said quickly, his voice rougher than he intended. He cleared his throat, glancing around the shop. “It’s just… not what I expected.”

Her smile softened, and she gestured loosely to the shelves around them. “Most people say that. My father always liked to say this place doesn’t really feel like a shop. He wanted it to feel like… I don’t know, an escape.”

Rex nodded, stepping further inside. “It works.”

(Y/n)’s smile lingered as she watched him. He moved with a quiet presence, his posture straight but not rigid, his gloved hands brushing lightly over the edges of a nearby shelf. He wasn’t just looking at the items on display—he was absorbing the space, taking in every detail as though it might vanish if he didn’t. She recognized something in that—a carefulness that spoke of someone who wasn’t used to letting his guard down.

“Take your time,” she said, her voice gentle, before turning her attention back to the box on the counter. She lifted an ornament from it—a delicate glass star—and began tying a silver ribbon through the loop.

Rex’s eyes followed her hands briefly before he turned his attention back to the shelves. He wasn’t sure what he was looking for—or if he was even looking for anything at all. But the atmosphere here, warm and alive in its quiet way, seemed to settle something in his chest he hadn’t realized was restless.

As he moved toward the center of the shop, his gaze caught on a table near the window. At its center was a snow globe, simple but beautifully crafted. Inside, a miniature version of the village square shimmered beneath a swirl of fine, silvery flakes. He hesitated before reaching for it, his fingers brushing the cool glass as he turned it gently in his hands.

“You’re drawn to that one, huh?” (Y/n)’s voice came from just behind him, light and curious. He hadn’t heard her move, and he glanced over his shoulder to find her standing a few steps away, the same easy smile on her face. “It’s a favorite around here.”

Rex looked back at the snow globe, watching the flakes settle. “It’s… detailed,” he said, unsure of what else to say. His voice softened. “It looks just like the square.”

“It should,” (Y/n) said, stepping closer. Her tone was quieter now, almost reverent. “My father made it. He was a woodworker and a craftsman. The base is carved from the trees up near the north ridge. He used to say every snow globe needed to feel like it carried a whole world inside it.”

Rex’s thumb brushed the edge of the wooden base, smooth but etched with subtle patterns. “It does feel like that.”

(Y/n) studied him for a moment, her gaze flicking to the way he held the snow globe—not casually, but carefully, like it was something precious. “There’s a story about that one,” she said. “They say if you hold it and think of someone, it’ll show you their heart’s greatest wish.”

Rex raised an eyebrow, his lips twitching into the barest hint of a skeptical smile. “Magic?”

“Maybe,” (Y/n) said with a shrug, her expression unreadable. “Or maybe it’s just a good excuse for people to imagine something they want to see.”

He held the snow globe a moment longer, the words hanging in the air between them. Then, setting it gently back on the table, he met her gaze again. “You don’t actually believe that, do you?”

Her smile tilted, playful but soft. “I think there’s a little truth in every story. Don’t you?”

Rex didn’t answer right away. Instead, he glanced around the shop again, letting his gaze sweep over the books, the trinkets, the little pieces of other lives that filled the room. Finally, he said, “Maybe. Depends on the story.”

(Y/n) chuckled, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “Fair enough.”

For a moment, neither of them spoke, the only sound the faint crackle of the fireplace in the back. But something about the silence wasn’t uncomfortable. It felt like a pause in the middle of a song—natural, even necessary.

Rex cleared his throat and stepped back toward the shelves. “Your father—he must’ve been proud of this place.”

(Y/n)’s smile faltered slightly, though she recovered quickly. “He was,” she said softly. “He built it to be a place where people could find… something they didn’t know they were looking for.”

Rex glanced at her, her words settling over him like the warmth of the shop itself. “Maybe he was onto something.”

Lingering by the shelves as (Y/n) moved back to the counter, where she resumed sorting through the ornaments with slow, deliberate movements. The silence between them wasn’t heavy, but it carried the quiet weight of curiosity. Rex’s eyes drifted again to the snow globe resting on the small table near the window. Something about it stayed with him—maybe it was the delicate craftsmanship or the way (Y/n) had described it, as though it held a world in its fragile casing. Too whimsical for someone like him, he thought, but it tugged at him all the same.

(Y/n) caught herself glancing at him from the corner of her eye as she worked, drawn to the quiet intensity he carried. His movements were measured, his posture always alert, like someone who never fully let down his guard. Yet beneath that, she sensed a weariness that went beyond the physical—a heaviness that had settled into his bones and stayed. She’d seen it before in others, but not quite like this.

“You’re not from here,” she said finally, her voice breaking the stillness with the lightness of an observation.

“No,” Rex replied, turning to face her slightly. “Just passing through.”

“With your friends?” (Y/n) asked, motioning vaguely toward the door with the ornament still in her hand.

Rex nodded. “Yeah. We travel together when we can.”

“Close group, then.”

“You could say that,” Rex said. His voice grew quieter as he hesitated, as though weighing whether to say more. Finally, he added, “We’ve been through a lot together.”

(Y/n) looked up, her gaze locking onto him. She noticed the way his jaw tightened just slightly, the way his hands flexed at his sides, as though memories were threatening to push past the barriers he kept so tightly in place. She recognized that look—it was the same one she’d seen in the eyes of the few villagers who had returned from the galaxy’s war. The ones who had left to help but had come back quieter, changed, heavier.

“We heard about the war,” she said softly, setting the ornament down. She kept her tone gentle, careful. “Even out here.”

Rex’s expression sharpened slightly, but not with hostility. It was reflexive—the instinct to assess and protect kicking in the moment someone mentioned the war. He studied her face, looking for the subtle cues people gave away when they talked about soldiers like him. Judgment, pity, fear… but he didn’t see any of those. Just quiet understanding.

“You didn’t see much of it,” he said after a pause.

(Y/n) shook her head, leaning against the counter and crossing her arms loosely. “No. Idelmor’s quiet. Tucked far enough away that it felt like we were watching the war from the other side of a viewport. We heard the stories, though. And a few of our people felt the call to help.”

Rex tilted his head slightly. “The call?”

“To fight,” (Y/n) explained, her voice dropping just slightly. “Or to heal, to build. To do whatever they could. Most of them didn’t come back.”

The words sat heavily in the space between them, though (Y/n) didn’t avert her gaze. She saw the flicker of emotion in Rex’s eyes—sorrow, perhaps, or something heavier. Guilt. It was brief but unmistakable, and it told her everything she needed to know. 

“That happened in a lot of places,” Rex said finally, his voice quieter now.

(Y/n) nodded, her expression softening. She wanted to ask more, to learn the pieces of his story he wasn’t saying, but she knew that prying wouldn’t work. Some stories were only told when someone was ready. So instead, she stepped away from the counter, leaning her hip against the edge and letting the silence settle for a moment.

“I knew you were clones when you walked in,” she said gently, her voice measured, like she was testing the weight of her words.

Rex stiffened, though not entirely with surprise. He had wondered if the people here would recognize them, even in the absence of their armor.

“I see it in the way you move,” (Y/n) continued, watching his reaction carefully. “Not just you—all of you. There’s a purpose to it. A weight. But… that’s not all I see.”

Rex met her eyes, unsure what to say. He’d been stared at before, studied like an oddity or a relic of a war no one wanted to remember. He braced himself for the usual follow-up: the questions, the curiosity, the polite pity.

But (Y/n) smiled faintly and shrugged. “I see people,” she said simply. “That’s what matters to me.”

For a moment, Rex said nothing. He wasn’t sure if it was because he didn’t believe her or because he didn’t know how to process the quiet sincerity in her tone. He shifted his weight slightly, glancing back at the snow globe. “Most people don’t see it that way.”

“Maybe most people aren’t looking close enough,” (Y/n) said, tilting her head slightly. “You don’t strike me as just a soldier. Not anymore.”

Her words landed in the quiet, not harsh or heavy, but matter-of-fact. Rex felt them settle in his chest, not entirely comfortable but not unwelcome either.

“You and your friends—are you staying in the village?” she asked after a moment, her tone lightening.

“Not yet,” Rex admitted. “We only just arrived.”

“Well,” (Y/n) said, a small smile curling at her lips, “I might have something for you. There’s a holiday cottage near the market square. It’s small, but it’s warm, and it has enough room for a group. A family used to run it, but they moved away a few years ago. I keep it up for travelers who come through.”

Rex raised a brow. “You keep a whole cottage just in case someone passes by?”

(Y/n) shrugged, her smile growing. “It’s a small village. We don’t get many strangers, but the ones we do usually leave something behind—stories, mostly. The kind worth keeping.”

Rex studied her for a long moment, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Sounds like you’ve made this place more than just a shop.”

“It’s what my father wanted,” (Y/n) replied, her voice softening. “I just try to keep it alive.”

He nodded, glancing toward the door as if he could still hear the voices of his brothers outside. “I’ll talk to them. It might be nice to stay somewhere that isn’t a starship for once.”

“It’s yours if you want it,” (Y/n) said, her tone as warm as the firelight flickering in the corner. “I can show you where it is if you’d like.”

Rex hesitated before nodding. “Thanks.”

As they stepped outside, the cold stung at his face again, but it didn’t feel as biting as before. (Y/n) gestured toward a narrow path leading off the square, explaining the location as they walked. Rex caught glimpses of his brothers in the distance—Fives and Jesse laughing near a food stall, Wrecker towering over a group of villagers, Kix examining a trinket in a shop window.

For the first time in what felt like years, they weren’t soldiers. They were just… people. Rex let the thought settle in his mind as (Y/n)’s voice carried softly beside him. Maybe that was the real gift this place had to offer.

*** 

The crackling of the fire filled the cozy sitting room of the holiday cottage, the warm glow casting dancing shadows on the wooden walls. The boys had settled in quickly, their laughter and voices filling the space like it had always belonged to them. Jesse was sprawled on one of the couches, gesturing animatedly as he shared some tale from their earlier exploration of the village. Wrecker had already claimed the chair nearest the fire, his massive frame dwarfed by the oversized blanket he’d pulled over his shoulders, grinning as he polished off yet another helping of the pastries they’d brought back.

“Tell me that wasn’t the best pie you’ve ever had,” Wrecker declared, pointing at Echo, who sat at the table, carefully flipping through an old book he’d found on one of the shelves.

Echo didn’t look up. “It was fine.”

“Fine?” Wrecker’s voice boomed. “That wasn’t just pie, Echo. That was a masterpiece.”

Fives, lounging in a chair near the window, smirked. “You call anything with sugar a masterpiece.”

“Because it is!” Wrecker shot back, though his grin was broad. “And if you don’t agree, I’ll eat yours too.”

Cody leaned against the doorframe leading into the kitchen, his arms crossed, watching the scene unfold with the faintest tilt of amusement on his lips. “At least we’re not eating rations,” he said dryly, and a chorus of groans filled the room.

“You had to remind us,” Jesse muttered. “Don’t ruin a good thing, Cody.”

Rex sat apart from the others, perched on a chair near the window with his arms resting on his knees, his eyes distant. Outside, the village square was illuminated by the warm glow of lanterns and the towering tree in the center, its golden lights shimmering like a dream against the snow. The sounds of faint laughter and holiday cheer drifted in through the glass, mingling with the warmth of the fire inside.

It was… peaceful. And yet, that peace felt foreign, like a new pair of boots that hadn’t quite been broken in yet.

“You’re quiet,” Cody said, his voice low but not unkind as he stepped closer to Rex. He leaned a shoulder against the wall, studying his brother with careful eyes. “That’s not like you.”

Rex shook his head faintly, a small smile pulling at the corners of his lips. “It’s nothing. Just… taking it all in.”

Cody hummed, unconvinced, but didn’t push. He straightened, nodding toward the table. “You’re the only one who hasn’t picked something out of the basket. Go grab a pastry before Wrecker eats them all.”

Rex huffed a laugh, though his heart wasn’t entirely in it. “I’m good. I think I’ll step out for a bit.”

Cody raised a brow but said nothing, only watching as Rex rose to his feet and grabbed his coat. The cold air greeted him as he stepped outside, biting at his face and ears, but it wasn’t unwelcome. It cleared his head, sharpened his focus. He pulled his gloves tighter and started toward the shop at the edge of the square, the light spilling through its windows as inviting as it had been the first time.

*** 

The bell chimed softly as Rex stepped inside, and the warmth of the shop wrapped around him like a familiar embrace. (Y/n) looked up from where she stood behind the counter, her hands busy with another box of ornaments. Her face brightened when she saw him.

“Rex,” she greeted, her smile easy and genuine. “Back so soon?”

He stepped forward, glancing around the shop. It was quieter now, the evening hours leaving it almost empty, but the fire in the corner still crackled, and the cozy atmosphere hadn’t waned. “I wanted to thank you again,” he said, his voice steady but warm. “The cottage—it’s perfect. The others are… well, they’re making themselves at home.”

(Y/n) laughed softly, setting down the ornament she’d been tying a ribbon through. “I’m glad. It’s been a while since anyone stayed there. It’s nice to know it’s being used.”

Rex nodded, his gaze drifting again to the snow globe on the table near the window. The swirling flakes inside caught the light just so, almost hypnotic in their simplicity. He hesitated, his hands slipping into his pockets, and (Y/n) noticed.

“Still curious about it?” she asked, her tone light.

Rex looked at her, then back at the globe. “It’s… interesting. The way you talked about it before, like it holds some kind of magic.”

(Y/n) tilted her head, stepping out from behind the counter. “It doesn’t have to be magic to mean something,” she said softly. “Sometimes it’s enough that it makes us think.”

She stopped beside the table, resting her hand lightly on the edge of the globe. “If you want to try it, you should. No pressure,” she added quickly, her blue eyes meeting his. “But if there’s someone you’re thinking about…”

Rex hesitated again, the weight of her gaze steady but not prying. He stepped forward, his movements deliberate, and reached out for the globe. It was cool in his hands, smooth and solid, and as he tilted it slightly, the flakes inside swirled to life, spinning in slow, mesmerizing patterns.

He thought of Cody.

The vision was instant, clear as though he were standing in it himself. Cody was here, in Idelmor, not as a visitor but as a cornerstone of the community. Rex saw him in the village square, surrounded by a group of clones—brothers Rex recognized and some he didn’t. They were laughing, their expressions open and free, and the villagers mingled among them as if there had never been a war, as if there were no distinction between them.

Cody stood taller than Rex had seen him in years, his posture steady, his face calm but content. He was a leader here, but not of a battlefield—of a home. There was no armor, no orders to give, just a sense of purpose that seemed to radiate from him. It wasn’t just Cody who belonged here, Rex realized. It was all of them.

The vision faded, the flakes settling back into place, and Rex was left staring at the globe, his chest tight.

“Rex?” (Y/n)’s voice broke through gently, pulling him back. He looked up to find her watching him, her brow furrowed with concern. “What did you see?”

He swallowed, setting the globe back on the table carefully. His voice was quieter when he spoke. “A future,” he said simply. “One I didn’t think we’d ever have.”

(Y/n)’s expression softened, and she tilted her head slightly. “And now?”

Rex looked at her, his jaw tightening slightly. He didn’t know how to explain the ache in his chest—the mix of hope and uncertainty, the weight of what could be and the fear of reaching for it.

“Now,” he said finally, his voice steadier, “I think it’s worth trying to make it real.”

***** 

The fire crackled in the hearth of the cottage, casting warm light over the room as Rex leaned back in his chair, his arms crossed and his thoughts distant. The others were spread out in their usual relaxed chaos—Fives and Jesse were playing cards at the dining table, their banter loud enough to drown out most of the quiet outside. Wrecker had sprawled across the couch, snoring softly, a half-empty mug of spiced cider resting precariously on the armrest beside him. Tech and Echo sat together near the window, both pouring over something on a datapad, their low murmurs blending into the background.

Cody stood by the fireplace, one hand resting on the mantle as he stared into the flames. His face was as stoic as ever, but Rex knew him well enough to see the subtle tension in his shoulders, the way his jaw tightened ever so slightly. It was the posture of a man who had spent too much time thinking about things he hadn’t said.

Rex cleared his throat. “Cody, can I talk to you?”

The subtle shift in Cody’s expression was immediate—curiosity, edged with caution. He nodded once, motioning toward the kitchen. The two of them moved away from the others, their boots scuffing softly against the wooden floor.

“What’s on your mind?” Cody asked, leaning back against the counter, his arms crossed.

Rex hesitated, the words tangling in his mind before they could take shape. He hadn’t told anyone about what he’d seen in the snow globe—Cody, standing tall and sure in a place like this, surrounded by brothers who had once been lost. It wasn’t just an idle vision; it had felt real, like a glimpse of a future they hadn’t dared to believe was possible.

“I’ve been thinking about this place,” Rex said finally, his voice low. “About what it could mean for us.”

“For us?” Cody raised a brow, his tone calm but curious. “You mean just us, or…?”

“I mean all of us,” Rex said, gesturing faintly toward the main room. “The others. The brothers we’ve lost touch with. The ones who never found a place to land after the war. This planet… it’s quiet, Cody. Safe. It could be a home.”

Cody’s jaw tightened, and his gaze dropped to the floor. “You’re talking about bringing more clones here.”

“Yeah,” Rex said, his voice firm but not pushy. “We’ve spent the last year scattered, trying to find ways to survive in a galaxy that doesn’t know what to do with us anymore. But here… here we could build something. Together.”

Cody let out a slow breath, his shoulders stiffening as he mulled over the words. “You’ve been here for one day, Rex. You think that’s enough to know if this place can handle more of us?”

“It’s not about the time,” Rex said, stepping closer. His voice softened, though it carried a note of urgency. “It’s about what I see here. The villagers—they’re good people. They’ve welcomed us. And this isn’t like Coruscant or some Outer Rim scrap heap. There’s room here, Cody. Room for them and for us.”

Cody met his gaze, his amber eyes sharp but conflicted. “You don’t know how they’ll feel if we bring more. A few clones, sure. But an entire community? You know how people are, Rex. We’re soldiers to them—symbols of a war they’re trying to forget.”

Rex frowned, understanding the weight of Cody’s hesitation but unwilling to let it stop him. “I’ve seen the way they look at us. They don’t see soldiers, Cody. They see people. And maybe, if we give them the chance, they’ll welcome more of us.”

Cody stared at him for a long moment, his thoughts clear in the tension of his brow. Finally, he let out a slow breath, his arms uncrossing as he leaned back against the counter. “It’s not just about them,” he said quietly. “It’s about the brothers, too. What if they don’t want this? What if they’ve given up on the idea of a home?”

“Then we invite the ones who do,” Rex replied, his voice steady. “And we let them decide for themselves.”

Cody was silent, his gaze drifting toward the flickering fire in the other room. Finally, he nodded, though it was reluctant. “Fine. We’ll send out a call. But if this backfires…”

“It won’t,” Rex said firmly, though he could feel the weight of Cody’s doubts. “You’ll see.”

*** 

It didn’t take long for the call to go out. Fives and Jesse worked with Tech and Echo to send encrypted messages to every channel they could find—old comms networks, secured frequencies they hadn’t touched since the war. The message was simple but powerful: There’s a place for you. Come if you’re looking for a home.

The days that followed were filled with quiet anticipation, each of them trying not to let their hopes rise too high. But then the first ship arrived.

And then another.

And another.

**** 

The first to step off the landing platform were the brothers they hadn’t seen in months—men who had drifted after the war, some tired, some wary, all of them carrying the weight of survival on their shoulders. Rex and Cody were there to greet them, their presence enough to ease the tension in those first hesitant moments.

Then, unexpectedly, a familiar figure emerged from one of the ships, her orange montrals unmistakable in the winter sun. Ahsoka smiled softly as she approached, her eyes filled with quiet relief. “Rex,” she said, her voice warm as she embraced him. “I thought I’d find you here.”

Rex blinked, surprised but pleased. “What are you doing here?”

“Word travels fast,” she said with a slight smirk, gesturing to the other figures descending from the ship. “I wasn’t the only one who heard. Obi-Wan and Plo Koon thought it might be time to visit, too.”

Rex turned, his chest tightening at the sight of Obi-Wan, his robe wrapped tightly around him as he walked toward them, his expression calm but warm. Plo Koon followed, his steady presence grounding in a way that reminded Rex of the days when the Jedi had been their allies, their commanders, their friends.

**** 

At first, the villagers were cautious, watching the growing influx of clones and Jedi with quiet curiosity. But as the days passed, that curiosity turned into something warmer. The villagers approached, offering food, supplies, even homes that had been empty for years. They asked questions—not about the war, but about the brothers themselves, their lives, their stories.

(Y/n) played no small part in this. Her shop became a hub of activity, her easy warmth drawing people in, bridging gaps that might have otherwise grown between the clones and the villagers. She met every new arrival with a calm smile and a welcoming word, and Rex found himself watching her often, struck by the quiet strength in her presence.

****

As more brothers arrived, the village began to shift, growing into something new. The clones settled in quickly, taking on roles within the community—builders, farmers, teachers. Cody, though reluctant at first, became a natural leader, his steady hand and calm demeanor earning the trust of both the brothers and the villagers.

Rex stood at the edge of the square one evening, watching the glow of lanterns and the laughter of brothers and villagers mingling together. (Y/n) appeared at his side, her arms crossed loosely as she smiled at the scene.

“You did it,” she said quietly.

“We did it,” Rex corrected, his voice soft.

(Y/n) looked up at him, her smile lingering. “So… what’s next?”

Rex didn’t answer immediately, his gaze fixed on the warm, growing light of the village. “We build,” he said finally. “And we make it last.”

**** 

The first thaw of spring came like a whisper, soft and slow. Snow that had blanketed the hills melted into quiet streams, feeding the rivers that snaked their way through Idelmor. The village square, once muffled and still under layers of white, began to buzz with life. Stalls returned, their counters piled with goods that hinted at the promise of the new season. Children darted through the streets, splashing in puddles with joyful abandon, while villagers emerged from their homes with smiles and hopeful energy.

In the midst of it all, Rex stood with Kix and Fives in the square. (Y/n) was nearby, chatting with a vendor as she purchased a bundle of fresh herbs. Rex’s attention wasn’t on the square or even on (Y/n), though he glanced her way more than he cared to admit. His focus was on Kix and Fives, both of whom had begun speaking at once, their ideas spilling out in a chaotic flurry.

“I’m telling you, Rex,” Kix said, his voice animated, his arms crossed over his chest. “The barn on the north ridge is perfect. It’s big enough for everything I need. We just need a way to get supplies and medical equipment.”

“And don’t forget the stories,” Fives interrupted, waving his hand. “We need a space where people can share them. Somewhere they feel comfortable—like a library, but better.”

“You’ve been here two months,” Rex said, rubbing the back of his neck. “You’re already trying to redesign the village.”

“Not redesign,” Kix corrected. “Improve.”

Rex sighed, though there was no real frustration in it. He had expected this. His brothers had always been restless, their drive to make things better undiminished even in peace. And though he sometimes envied their clarity of purpose, he couldn’t deny the flicker of pride he felt watching them dream.

Nearby, (Y/n) turned just in time to catch the end of their conversation. She stepped closer, the bundle of herbs tucked neatly under her arm. “It sounds like you’ve got big plans,” she said lightly, her blue eyes bright with curiosity.

“They always do,” Rex muttered, shaking his head.

Fives grinned, gesturing broadly as if he were presenting a grand vision. “It’s not just a plan. It’s a future. A clinic for Kix, a network for stories, and who knows what else.”

“Sounds ambitious,” (Y/n) said, smiling as she looked at Kix. “But if anyone can pull it off, it’s you.”

Kix gave her a grateful nod, his expression softening. “It’s not just about me. It’s for everyone.”

(Y/n) tilted her head, thoughtful. “If it’s supplies you’re worried about, I might know a few people who can help. Farmers in the area sometimes trade goods with traveling merchants. Medical equipment isn’t common, but I can ask around.”

Kix’s face lit up, and even Fives stopped mid-gesture to look at her. “You’d do that?” Kix asked.

“Of course,” (Y/n) said, her tone matter-of-fact. “It’s a small village. We help each other.”

Rex watched the exchange in silence, something warm flickering in his chest. (Y/n) had a way of making things seem simple—natural, even. But what struck him most wasn’t her offer of help; it was the way she looked at his brothers, not with curiosity about who they’d been or what they were, but with quiet respect for who they were now.

**** 

The barn on the north ridge was little more than a skeleton of wood and stone when Rex and (Y/n) first walked through it with Kix. Dust motes floated in the sunlight streaming through the gaps in the walls, and the air smelled faintly of hay and damp earth. Kix stood in the center of the space, his boots scuffing against the floor as he turned in a slow circle, taking it all in.

“This could work,” he murmured, his voice thoughtful.

(Y/n) smiled, brushing a stray strand of hair from her face. “It’ll need some work, but it’s got good bones. And the view’s not bad either.”

Rex followed her gaze to the wide doorway at the far end of the barn, where the land sloped gently toward the village below. “It’s more than not bad,” he admitted. “You’re sure about the supplies?”

“I’ve already spoken to a merchant,” (Y/n) said. “He’ll be in town next week with a shipment of surplus supplies from one of the larger cities. And I think the villagers would be willing to pitch in with the repairs.”

Kix looked at her, his expression a mix of gratitude and quiet determination. “This… this is going to make a difference,” he said softly.

“It already is,” (Y/n) replied.

Rex watched the exchange, his gaze lingering on (Y/n) for a moment longer than he intended. There was something about the way she spoke, the way she believed in what Kix was trying to do, that tugged at him in a way he couldn’t quite name.

*** 

If the barn was Kix’s domain, the square became Fives’. He had a way of drawing people in, his energy infectious as he darted from stall to stall, chatting with villagers and brothers alike. It wasn’t long before he began setting up what he called “story circles”—gatherings where people shared tales of the war, of peace, of loss and hope.

(Y/n) became one of his strongest supporters, offering her shop as a space for the recordings he collected. She and Rex spent hours helping Fives sort through the recordings, labeling and organizing them with the kind of care that made each story feel important.

One evening, as they worked late in the shop, (Y/n) caught Rex staring at her. She raised an eyebrow, her lips curving into a teasing smile. “What?”

“Nothing,” Rex said quickly, though his ears burned. “Just… you’re good at this.”

“At what?”

“At making people feel seen,” he said quietly.

Her smile softened, and for a moment, the warmth between them felt like something unspoken but shared.

**** 

Rex’s visits to (Y/n)’s shop became more frequent as the months passed. He told himself it was practical—there was always something to discuss, some plan to refine. But his brothers began to notice the subtle shifts in his behavior. The way he lingered just a bit longer than necessary when (Y/n) laughed. The way he’d fix small things around the shop—a creaky hinge, a leaky faucet—without being asked.

One afternoon, as they returned from helping Fives set up a recording session, Jesse nudged Fives with a grin. “You see the way he looks at her?”

Fives smirked, leaning back against the wall of the square. “Oh, I see it. The question is, does he see it?”

“He’s Rex,” Jesse said with a shrug. “He’ll be the last to admit it.”

“But he’s happier,” Fives said, his grin fading into something softer. “That’s what matters. 

***

The warm embrace of summer blanketed Idelmor, bringing with it longer days, golden light, and the gentle hum of progress. The village square buzzed with the energy of change, laughter and voices mingling with the sounds of hammers and saws, of crates being unloaded and carried into newly restored spaces. The call that had gone out months ago had not only brought more brothers but their ideas, their ambitions, and their willingness to shape this village into something more than a haven.

And through it all, Rex found himself drawn deeper into the rhythm of this growing community. It wasn’t just the work—it was the people. His brothers, the villagers, and (Y/n).

Always (Y/n).

****

The barn on the north ridge had undergone a transformation. The broken beams had been replaced with sturdy wood, the walls sealed with care, and the wide doorway now framed a view of rolling hills and the distant outline of the village below. Inside, the space was alive with purpose. Shelves stocked with medical supplies lined the walls, and clean, white curtains separated small treatment areas. A desk, repaired by Tech and polished to a shine by Jesse, sat near the front, where Kix now worked tirelessly to treat anyone who walked through the doors.

The villagers came first, hesitant at first but warmed by Kix’s steady, reassuring presence. Then more clones arrived, those who had spent years fighting injuries they couldn’t afford to treat, limping into the clinic with quiet hope.

Rex stood just inside the door one afternoon, watching as Kix bandaged the arm of a farmer who had taken a nasty fall. Jesse was in the corner, sorting a pile of donated blankets with his usual flair for humor.

“Hey, Rex,” Jesse called, tossing a bright orange blanket into the air like a cape. “Think this color would suit Kix?”

“Depends,” Kix replied without looking up from his work. “Will it keep the patients warm, or just blind them?”

The farmer chuckled, and even Rex cracked a smile as Jesse mockingly clutched his chest, pretending to stagger from the insult.

Nearby, (Y/n) stood beside Echo and Tech, who were working on installing a small communications terminal near the back of the clinic. She watched their movements with quiet fascination, her hands clutching a crate of fresh linens she’d brought to donate.

“Do they ever stop?” she asked Rex softly, her eyes flicking to Kix, Jesse, and the others.

“Not really,” Rex replied, his voice low but fond. “It’s how they’re wired.”

“And you?” (Y/n) asked, glancing at him with a small smile. “Do you ever stop?”

Rex hesitated, the question catching him off guard. He looked down at her, his brow furrowing slightly. “I don’t know,” he admitted after a pause. “I guess I don’t think about it much.”

“Well,” (Y/n) said, her voice teasing but gentle, “maybe you should.”

****

Meanwhile, Fives’ story circles had become a cornerstone of the village’s culture. What had started as small gatherings around a table in (Y/n)’s shop had grown into a full-fledged network. Fives now hosted weekly events in the square, where clones and villagers alike gathered to share tales of the past, their hopes for the future, and everything in between.

One evening, (Y/n) sat beside Rex on one of the benches near the circle, the glow of lanterns illuminating the faces of those gathered. Fives stood in the center, gesturing animatedly as he recounted a particularly daring mission from the war. The crowd laughed, some shaking their heads, others leaning forward with rapt attention.

“He’s good at this,” (Y/n) said, her voice warm as she watched Fives.

“He’s always been a talker,” Rex replied, though there was no annoyance in his tone. If anything, there was pride. “But he’s doing more than just talking. He’s building something.”

(Y/n) looked at Rex, her expression thoughtful. “You all are.”

Rex glanced at her, his chest tightening at the quiet conviction in her words. He wanted to say something, but the words tangled in his throat. Instead, he looked back at the circle, where Fives was now pulling Jesse into the spotlight to share a story of his own.

***

Further down the village road, an old granary had been repurposed into something entirely new—a school. It was Wolffe’s idea, born from his growing work with the children in the village and the small group of cadets who had arrived with the last wave of brothers. He had roped in Hardcase, Obi-Wan, and Plo Koon to help bring it to life, and together, they had built something remarkable.

Rex visited the school one afternoon, finding Wolffe in the middle of teaching a self-defense lesson to a group of children. Wrecker stood nearby, demonstrating a move with exaggerated flair, drawing peals of laughter from the kids. Plo Koon watched from the doorway, his presence calm and steady, while Obi-Wan helped Hardcase carry in a stack of wooden practice dummies.

“You think they’re ready for this?” Rex asked, leaning against the wall as he watched Wolffe bark instructions.

“They’ve got more patience than you’d expect,” Obi-Wan replied with a faint smile. “Especially Wolffe. He’s good with them.”

Rex nodded, his gaze shifting to the children. Their laughter filled the space, blending with Wolffe’s gruff encouragement and Wrecker’s booming cheer. It was a sound that felt out of place in his memories of the past but perfectly at home here.

**** 

Through all of it, (Y/n) remained a constant presence. She was there at the clinic, helping Kix organize supplies. She was there at the story circles, quietly encouraging villagers to share their voices. And she was there in the quiet moments, when Rex found himself lingering in her shop longer than he meant to.

One evening, after helping Fives carry a stack of recordings into the shop, Rex noticed (Y/n) struggling with a leaky faucet behind the counter. He stepped forward without thinking. “Let me take a look.”

(Y/n) straightened, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “You don’t have to—”

“I’ve got it,” Rex said firmly, crouching down to inspect the pipes.

(Y/n) watched him work, a small smile tugging at her lips. “You’re full of surprises, you know that?”

Rex glanced up, raising a brow. “How so?”

“You lead an army, you build a community, and now you’re fixing faucets,” she teased, her tone light but warm. “What can’t you do?”

Rex shrugged, though his ears burned at the compliment. “Faucets are easier than people.”

(Y/n) laughed softly, and the sound settled something in him he hadn’t realized was restless.

****

Jesse and Fives caught the exchange from the doorway, both leaning against the frame with identical smirks.

“You see that?” Jesse whispered, elbowing Fives.

“Oh, I see it,” Fives replied, his grin widening. “He’s got it bad.”

“Think we should say something?” Jesse asked.

“Not a chance,” Fives said, crossing his arms. “This is too much fun to watch.”

As the summer stretched on, the brothers continued to notice the small moments—Rex lingering in the shop to help (Y/n) rearrange a shelf, the way his voice softened when he spoke to her, the way her smile seemed to brighten when he walked through the door. And though neither of them said it, it was clear to everyone around them: they were falling for each other, piece by quiet piece.

***

As the leaves began to turn and the air grew crisp, the village prepared for the next season. The clinic was thriving, the story circles had become a beloved tradition, and the school had grown into a cornerstone of the community. Through it all, Rex found himself looking forward to one thing above all else: the moments he shared with (Y/n).

And though he didn’t quite know what to call the feeling yet, he couldn’t deny it anymore. Whatever it was, it had become as much a part of him as the brothers he called family, as the home they were building together.

***

The days grew shorter as autumn deepened, the crisp air carrying the scent of fallen leaves and woodsmoke through the streets of Idelmor. The village square buzzed with quiet industry as preparations for the season’s harvest festival began. Rex found himself drawn more and more to (Y/n)’s shop—not just because of the warmth it offered or the comfort of the books and trinkets that filled its shelves, but because of (Y/n) herself.

It had become something of a routine. After long days spent helping Kix at the clinic or lending a hand at the school, Rex would find his way to the shop. Some days, it was to talk through plans for the village. Other days, it was simply to sit by the fire while (Y/n) worked, her presence grounding in a way he hadn’t expected.

**** 

The fire crackled softly in the hearth, its glow casting a warm light over the shop as Rex sat in his usual spot near the window. (Y/n) stood at the counter, her sleeves rolled up as she carefully polished a carved wooden box. She worked slowly, her focus intent, but her movements lacked their usual ease.

Rex noticed. He always noticed.

“You’re quiet tonight,” he said, his voice low but steady.

(Y/n) glanced up, startled out of her thoughts. She offered a small smile, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Just tired, I guess.”

Rex leaned back in his chair, studying her. He didn’t press, but he let the silence stretch between them, waiting.

Finally, (Y/n) sighed, setting the box down and brushing her hands against her apron. “I’ve been thinking about my father,” she admitted, her voice softer now. She crossed her arms, leaning against the counter. “He built this place, you know. Not just the shop, but… the heart of it. He wanted it to be a gathering place, somewhere people could come and feel at home. He called it ‘a place for stories.’”

Rex tilted his head, his expression thoughtful. “Sounds like he had a clear vision.”

“He did,” (Y/n) said, her gaze drifting to the shelves. “But sometimes I wonder if I’ve done enough to live up to it. The shop’s still here, but is it what he dreamed it would be? I don’t know. And now with all the changes in the village…” She trailed off, shaking her head. “It feels like I’m always one step behind.”

Rex let her words settle in the air before speaking. “I don’t think anyone here would say you’re behind.”

(Y/n) looked at him, her brow furrowing slightly. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, look around,” Rex said, gesturing to the room. “The people who come in here—they don’t just see shelves and trinkets. They see a place where they can talk, share, connect. Fives wouldn’t have gotten his story circles off the ground without you. Kix wouldn’t have half his supplies. And me…” He paused, his voice softening. “I don’t think I would’ve found half the things I’ve been looking for without this place.”

(Y/n)’s breath hitched at his words, and for a moment, she didn’t know how to respond. The weight she carried, the worry that she wasn’t enough, didn’t vanish, but Rex’s words chipped away at it, leaving her feeling lighter, steadier.

*** 

(Y/n) stepped around the counter and sat in the chair opposite him, her hands folded in her lap. She studied him for a moment, her gaze steady. “What about you?” she asked gently. “What are you looking for, Rex?”

He hesitated, his jaw tightening. For years, he had carried the burden of being a leader, of keeping his brothers together. Even now, in this quiet village where the weight of war had lifted, he found himself unable to let go of the questions that had haunted him.

“I don’t know,” he said finally, his voice low. “I guess… I’ve spent so much of my life being told who I’m supposed to be. A soldier. A leader. I didn’t think about what came next because there was never supposed to be a ‘next.’”

(Y/n) tilted her head, her expression soft. “But now there is.”

“Yeah,” Rex admitted, his hands tightening into fists on his knees. “And it scares me. I see my brothers finding their places—Kix with his clinic, Fives with his stories, Wolffe at the school. But me? I don’t know if I’m built for this. Peace, home, belonging… It feels like something meant for other people.”

(Y/n) leaned forward, her gaze unwavering. “Why not you?”

Rex looked at her, his breath catching. Her question wasn’t just simple—it was powerful. It cut through the layers of doubt and fear he had buried himself in, leaving him exposed but not vulnerable.

“I don’t know,” he said again, his voice breaking slightly. “I’ve lost so many of them. Brothers who didn’t get a chance to figure out who they were beyond the war. I carry that with me, every day. And sometimes, it feels like… like I shouldn’t get to move forward if they can’t.”

(Y/n) reached out, resting a hand lightly on his arm. Her touch was warm, steady. “You carry their memory, Rex. That’s enough. But you deserve to live, too. Not for them, not because you’re trying to make up for what’s been lost, but because you’re here. You’re alive.”

Rex closed his eyes, the weight of her words sinking in. He didn’t speak, but he didn’t pull away, either. For the first time in a long while, he allowed himself to sit with the possibility that maybe—just maybe—she was right.

****

The following morning, Rex found himself at the shop again, his excuse this time being a leaky pipe (Y/n) had mentioned in passing. She wasn’t expecting him, and when he walked in with his toolbox slung over one shoulder, she blinked at him in surprise.

“What are you doing here?” she asked, setting down the stack of books she’d been organizing.

“You said something about a shelf that’s wobbly,” Rex replied, his voice gruff but not unkind. “Figured I’d take a look.”

(Y/n) smiled, shaking her head. “You don’t have to—”

“I want to,” Rex interrupted, meeting her eyes briefly before turning toward the back room.

She watched him go, her chest tightening with a mix of warmth and something deeper—something she hadn’t quite named yet. As she went back to her work, she found herself glancing toward the back room more often than necessary, her thoughts drifting.

Meanwhile, Rex look at said shelf, tightening a stubborn screw as his thoughts swirled. Fixing things was easy. Straightforward. But the way (Y/n) had looked at him last night, the way her words had stayed with him, was anything but.

***

Later that evening, Jesse and Fives caught up with Rex at the clinic, their expressions far too knowing for Rex’s liking.

“You’re spending a lot of time at that shop,” Jesse said casually, leaning against a crate.

“(Y/n)’s shop,” Fives added, smirking. “Or should we call it your shop now?”

Rex shot them a warning look. “You two need to mind your own business.”

“Business?” Jesse said innocently. “I’m just saying, it’s nice to see you smiling more. (Y/n)’s good for you.”

“She’s a friend,” Rex said firmly, though the warmth in his chest betrayed him.

Fives exchanged a look with Jesse, his grin widening. “Sure, Captain. Whatever you say.”

As the evening wore on, Rex couldn’t shake their words. But as he made his way back toward the shop, his steps slower than usual, he began to wonder if maybe they weren’t entirely wrong.

****

Through the growing closeness of their bond, Rex and (Y/n) continued to share pieces of themselves—small moments, quiet confessions, and unspoken feelings that deepened with each passing day. 

****

The snow began to fall softly, coating Idelmor in a shimmering layer of white, turning the village into the winter wonderland Rex and his brothers had first discovered a year ago. The sight stirred a strange mixture of nostalgia and peace in Rex. He hadn’t realized just how much had changed since their arrival—not just for his brothers, but for himself.

And yet, it wasn’t Rex thinking about the transformation this time. It was his brothers, huddled together in the cottage late one evening as the fire crackled softly in the hearth.

Fives leaned forward, his elbows resting on the table as his grin gleamed in the firelight. “Alright, let’s face it. Captain ‘I-Don’t-Do-Personal’ is head over heels for (Y/n), and he doesn’t even know it.”

Jesse laughed, shaking his head. “Oh, he knows it. He’s just too stubborn to admit it.”

“More like too scared,” Kix added, his tone softer but no less pointed. “He’s spent the whole year doing things for everyone else. He doesn’t know how to think about what he wants.”

“That’s where we come in,” Fives said with a gleam in his eye. “We’ve got to give him the push he needs. And lucky for us…” He stood, moving toward the shelf near the fire where the snow globe rested, its glass catching the flickering light. “We’ve got just the thing.”

Cody raised a brow from his place near the window. “You want to use the snow globe?”

“Why not?” Fives said, holding it up. “We’ve all used it. It’s only fair we use it for Rex. He’s done more for us this year than anyone. It’s time we returned the favor.”

“And what exactly do you think it’s going to show?” Wolffe asked dryly, though the corner of his mouth twitched with amusement.

“Only one way to find out,” Fives said, setting the globe down on the table and motioning for everyone to gather around.

*** 

The brothers leaned in as Fives placed his hands firmly on the snow globe. He closed his eyes, focusing on Rex—not the soldier, not the captain, but the man they all knew and admired, the one who had been quietly building a future for everyone but himself.

The vision came quickly, blooming to life within the swirling flakes of the globe. At first, it was the village square, glowing softly under the light of lanterns and garlands. Rex stood near the fountain, his expression relaxed in a way they rarely saw. (Y/n) was beside him, her hand tucked into his, her laughter filling the space between them.

The scene shifted. The two of them were in a small house on the edge of the village. A fire crackled in the hearth, and the room was warm and alive, filled with soft light and the quiet joy of family. Two children darted around the room—one with (Y/n)’s bright blue eyes, the other with Rex’s steady gaze. The house itself felt like an extension of the happiness they shared, simple but full of warmth.

The vision faded, leaving the brothers in stunned silence.

“Did you see that?” Jesse finally whispered, breaking the stillness.

“Rex wants a family,” Kix murmured, his tone filled with quiet realization.

“With (Y/n),” Fives said, his grin widening. “I knew it.”

Wrecker, who had been unusually quiet, crossed his arms and nodded firmly. “We’ve got to make it happen.”

Cody let out a sigh, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “This is ridiculous.”

“Ridiculously brilliant,” Fives corrected. “And you’re in, Cody. Admit it.”

Cody’s silence was answer enough.

****

The next few days were a flurry of activity as the brothers threw themselves into helping decorate the village for Christmas. Strings of lanterns and garlands were hung along the rooftops, while villagers worked together to set up a towering Christmas tree in the center of the square. Jesse and Fives took charge of setting up the lights, their banter echoing through the frosty air as they climbed ladders and secured decorations.

“Think this is bright enough?” Jesse called, holding up a strand of lights that practically sparkled.

“Not until the entire galaxy can see it,” Fives shot back, earning a laugh from the gathered crowd.

Wrecker helped carry massive bundles of evergreen branches to line the walkways, his booming laugh ringing out every time a villager tried to lift something too heavy. Even Wolffe, who usually avoided anything resembling festivities, found himself roped into overseeing the placement of the ornaments on the tree.

Through it all, Rex worked quietly alongside them, his focus split between organizing supplies and watching his brothers with quiet amusement. What he didn’t notice was how often they sent meaningful glances in his direction or how deliberately they worked with (Y/n) to draw him closer to her orbit.

*** 

The night before Christmas Eve, the brothers struck. (Y/n) had agreed to stay late at the shop to help organize some of the decorations, and Fives made sure Rex was the one tasked with delivering her dinner.

“It’s just a quick drop-off,” Fives said with a grin, handing Rex a small basket of warm food. “She’s been working all day. You should check on her.”

Rex frowned, sensing something suspicious in Fives’ tone, but he didn’t argue. “Fine.”

When Rex arrived at the shop, (Y/n) greeted him with a tired but genuine smile. “Rex. What’s this?”

“Dinner,” he said simply, holding up the basket. “Fives thought you might need it.”

(Y/n) chuckled, stepping aside to let him in. The shop was dimly lit, the only illumination coming from the fire in the hearth and the glow of a few candles scattered across the counter. The warmth of the room enveloped Rex as he stepped inside, the scent of pine and cinnamon filling the air.

“I didn’t realize it was this late,” (Y/n) admitted, setting the basket on the counter. “Thank you. I could use a break.”

Rex hesitated, glancing around. “Do you need help with anything?”

(Y/n) tilted her head, studying him for a moment. “Actually, I was about to head to the square. They’ve finished decorating, and I thought I’d take a look. Want to join me?”

He paused, caught off guard by the question. “I… sure.”

*** 

The village square was aglow with light, lanterns and garlands casting a golden hue over the snow-covered ground. The Christmas tree stood tall and radiant, its ornaments sparkling in the soft light. (Y/n) and Rex walked side by side, their breaths visible in the crisp air.

(Y/n) stopped near the tree, her gaze lifting to the lights strung across the rooftops. “The lights are beautiful.”

“Yeah, they are,” Rex said softly, though his eyes weren’t on the lights. He was looking at (Y/n).

She noticed, her cheeks warming as she glanced at him. “You’re not looking at the lights.”

Rex’s lips curved into a faint smile. “Neither are you.”

They stood there for a moment, the quiet between them filled with unspoken words. (Y/n) shifted, her gloved hands curling around the edge of her coat. “Rex, can I ask you something?”

“Anything,” he said, his voice steady.

“Do you ever think about what you want?” she asked, her tone gentle but searching. “Not for your brothers, not for the village—for you.”

The question caught him off guard, his brow furrowing. “I… I don’t know. I guess I’ve spent so much time thinking about everyone else, I never really let myself consider it.”

(Y/n) nodded, her gaze dropping to the snow beneath their feet. “I think you should. Because you deserve it.”

Her words settled over him, heavy but not unwelcome. For the first time, he allowed himself to wonder—not just about the future, but about the possibility of a future with her.

“Maybe,” he said softly, meeting her eyes. “But sometimes, it’s hard to see it until someone shows you.”

(Y/n)’s breath hitched at the quiet vulnerability in his voice, and she found herself stepping closer, her fingers brushing his arm. “Then let me show you.”

Rex didn’t answer—not with words, at least. Instead, he reached for her hand, his touch tentative but steady, and for the first time, the world around them seemed to fall away.

***

From the shadows of the square, Fives, Jesse, and the others watched the scene unfold, their grins wide despite the cold.

“Finally,” Jesse muttered, shaking his head. “Took him long enough.”

“I told you this would work,” Fives said smugly, crossing his arms. “You all doubted me.”

“Don’t get cocky,” Cody muttered, though even he couldn’t hide his smile. “It’s about time he got something for himself.”

As they watched Rex and (Y/n) walk away together, their figures silhouetted against the glow of the lights, the brothers shared a quiet sense of satisfaction. For once, their captain wasn’t carrying the weight of the world—and that was a gift worth giving.

****

The village square was alive with the magic of Christmas Eve. Lanterns and garlands strung between buildings glowed softly, their light reflecting off the fresh blanket of snow that covered the ground. The towering Christmas tree in the center of the square shimmered with ornaments and strings of lights, and a gentle flurry of snowflakes swirled in the air, adding to the enchantment of the scene.

Villagers and brothers alike filled the square, their laughter and chatter blending with the melodies of a small band playing near the tree. Children darted through the crowd, clutching mugs of warm cider and marveling at the decorations. It was a celebration of joy, community, and hope, and Rex found himself quietly taking it all in from the edge of the square.

(Y/n) was somewhere in the crowd—he’d caught a glimpse of her earlier, laughing with one of the children from the school. The sight had stuck with him, warming something deep inside that he hadn’t yet put a name to.

***

Unbeknownst to Rex, his brothers—and now, Obi-Wan and Plo Koon—were watching him from a discreet distance. Fives was grinning ear to ear, his eyes gleaming with mischief as he pointed toward a carefully hung sprig of mistletoe near the fountain.

“I’m just saying,” Fives whispered, elbowing Jesse. “If they happen to end up there, it’d be… poetic.”

“Poetic?” Cody said dryly, crossing his arms. “This is the most obvious scheme you’ve ever come up with.”

“And yet,” Plo Koon said, his voice calm but amused, “it’s oddly endearing.”

Obi-Wan chuckled, his arms folded as he watched the scene unfold. “You’re lucky Rex isn’t as perceptive about his own emotions as he is about battle tactics.”

Fives waved them off, turning to Plo Koon. “You’re sure you’re good with the timing?”

The Kel Dor nodded serenely. “The Force is subtle, my friend. But in this case… perhaps a little less so.”

****

Rex spotted (Y/n) near the fountain, her arms wrapped around herself to keep warm as she admired the lights strung above. The soft glow reflected in her blue eyes, and Rex felt his feet moving before he’d even decided to approach her.

“Enjoying the view?” he asked, his voice low but warm.

(Y/n) turned, her smile lighting up her face. “I am. The boys—and the villagers—really outdid themselves.”

“They’ve been busy,” Rex agreed, though his tone carried a hint of something unspoken. His gaze lingered on her face, the way the snowflakes caught in her hair and the glow of the lights softened her features. “It’s… good to see you smiling.”

(Y/n) tilted her head, studying him for a moment. “It’s good to see you here,” she said softly. “Not just physically, but… here. With them. With us.”

Rex felt a warmth rise in his chest, but before he could reply, a light tug seemed to pull him forward. He blinked, glancing down at his boots, which had suddenly come to an unexplainable stop. Beside him, (Y/n) let out a surprised laugh.

“Did you just—?”

“No,” Rex said quickly, frowning as he tried to move his feet again. They didn’t budge. (Y/n) seemed similarly rooted to the spot.

From somewhere nearby, Fives’ voice rang out, overly casual and far too loud. “Hey, Cap! You know what they say about standing under mistletoe?”

Rex’s eyes shot up, following Fives’ pointed gesture. Sure enough, there it was—a sprig of mistletoe hanging just above their heads. He turned back to (Y/n), his brow furrowing. “Are you sure this is part of the celebrations?”

(Y/n)’s cheeks flushed a faint pink, though she laughed softly. “Positive… maybe… probably.”

Rex glanced toward the group of brothers—Fives, Jesse, Kix, and even Wolffe—who were grinning like fools. His eyes narrowed suspiciously, but before he could question their involvement, (Y/n) cleared her throat.

“It’s a legend,” she explained, her voice quick but light. “On our planet, mistletoe is supposed to bring good luck. If you stand under it with someone, you’re supposed to…” She trailed off, her cheeks warming further. “You’re supposed to kiss.”

Fives took that as his cue. “It’s tradition, Cap! You don’t want to mess with tradition.”

Jesse chimed in, his grin wide. “Yeah, Rex. It’s for good luck.”

Rex sighed, his shoulders stiffening slightly as he turned back to (Y/n). “And you’re sure this is… part of the celebrations?”

(Y/n) smiled, though there was a hint of nervousness in her eyes. “It’s… part of the legend.”

For a moment, they stood there, the snow falling softly around them as the world seemed to hold its breath. (Y/n)’s heart raced, her thoughts spinning. Rex, so steady and sure in battle, seemed almost uncertain now, his gaze searching hers for permission.

And then, slowly, he leaned closer.

Their lips met softly, tentatively, and for that moment, the noise of the square faded into nothing. The warmth of the kiss spread through Rex like the glow of the village lights, chasing away the cold and leaving only the quiet certainty that this—she—was what he had been searching for.

When they pulled apart, (Y/n) let out a soft laugh, her forehead resting briefly against his. “Well,” she said, her voice breathless but teasing, “I think we’re officially free of the mistletoe.”

Rex chuckled, his own voice low and warm. “I’m not complaining.”

****

From their hiding spot, Fives punched the air triumphantly. “That’s how it’s done.”

“I can’t believe that actually worked,” Jesse muttered, though his grin betrayed his pride.

“It’s about time,” Kix said, crossing his arms. “He’s been mooning over her for months.”

Obi-Wan and Plo Koon exchanged amused glances, the former raising a brow. “Well, I suppose the Force has many uses.”

Cody sighed, shaking his head but unable to hide the faint smirk tugging at his lips. “He’s going to kill all of you when he figures this out.”

“Worth it,” Fives said smugly. “Totally worth it.”

***

As the snow continued to fall, Rex and (Y/n) remained under the mistletoe, the glow of the village lights surrounding them. For Rex, the moment felt like something out of a dream—one he hadn’t realized he’d been waiting for. And for (Y/n), it was a moment that brought every quiet hope she’d held for the past year to life.

In the square, the lights sparkled, the music played on, and the magic of Christmas wrapped around them all.

****

The snow fell gently over Idelmor, blanketing the village in a pristine white that shimmered beneath the golden glow of lanterns and garlands. The square, once again transformed for Christmas, had never looked more radiant. Strings of lights crisscrossed the streets, evergreen wreaths adorned every door, and the towering Christmas tree at the square’s center sparkled with ornaments and ribbons that swayed gently in the winter breeze.

But tonight, the decorations weren’t the focus of attention. Tonight, it was Rex and (Y/n), standing hand in hand beneath an arch of holly and winter roses, surrounded by their brothers, villagers, and the Jedi who had also found peace on this planet. 

The crowd gathered in the square was a mix of familiar faces and new ones. Obi-Wan and Plo Koon stood near the front, their expressions warm and proud. Ahsoka was nearby, her cheeks flushed from the cold but her grin wide as she stood beside Jesse and Fives, who looked far too smug for anyone’s comfort.

****

Rex stood beneath the arch, his green and gold tunic catching the glow of the lights, though his attention was entirely on (Y/n). She walked toward him slowly, her gown flowing around her like a dream, her eyes meeting his with a steadiness that made the rest of the world fall away. 

When she reached him, they turned to face one another, their hands clasped tightly. The officiant—a cheerful villager with a deep voice and a ready smile—welcomed everyone before turning the floor over to the couple.

“Your vows,” the officiant prompted gently, stepping back.

Rex took a breath, steadying himself as he looked into (Y/n)’s eyes. “When I first came to this village, I didn’t think I’d ever find peace. I didn’t think it was something I deserved, or something I could even imagine. But then I met you.” His voice softened, his thumb brushing over her hand. “You reminded me that there’s beauty in the quiet moments. That it’s okay to hope, to dream. And standing here now, I know I’ve found my home—with you.”

(Y/n)’s lips trembled with the weight of her smile, tears glistening in her eyes. She paused, collecting herself before she spoke. “A year ago, we stood in this square, and I remember looking at these lights. I remember saying, ‘The lights are beautiful.’” She paused, her voice growing softer as her gaze held his. “But I wasn’t looking at the lights. I was looking at you.”

Rex’s chest tightened, emotion sweeping through him as the crowd around them fell utterly silent. The words hung between them, carrying the memory of their first steps toward each other. 

“And now,” (Y/n) continued, her voice steadying, “I get to stand here with you and promise that you’ll always have a home. Not just in this village, but with me. With us.”

The officiant stepped forward again, smiling broadly. “Then, by the power vested in me by the good people of Idelmor, I pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride.”

Rex didn’t hesitate. He stepped forward, cupping (Y/n)’s face gently as he kissed her, the crowd erupting into cheers and applause around them. The kiss was soft but sure, a promise made under the glow of the lights and the soft swirl of snow.

****

As the celebration began, with music and dancing filling the square, Rex and (Y/n) found themselves wandering away from the main crowd. The snow was still falling, dusting their hair and shoulders as they walked hand in hand toward the edge of the square.

“Do you think we can hide from them for a bit?” Rex asked with a faint smile, glancing back toward the crowd, where Fives was already attempting to lead Wrecker in some sort of coordinated dance.

(Y/n) laughed softly, squeezing his hand. “I wouldn’t count on it.”

They stopped beneath one of the lantern poles near the edge of the square, the glow from the light casting a warm halo around them. (Y/n) tilted her head back, her gaze catching on something just above their heads.

“Mistletoe,” she murmured, her cheeks flushing faintly.

Rex followed her gaze, a low chuckle rumbling in his chest. “Let me guess. Fives?”

“Probably,” (Y/n) said with a laugh, though her voice softened as she looked back at him. “Are you sure this is part of the celebrations?”

“Positive,” Rex replied, his smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Maybe… probably.”

(Y/n)’s laughter was quiet but warm, and before she could say anything else, Rex leaned down, brushing his lips against hers. The kiss was slower this time, deeper, carrying with it all the love and quiet understanding that had grown between them over the past year.

***

From their hiding spot near the tree, Fives elbowed Jesse with a grin. “What did I tell you? Best. Plan. Ever.”

“I’ll give you this one,” Jesse muttered, though he couldn’t hide his grin. “But if they figure it out, you’re taking the fall.”

Obi-Wan shook his head, though his smile was genuine. “I believe they’re past the point of caring who orchestrated this.”

Plo Koon, standing beside him, inclined his head. “Indeed. The Force may have nudged them together, but it’s their bond that carried them here.”

Cody watched the couple from a distance, his expression unreadable for a moment before he shook his head with a faint smirk. “He deserves this.”

***

As Rex and (Y/n) returned to the celebration, the music swelled, the brothers raised their glasses, and the villagers cheered. The magic of Christmas wrapped around them all, a fitting continuation of a love story that had started under the same lights, in the same snow, just a year before.

For Rex, the lights truly were beautiful. But like (Y/n), he wasn’t looking at them anymore.

He was looking at his future as he craddled his hand over his wife’s growing bump.

[up-designs-metal-art]

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Available in various sizes and finishes, the Yin Yang Tree adapts seamlessly to any room’s décor, whether it's a tranquil meditation space, a thought-provoking office, or a living room that celebrates natural and spiritual elements. It invites viewers to reflect on the interconnectedness of all things and serves as a sophisticated statement piece that bridges the gap between art and philosophy.

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[sims4t2bb]

update: part 2

Continuing the update with the rest of EPs and Game Packs!

— Expansion Packs

Cottage Living

Cottagecore default replacement conversion by @morepopcorn has been added.

Wisteria Specimen - Horizontal A, A++, B, C, and Vertical, and debug Dark-Eyed Daisy, English Oak, Fern, Fern Group, Field Maple, Foxglove, Holly, Lavender Bush, Scots Pine, Wayfairing Tree, Wild Rose Bush, Ivy Walls, and Wisteria Walls conversions by @tvickiesims have been added.

Eighth Wonder Curtains conversion by @platinumaspiration has been added.

High School Years

Chiffon Shades, Crafted Covering, Dazzling Designer Drapery, Even More Ruffles and Wings, Lovely Layered Curtains, Ruffles and Wings, Sheer Beauty, Studious Shades, Tall Lovely Layered Curtains, and Woven Wonder Drapes conversions by @platinumaspiration have been added.

Growing Together

Debug Eucalyptus Tree, Sidewalk Tree, and Topiary Bird conversions by @tvickiesims have been added.

Cousin Vik's Gifted Curtain and Pompous Poms Curtain (Left, Right) conversions by @platinumaspiration have been added.

Horse Ranch

Venue Wall Speaker: Ranch default replacement conversion by @morepopcorn has been added.

Debug Dead Mexican Ebony Tree, Dead Oak Tree, and Grapevine conversions by @tvickiesims have been added.

Range Rustic Cabinet, Range Rustic Counter, and Range Rustic Island conversions by @megamassikalove have been added.

For Rent

Debug Jasmine Shrub conversion by @tvickiesims has been added.

Debug Industrial Cluster Mailbox and Rural Cluster Mailbox conversions by @landgraabbed have been added.

The 'How Many Times Do We Need To Tell You It's Not Silk' Taller Wall Curtain, The 'Save Us From The Ruin' Tallest Cinched Wall Curtain, The 'So You Know The Truth' Taller Cinched Wall Curtain, and The 'We Are Going To Jail' Tallest Wall Curtain conversions by @platinumaspiration have been added.

Lovestruck

Colored Folding Chair, Gothic Ring Leather Seat, Artisanal Harmony Living Chair, Shell-Fish Style Seater, Gothic Leather Sectional Couch, Symphony of Marshmallows Seat, Gothic Tassel Leather Seat, Symphony of Elegance Ottoman, Artisanal Harmony Wooden Table, Gloss Finish Nightstand, and more conversions by Ladysimplayer8 have been added.

Debug Axolotl conversion by @jacky93sims has been added.

Life and Death

The filterable page is now available!

A link to the filterable page in the pinned post has been added.

— Game Packs

Spa Day

See It, See Them - Glass Tiered Shelf conversion by @jacky93sims has been added.

Vampires

Iron Victorian Fence, Triple Wrought Heavy Duty Gate, Dry Rose Bush, Painted Fern, and debug Vampire Shrub conversions by @tvickiesims have been added.

Parenthood

Brohill Single Bed with Storage, Metal Framed Single Bed, Let the Sun Shine Window Sheers and Stain Resistant Window Valance conversions by @platinumaspiration have been added.

Jungle Adventure

Venue Wall Speaker: Latin and Venue Wall Speaker: Latin Pop default replacement conversions by @morepopcorn have been added.

Brazilwood, Ficus, Ivy Palm, Tree Fern, Bromeliad Plant, Canna Plant, Swiss Cheese Plant, Grass Clump, and Maidenhair Fern conversions by @tvickiesims have been added.

Strangerville

Debug Cactus Group, Desert Bush, Joshua Tree, Long Flowered Cactus, Round Cactus Shrub, Round Flowered Cactus, and Tall Flowered Cactus conversions by @tvickiesims have been added.

Realm of Magic

Otherworldly Curtains, Sprightly Curtains, and Titania's Curtains conversions by @platinumaspiration have been added.

Dream Home Decorator

Friendly Little Curtains, Slightly Friendlier Little Curtains, and Super Friendly Little Curtains conversions by @platinumaspiration have been added.

My Wedding Stories

Debug Twisted Tree conversion by @tvickiesims has been added.

Effortless Cinched Curtain, Effortless Straight Curtain, Slightly Longer - Still Effortless Cinched Curtain, and Slightly Longer - Still Effortless Straight Curtain conversions by @platinumaspiration have been added.

Werewolves

Debug Black Spruce, Devil's Club, and Larch conversions by @tvickiesims have been added.

Left Tarp and Right Tarp conversions by @platinumaspiration have been added.

[yellowcry]

Special just the way you are

Eleven years ago, Mirabel wouldn't believe how far she had come today

@encantober-official prompt - Thread

Just a little more left!

Mirabel sat under the fluffy tree. The burning sun crawled against her skin, light wind ruffled her hair. The cold metal pins clanged against each other. This was her day off, so naturally she would spend it on her hobby rather than making embroidery for the local tailor. Nobody seemed really surprised when Mirabel said she was going to tie her life to embroidery.

Mirabel loved embroidery. This was something she realized back in the beginning of school when she was very young. They were taught some basic sewing skills. In the very least how to patch a clothes or embroider something small. And suddenly she found herself drawn to it. Her various skirts were growing in decorations. Same to her family, except for the fact that theirs was professional. But Mirabel didn't feel like she deserved it (sometimes she really wished to hug her younger-self), so she decorated her clothes herself. Stitch after stitch. Even after collapse, embroidery was always a constant. Like an old friend, ready to embrace her no matter the day. If she was anxious, if the walls felt like they would crush... Mirabel would pick her needle and embroider her feelings away. With the passing years the flow of the thread became easier. And the style became finer, more delicate. And she loved how this life was going. Simple but steady.

The woman closed her eyes, listening to the whispers of the faded leaves. After all these years, Mirabel was proud to say she came this far. Yes, pain of the past didn't let go completely. But compared to what was ten years ago? She was in a far better place. There were good days, there were bad days.

There was a heavy thud as somebody dropped besides her. 'Luisa' – she thought briefly. Simply from the estimated size.

"What cha' doin'?" Luisa looked down, resting her head in her hands.

"Oh just some knitting to relax." Mirabel shrugged. "Have you checked Paloma's dress design? Should I start working on the embroidery?"

This was one of the things that made Mirabel nervous lately. This was another gift ceremony to come. And, unlike Teresa, Luisa's daughter was very stubborn. There was no way to force her if she didn't want to comply. So naturally, Mirabel was worried. She was the one decorating her family's clothes for the last few years. And, obviously it included ceremony dresses. With all their white lace and sunny golden flows.

"Looks great to me. But I haven't asked her yet." And even when they asked, knowing her sobrina Mirabel was sure she would find something to complain about in the end. Making her redo the embroidery. Paloma just had to take Mirabel's attention to details and Isabela's demanding nature. The only really good thing is that she wasn't into insane level of energy like Luisa. "Why does my girl grow so fast? I'm so very not ready!"

And Luisa could agree. It feels like just yesterday Mirabel was knitting a blanked to wrap newborn in. Just yesterday Luisa seemed to be freaking out, unsure if she was ready to be a parent. Now she was so grown up. Even if there wasn't such pressure as it used to be back in the day. Ceremony was probably still the most important day for any Madrigal. And Mirabel couldn't allow anything but her best for such an important event. Call her whatever you want, but it was her sobrina. And it was a big event too, pretty much everyone would be at the ceremony. So, there was a worry of not doing it good enough. Failing her supposed job

The fact Paloma was so big already was unbelievable. Needing her very own ceremonial dress. All embroidered and decorated. Jewellery dancing in the snow. And even stranger for Mirabel was her own role at this all. Back at Antonio's ceremony, she would never think anyone dared to give her such an important role. Embellish costume that was the most important for them all. 

Of course, Mirabel did decorated clothes for her family included. But when ceremony was such an important event in life, Mirabel felt even more honoured by this. And also wanting it to be even better, even despite Luisa assuring Mirabel she shouldn't overwork herself (and interrupting her work sometimes to ensure Mirabel had rest enough). But then again, it wasn't just about Luisa. It was about a birthday girl. And Mirabel wanted to be sure it was the best day of her life. It was hard, of course. Sometimes thinking about upcoming celebration was just too much. A salt into old wound. Even it was over twenty years, Mirabel wasn't sure she would ever forget it. The trauma didn't define who she was, not anymore. But it was a ever-living presence. She wanted to be present at the ceremony. Just for her love to Luisa. But, just as it happened with Teresa, her parental cousins allowed Mirabel to stay over with them.  

But, after doing one more ceremony, after ten years since the last one, when Antonio was getting his own gift, it did calm Mirabel's anxiety a bit. It was all okay, she didn't feel as bad as the last time. And for now, Mirabel wanted to focus on what she had to do in the moment. Bringing the dress to life, painting in write and gold. Just to ensure she made the best dress of all time for her special little girl. And know Paloma would have fun at the party. No matter if it was successful or failed, leaving the girl with empty hands. Let her know her family loved her regardless.

[hanibalistic]

CELESTIAL STRINGS | HAN JISUNG.

genre | fluff, angst, romance, friendship / soulmate au, magic au 

synopsis | having been alone most of your life, the last thing you thought would gain you a few friends and a home was helping a random boy get past the school gate after he was late.

word count | 14.1k+

warning | violence, mentions of blood and injuries / mentions of death and killing ​

note | limiting 1000 blocks per post is the single most stupidest thing tumblr

parts | one, two, three

Jisung gave the school gate a kick for his frustration. It did not release his inner turmoil.

Having woken up late this morning, he spent his entire morning rushing his routine. His uniform was sloppy, his hair was disheveled and his breath probably smelt of the ugly morning air, his toast with Nutella spread across unevenly was only half-eaten before it flew out of his grip as he stumbled across a pit of air. The worst part of it was that he had wasted a full minute watching its poor, fallen figure, his mind mourning the fact that it was the Nutella part that touched the ground instead of the bread.

As if he was going to pick it back up and dust it off for consumption anyway if the Nutella faced skyward.

There were more little tragedies hidden in between the above-mentioned examples, and all of that hard work was reduced to nothing when Jisung found himself standing before a locked gate.

All the effort and sacrifices made to make sure he is not late to school. All the effort and sacrifices (specifically skipping his breakfast because he was rushing to get out of his house) yet he was still not acknowledged by the prefect, who had promptly spun on her heels and marched away at the call of the first school bell, leaving Jisung behind those rusty bars just as the school rules and the discipline teacher told her to do. 

It was great. Not only was he unable to head to class, but he also left a bad impression on the pretty senior prefect.

“Fantastic,” Jisung muttered under his breath when everything was, in fact, not fantastic.

Touching the fence with his fingers, Jisung gave himself a brief moment of evaluation as he gave the metal a quick squeeze and feigned the movement of pulling himself up to test out the weight. A huff of groan left his lips as his feet dropped back down on the ground. His brows were immediately furrowed at the seemingly impossible task.

It felt too heavy to have to pull himself up, not to mention the gate was about the same height as the giant brick wall attached to either side of it. He could not have been able to jump over the fence due to the sharp edges at the top end, which he thought was unnecessary and dramatic to be added as an additional decoration to the already heavily patterned gate.

Jisung released a hopeless sigh when he realized there was no other way to let himself in unless he called up a friend, which was even more unreasonable than the previous ideas he had got under his sleeve. 

Patting his jeans with his palms, he braced himself emotionally to endure the overuse of strength to pull himself up before he kicked for leverage and grabbed onto the fence. He struggled as he reached up one arm for support for the gate board, huffing immensely.

“Hey! Do you need a hand?”

Jisung turned his head to the voice and, with his lack of concentration on his arms, he released himself down on the ground and stumbled back a few steps before gathering his composure again. 

You glanced at his messy uniform with a grimace as you emerged from the shadow of the tall tree behind the school wall. You took a peek first, your intentions tentative and cautious, as if a high school boy could do you any harm. The rays of the sun slowly began to drown atop your face as you emerged from the shade of the tree, leaving spots of faux freckles on your cheeks and brightening the judgemental soul in your eyes. The wind glided across you two, artificially knocking the breath out of Jisung’s lungs. 

For a genuine moment, he thought you were pretty as could be.

“No, I am fine! I can climb this easily! This is nothing!” Jisung waved his hand as he spoke between nervous laughs. 

He did realize that trying to play cool when he was caught red-handed and in desperate need of help was most possibly one of the worst ideas he has ever thought of, but did his intuition stop him from doing it anyway? No. It did not.

You raised your eyebrows at him in mild amusement. You saw him struggling to bring himself up the fence just a few seconds ago, but if he was too embarrassed to admit that to you, you were perfectly fine with letting the matter go and heading on your own way. You had only stopped to help him because you thought it would be a quick ordeal, not because you got free time on your hands.

Shrugging, you nodded and continued to walk ahead. “Alright then. Have a great day at school.”

A comical silence fell upon the two of you. Instead of the raven cawing thrice way too close above his head, the silence was counted in the form of your footsteps. Your boots hit the brick ground, scraping against it with each step to remind him that his only help (potentially, at least) was slowly walking away from him. 

Jisung raised his hand a little to do a small beckoning that went completely unnoticed as he turned his head down to the floor, bewildered that you had left him alone.

What was more important? He asked himself. Was it impressing someone who knew you were lying your heads off, or was it filling out the test paper he had spent three nights studying for? What was more important, Jisung? A fish in the sea or your academic success?

He huffed with a pout and spun around to face your back. “Wait a second! I do need some help!”

You paused and turned to look over your shoulder at him. Your brows were furrowed in faint annoyance, and when you met Jisung’s eyes, it was very likely he had caught onto the negativity you were expressing with your eyes since he immediately shrunk back with his shoulders and clamped his lips together. 

He really should have just asked for help the first time; something about what he did felt a little pathetic, and you were pretty sure he felt the extra embarrassment, too.

Reaching your hand to your backpack, you hastily unzipped its front pocket and reached inside to pull out a small, rectangular-shaped plastic board. It has colored strings wrapped around it several times, all lined up in a row, and some thicker in a pile than the other. The strings gleamed under the sunlight in a way that Jisung had never seen things reflect light before. It was like a turned-off screen or the surface of jelly crystals. He could not deduce. 

You tugged at the end of the red string row and pulled out an ample amount before you snapped it away from the plastic board.

“Turn around,” you told Jisung once you approached him.

Jisung widened his eyes in confusion. “What–“

“I am going to hoist you up, and you are going to climb over the fence, okay?” you said, linking and twisting the red string in your hands, creating a pattern unfamiliar to anything Jisung had ever seen. Before you could chant a spell, your eyes glared up at Jisung, and you paused your movements.

He was staring at the string in your hand. He recognized your action to be a game he played occasionally with his friends in school. It was a game of Ayatori, the game of strings. Except he has never been able to play it far enough to create the pattern you just did with your two hands.

“Hello? Do you want my help or not?” you asked to break the silence, waving your hands in front of his face while keeping it still in its position. “I don’t have all day.” 

Jisung seemed to shake his head slightly. His hair waved along with the slight tremble of his head, then he blinked a few times to fully pull himself back from his thoughts. “Um, yes, yeah. Sorry about that.” He nodded at you and quickly turned around when you gave him a sudden glare, a grimace forming on his face.

You pursed your lips as you watched his back, making sure he wasn’t trying anything sneaky to peek behind you. Those curious eyes were what you knew all too well of, and one thing you knew for sure was that nothing ever goes well for you when you choose to entertain their owners, especially when they realized you weren’t just someone with magic tricks up your sleeves, like bunnies in top hats or pigeons hidden behind coats, but instead someone with magic–magic, like the classic fireballs and the inhumane strength.

None of which were the dominant aspect of magic, mind you. The human perception of magic users—also humans, but a distinction has to be made somehow—was highly skewed, and your people may as well be funny wizards at this point. You used to find amusement in the matter until it inconvenienced your life. But, granted, magic users usually stay within their cities. Your case was just different. 

“Imperium Viribus,” you muttered under your breath and let your fingers—which supported the string's glyphic pattern—straighten themselves. But instead of falling limp around the gaps of your fingers, the red string floated in mid-air and levitated itself just above their tips.

The string shone a pure shade of white, outlining the ruby red color made out of crystalline and what felt like beads. The strings were a product of your family’s mass business; you never did learn why they chose its materials to be so similar to friendship bracelets. The glyphic figure cut itself in half to move towards both of your hands, which were loosely extended with patience. The pattern it once was faded into a circle as it shifted, moving to a stop when the circle gap was big enough to go through your hands.

It moved downwards towards your wrist, the vibration of its pure magic raising goosebumps on your forearms, and it wrapped itself around your wrist perfectly. You looked at the red strings that adorned both of your wrists, and you grimaced. 

They were somewhat like bracelets, technically. 

Jisung winced in surprise when he felt you place your hand on either side of his waist. He tensed up, his arms involuntarily raising to avoid your skin. Your fingers found their place along his slender figure, and your thumb pressed against his back gently. He willed himself not to shiver at your fairy-like touch while the red blush on his cheek ran wild and spread to his ears.

“On three!” You gave his waist a firmer grip once as a signal to prepare before you moved your legs into a better stance. Looking upwards at the gate, thankfully gliding right past his red ears, you calculated the strength needed with your squinted eyes before you exhaled. “One, two, three!”

You moved your arms up while Jisung jumped to aid your action. However, due to your wrongful calculations, you have overpowered the muscles in your arm, and instead of hoisting the poor boy up so he could grab onto the gate's ledge, you made the mistake of literally throwing him over to the other side.

Jisung let out a panicked shriek when he felt himself lung forward without any kind of momentum. Reaching his hand back in hopes of grabbing anything, all he could catch was air before his shoulder hit the dusty ground of the walking track, then his body and legs. His body hit the ground with a thud, and for a split second, Jisung could not think of anything but the big question marks and exclamation marks roaming in his head.

Your mouth was hung open as you watched the terrible flip happen before your eyes, your hands pausing in an awkward position right under your chin. As Jisung groaned and withered slightly in pain on the ground, you took tentative steps toward the gate and wrapped your hands around the fence.

Leaning forward, you gave Jisung a concerning scan before asking, “Are you okay? I am so sorry about this!”

Your phone vibrated in your pocket, and you knew immediately that your boss was texting you about being late. Damn, time sure passed fast. You thought you had a few more minutes to spare for this boy. You supposed you could find a space and cast a teleportation spell, though, so everything should be fine.

“Hey, look! I am sorry again, but I have to go now!” you exclaimed in between the fence at Jisung, who was shaking off the soreness of his body as he stood up. “Take care of yourself, alright! And head to class. You are late!”

“Yeah, I know that!” he exclaimed without looking at you, too busy dusting himself off and checking out the bleeding scrape on his arm.

A small rock must have scratched his skin when he fell. He didn’t even feel it due to the overall impact of the fall. When he glanced back up at you, wanting to thank you for the help instead of hollering at you for throwing him over the gate, you were already gone.

The road you were walking through was familiar to you. 

For one, you take the same path to head to your part-time job every early morning. You could safely say you knew every architecture of this road like the back of your hand—from the small church where the pastor would occasionally hand you a small cupcake when he saw you walking past to the stray calico cat that paces on the same brick wall every morning. You have yet to befriend it.

For two, you threw a boy over the school gate just this morning. It was possibly one of the most memorable things you have done the entire month, aside from meeting the worst customers at your part-time job and trying so damn hard not to manifest spikes and vines from the ground to give them a life lesson.

It was infuriating. Unbelievable, even. The fact that you have all the power, yet somehow you became the minority and gained the need to hide as soon as you stepped into a land where the majority of people lack magic in their veins. Even though it was more of an issue of human decency and choosing not to pick fights with people much smaller than you. 

Glancing at the school, you could see students piling out of the school gate in crowds separated by small friend groups. Looking at the sun, you hummed a little, acknowledging that it was already time for schools to let their students out. 

Stifling an annoyed groan, you straightened your back and grabbed onto the straps of your bag, preparing yourself as if you were about to walk through a battlefield. It was your fault for leaving work later than usual; technically, you could have clocked out the second time struck, but you had wanted to finish what you were tasked to do when you went to work and should have finished before your shift ended. Regardless, you had hoped to get the chance to walk through an empty street.

Something was unsettling about being the only person in the crowd not wearing a school uniform despite being the same age as everyone else. It was for your own peace of mind. Everyone else could assume you were just a young-looking adult, and they probably thought that. Paranoia sets out to make you overthink every glance and every whispered word you can detect. Everything ultimately gets transferred to a piece of self-judgment you could never forget.

Unconsciously, you lowered your head and decided to speedwalk through this herd of teenagers. Halfway through the crowd, you could hear a familiar voice calling out. 

Although unsure whether the voice was reaching out to you, you chose to spare the owner a glance anyway and immediately met eyes with the boy you helped in the morning. Jisung caught your gaze, recognized your face, and raised his arm for a wave. Your legs stopped moving as you waited for him to run towards you, an action that was out of the ordinary for you. 

Jisung abruptly stopped in front of you, and then he bent down to catch his breath. Throughout his rushing over to your side, the natural smile never once left his cheeky face. How he seemed glad to see you made you slightly lower your guard.

“Hello!” he greeted you enthusiastically as soon as he stood up straight, his luscious hair bouncing with the movements of his body.

You gave him a weak nod in return. “Hi. How is your hand?”

Jisung widened his eyes, not knowing you saw the injury when you left early in the morning. He moved to touch the white bandage around his palm and twisted his wrist a little as if to soothe out the pressure of its tightness. Then he looked back up at you, his eyes crinkling into an assuring smile. “It is fine. Were you worried?”

You tilted your head at him, eyebrows raising for a moment before you shrugged. You were not. Despite your meet-cute being the most interesting thing this month, you barely thought about him. However, now that he has presented himself to you, it was basic decency to ask. “I did throw you over the gate. The least I can do is worry a little about what I caused.”

The corner of Jisung’s lips curled downwards in approval as he nodded. On that note, he did have the urge to ask you how you easily hoisted him over the ledge of the gate like that when he could barely manage to pull himself up. He has been obsessing over it during lunch and even got his friends to make hypothetical conclusions. None of which he liked, though. 

His chance to ask you about it vanished when you gave him a curt nod of farewell.

“Well then, goodbye,” you said.

“Wait! I haven’t thanked you yet!” he exclaimed immediately, reaching out halfway to you before you suddenly turned around. He cleared his throat and quickly removed his extended arm, hiding it behind his back where his fingers were extended straight in nervousness that he had almost touched you unannounced.

Sensing that you were allowing him to properly thank you for helping him sneak into the school and essentially breaking the rules, Jisung placed his hands back to his front and lightly bent his waist to a bow. He cleared his throat and spoke in a more serious tone, “Um… thank you for helping me get to school today.”

You grimaced at the formality. You didn’t need the gratitude. It does you no good. But, due to your lack of desire to engage in a further conversation, you nodded in response. “It’s nothing. Just don’t be late next time.”

“I wish I could, but it is hard trying to get up after pulling an all-nighter and only sleeping for two hours,” Jisung complained with a stomp of his foot, an adorable pout forming on his face.

You blinked at how he just initiated a conversation right on the spot. He could have just laughed and said, “Okay,” but no, he commented something that would compel you to say something in return. You weren’t even sure if he had intended for his comment to lead to anything. It was just an opportunity placed right in front of you to chat more with him, an opportunity you really did not wish to take.

“Just don’t go to school then. No one is stopping you,” you said, going against your will and being just about the worst conversation killer ever.

“Uh, my parents are stopping me,” Jisung gasped in faint irritation at the thought and shook his head. “Besides, education is needed for me to live a comfortable life. If comfortable is defined as barely scraping by.” 

You hummed then, your lips curling down in acknowledgment. A painful flash sparked in your eyes at the mention of family, which Jisung could not notice due to the short time it stayed. Your emotion quickly bumped back to your normal state, and you frowned at how he seemed to talk down on occupations. He was right, but you being in the position he implied he would hate to be in felt like an insult to your lifestyle.

A part-time job works wonders! If you have magic that makes you extremely adaptive, that was.

“Okay.” You shrugged with an exaggerated pull of your facial features. 

“What about you?” Jisung asked then, ignoring your obvious unwillingness to talk. “Why aren’t you in school?”

“My parents aren’t stopping me,” you replied. “They’re not here.”

“Oh, so you came from somewhere else?” He assumed, tilting his head with a small clap. “Are you traveling?”

“No, they’re dead,” you revealed. Dropped a bomb, even. “My parents are dead.”

Jisung felt his mind blackout, yet his eyes focused on your features. Your words were easy and understandable, and they were immediately processed in his brain—your parents were dead, which made you an orphan, which would explain why you were not dressed in uniform. But what about your other family members? Surely someone stepped up to be your guardian! What about social workers? Foster care? 

The tragedy he could easily comprehend. Or, at least, the surface level of it he could understand. Anything further than that remained a question. What he could not grasp quickly was how to respond to your statement. His immense amount of empathy was ready to jump out of his throat at any given moment, but he wasn’t sure if encouragement would serve as a mockery to you. How long has it been? What could he say? What is there to say that could change reality? 

Nothing much. Comfort is a scam, and people, with their little emotional hearts, fall for it every time.

Amid his thought process, you took his silence as an opportunity for you to quickly flee the conversation.

You had not thought to expose that aspect of your life, albeit it didn’t matter since he was a total stranger, and there was a ninety-nine percent chance you would never see him again. There was a knot in your chest, unexplainable and weird. What about this boy made you spill a secret that has been tightly sealed behind your lips for years?

His stoic reaction to your past added to your helplessness, which amplified your urge to get out of the crowd and be at a place where you could breathe on your own. You might have to get farther away than needed as students were making their way home, or you could wait in the shadows as usual. 

“Anyway,” you muttered quietly under your breath, not caring if he could hear you or not. “Take care.”

You spun on your heels and quickly left the scene.

The tutorial center was less boring than usual, but Jisung knew it was only because he was preoccupied with what you said back at the school gate.

It was very much within his character to let his head linger on a stranger whose name he still has no idea of. More often than not, people give their condolences, and they forget them after a brief moment of grieving. At the end of the day, the disaster was not upon their life but another. But Jisung had always tended to put the responsibility on himself to feel as others do, and he remembers even after days and weeks.

Needless to say, Jisung felt extremely conflicted. He wasn’t sure why he thought letting you slip away this afternoon would be a bad idea when he knew he had a lot to tell you. A lot of heartfelt, encouraging, friendly words he wanted to say. And a big bear hug to temporarily release your hidden sorrows if you let him.

Breathing a soft sigh to collect himself, Jisung walked along the dark path leading him back to his home. As he made his way past the convenience store between two residential areas, he glanced up at the sign for no apparent reason other than to change the position of his neck and to face a different scenery.

Then he caught sight of you. What a miracle coincidence! It took him a second to make sense of you before his heart leaped happily. You were sitting by the glass pane, where the bar tables and chairs were located, and you were too busy blowing at the instant noodle to care about the approaching figure outside in the street. You looked up only when Jisung made his way to the glass and started knocking gently at the window.

Your eyes rounded at his grinning face, and for one moment, you almost let yourself glare him off. You thought better of it, considering that he probably meant no harm and only wanted to say hello before going about his night. But you did curse under your breath at this sudden encounter—how did you two bump into each other? This is a big district with hundreds of convenience stores! Why did it have to be this one?

Ignoring your vulgar thoughts against destiny and its irregular plans for you, you waved back half-heartedly at the enthusiastic Jisung standing before the glass pane, and then you flicked your wrist to give him a shooing motion.

“Go. Leave. Go home,“ you told him, emphasizing the shapes of your lips.

His hand stopped, and he tilted his head, most likely understanding you but not yet deciding whether he wanted to follow your wish. You watched as those brows of his furrowed a fraction and his eyes flashed rebelliously, then he shook his head and walked over to the convenience store's front door. 

Your grip on your chopsticks loosened in defeat as you deadpanned at yourself, waiting for Jisung’s arrival.

“Good evening!” Jisung said once he was standing beside you, somewhere next to the stool at your side.

“Good evening,” you greeted back, glancing at him briefly.

Jisung ignored the lack of enthusiasm in your voice, which he kind of knew was not from exhaustion caused by a day’s worth of work but that you simply did not want to talk to him. It was abnormal of him to pester someone longer than welcomed, but the gravitational pull at his chest made him continue in his pursuit. He held the straps of his backpack just to take it off and dump it on the countertop. Jumping onto the tall stool, he adjusted his position before turning his head over to look at you.

He observed you momentarily, watching as you slurp at your noodle and disregard his presence. You stopped making that soft, angered expression, the one with constantly furrowed brows and pursing your lips. Jisung took it as a cue to start talking to you again.

He carefully leaned a little towards your side to ask in a small voice. “How was your day?”

You did not look at him when you replied, “Everything is normal. Just eating some dinner, which you should too.”

Jisung nodded, a look of realization dawning on his face at the mention of dinner. You felt relieved when you saw him drop off the chair and look around the store, thinking he would finally leave you to your own devices. You were wrong. 

After glancing around the store, Jisung returned his attention to you and asked, “Can you save me the seat?”

You looked at him with questioning eyes. “Why?”

“So I can get dinner,” Jisung said, pointing toward the cashier. He then giggled, a light snort coming out of his nose. “Well, I know there isn’t anyone here, but just in case, you know!”

“No, I mean as in–“ you paused, then sighed in faint distress. “Go home, have dinner with your family.”

He continued to smile at you for the next quiet minute. Not going to lie, it was hurtful when you kept trying to push him away like this. It made him wonder if he had done anything wrong. If he did, he wouldn’t be able to catch on unless you specifically tell him because the way he has treated you since the moment you two met each other is friendly, and friendly is never wrong in his eyes.

It was so easy for him to just leave you alone, though. There were absolutely no important reasons why he should stay and put in effort just to befriend you. He simply wanted to. Jisung wanted to get to know you, which he supposed was a reason important enough for him to pursue his goal. He assumed you were lonely. And weirdly, every time he glances at you, there seems to be this magnetic pull yanking him towards you.

Jisung thought it was a small crush he developed, a feeling that sparked from you helping him during the morning. It could disappear soon, but he had chosen to act upon it. Despite knowing it was very impolite of him to continue his curious advances, Jisung decided that as long as you hadn’t explicitly told him to leave you alone, he wouldn’t.

“No.” He smiled.

That was an upfront refusal. It was even comical. You were unprepared for such a reaction, so you offered him silence as you frequently did. Jisung patted his bag and sent you a nod, then he turned to go around the store so he could find something to eat. Meanwhile, you continued to devour the cup noodles in your hands and tried to ignore the warning signs in your head.

Dealing with people on a long-term basis has never been your thing. You have been alone ever since a young age, in a place where people were completely different from you and where people had not been the nicest to your kind (the magic-wielding kind). You doubted their indecency stemmed from hatred, though. It felt more like general uncertainty, something of caution, which, to be fair, you held the same over them. If anything, you were more aware of your advantage over these regular people.

Due to that, you were left unwilling to befriend anybody, and you would much rather be left alone most of the time.

It was the first step for you, a giant step as it seemed, to have a meal with someone else. You were so used to staying quiet as you ate that the foreign concept of chit-chatting and eating was almost exciting. Gulping a dry patch down your throat, you glared at the soup and clenched your jaw in dismay.

Not only did the act go against your life compass, but you were also left feeling confused about your feelings because while your head told you it would cause trouble if you let the boy into your life, your heart was giddy and nervous upon the encounter.

“You are being really tense.”

Jisung’s sudden input made you relax, not because he calmed you but because you wanted to go against his observations and silently prove him wrong. Your muscles loosened up immediately, and you let out a breath you had been holding when you were too busy thinking up all the ways you could fuck up this little dinner time with—what was his name?

“What is your name? My name is [Name],” you blurted out. The tension that you let go of traveled back and became visible at once. Your fingers tightened around the wooden chopsticks, giving their structure a small crack as you did.

Jisung blinked at you in shock. He was putting down his previously microwaved box dinner, carefully minding how his fingertips touched the edge of the plastic container because it was so hot there was smoke coming from the graphic surface. But every thought that littered his mind was blown away now that you had, for the first time, initiated a conversation and asked for his name.

“Nevermind. I never asked.” You turned away to hide your face when he didn’t give you a response, thinking perhaps your approach was too abrupt, which it was, but Jisung didn’t mind that aspect one bit.

“No, no, no! My–my name is Jisung! Han Jisung, or just Jisung,” he quickly replied when he saw your mood change. He got onto the stool clumsily, having all his attention focused on your turned head. His eyes seemed almost desperate if you had given yourself the chance to look at him.

He grabbed the counter's edge and said, “Sometimes people call me Han too, but you can call me whatever you like.”

The fact that he sounded just as nervous as you made you feel slightly better about yourself. Your mind relaxed into a more natural state where, for once, it was not overthinking everything, and you slowly turned your head to face Jisung, whose eyes brightened as soon as you reacted. He could almost see your soul open up to him, the way you let your guard down when you finally offered him your first smile.

“Hello, Jisung,” you said softly.

“Hi, [Name]!” Jisung grinned.

Your heart was giddy again. It thumped closely to your ribs in hopes of getting closer to the vessel of warmth sitting next to you. How long has it been since you’ve made a friend in an unprofessional setting? You only knew it had been years. All your friends are colleagues much older than you, those stressing about universities, or those with multiple mouths to feed back home. It has been a while since you last made a friend the same age as you. The accomplished feeling dwelling in your chest was overpowering the alarms blaring in your head.

You two went about to do your own thing after the brief but needed introduction. You continued to enjoy your cup noodles even though you were almost finished with the entire bowl. Jisung went ahead to devour the box dinner he had just got, inhaling the food so quickly that he was almost caught up with you when he finished his dinner.

You two were surrounded by sounds of chewing and plastic bottles being gripped. It was anything but words, and it was getting distastefully awkward that you were starting to shrink back into your personal shell.

Jisung had been too busy deciding whether he wanted to bring up the sensitive topic of your deceased parents. You had finally opened up a little part of yourself to him by giving him your name. The last thing he wanted was to scare you away by reminding you of a traumatic past. 

Heaving a sigh, he casually shifted his head to your side to stretch his neck out a little, and then something lining up your forearm caught his sight.

The identical red string he saw you play around in the morning lingered tightly on your forearm. Sitting perfectly next to it were two more strings of two different colors: green and black. 

Chewing as he stuffed another spoonful of rice into his mouth, adding more roundness to his already full cheek, Jisung blinked in thought at the strings around your arm.

You clicked your tongue to remove the green onion stuck to your teeth. Jisung was not trying to hide that he was staring, or perhaps you were too alert to your surroundings. 

Either way, with a clear assumption of what he would be asking, you turned to him and said, “If you have something to ask, just ask, Jisung.”

He blushed faintly at the sudden confrontation but immediately jumped at the chance to talk about what had been concerning his mind almost the entire day. Pointing at your arm, he asked, “What are these strings for? They don’t look like bracelets.”

You glanced down at your hand and cursed under your breath. You hadn’t taken them off since you did not expect Jisung to appear for the rest of the night, and you had been too careless a while ago that you forgot to take them off when he was away, either.

Those colored strings were a family heirloom of some sort. You never considered a family business's product an heirloom, though. Only your family has the steps and ingredients to create this kind of string utilized by magicians specializing in string magic. However, since the tragic wipeout of your family name, the manufacturing has stopped, and you were left with roughly a box of these strings for spell-casting purposes. 

It didn’t matter much anymore. Everything happened years ago, and there was none of your past that you intended to reveal to Jisung.

“They are bracelets.” You shrugged, but your voice was so unusually gentle that Jisung could not help but overthink the context of those three simple words.

His gaze moved up to look at you, and he let himself freely scan your expression when he found that you weren’t paying attention to him. He pursed his lips in sympathy when he saw the lack of emotions in your eyes. There was only a speck of light, but it gradually dimmed as you stared at the strings around your arm.

“They are bracelets, it doesn’t matter.” You straightened up. The vulnerable moment you enjoyed was over within the blink of an eye, and it was time for you to toughen up and get over it as you have always been told to. Clearing your throat, you looked down at your empty bowl, and clumsily, you reached out for it before dropping off the stool. “I am finished, so I am going to leave first.”

Jisung’s jaw dropped a little at your sudden change in attitude. He must have said something wrong. His heart beat in a panicked rhythm as he watched you grab all the trash on the table and wear your bag again. He wanted to apologize, he wanted you to stay, he wanted to chat more with you. Yet he could not say anything because of fear of making things worse for you and him.

“Goodbye, Jisung,” you said quickly, brushing past him to head to the front door.

“Wa–wait! [Name]!” He called out loudly, causing you to pause and look at him with widened eyes that showed a familiar gleam of anxiety. He flicked back for a second before turning his voice's volume down and asked, “Do you have a place to stay? Somewhere to go back to?”

You inhaled a large breath and licked your bottom lip. Your home was far away, and it wasn’t a place you wanted to go back to. You have been working jobs to pay for food and hygiene products, which you deemed more important than having a roof over your head. Because of the safety provided by your magic, you were able to rest anywhere you wanted: trees, parks, and streets. 

The district itself was your home. But you supposed he was asking about a physical place. 

Reaching out to touch the knob of the glass door, you tightened your grip and opened the door first. Then you turned to look at Jisung, who was still staring at you with utmost concern etched in his eyes.

“No,” you replied, and you left the store.

"Hey, [Name]! Can you set the stage for us? We are trying to take care of the lights and the sound!”

You looked at the stage crew member and nodded in response. Moving over to the side of the stage, you fished out one of the many boxes labeled ‘stage props’ and, with the help of an enhanced strength spell, picked it up with ease. It was all you had been doing this whole day—picking up heavy boxes and putting them down on another spot. 

A mother who worked with you at the convenience store had begged you to take over her shift at a theater studio because her son suddenly got sick. She had refused all the alternative solutions you offered, such as taking a sick leave or letting you see him so you could discreetly bring the child back to health. You only reluctantly accepted the job after hearing that you would be compensated; a few extra bucks could never go wrong, and it wasn’t like you had anything else to do after work anyway!

The waves rushed your way for the most part until you realized where the studio planned to hold its next public announcement play. That was when your reluctance to help turned into legitimate disdain as you found yourself, with a cardboard box in hand, standing in front of the gate to Jisung’s school. 

It had been too late for you to back down from the job. Unfortunately, you were also never one to convincingly fake an emergency. Not that these people would listen to you, anyway! These theatre people seemed to take everything as a dramatic fake-out! The only options you had were to teleport away from the spot or work along in hopes that neither you nor Jisung would notice each other's presence. 

You weren’t sure the play was for students his grade, anyway! There was no need to feel agitated!

After your co-workers realized you have the strength of a literal God, they deemed you the person to do anything that needs even the tiniest bit of power, like picking up boxes that weren’t very heavy… disregarding the obvious bias you had when you weren’t feeling the full weight of those stage equipment. You chose not to complain because they might have saved you some issues by making you work backstage most of the time. 

That meant you wouldn’t need to stand in the school assembly hall when the group began performing. After actively avoiding Jisung for several days (not knowing if he was even looking for you), accidentally bumping into him was the last thing you wanted to happen. Not to mention, you knew he would strike up a conversation, and you had no desire to make a quick escape from any. 

You have to admit, though, it was a miracle that you once again ended up at his doorstep. All these coincidences that called for the encounters of you and him had been butchering your plan to a lifetime of loneliness. But you could not say you hate it all that much. Jisung was rather good company whether you like it or not. And amongst all your internal issues, you must admit you enjoyed his brief presence.

You did not hate being around him too much. Not to a point where you could defy destiny, anyway. 

After putting up the folded, extremely wrinkled, heavily decorated cardboard made to serve as a backdrop, you stumbled back a few steps and clapped your hands together to congratulate yourself for finishing the handiwork. The setup looked fine to your standard, as did the concept picture your colleagues showed you. If anything was to be changed, they would just have to call for your help or do it themselves. 

Now, all you needed to do is hide behind those red curtains and never see the light of day until the show ends.

“[Name], can you also set up the microphone for the narrator?”

Yeah, alright. It takes five seconds to adjust the height and plug in the cord. You shall be fine, and it shall be fun.

Moving over to the podium, you grabbed one microphone from the row of spare ones and turned it on. A click could be heard through the speakers. You hummed, hitting the top of it with your hand to make sure the volume was enough. The speaker reflected the noise a few times as you did, and you nodded in approval.

Leaving to pick up the microphone stand, you held it up and walked to the visible edge of the stage. After putting the mic into the holder, you busied yourself with moving the cord around in case any people would trip over it. There will always be one person who trips over it, no matter how visible those giant black electric tubes were.

The calm was interrupted when the doors to the assembly hall opened. Not calmly, though. They were flung open like someone was late to an important meeting. But that was not where your main focus remained. Your eyes grazed past the doors to the familiar loud voice rapidly spilling words out to his classmates, accompanied by an exhausted teacher trying to shut the voice up.

Despite knowing who it was, you perked up and kept your eyes on the doors anyway. There Jisung stood, hands waving erratically at his less energetic friend as he rambled on and on about an occasion he had during lunch. 

You felt a gentle heat rush to your cheeks. Surely it was from knowing that you had been ghosting him (without him knowing, which wasn’t really ghosting then) for days. If you two met eyes, it would be the most embarrassing and confronting for you.

Thankfully, his attention was completely diverted. It gave you the time to quickly fix the microphone stand and move away to hide. Whipping your head around to fixate your gaze on the back of the red and velvet stage curtain, you quickly and carelessly moved your legs, hoping to get away from the stage as soon as possible. However, the second you stepped forward, you felt your leg being pulled down onto the ground, and your body lurched forward.

Along with the rest of his class, Jisung snapped his head over to the loud thud coming from the stage. His eyes widened a fraction when he watched as the fallen body slowly scrambled up from the ground. Glancing over to his friend amid the snickers and gasps, he gave a sympathetic grimace before turning back to see if the fallen person had finally gotten up.

“Oh, [Name]! You gotta be careful! You know someone always trips over the cords!”

His eyes were now wider than ever. His animated hands had fallen from mid-air and hit his sides while he kept his eyes focused on your figure. You had perked up at your co-worker’s words, your eyes filled with deep-seated frustration at the fact that he called out your name so loudly. You were sure the whole class that just walked in knew who you were now. 

You scoffed at the irony as you helped yourself up with a low mutter. “Yeah, I know.”

Dusting your body with your violent hands, your face contained a constant grimace that you wished your co-worker had the sense to realize was meant only for him. As you habitually turned to scan your surroundings, Jisung felt a sense of softness once he was able to see your face clearly. Oh, yes. He could recognize that unsatisfied gaze and that downturned lips anywhere. You were the [Name] he knew of.

You caught eyes with him for a brief moment. He held your gaze with a small smile as he raised a hand timidly for a friendly wave, and you willed your face not to heat up. It was just Han Jisung. Nothing very special about it. If you don’t make a big deal out of this, you assumed neither would he. Even though you just fell face-first on the ground in front of everyone. 

You sniffed in a breath, the pursing of your lips lightening up at his warm gesture. If he was feeling any kind of repulsiveness towards you, then he was not showing it, or maybe he just genuinely did not feel an ounce of embarrassment for you. Your mind just liked to tell you weird things, and you liked to listen to it. 

A second passed for you to raise your hand to wave back at him, but you were abruptly interrupted when your co-worker reached out to speak to you.

“I think we are all set here. Good job,” he said after taking a scan of the stage. “We have people attending backstage, so you should sit at the back of the hall and watch the performance!”

You stared at him in disbelief. With a laugh, you shook your head to turn down the offer. “That is fine. I think I can stay in the back and wait–“

“No need! You have helped to carry things around the whole day. You can go sit at the back,” he insisted cheerfully, causing your heart to drop because it seemed he didn’t have the attitude to listen to anything you had to say.

You remained silent when he placed his hands on your shoulders and turned you around so you could head to the stairs leading you off the stage. You continued to walk when he let go of you, your hands busy scrubbing at your wrists to release the red strings that adorned them. The tightness of the strings hadn’t left a mark yet. Plenty of magic remained in them, so you shoved them in your pocket when they loosened around your skin.

Looking up ahead, your legs did an automatic pause when you saw Jisung sitting on the first chair of the first row. You had not been paying attention enough to realize that his class had walked to the front of the audience area, and due to being one of the shortest in his class, Jisung was placed at the front of the line, hence seated on the first chair.

You gave him a look, hardening your gaze so pointedly at him that Jisung shrunk back down to the seat and was forced to pout up only at you. Softening at his reaction, you felt a rush of gentle remorse up your ears. He was as warm and welcoming as ever. You supposed you, too, felt glad to have been him again. Part of you wanted to chat with him after that night at the convenience store. About nothing specific, just anything, like the weather.

Removing your hands from your pocket and rubbing them together for the sake of fidgeting, you looked out for the teachers and the other classes filing into the hall before you took tentative steps closer to Jisung’s seat. He was staring up at you now, his eyes round and wide in anticipation.

When you were within reach, he kicked your ankle lightly a few times before he greeted you endearingly, his hand giving you a small wave. “Hello, [Name].”

You couldn’t stop the amused smirk as you returned his greeting with only a faint nod. Stretching your gaze further, you caught sight of his classmates’ curious glances and bit your lower lip in caution. You had better not stay for long; you couldn’t anyway, you weren’t a student at the school. 

“Goodbye,” you greeted with a curt nod. 

He scrunched his brows, surprised at your sudden farewell. You avoided his reach by backing up, but not too much that it would attract attention from others. Immediately upon your reaction, the boy retreated. He wasn’t expecting himself to act like that anyway; his reaching out was an involuntary act. 

Giving him an unsure smirk, you gestured for him to pay attention to the stage before saying, “We can talk after this ends.”

Pulling away from him, you gave the teacher a polite bow and quickly left before you could be ushered out for disturbing the students. As you made little steps toward the back of the hall, you could faintly hear Jisung’s friends talking. It sounded like something of a teasing exclaim.

The first thing Jisung did when the teacher dismissed the class was to jump up from his seat and collect everything on his table so he could carelessly shove them back into his bag. He ignored the confused looks and cooing questions of his friends about his sudden rush of movements while he busied himself by pulling all the junk out of his desk drawer.

What he knew was that the teacher had dismissed the class two minutes ago, and he could not be too sure if you would choose to wait by the school gate for him. He has to be quick, and he was. 

After he flung his schoolbag over his shoulders, he bid his friends a hasty goodbye and ran out of the classroom. Speeding down the stairs, the way his backpack continued to hit against his back went completely unnoticed until he stumbled out of the front doors of his school. He could feel a stinging sensation at the back of his hips. He promptly ignored it. 

The front path greeted him with fallen leaves and gusts of wind. Students swarmed around him to leave the school, and his eyes skipped past all of them with only one goal in mind: you. His chest heaved with the flow of his gaze, mouth breathing rapidly as his eyes brushed off one after another person as soon as he realized that they were not you.

The dread that you might have left already consumed him with a sense of panic. Jisung gulped hardly at the thought of another round of late-night sensitive thinking about why you had not appeared for days and whether he had chased you away because he asked one stupid question about those strings on your arm.

“You are being really tense.”

He whipped around as his eyes widened. When he saw you standing before him, he exhaled in relief and touched his sweaty forehead with his possibly even sweatier palm. A chuckle left his lips when he saw you tilting your head to the side questioningly, and as usual, the first thing he said was a good old ‘hello.’

You carefully observed his body, your intense eyes making him straighten his back. After a short moment, you looked up into Jisung's eyes, and you spoke, “You are still being tense. Are you okay?”

“Me? Yeah, sure. Why would I not be?” Jisung laughed with a dismissive wave of his hand, causing his posture to be even more rigid than ever. He finally toned himself down when he saw your unamused expression, and he cleared his throat just in case his voice would crack as he spoke. “Nothing happened. I just… um…”

He was planning to tell you that he had a physical battle with his textbooks, ran all the way from the sixth floor, and leaped through several flights of stairs just to make sure he gets the chance to talk to you again. But it seemed he thought better of it. It was quite dramatic, even Jisung had to stop himself from spilling all his effort into the wind.

“I just ran a little.” He nodded at you, comically waving his hand to dramatize his words so his slow-fading panting would not come to attention. “Nobody likes school, so we try to get out of here as quickly as possible, which sometimes results in me running down the stairs.”

You stared at him skeptically but soon nodded with a shrug since you had no idea how to judge whether he was lying to you or not. Besides, should it matter if he was tense or why he ran? It was nothing of your business.

“I know how that feels. I didn’t like school either,” you said casually. “At least when I was still attending one.”

Jisung was still huffing out breaths to calm himself down, but you could faintly hear a mini gasp amongst all of them. His blinking was rapid as he gave you a questioning noise, and you snorted a laugh at him. 

“Well, of course, I went to school once. How did you think I learned how to read? Albeit not as advanced as what you know, possibly.”

You had decided to start walking as you spoke. Standing in the middle of the road and forcing everyone else to swerve out of their way to walk past you two was not sitting well with you, especially when everyone seemed to be giving you both stingy eyes. Jisung had automatically followed you, matching his pace with yours as well as keeping his eyes on you to hopefully prompt a further explanation.

You understood what his expression meant, and you pursed your lips with a gentle hum. Many things happened when you were in school, but none of which you could reveal to Jisung due to how most of your learning material was related to magic. You were still unsure whether he could handle the truth well. You have only just known him, after all.

You have watched him from the sideline for a while, though. Most people would call it stalking, but in your case, it was not only to satisfy your curiosity but also to gather information. You felt the safest when you knew more about someone than they knew about you, and you could disregard their possible feelings of dismay because it was a known fact to yourself that you would never harm them.

Jisung appeared to be a cheerful person who was also very caring and energetic. He did not feel like being the judgemental one with harsh opinions, but the thought alone was not enough to eliminate all the past mistakes of revealing your identity as a magic user to others you thought would help you.

“Nothing very special happened when I was in school. I just knew I didn’t like it.” You shrugged.

“Well, I can agree with you on that.” Jisung nodded. “High school is pretty fun if you have good friends with you.”

“Do you have good friends? It sounds like it isn’t fun for you,” you asked as you turned to him. You kept a straight face as you asked the question, even though you knew the answer already.

Jisung has a lot of friends, but there are three he hangs out with the most. You did not know of their names, but their faces you could easily recognize: a calm-looking one, a good-looking one, and a cute-looking one. After having made that observation, you could safely conclude that Jisung was the loud-looking one in his friend group. And you didn’t even know loud had a face until you saw him.

“I have good friends–of course, I have good friends!” Jisung spoke proudly. His hand reached up to his chest and he started to count off. 

“Seungmin can be a little blunt but he is really smart and he lets me copy his homework all the time. Hyunjin is a little too good-looking and I feel awkward standing with him sometimes, but he also lets me copy his homework. And I might not be able to understand Felix half the time but he teaches me English and he plays games with me.”

You laughed, the genuine sound descending lower and lower until Jisung could hear a hint of sadness seeping through. He piped down from his little ramble and blinked at you with concern, unsure if he had said something wrong again. Upon the sudden silence, you let your eyes peer over to his side and you raised your brows at the worried gaze he was giving you.

“What?” you asked innocently. 

Jisung pouted before he looked away. He stared ahead at the road, speaking nonchalantly, “It’s just… you looked sad, so I thought maybe I said something wrong again.”

“Again?”

He nodded. “Yeah. First, it was about the strings. Come to think of it, you reacted a little too strongly for them to just be bracelets,” he pointed out carefully. “But I thought I did something wrong because you haven’t been around here for days now. It is like you are trying to avoid me or something. It bothered me a lot.”

You were rendered speechless. You had not realized you left such an impact in his thoughts, seeing that he was happy hanging out with his existing friends. He has never seen you around the school before either, so it wasn’t like he knew this was a common route for you to take. Yet, somehow, he knew when you were gone. It was supernatural knowledge; Jisung could just feel it. 

Now that the truth revealed itself to you, you did not know what to say. Kicking your feet harder against the ground, you rubbed your hands together nervously. 

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to avoid you.”

“Oh, so you were avoiding me?”

His eyes were empathetic. It made you feel as if telling him the truth wouldn’t hurt you as much as it would hurt him. It would be too much for him to take, though, and there was no way for you to let go of the cautiousness you have worn on yourself for years. The best you could do was to lay it down slowly for him to realize none of it was his fault.

“I was, but it is from a personal problem. I just…” Your eyes rolled up to the sky in thought, and then you stopped when you found out you two had arrived at the school's main gate. “I haven’t met a friend in a long time, so I am a little rough around the edges regarding social interactions.”

“Oh…” Jisung softened at your honesty. It was more affectionate than anything he could ask for, to have you pour your heart out in front of him just to clear a misunderstanding. 

It must have been hard for you to do so, he assumed. And it brought him a real joy to know that you chose to spill the beans despite the embarrassment surrounding the act.

“Thank you for telling me that,” he said with a faint smile, soft as feather and light as the night.

The weight of rocks was lifted off your shoulders upon his smile. You exhaled gently, returning his smile. The wind blew, but it never seemed to hit the both of you fully; it brushed past the tip of your hair as if to wave goodbye. 

Under this almost sentimental atmosphere, Jisung recalled the first day he met you and thought you were pretty. He almost forgot about that. He had been too focused on the emotional aspect of you to fully appreciate your features. And honestly, right now didn’t seem to be the best time to do it, but he was staring until you broke the silence.

You jabbed your thumb behind your back. “I am going to take my leave now. You should go back home too, Jisung.”

“Ah–hey, wait! Wait!” Jisung reached out for you, his hand not retreating to his side this time as he let himself get a full grasp of your wrist. When you turned around to look at him, your eyes peering down at the tight grip of his hand and back up at him, he gulped down the knot in his throat and tightened his grip for courage. “I… I have something to say.”

You turned around to face him, gently removing your hand from his. Jisung scratched the back of his head shyly, letting out a long string of noise as he crinkled his nose. 

“I… um,” he started, “I just wanted to say you can stay at my house. Please do! I already asked my parents, and they are fine with it.”

You scrunched your face immediately upon the incredulous news he spilled. You licked your lower lip after registering the fact, now surprised but also very appreciative of his kind gesture. “It’s fine, Jisung.” You shook your head and waved your hands in front of your chest politely. “I don’t want to bother you and your family.“

“They said it is fine, though! I am okay with it, too! It concerns me even more to think that you don’t have a place to go home to!” Jisung exclaimed animatedly, clapping his hands together and squeezing them tightly in a praying manner. “You should be able to sleep at a house, you know? Not just a motel or something! Just come over! I already told my mom about it, and I think she already made an extra portion for dinner, so you have to tag along.”

“She did?” you mumbled to yourself.

“Yeah! You bet she did!” Jisung nodded with a hearty smile. “She is tired of seeing my old friends over all the time, anyway! She is probably delighted to see me bringing someone else.”

“I mean…” You gave him a doubtful expression, but his energy did not falter. When you asked again, your voice was as timid as ever, “Are you sure?”

“Yes! Don’t even worry about it,” he urged with a grin. His hand went up to give your arm a playful shove forward before guiding you out the school gate with him. “Come on, let’s go!”

Pulling out his phone from his pocket, Jisung discreetly texted his mother to inform her of the unscheduled plan. You could break his lie when you arrived at his home, but he supposed anything was worth giving you, such as a warm bed to sleep on and a nice homemade meal.

Pressing against the bones of your fingers, you awkwardly scanned the living room of Jisung’s home after sitting down on the couch. It was nothing special, you thought. It was a standard apartment home. It was smaller than the house you used to live in, but you had no plans to complain that thought out loud. Your family was abnormally wealthy, after all.

Jisung’s parents were as kind as you imagined people ought to be but were often ill-equipped to do so. Without asking any questions, they welcomed you into their home with a homemade meal and accepted the request of letting you stay the night. You were reluctant to omit the part where Jisung planned to have you stay over until you could find an actual place to live, but he had waved you off when you tried to bring it up during dinner.

On a certain level, you did think that their behavior was incautious and stupid, but it would only make sense that they didn’t think to suspect someone who is their child's friend. Besides, their not being suspicious worked in your favor! That was disregarding your moral consciousness.

“[Name]!”

You looked up at Jisung and blinked hazily. “What?”

“You are zoning out again. Are you tired?” he asked, tilting his head to the side as a worried pout formed on his lips, causing his cheeks to inflate.

You were. Completely drained, too. Having dinner with Jisung and his parents was like a train wreck for you. Their energy was too much to handle; you could barely get a five-second silence before someone started another conversation again. And, of course, that would be another thing you’ve got concealed inside within the depths of your mind, and it will never be released to the world.

“No, not really.” You shook your head, offering him an assuring smile as you touched your hands together. You looked around the living room again, your eyes pausing one second too long at the kitchen where his parents were located. You gulped. “I just… I feel a little weird since it is my first time here.”

Jisung let out a soft scoff of agreement. “Yeah, my parents have that weird effect on people.” He flicked his wrist and did a shooing gesture with his hand, his actions dismissive. When he quieted himself down, he cleared his throat and suggested, “We can head to my room if you feel weird. You would probably feel a bit better in there.”

“Thanks, Jisung, but I think I will pass,” you mumbled, grabbing a cushion from the couch. “I really don’t know if I should stay the night.”

“Do you have a place to stay?”

“No, but–“

“Then you are staying,” he cut you off nonchalantly.

You sighed in defeat. There was no talking him out of that. “Okay. But I am going to sleep on the couch tonight.”

“Who said that?” Jisung asked, genuinely confused at your statement. He glanced over at his parents as if that would give him an answer, and then he turned his head to the hallway where his room was located as if he could see through the walls and calculate the size of his room. He hummed thoughtfully before saying, “We don’t have an extra room, but who cares? You can sleep in my room.”

“You have two beds in your room?” you asked, brow furrowed.

He shook his head. “No, but I can get several blankets and sleep on the floor.”

What a selfless gesture. It warmed your heart up more than anything else to know that he has already considered lending you his bed. However, it was nothing you wanted to accept after knowing he would have to lie on the cold, hard ground for the rest of the night. You smiled disapprovingly at him as you shook your head, and the way Jisung let out a whining noise made you chuckle.

“Which one is better, Jisung? Both of us sleeping on a soft surface, or one sleeping on a bed while the other is on the floor?” You raised a dilemma, which was hardly one, technically speaking.

Jisung shrugged. “You sleeping on a soft surface.”

“But I want you to sleep on a bed,” you pointed out. “It is your bed, not mine.”

“Yeah, so I make the decision, and I say you sleep on it tonight,” Jisung said matter-of-factly, his thumb jabbing toward the direction of his room as he did so for maximum persuasion effect. 

It was not working at all, but you thought it was funny seeing him so worked up over this. “Look, it is either that or we are sharing the bed,” you said. 

You gave him a few seconds to process what came out of your mouth. And when he did, recognition flew before his eyes, and he pursed his lips together to prevent himself from screaming bloody murder. To mask his embarrassment, he cleared his throat and immediately put up a brave face.

Throwing his arms up, he exclaimed, “What? There is nothing bad about sleeping on a bed together! We are both sleeping, our brain functions are down, we can’t feel anything!”

“You watch too many dramas,” you said, your tone hiding an element of tease in it that Jisung would much rather not ask about just in case you retorted him with something flustering again.

Giving up on a verbal argument (because, as everybody could see, he was not winning it), Jisung acted upon a different approach. He leaned down to tug at your hand, pulling at your wrist with a delicate touch. His fingers barely grazed past your skin the first time he tried to pull you up. Then they finally gained the courage to hold onto you so he could at least hold your arm up.

“Come on, [Name],” Jisung coaxed with a deeper, softer voice as he would use to a sleepy child he tucked into bed. He shook your arm lightly. “I promise my room and my bed are clean. Come on. I am not letting you sleep on the couch tonight.”

You glared up at him again, but your gaze had less harmful effect than intended. Jisung knew you didn’t mean half the frowns you flashed him or at anybody. It was just a default expression of yours, he concluded, and there was no need for him to feel too worked up about the times you would give him a look of utter disappointment or, more frequently, annoyance.

Still tugging at your hand, Jisung said, “It’s fine. I sleep on the ground all the time. Besides, like I said, my brain functions are down, so I won’t be able to feel uncomfortable at all.”

If he cared enough to say all of that stupid shit, it did seem a little overboard if you rejected his offer. You rolled your eyes at his words, finally standing up to comply with his request. Jisung was taken back when you stood up—and abruptly so—as he hadn’t really been the farthest away from the couch and, well, you. 

The second you did so, he turned his face away to avoid having to feel your breath on his face, which he knew would have made him a blushing, daydreaming mess as soon as you were out of sight and he was left to his own devices.

“Your logic needs some help,” you muttered lowly after you stood up, and having completely disregarded Jisung’s expression, you had spoken right at the skin of his jaw anyway.

Clenching his jaw tightly, he quickly stepped away from you and cleared his throat. “Um… uh… yeah! Great! Yay! You are–yeah, okay.”

“Are you celebrating the fact that your logic needs help?” you asked, raising an eyebrow at him suspiciously. “You are acting weird, Jisung.”

Oh, he was so glad you noticed. Pretty sure he noticed his irregular heartbeat and the sensitivity of his neck, too, but tell him straightaway anyway. Having a double reminder would help.

“I am getting a little tired, that is all.” Jisung laughed. “Um… my room is just down the hall on the left, the first door. You can’t miss it. The second door leads to the bathroom; you can shower first if you want.”

You sucked in a breath. It was finally your turn to feel awkward. It would be pretty questionable if Jisung saw you walking out of the shower wearing the same thing as you did today and a couple of days before. You have only gotten yourself a few needed pieces of clothing to switch between days, and none of them looked remotely like a standard set of pajamas, unfortunately.

“Do you think you can lend me something to wear?” you asked, your voice gradually decreasing. “Just a shirt, a shirt is fine.”

“Do you not have anything to wear? You have never changed out of these before?” Jisung widened his eyes, having gotten over the previous embarrassment rather quickly.

You did. You use time magic to reverse the dirt and damage until your clothes return to being brand-new. It would be an easy concept to explain if you were talking to a fellow magic user, but Jisung wasn’t one. And even if he does accept your kind, which you were still clueless about, he would be the type to ask an array of weird questions you wouldn’t know if you’d hate or like.

“There is this lady who owns a small clothing store, and she lends me clothes sometimes,” you lied. “As long as I clean it and return it to her, she is okay with it. But, um, I didn’t get to ask for a new change of clothes today.”

Jisung stared at you. You felt your heart speed up at the process of him analyzing your features despite knowing he probably does not know how to detect a liar simply by their facial expressions, not to mention you weren’t so bad a liar yourself. Thankfully, he quickly released a sheepish smile, adding with a shrug of his shoulders.

“Aww, she is so nice! I am glad you found someone who could help!” He beamed. “But yes, I can lend you something to wear. How about you pick something? I have a lot of shirts!”

“Is that necessary?”

“No, but I think that would be fun.” He shrugged with a silly smile, then he frowned. “And also because I am indecisive. I want to pick something nice, but I have a lot of nice clothes.”

It wasn’t that serious, and Jisung knew. He was not sure what had gotten over him all of a sudden—just the pure idea of you wearing something of his gave him a rather interesting feeling. He would not hate to see it happen. That was all.

“Oh, just grab me something,” you groaned, stepping aside to shove past him. “I need to take a shower.”

“Oh, okay!” Jisung said, grinning. “Don’t use up the hot water.”

Watching as you held up your arm in acknowledgment, Jisung finally let his shoulder relax. He found himself staring at the ground as the clock ticked away, his mind returning to the conversation you two shared. 

It was all fine and normal until the fantasy dropped, and he was thinking about your breath on his skin again.

Oh, there it was, as expected! The pink blush and the nonsensical daydream have finally appeared.

You were fast asleep on the blankets when Jisung finished taking his shower. A slight confusion blurred his senses when he opened the door to his room to find you nowhere to be found. It wasn't until he cast his gaze downwards that he found that you had betrayed his decision and took the opportunity to lay yourself on the floor anyway.

He sighed. Why couldn’t you just sleep on the bed? Why was that so hard for you? He reached over to the light switch by the door to turn the bright lights off. The room went dark temporarily before it was illuminated again when Jisung approached his desk to turn on the table lamp. 

His eyes glanced past the opened textbook on the wooden surface, and dread filled him instantly. The idea of spending several more hours trying to pry his eyes open just to study consumed him. Throwing the object a grimace, he pulled off his towel from around his neck and draped it over the back of his chair before turning around. 

He sighed at the sight of you. He supposed he could always just move you back on his bed. It should not be that hard. Finally making up his mind, he carefully made his way over to the floor and knelt next to your figure.

His eyes trailed past your features, and his thoughtful gaze lingered on your face for longer than intended, curiously studying your features. Your face was pulled into a neutral expression, and Jisung found it relieving that you seemed less angry than when you were awake. At least you are peaceful in dreams; some people can’t be, which is tragic.

Shaking his head to pull himself out of his trance, Jisung breathed a puff of soft air to calm his unnerving heart and to feel less shy about the fact that he just spent a good minute staring at your sleeping face. It was an all too familiar feeling, the pumping heart, and the pink cheeks. It has happened to him time after time throughout his life. 

But he didn’t quite want to fully devote himself to a small crush yet. He still believed the irregular feeling would fade away soon.

“Oh, shut up,” he told himself under his breath and trembled in annoyance. 

Then, as he was about to move his hands carefully underneath you so he could hoist you up, his eyes were again caught by the sight of the strings on your arm. Unlike today, they were green instead of red. The compelling emerald green shone despite the lack of light in the room, and Jisung unconsciously reached his hand out to touch it.

You jolted away at the force that suddenly blasted from your wrist. Knowing that it was the explosion spell you recently chanted going off, you quickly scanned your surroundings to look for any potential harm. Jisung’s room came into view, much to your confusion, and nothing was wrong aside from the fact that the books from his shelf had fallen off, and he was lying on the ground with a pained expression.

That was when it clicked—you weren’t sleeping outside.

“Oh, shit–Jisung!” You scrambled up, touching the green on your arm instinctively. The material was slightly slashed, indicating that it had just been used. 

Eyebrows furrowing, you immediately deactivated the magic with a wave of your hands and pulled the strings off. When they fell to the floor, you turned your attention back to Jisung, who most likely had just endured a wind blast to his body. On second thought, you snatched the green strings from the ground and laced them through your fingers again. 

“[Name]! You really–“ Jisung groaned as he sat up, coughs erupting from his throat at the impact he suffered from his lungs. His arm reached behind him to knock at his back a few times to overpower the pain before he glanced up at you through his bangs. 

A knock came through his door, and his mother sounded concerned. Jisung pursed his lips. One of his eyes squinted so he could concentrate on separate senses: the sound coming from the door, the pain in his body, and the sight of strings floating in the air. What was happening, exactly? 

“I’m okay, mom! My books just fell from the shelf, sorry!” He yelled out without facing the door. 

He was staring at you, and he looked less than angry. It was more betrayed than frustrated. You breathed heavily, feeling intimidated by how he stared at you. His eyes were questioning with demand written over its determined fiery. You knew he would pester you for answers until you gave it to him this time. He has changed his mind about playing around and letting you brush matters off, and his change of heart was rightfully placed. 

“I’m sorry,” you said as you dropped to his side urgently and placed your hands on his shoulders. “I have to do this just in case—“ you closed your eyes and quickly chanted a healing spell, “Imperium Pertrix.”

Jisung almost jolted away from you when he saw the green glow of your strings. It was the same glow he saw just before he got thrown across his room, so it was natural he had grown cautious of it. But instead of a wind blast, he felt a cold sensation soothing over his aching bones. The pain from the previous impact faded quickly and was replaced with stillness. It felt as if he was sitting in cold, still water. 

“I’m so sorry about that,” you repeated again when the spell was done.

“Yeah, sure. This is not the first time you have thrown me to the ground,” Jisung muttered, finally deciding to stand up. His posture remained rigid despite feeling normal. He appear just a tad bit larger than he was. And when he ran a hand through his hair, he clenched his jaw in irritation and arched an eyebrow at you. “You, though, got some explaining to do.”

He paused for a second. You knew what he planned to say.

“Are you sure they are just bracelets, [Name]?”

[lithium-beam]

No One, No Return: All Was Naught but to Serve the Void

No. No! It's too soon!

Her arms loosen around them. Her strength wanes as she fights to hold on a little longer, but the upward pull only grows stronger. Their forms slip through her arms. She reaches out to them, crying. She can't let go—not in life, not outside life. They become blurry, their small shapes drifting away. Pain begins to constrict her body, but she doesn't notice; the anguish of losing them again is greater.

The void around her fades to white, their little pocket of darkness reduced to a dot. The pull starts to flake her body apart. She panics. She knows her debt is due, but she doesn't want to go back. Not alone! Flakes of memories appear, consuming her: Blood. Corpses. Gold. Blood. Pearls. Blood. Blood. So much blood! She twists and turns, her body tearing apart.

Anything! Any MEANS! Just GET ME OUT OF HERE!

In the swirl of colors, a single spot lingers. She focuses on it and swims against the pull. She gives it everything; her force, her will, her desperation, her pain! She reaches the spot, her legs faded away. She touches it with translucent paws. Bright red with yellow bands. Between the yellow bands, a crack. She pries it open with the last effort she has left, desperate to GET AWAY!

...

..

.

She hits her head on the hard ground.

She wakes and checks herself. Whole and healthy, the only proof she ascended at all are small droplets of void fluid rapidly vanishing into smoke. She finds herself standing at the bottom of a long drop, in a room of red and gray metal, the only thing beside her being a yellow box. She decides to walk down the corridor in front of her. Suddenly, the wall splits open!

She walks beyond. Darkness. Then slowly, bright walls appear, resembling open space with clear skies. They illuminate small trees and stone ruins. Strange animal sounds echo around. It is a big room simulating an idyllic outdoor scene. What? The stones aren't natural; they're made of ceramic. The grass isn't real; it's synthetic. Why was this built? The scenery it's depicting is strange and alien. The whole room feels odd, fake, and unfamiliar. But all that is overshadowed by something very familiar; the room is coated in old blood.

She walks toward an open entrance atop some stairs. The hallway beyond is dark. Inside, she hears nothing but her own footsteps. The floors are still sticky. On the other side, the room was truly meant to be pretty. All those colorful plants and bushes, the round structures, and that clean blue sky depict one of the calmest places she has seen, even if it's fake. But the feeling is blocked by the layer of dark blood covering the scene. Near the end of the room, there is a pedestal spared from the blood. Atop it is a... blue thing. She picks up the object. She jumps as the exit grinds to a close. She puts it back, and it reopens. Noted.

The next room is dim, lit only by colorful glass. It reminds her of the artworks of the Ancients. She's getting tired of the constant smell of blood. The other room is similar, but with added fake bushes on the now red floors and walls. A red gate with yellow bands stands at the end of the room and opens as she approaches. It now has a big hole that she can't see the bottom of. She stops and looks back. For all the blood she has seen in these rooms, she's surprised not to have seen a single fly or corpse. But the blood is old; creatures would have had enough time to carry them away. She still thinks about what could have caused this carnage. Better to be prepared. She slides down the drop.

She hits the ground hard.

Apparently, at some point, she let go of the wall during the descent. She has no memory of doing that. And somehow, she survived the fall. She cautiously makes her way to the red gate. It opens rapidly.

The room is burning.

All the idyllic decor is up in flames. Smoke clouds the ceiling. Some walls flash with failure. Behind the flames and smoke, in the distance, she sees some blue light. The flames roaring closer shake her out of her stupor.

This is the only way out.

She runs through the burning remains of the ground and structures. Soot and ashes fall from above. Fumes hurt her damaged lungs. She steps in a puddle. Flames block the exit. She jumps through them.

She pants to a stop in the middle of the other room. Pain grips her feet. She looks down. Fire scorches her legs and tail, flames trailing behind her. She drops and hits herself. It spreads! It ONLY SPREADS! Struggling against the flames, she falls into a water puddle. Squirming and turning, the clinging fire slowly loses its fight against the water.

Laying face up in the puddle, she breathes. The itching eye. The heat in the air. The cold of the water. The stink of burnt fur. The deep burns on her. Her child drowning beneath her, she watches, stunned. It's all too much.

Why couldn't she be beside them now? She should be beside them, happy. In bliss. Is she an echo? She doesn't look like one. Where is she? She stands back up. Her legs hurt badly. But she has to move. At least get away from the fires.

She limps through the next room, eye on the red gate opening. She drops down the dark pit, her legs giving out beneath her.

_____

| 1 | >

On AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/58465570/chapters/148932493

[distortionsprite]

I entered a House, peeling wood floorboards on the ground. A bedridden man spoke to me, he said "Churches have ladders to their roofs." I don't know what he meant by this but he said "It keeps them honest."

A lit cigarette falling to the ground, his burned old hands reach for it and he makes some awful croaking sound.

My body lurches for the cigarette but I miss the catch. It hits the ground still burning and the floorboards catch.

There's fire in the room now. The doors are locked. Smoke fills my Lungs and I choke.

But before I can resign myself to fate I fly away, to some other place, one not known to me.

It seems familiar somehow. Decorated walls peeling to reveal exposed brick, decorated further with Cracks in jagged patterns revealing faults that were always there, just hidden.

It's funny how when we think of our childhood home we only ever see it one way. We never see the iterations, the changes, the Cracks in the load bearing walls. Just one moment. One spectacular moment. A snapshot in our mind of when life was good and simple and meaningless.

Its different now, you see. Now those walls are our own, not our parents', or their parents'. No one to blame but ourselves. And as each Crack gets thicker and wider and more menacing there is nothing we can do but watch.

As the Fire engulfs yet another memory I lose my temper. It's so hot in this room I feel like turning into a soft vapour, to be breathed in, absorbed and exhaled.

But I'm only human. I'm not a creature, not a machine, not some formless entity or a conceptual being. I'm Flesh and Blood.

And like Flesh and Blood I secrete sickly sweet fluid from my orifices. My tear ducts spout ichor and misery in all directions.

And in all directions I see an ocean. A vast underwater labyrinth the likes of which could scarcely be told in stories. At least not ones told by people.

And like other people I am a person. A creature with thoughts, a will, a reason to be, a reason to do, a reason not to, and several reasons to keep going.

It gets harder as you age to see the people around you grow and shift like fungus on a wall, meanwhile you're a scared deer in a big city, beset on all sides by screeching wind, gnashing Metal wolves and Concrete trees the size of Saturn. The sun burns into your withered Skin and you cry not because you want help, not because you want to be heard, but because there is nothing else you can do anymore.

So you sit alone. Hoping someone else will make that connection for you because you don't have the Guts, the Lungs, the Heart, the Mind or the Soul to do it first. Because you are weak. Because you gave up. Because you are only Flesh and Blood.

If I told you that you were more I would be lying. You are nothing but a sad sack of bleeding Meat that seeps ichor and misery. You are lost alone in that underwater labyrinth. You are a person with thoughts and free will but you are not a person with a reason to keep going. You are not the fungus growing on the walls, you are the scared deer hoping that one day it will return to its forest. You are the bedridden man with the burned hands who, it turns out, died in that House Fire because no-one was there to save him.

And that is what it all comes down to. One spectacular moment in your mind that comes crashing down as quick as it takes to light a cigarette. Our lives are fleeting, our memories are burning, our lungs are being ripped from us and fed to hungry sharks. But that is not the most of our problems. The most of our problems pertain to the House itself, the cracks in the walls, the fact that with each second it is collapsing around us and there is nothing we can do but watch.

But isn't that why we're here? This is how we know we're people. After all whats the point in being alive if you have no guts to spill.

No Blood to bleed.

No grief to cope.

No corpses to pile.

No hatred to channel.

No Love to give.

No Pain to feel.

No feelings to write.

No songs to sing.

No porn to watch.

No left or right.

No right or wrong.

No Wrongs to right.

No Dreams to fail.

No towers to topple.

No wrath to bring.

No sin to nest.

No virtue to have.

No work to do.

No thing that's left.