#once again posting things that are indecipherable to most people who follow me

[nancywheeeler]

casper ruud i am so sorry i was unfamiliar with your game

[annmarcus63]

The kindest thing

“Yes yes, I remember the I don't need anyone needing me situation, but well, here we are, don't you know? you are my very best friend on the whole wide world"

Geralt's heart is broken but Jaskier intends of heal him with kindness.

-I wanted to post this here again, because I can and I want to. Sorry for my bad english. Love you.-

Here's the link to ao3 https://archiveofourown.org/works/24114205

The war has shaken all the realms, everyone everywhere talks about the tragic death of queen Calanthe and the wiped out of her army, people fearfully whisper about the mountains of corpses the Nilfgaardian army leaves at its wake. Jaskier awakes sweating and trembling on a cold night, his chest contracting despite his controlling breathing. He fears the war, of course, but not for him, he’s safely away after all, whta is war for a bard but geat songs. He fears for certain witcher and his child surprise. News about princess Ciri's death haven't reached him, he really really hopes she's ok, again not for him but for Geralt. Because although the witcher has never showed any interest in the child, the bard knows the loss could be too great for the witchers' heart. Yes, he believes Geralt holds a heart, big and hard to reach, but a heart no less.

It's been over a year since that dreadful day on the mountaintop. Over a year since that scornful words and the look that spoke volumes. Jaskier healed himself with music and dancing, also with the normal tears rivering down his cheeks every now and then. Jaskier wasn't a stranger at traveling alone, after all he and Geralt used to part ways more often than not, even though that used to happen after months and months of traveling together. He forced himself to picked his broken heart, rebuilded even if he still could see the cracks.

After the sadness came the anger. Anger for the unfairness thrown so casually against him. How dares he? How. Dares. He? all those years of friendship and loyalty repaid with words aimed to pierce, and pierce they did. Words that were the outcome of the witchers' broken heart, because Yennefer had walked away from Geralt despite the love he feel for her. True love or not, it was still love. Jaskier was in the wrong place at the wrong time.

And then came the sorrow for his sweet witcher, and his perpetual broken heart. He wasn't justifying the harshful words and his own broken heart, of course not, but at least he now understands why Geralt said what he said. He needed to broke something, even if that something was their friendship. Oh that idiotic emotionally abused witcher, if only Jaskier could mend him back together, if only Geralt let him. And one day the opportunity presented itself. After a very glorious performance at the local inn, he heard a couple of farmers gossiping about a witcher fighting an Alp no far from there. In all his traveling years he has never encountered with a witcher other than Geralt, he hopes that same fortune still follows him around. He packs his lute and the rest of his possessions to get back to the road. Asking is always the best resource if you want to find someone or something, and is oddly easy to locate Geralt.

Maybe destiny is part of their relationship, not that he'd ever mention it to the witcher.

An old woman point him to a road towards Kaedwen. Uh, So he's going to Kaer Morhen. He considers himself lucky to find him before disappearing like he used to every winter.

He walks and walks until the smell of smoke reaches his nose, he has learned a thing or two from Geralt about tracking, thank you very much, he's not that useless. Again maybe destiny is helping him, he's not that good, you see.

He goes through the trees until reaching a small clear and the unmistakable arrange of a camp. He sees a small figure, a girl with a black cloak covering her face, tending a very familiar horse. He clutches at his lute strap, by Melitele he's so fucking nervous, his heart beating frantically against his ribcage, his ears stuffed with white noise.

What if Geralt sends him away without a word? what if he spat more hurtful words? what if he's not welcome? Well, at least he'd have tried.

"Hi" he says softly

The child tense visibly, slowly she takes a step away from Roach and turns around.

"You better go before he sees you" so young age and so much steel in her voice, no wait-

"Princess?"

"Bard?" of course he returned to Cintra after the child surprise incident, Queen's Calanthe court liked so much his first performance that he was invited to play three more times, one on Ciri's birthday. He is the best bard of all the continent after all.

Of course Geralt would find her, of course. He felt a wave of pride surging from his chest. He did it, he found her. He was not alone.

“Jaskier?” Oh that voice, that damn voice reverberating on every fiber of his skin. And suddenly the witcher is there, in all his splendour, sword on one hand but he's not wearing his armor.

"Hello Geralt" and he gifts him with a sweet smile, despite the sweat on his palms and the creeping terror of being rejected. But Geralt doesn't said anything, doesn't move, some may think he's a statue. "Don't worry I won't stay long, I only want to talk if you allow me" he didn't came with the intention of staying, no, he'll respect the witchers blessing no matter what.

More than a year full of a banquet of emotions for the witcher, oh and how he love him still.

The silence stretch for long seconds, it may be hours for all he knows. And just when he's about to turn back to were he come from..

"I'll stay with Roach to give you privacy" dear Ciri says and Geralt nods rather insecure and Jaskier's heart aches at the picture. Jaskier follows Geralt to the camp, not that far from Roach and Ciri but that'll suffice. He's sure Geralt would want to keep an eye on her. The witcher sits against a tree leaving the bedroll for him. Jaskier place gently the lute on the ground not far from him. They sit facing each other.

breathe in breathe out, come on Jaskier you can do this. Bollocks, Geralt probably can sense how nervous he is.

He sees a small twitch on Geralt's lips like he wants to say something and Jaskier freaks out. "No!" he yelps, and then more softly he adds "No, let me talk. You know how much I love the sound of my own voice" he says with a small smile, but Geralt doesn't sees it, he's golden eyes are planted on the grass.

Here goes nothing.

“I've known you for a long time now, Geralt. It may be not that long for you with all your long long years, but it is to me as the fleeting human that I am. You knew me as the annoying bard, and now you know me as the annoying old bard. I've spent most part of my life by your side, if not the best part of it. And I did it gladly, and I would do it again gladly, because I choose to. Even in the first years when you were trying rather desperately to get rid of me. I choose to. Not because of the magnificent songs I wrote but because I liked -like- your company.” Jaskier force himself to stop, a nasty bump forming in his throat, is harder than he though. You are already here, you may as well give it all. "You...you’re all that I have" And this earns him a reaction, Geralt twitch against the tree and sends him a indecipherable look to return it at the same spot on the grass. “Yes yes, I remember the I don't need anyone needing me situation, but well, here we are, don't you know? you are my very best friend on the whole wide world" There, yes, a smile on his lips."You are, my friend. I mean, no matter how many times you denied it. It took me more than two decades to get to know you. It took me five years to know that you would rather spend a night under the stars than in a inn without proper stables for Roach. Ten years to know how much you hate fish but love the rabbit broth I cook. More than ten years to know when to shut up otherwise you'll snap at me, though I admit I've not always follow this knowledge. I could go on and on but not today. And so I know you really didn't mean what you said on the mountain, at least I hope, not completely. You were unfair and cruel. Nothing of what you accused me is my fault, not entirely, but if it’s my fault then you must know I'm truly sorry, If I had known I assure you I would have left your side a long time ago.”

"Not your fault" Geralt says with a weak whisper. And Jaskier feels something loosening up on his chest, carefully he closes the distance between them, knees almost touching. "Good, good. I came to apologize even though I didn't do anything wrong, but you should know that I won't do it again. I'll not tolerate more words with intent to hurt. I'll no longer be taken for granted or tossed aside like a old pair of shoes. Have I made myself clear? Because if you do something like that again, oh by Melitele I promise I'll make you pay.”

"Yes I understand" Answers. The white wolf stripped of all his barriers. He sounds so tired, so broken.

"Oh my sweet sweet witcher" he says lovingly, daring to reach out for a lock of white hair falling above Geralt's cheekbone to tuck it behind his ear. And Geralt for once doesn't pull away. "Life has not been kind to you. But I am, I have and will be kind to you till my last breath. You have me, even thru distance, you can count on me, even if I'm not that resourceful. Look at me Geralt. Yes, there you are. Hi. You have my undying loyalty and consideration, and you know why? because I'm your friend and I love you. By the way I'm amazingly happy for you have finally found your child surprise, although I wish it had been on better circumstances” Geralt smile at him, that small curve on his lips accompanied by the delicate flutter of his eyelids. And Jaskier falls for the man a little bit more. "Oh well, that was intense. I should get going, I'm planning on staying on the road for few more months maybe years who knows? I still have a couple of great songs on my sleeve about our adventures. Oh! and I received a letter from Oxenfurt. They recognize me as one of the best poets of the age. They have a classroom reserved for me, can you imagine? Me? teaching! a terrible idea If you ask me. But i'm not prepared for being the grumpy scholar, not yet if ever, I'll make them wait a few years, if old age doesn't take me first. You must come and visit me there, yes you must! or on the road when all this is over. Don't make me wait that long, ok?” He reach one last time to grab Geralt's wrist and squeeze, fully smiling before standing up, he dusts his fine clothes and hang his lute over his shoulder. "Be safe my witcher and take care of each other" he says loud enough to be heard by Ciri. He approaches the princess in question and Roach who neigh in delight, she's got a soft spot for him and the sugar cubes he always stuff in his pockets, just like the ones currently on his fist. Roach gently took a couple from his open hand.

“You're safe with him, princess”

"I know...and uhmm it's Ciri"

"Ciri” he replies

"Is good to know he have someone" say Ciri in a small voice.

"He’s always had but he needs to be reminded of most of the time.” She nods solemnly, in that moment Jaskier knew she'll grow up to be an excellent warrior even better than Geralt. He hopes he'll be there to witness it. And with that he leaves, throwing a last glance at the witcher, who's still sitting against the tree, lost in thought.

He looks at the sky, nightfall is about to come in more or less two hours, enough time to reach the nearest town to rent a room. He'll not perform, not tonight. Tonight is for him alone. His stomach grumbles embarrassingly loud, he's only eaten bread and a green apple on the entire day. He can't wait to get to the inn to order a plate of the delicious pork he could smell as he passed by. Perhaps he can afford to buy honey pastry, oh yes.

With every step taken away from the camp, he feels like he's finally free, the acid sensation in his chest and throat is no longer there. The sorrow finally gone. Suddenly, subtly, unexpectedly tears began to pour, he's sobbing, but smiling at the same time. He’s undoubtedly content.

Footsteps. Heavy footsteps behind him. He stops.

It can't be.

He turns unhurriedly, and he sees him, sees Geralt running towards him . A desperate expression on his handsome features. And Jaskier knows what's about to happen. With a swiftly movement takes the strap of his lute to let it fall at the ground. Sorry girl.

"...Jaskier" he grunts just before engulfin the bard in those strong arms. Barely recovered from the shock, Jaskier sobs some more on the witcher's shoulder. This is truly happening. Geralt is hugging him like he's an anchor, like he's worth it.

And then Geralt takes his face between his hands, cleaning the still flowing tears with his thumbs. Faces inches apart. "What have I done to deserve you" he whispers with devotion. "You should be angry, you should hate me. I don't deserve..."

"You deserve this and more. Much more." Geralt's eyes are wet and Jaskier feels blessed to be granted the trust to seeing him so open, so vulnerable.

"And you, do you deserve this despicable treatment? Forgive me" Jaskier smiles against the tears, bumping his forehead with Geralt's. "Forgive me"

"There's nothing to forgive, my witcher" Sweetly Geralt guides his lips to his forehead, his eyes, his nose, the corner of his lips. Jaskier may as well die with the happiness surging from every part of his being.

“I wanted to search for you, I was planning on to, after leaving Ciri at Kaer Morhen. You're too far important for me and therefore you're important to Nilfgaard. Come with me, come to Kaer Morhen with us."

"Yes" Because he'll always say yes, no matter what. Yes to this life, to the danger, to the songs. Yes to Geralt. They stayed like that for a long time, holding each other, breathing each other scents, loving each other.

There were still things left unsaid, but it was enough for now. They needed to rest. To hold each other some more, maybe.

[aliciameade]

“Beach Babes”

Author: aliciameade Rating: E Pairing: Beca/Chloe Summary: A little smut on the beach.

This one goes out to @eulersfeverdream for their generous donation to the @ppfandomdrive​! Thank you for your support!

Also on AO3

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“Can you pass me another black cherry?”

Chloe smiles at the way Beca nudges her with her elbow before they lean opposite directions: Beca to toss her empty can into the bag with the other half-dozen or so they’ve collected and Chloe to fish another White Claw from the ice of their cooler, then decides to grab another for herself since she’s almost finished with the tangerine-flavored spiked seltzer wedged into the sand by her feet.

They lean back into each other at the same time, Beca’s hand ready for the can Chloe passes to her. They set up their beach post along an old felled tree trunk on the beach, using it as a windbreak and a makeshift chair to rest against. They’d made a day of it packing a cooler with drinks and snacks and a beach bag with a few games to play in the sand, just the two of them.

Officially, they’re three months into their romantic relationship. Unofficially, they’re several years into it, but it wasn’t until a particularly vulnerable and bold moment of Beca’s that she confessed how she felt about Chloe and found out the feelings were reciprocated.

They’ve since learned their physical chemistry is a force to be reckoned with; Chloe still teases Beca about her begging for “a day off” because her tongue was so tired that it ached like doing too many reps at the gym.

The day off simply resulted in Chloe making Beca come half a dozen times before riding Beca’s fingers to her own climax.

As Chloe snuggles into her side on the blanket next to their small campfire on the beach, Beca thinks it a wonder the sun’s gone down but neither of them has yet today.

Her pun makes her sniff in laughter.

“What?” Chloe asks, lifting her head off Beca’s shoulder so she can look at her.

Beca glances at her, then cranes her neck back so she can look at her without going cross-eyed. “Nothing.”

“You laughed.” Chloe’s soft smile starts to grow. “What are you thinking about?” Her eyes light up. “Was it dirty?”

Beca rolls her eyes and she knows she’s blushing, but hopes it’s not obvious in the glow of the campfire. “Chloe!”

Chloe’s brows arch with interest. “That’s not a ‘no.’”

Beca feels Chloe’s fingers walking up her thigh from her knee. Her fingers are cold and wet from holding her drink which has been set aside. Beca is still in her bikini from the day but she’d pulled a hoodie over her head to cut the chill from the breeze. “I know.”

“You know it’s not a ‘no’?”

“No,” Beca says with a smile, just to be annoying but her moment of confidence falters when Chloe’s fingertips graze between her legs over the thin material of her bathing suit briefs. Her curse word is caught up in a gasp and she hates the proud look that forms on Chloe’s face at her reaction.

“Tell me,” Chloe says as she turns her wrist to fit her fingers comfortably between Beca’s thighs that shift automatically to give her more room, blunt nails lightly dragging up and down the still-damp-from-the-ocean material. If Chloe keeps it up, it will be damp for a different reason.

Beca manages to just bite her lip and shake her head; she knows it will just challenge Chloe to try harder to get her to confess and it works when fingertips suddenly press hard against her clit. 

“I said, tell me.” Chloe’s voice is low and her eyes are dark. Gone is the pride and amusement from seconds ago, now replaced with lust, darkened by the shadows cast by the fire.

Beca can’t help the shiver that runs up her back and she shoves her can of seltzer into the sand before she does something embarrassing like drop it. “Or what?” she finally says when Chloe’s intense eyes drop to her lips, breaking the invisible hold she’s had on Beca.

Chloe’s fingers abruptly disappear, her hand moving to rest on Beca’s thigh. She doesn’t respond; that alone is her answer.

She considers ending it then and there by refusing to give in and answer; it would probably annoy Chloe to the point of taking Beca anyway just to prove something to herself. Beca knows that now, either way, she’s going to be the one to come away the winner and it’s just a matter of what Chloe’s mood will be.

She also considers their surroundings, eyes only leaving Chloe’s face to quickly survey the area around them. With the sun now down, most of the day’s beachgoers were long gone. A few small fires dotted the coast, but all were far enough away that she could scarcely make out the silhouettes of the people around them, voices little more than indecipherable chatter and laughter that carries on the wind in fits and starts.

She meets Chloe’s eyes again to find her waiting—staring—expectantly. “I’d thought about how the sun went down but neither of us went down.”

Chloe’s controlled, fake-stern face breaks into a fit of giggles. “I knew it was dirty.”

Beca’s about to reply but Chloe interrupts.

“I think we should change that.”

“Okay,” Beca says with an eager nod as Chloe’s lips capture hers. They’re tender but demanding and Beca knows their little moment of teasing affected Chloe just as it had Beca. She pulls Chloe closer by the back of her neck as Chloe’s tongue slips into her mouth with practiced ease and Beca moans against the kiss as fingers reappear between her legs, this time pressing firm circles against her clit.

Beca’s taking mental stock of what she knows is around them—cans, beach bags, open bags of chips—so she can try not to spill or lay on something when Chloe inevitably tells her to turn and lie down when instead, Chloe suddenly pulls away, climbs over Beca’s left leg, and shimmies backward until she’s lying down on her stomach between her thighs. 

Beca’s acutely aware of how close it puts Chloe’s bare feet to the superhot steel fire ring embedded in the sand but it doesn’t seem to bother Chloe who just looks up at Beca with a smirk as she nudges Beca’s thighs further apart.

She’s never been sitting up for this, and definitely not while outdoors in what could be full-view of the public if someone were to stroll by, but she finds herself not caring as Chloe’s hands move to tickle the backs of Beca’s knees. It makes her bend them and Beca realizes that’s exactly what Chloe wanted: her knees bent and feet pressing into the blanket open her quite nicely.

“Perfect,” Chloe sighs as she leans in and Beca watches from her perfect vantage point with rapt attention as fingers hook under her briefs to pull them aside. Chloe’s tongue follows, its pointed tip finding her clit immediately to make her hips twitch.

“Oh, okay,” Beca laughs weakly. She can see what’s happening but only in brief moments as the light of the fire dances behind Chloe. It feels somewhat pompous to do, but she leans into the log at her back and lets her arms stretch out along it so she can just watch and feel. And it doesn’t seem to bother Chloe; she watches Beca do it and then moans quietly as she starts to lap at her with purpose.

Beca doesn’t think it will take very long. She was wet before Chloe’s tongue even touched her. But Chloe’s also taking her time, intentionally building Beca up and then easing off before she gets too close. Her fingers tug a little harder at Beca’s briefs to expose more of her and Beca watches her lift her head, take her first two fingers into her own mouth to suck on and wet them, before sinking them into Beca to start a steady pace.

Her head falls back against the log; she can’t watch anymore. She can only listen to her own quiet moans and Chloe’s muffled ones in response, and the crackle of the fire and the waves lapping at the shore as Chloe laps at her clit over and over again until Beca can tell she’s going to see it through this time.

“Just like that,” she breathes and she forgets to clench her jaw to quiet her next moan when Chloe’s fingers pick up speed until they’re almost pounding into her, lips sucking hard at her clit as her tongue grinds against it.

All at once, she comes, and muting herself is the last thing on her mind as her hands fly down to tangle in Chloe’s wind-and-water-mussed hair to pull her closer. Chloe’s moaning with her, though muffled, and Beca opens her eyes long enough to figure out Chloe’s free hand is beneath her and between her own legs.

“Oh, fuck, are you coming,” Beca groans, unable to stop her hips from grinding forward.

“Close,” is all Chloe can manage with what her mouth is doing to Beca.

“Don’t stop, don’t stop, don’t stop,” she says quickly; she can feel in how hard she just came that she’ll come again, and easily.

Chloe understands what she means and her groan is needy and wanton and this time, Beca watches as Chloe fucks her. It’s messy and barely coordinated but it doesn’t matter now. Especially not when she’s also watching Chloe’s hips rolling and grinding as she fucks herself along with Beca.

She hears it in Chloe’s voice, voice getting higher the closer she gets and Beca manages to hold back until she sees Chloe’s hips start jerking and she groans as they come together.

She’s still breathing hard when Chloe eases back until she’s pushing herself up to sit back on her knees. She’s backlit by the fire, features almost indiscernible, but she can see enough to know that Chloe’s lips are cleaning not only the fingers that were just inside Beca but those that were inside herself, as well.

“Fuck,” Beca says with a deep sigh as she watches until Chloe starts crawling forward to sit next to Beca again. Then she lets her head fall back to stare at the night sky.

“Good?”

Beca glances at her. “Meh,” she says with a shrug.

It makes Chloe’s eyes go wide and an offended scoff follows. “‘Meh’ yourself!”

Beca cracks a smile after a few seconds, not wanting Chloe to spiral into actual offense and concern about nonexistent shortcomings. “That was so fucking hot.”

A chorus of whistles and hoots and hollers reach her ears from the distance and the realization that sound travels well over flat surfaces and water registers: their private moment wasn’t as private as she’d let herself believe.

Chloe hears it, too, and bursts into a fit of giggles.

“Oh, my God,” Beca says with a groan as she throws her hands over her face.

“Well, at least they know we have great sex.”

“I don’t need people to know about our sex life.”

Chloe’s hand encircles her wrist to tug one of her hands away from her face. “Our fucking hot sex life.”

Beca can’t disagree with that and lets her other hand fall away just in time for Chloe to kiss her. This time it’s slow and peaceful, the impromptu urgency of earlier now gone in favor of quiet comfort.

“We’re not leaving until they’re gone,” she says when it ends. “I’m not walking past them after that.”

Chloe laughs and pecks her lips again. “Why not? For all they know, you were the one making me come. Twice.”

That makes Beca take pause; she didn’t need people looking at her who just heard her orgasm (twice), but the thought that they would see Chloe and her together...they wouldn’t know it was Beca. And she kind of liked the idea that people might think they’d heard her get Chloe off like that.

She supposes the pride that accompanies that feeling is what Chloe is genuinely feeling. And she really doesn’t want to hurt her pride. “Yeah, okay,” she says with a nod. “Let’s pack up and go home so I can return the favor.”

Her response earns her particularly hard, deep kiss from Chloe. “Can’t wait.”

The End

[alexandrablake]

restless soul, lie down

Prompt: 16. “Do the drugs still get you high?” from this prompt list and 52. “Sometimes, memories are the worst torture.” from this one! Pairing: platonic!Hotch/Reid Word Count: 1,537 Warnings: mentions of drug abuse. references to the events of “revelations” (2x18). A/n: ooh baby, we’re late again. didn’t even start this one until 10 minutes before i was supposed to post it!! nice one, eva!!! (this is my interpretation of how they should have dealt with reid’s drug addiction btw)

     It was a fitting day- dark and dreary, rain pouring down as if to drown the world. The droplets splattered the windows, and the clouds blocked out the stars that would normally dot the night sky. It was quiet, too, the normal sound of people hard at work long gone. Two figures remained in the office, a tall, pale, and wiry one and a dark, serious, and concentrated one.

Hotch looked out his office window and saw Reid still sitting at his desk, hunched over with his head in his hands. Sparing a quick glance at the clock hanging on his wall, he noted the time far too late for even Reid to be there. He abandoned the report he had been working on and walked out into the bullpen. 

His footsteps were heavy as he descended the stairs, but the normally over-observant Reid took no notice. Hotch grabbed Emily’s chair and rolled it over so he sat in front of Spencer. It was only then that the younger man noticed his presence. 

“Hotch,” Spencer breathed, eyes darting wildly, “what are you doing here?”

Hotch leaned back in his seat, crossing his arms over his chest. “Filling out reports. Why are you here?”

He received a light shrug as his answer. Hotch took in Reid’s disheveled state. His desk was in complete disorder; pencils were scattered, notes with indecipherable words scribbled onto them were placed haphazardly, and the essence of Reid was just gone. His normally ironed clothes were crumpled. It didn’t escape Hotch that they were the same ones from the day before. 

His physical appearance was almost worse. Reid’s eyes were sunk into his sockets, and dark circles sat beneath him. He hadn’t slept properly in weeks, and it was evident. His hair was a mess of brown hair, and it was clear that it as well hadn’t been cared for in a long time.

Hotch knew exactly what was happening. 

Rather than stating the obvious, he gave the young profiler a chance to admit it himself. “Are you alright?” “Hm?” Reid had become engrossed with fiddling with the array of pens across his desk. “Oh, yeah, no, I’m fine.”

“Are you sure?” “Yes, Hotch, I’m sure,” he snapped, completely unlike himself. 

Hotch tilted his head to the side and eyed Reid’s messenger bag. “Do you mind if I look through your bag?” “Yes!” Reid picked the bag up from the ground and clutched it to his chest. “Yes, I mind,” he added in a much softer voice.

“Why?”

“Stop profiling me.”

Sighing, the unit chief moved his chair closer. He pushed away the mess on the edge of the desk, and leaned his elbow onto it. He was done dancing around the issue.

“Do the drugs still get you high?”

Reid dropped the pen he was twirling around his fingers. He began to bounce his leg as he reached down to grab it, hands shaking the whole time. 

“I-I beg your pardon?”

Very calmly, Hotch repeated himself. Spencer seemed just as taken aback by the question the second time. He blinked harshly a few times, and wiped his palms on the top of his pants. 

“What are you-are you talking about?” His voice was shaky, and he stumbled over his words.

He was nervous. Hotch had struck a nerve.

“I mean, it’s very obvious you’re having a drug problem.” He held his hand out and began to tick his fingers as he listed off the reasons. “You’re snappy. You disappear periodically throughout the day. You’ve just undergone a traumatic experience. You very clearly have trouble focusing. You’re jittery.”

Reid pushed his hair behind his ears. 

“Need I go on?” Hotch blinked slowly and gauged the man’s response. 

“Those are all indicators of post-traumatic stress disorder. What makes you think I am doing drugs?” Hotch smiled grimly. That was more like the Reid he knew. “What are you using? Adderall? Something harder?”

The mop of brown hair flew around as he shook his head rapidly. “I don’t know what you are talking about.” “Reid…” Aaron trailed off, looking at the man with concerned eyes.

Spencer’s shoulders sagged, seemingly in defeat. “It’s not my fault, I didn’t mean to get addicted!”

“I know it isn’t. It’s never the victim’s fault,” Hotch said softly so as not to deter Reid from telling the story. “How did it start?”

“Back in that barn, Tobias- and it was Tobias- gave me some. Uh, he said it was to help me, that it made the beatings better. And it did. Then, um, when I shot him and I, uh, I asked you to let me stay back, I took the vials he had in his pocket.”

“Dilaudid?”

Reid’s face showed more years than he had lived as he answered quietly, “Yeah.”

“Is it to help the pain?” Hotch asked in an equally hushed voice.

“It was at first, yeah. I mean, it really started as most addictions do. Uh, you start to distract you from the world around you. It makes everything easier, you know? Well, no, you don’t know, but-”

“Reid,” Hotch stopped him, holding his hands up, “breathe.” “Breathe, right. Uh, yeah, it was a distraction at first. But then I had to have it. I think- I think I got used to the high? And then the flashbacks started, and I needed more. I just wanted to forget, Hotch. And it let me forget,” Reid stopped and looked away from the ground to the still droplet-covered windows. “I just wanted to forget.”

They sat in a saddened silence, the only sound being the rain falling from the sky and hitting the roof. Hotch was the first to break from the trance they had fallen into. 

“You’ve seen more horrors in your short years than almost everyone will see in their entire life. I don’t think wanting to forget is something anyone would blame you for. But using isn’t healthy, you know that.” Reid nodded. “We’ve both seen the effects that long-term drug use can do on a person’s mind. I’d hate to see what it would do to a mind as great as yours.”

They fell into silence once again, unspoken words hanging in the air like fog over a harbor.

The youth shined through Spencer as he asked, “Am I in trouble?”

“No, you are not in trouble.”

Reid sighed in relief and leaned back in his chair a little. His leg had stopped bouncing, and he could finally shift his gaze to meet the older profiler’s.

“You know that my office door is always open if you need to talk,” Hotch told him gently.

“Yeah, I know.”

“Is now one of those times?”

“Not really.”

Hotch didn’t press the matter. “Okay.” He held his hand out. “Now, let’s work on getting the real Spencer Reid back.”

Hotch could tell that Reid knew what the offered hand meant by the sloop in his shoulders. The younger man reached a shaky hand into the bag he was still clutching but paused before removing it. 

“Hotch, I don’t want the memories.”

A wave of sadness swept through Hotch at the question. “I think sometimes, memories are the worst torture. But I also think sometimes, they are the only cure.”

Reid frowned at the sentiment. “And how do I know which time this is?”

“You won’t until it happens. Is that a chance you are willing to take?”

Reid removed his hand from the bag, clutching three bottles with a clear liquid sloshing in them. “This has to work,” he said, his voice raspy. He sounded as if he were on the verge of tears as he continued. “This has to work because I don’t know what I will do if it doesn’t.”

Hotch pocketed the bottles and stood up from his chair. Spencer followed suit, wiping his hands on his thighs again.

“There’s a group I’m going to sign you up for, alright?” Hotch said, not unkindly.

Reid cleared his throat as he gathered his things. “What- what kind of group?”

“Drug support group. You’ll be surrounded by people who have and are experiencing the same thing you did and are.”

Pausing in his clean up, Reid looked to him inquisitively. “And what about Strauss? What happens when she gets wind of this? She already has me on thin ice because I failed the field exam.”

“I’ll deal with Strauss if it comes to that. I’ll be with you every step of the way. I’ll even go with you to the meetings so you know you aren’t alone, if that’s something you would like.” Reid swallowed harshly and gave Hotch a weak smile. “Yeah, I think- I think I would like that.”

“Okay,” Aaron responded softly and walked away from the desk.

As he grabbed on the railing that supported him on the stairs to his office, he paused. 

“Spencer?” he called.

“Yes?”

“You’re going to be okay. You know that, right?”

Giving him a lopsided smile, Reid told him, “I have never wanted to depend on people because I have always been afraid it will make me seem weak. But I think that I am learning that there is nothing wrong with asking for help sometimes.”

“Good.”

[kenzieam]

Remember Me - Chapter One

@jewels2876​​​​  @moonbeambucky​​​​  @jeremyrennerfanxxxx123​​​​  @iammarylastar​​​​@captstefanbrandt​​​​  @badassbaker​​​​  @pinknerdpanda​​​​  @oliviastan17​​​​ @mizzzpink​​​​​

I know I’m forgetting people, sorry. If you want in, hit me.

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Rating: M

Warnings: Major angst, drama, sorrow, pain, suffering, language, my usual shit

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FEEDBACK IS LIFE, Y’ALL!

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Lev is newly born, her entire life up until the last mission gone. How does she navigate these new waters where she doesn’t remember anything anymore? And what to make of the heartbreaking way Bucky is always looking at her now?

***********************************************************************

My head hurts and I’m getting tired of the endless questions, but the people milling around me can’t seem to accept what I keep saying, over and fucking over.

“You don’t remember me?”

I study him, if only to give the impression that I’m trying really hard to remember but it’s all a blank, just a big fucking expanse of white. Not overly tall, tailored suit and smart-ass twist to his lips. “No.”

He glances at one of the others, a quiet, introspective guy who’s been doing most of the medical shit and only receives a shrug in return.

“C’mon Banner, what the hell is going on?” The little one asks, sounding surprisingly distressed.

Who are these people and why do they care so much if I know them?

“I told you,” the one called Banner begins, voice quiet and somehow chronically sad. “She can’t remember; going by my preliminary findings, it’s most-likely post-traumatic retrograde amnesia.”

“What? She hit her head or something?” The little guy looks around at the rest of them, hands out in exasperated query.

I consider answering, something cutting and acerbic about the blood-stained uniform I wear, the bruises and cuts and cracked bones that Banner has already splinted and given me lovely drugs for, but it seems like too much effort and really, if the suit can’t deduce that something went down out there based on how I look and feel like I’ve been hit by a truck, I’m not going to waste my breath.

A tall blond who’s holding his side gingerly answers, flicking a glance at me as if he’s read my apparently scrambled mind. Judging by the way the others pay attention to him, I’m guessing he’s one of the bosses. There’s a reassuring steadiness about him and I see why he’s the one everyone looks to for answers. “Yes, Tony. She hit her head, Kozlov had a few dirty tricks laid out that we got stuck in.”

The one called Tony shrugs, looking inexplicably pissed. “The rest of you look okay.”

That was far from true, every single one of them was bleeding or bruised somewhere, but if he was referring to the fact that no one else was sitting there unable to remember anything personal, then he was right. A petite redhead, her arm in a sling, shifted her weight, throwing a dirty glance at Tony, while a handsome black guy, one whole side of his uniform scorched and torn but the skin beneath thankfully intact, scoffed, looking ready to say something in return if not for the blond glancing warningly at him over his shoulder but my attention was on the brown-haired man hovering in the shadows.

As tall as the blond and heavily muscled, chocolate brown hair hung lank in a stunningly beautiful face, all the more striking because of his almost supernatural blue eyes but the most defining feature by far was his shiny, metal left arm. He looked like he was struggling with the urge to simultaneously destroy something in rage and collapse into tears, the dichotomy both fascinating and unsettling. Although heavily injured, at least to my eyes, he’d eschewed all attempts at help, insisting on everyone else being taken care of first. He’d spent most of the time here in this sterile room watching me, something indecipherable in his stare. He seemed to be taking this amnesia business far more personally than anyone else, eyes red-rimmed and swimming in tears, even as his fists, one metal and one flesh, clenched at his sides.

“I know,” the blond replies, sounding chagrined and I look his way once more, curious despite the pain in my head. He flicks his eyes to me, and I’m surprised at the distress there. “Lev took a hit meant for all of us.”

I did? Why? And is that my name, Lev?

The anguish in the metal-armed guy seems to overflow at the blonde’s words and he turns away, hammering his synthetic fist against the wall, the sound barely concealing his sob, but the group appears remarkably indifferent to his reaction, as if used to it; maybe he’s the emotional one of the team.

Or maybe, based on the way he’s been watching you; this news hurts him more.

Whatever, my head frickin’ hurts and I just want to lie down, we can all play twenty-questions later.

Banner seems to notice my weariness first and steps closer, freezing when I tense then seeming to accept my reaction almost sadly. “C’mon, let’s leave her alone. She needs to rest.”

“She can’t go to her quarters…” the redhead begins, looking between the one named Tony, Banner and the blond, glancing once apologetically at the brunette, who’s turned away from the wall to watch us again, but looks like he is barely holding on. A strange compulsion hits me, to leap off the exam table, rush to him and hold him close but it makes no goddamn sense, I don’t know this man, I need to go lie down, like Banner said.

“No.” Banner agrees, and he too flicks a look at the man, seemingly sorry to agree with the woman. “That won’t work… not right now…. Anyway, she needs to be monitored closely for the next day or so, I’d feel better if she stays here.”

Whatever, I can’t think about this, everything hurts too goddamn much. The darkness swirls up again and, rather than fighting it, I embrace it, faintly registering my body sway and tip over, the impact with the bed probably painful but I’m too gone to notice.

**********************************************************************************    Heavy breathing wakes me later and I slit my eyes open, trying to find the source. Whoever it is, they sound like they’re fighting tears and my heart cracks at the sound. I imagine the sound of anyone crying is something I don’t particularly want to hear, but something about this person’s anguish is particularly cutting.

It’s the brown-haired man, the one with the metal arm. He sits to my side, hunched over, face buried in his hands and massive shoulders shaking. It’s disconcerting to see someone so physically imposing and large looking so… broken but there’s some serious shit going on with this guy.

Before I can move though, shift my hand to brush his knee or anything really to help him, the blond appears at the doorway. I can barely make his features out, due to the dim lighting and my barely-opened eyes, but he’s not looking at me anyway. I close my eyes again, it’s easier.

“Buck, c’mon man.” He murmurs, stepping further into the room. “You need to lay down.”

Buck, okay; that’s his name.

“She’s gone, Steve.”

No, I’m not. I’m not dead.

“No, she’s not.”

Thank you, Steve.

“Her memory is! She can’t remember us; she doesn’t remember me.”

“Bruce hopes it’ll all come back.”

“What if it doesn’t?” There’s a horrible resignation in his deep voice, a stark question.

“Then we’ll deal with it.”

“She’s everything to me, Steve. She’s my life, you know this. If all we had is gone-”

“Stop it.” There’s an edge in Steve’s voice now, but I get the impression it’s not anger, but the same fear currently affecting Buck. “She will come out of this. You know as well as I do that Tony and Bruce won’t rest until they figure this out.”

Buck scoffs, but it’s half-hearted and I feel a calloused hand take mine. The touch is gentle, if a little desperate. It feels like he’s saying goodbye.

I hear Steve step in further, a hand slap lightly on a shoulder. “C’mon.” He says again and I hear the chair scratch as Buck stands. A moment later dry lips brush my forehead.

“I’ll be here when you wake up.” Buck murmurs but then my shadows are dragging me down again and if he says anything more, I don’t hear it.

**********************************************************************************        The next days pass with painful slowness, dragging like rusty blades across my skin and, based on the faint scars I find on my inner arms and thighs, that’s something the old me used to do with heartbreaking regularity.

What sort of life did I lead, that made inflicting pain on myself acceptable?

I want to stay away from the others, but it’s made difficult by their damn persistence. I’m given some space but not nearly as much as I crave. They all mean well but being asked a hundred times if some location or activity ‘triggers anything?’ gets old. And Banner, Bruce now as I’ve learned is his first name, has a thousand and one ways to try and restart my memory.

But it all remains frustratingly blank.

I remember nothing, not one thing about my life before waking up in the quinjet, everyone hovering over me looking like I’d gone and died on them a time or two.

But apparently there’s records and I spent the first few days that Bruce insisted I stay in the medical labs working my way through them.

I was an orphan, raised in a series of group homes and shoddy orphanages, fighting for scraps. Faint memories trickle back as I read this, just flashes and hints but, based on what I’m reading, that’s a good thing. Sometimes they seem little better than nightmares.

And it explains the scars.

After slumming around in dead-end jobs for a while I, seemingly on a whim, applied to SHIELD and passed the entrance exam, a surprise given my basic background, lack of higher education and chip on my shoulder regarding authority.

Following one particularly ugly assignment, where I completely disregarded orders and then told my commanding officer to go fornicate with himself, I was offered a choice.

Leave SHIELD in disgrace, or volunteer as a guinea pig, only I wasn’t supposed to call it that, even if I was.

For what exactly I had no idea, but that didn’t seem to stop me and, after a half-dozen unsuccessful tests where I nearly got my head blown off more that once testing out experimental weapons, (an expendable resource for R&D), I was offered up to Tony and Bruce.

And what a proposition they’d had for me.

For years Stark had been working on perfecting a serum similar to what his father and Erskine had used on the blond I now knew was called Steve and, with Banner’s help, he’d achieved a version he was fairly confident in.

For whatever reason, they saw something in me (that I did not and had never seen in myself) and the multiple personality and psychiatric tests that were standard at SHIELD and felt I was worthy of the opportunity. Or maybe just perfectly expendable, with no family or close friends to speak of.

And I’d apparently had no sense because I’d agreed to let them test it on me.

If the serum had failed, as it had the few other times Stark had felt confident enough to try it on a real person, I would have probably been booted out of SHIELD entirely, left to my own flawed devices; but it hadn't and I’d become the first successful recipient of serum since Rogers himself, at least for our side. There was a section included in my reading on HYDRA and their Winter Soldier program, including a group of volunteers who’d been executed by their handlers that I skimmed over, feeling the strangest sense of discomfort.

Anyway, with that came the transference to the team, and my first exposure to The Avengers.

That was as far as I got before Bruce cleared me to leave medical, despite the near crippling headaches I was still suffering from, and I was glad for it, being awakened every few hours (usually just after I’d managed to nod off again) had gotten old fast.

The topic of my quarters was still a touchy subject apparently, because I was led to a furnished but plain set of rooms to make myself at home. Steve was the one to take me and his shoulders stiffened when I asked if this was where I had lived before.

“No,” he replies quietly, not looking directly at me.

I was getting really tired of being spoon-fed inf0rmation, at the rate everyone else had decided I could handle it and there was obviously more here than Steve was willing to tell me. “Then where did I live before? Why can’t I go back there now?”

“Lev-” Although I didn’t remember this man, the look of reluctance on his face was universal. He doesn’t want to tell me.

“Goddammit, would someone tell me the truth?” I snap, slamming my fist into the wall, only a small part of me sorry for my outburst. “Why is everyone lying to me?”

“We’re not lying!” Steve almost shouts and I get the sense that this big man rarely raised his voice like this because his face went pink and blotchy and he looked away from me. “Look, Lev. This is hard for everyone-”

I snort, because really.

“No, it’s true.” He returns, finally meeting my eyes. “We just don’t want to overwhelm you.”

“By taking me to an empty room?”

He shifts uncomfortably. “Its not a good idea for you to go to your old quarters.”

“Why not?”

He looks downright miserable now. “Because you share them with someone.” He lifts his gaze to me, beseeching me to stop asking, to not press him further.

To hell with that. “Who?”

“Lev.”

“Who?!”

“No,” he shakes his head and get the feeling he’s digging in his heels. “Bruce said it’s dangerous to overload you with information, I’ve already said too much. Don’t ask again.”

There’s such misery on his face I pause. “Was it you?”

He starts slightly, fighting to hide it. “No.”

I feel bad suddenly, pressing him like this. It’s not his fault I can’t remember anything (at least I don’t think it is) and he’s just the poor bastard that got tasked with showing me my new room. A headache flares up with sickening strength and I suddenly don’t care anymore who I shared space with. “Okay, thanks.” I reach for the knob, hoping to keep my face from betraying my pain.

“Lev-”

“I’m going to go lay down now, Rogers. Thanks.”

I close the door in his face before he can answer.

************************************************************************************ Murmured words against my throat.

Soft lips caress my pulse-point.

A soft, stroking touch.

Heat and weight as someone stretches out on top of me, the feeling welcoming and familiar.

A knee between my thighs, a shuddered exhale.

“I love you, baby.” A tender voice.

I wake to a dark room, cold and alone. There is nobody with me, no one whispering tenderly in my ear. Whoever they were, I trusted them completely, felt one hundred percent safe with them and…. Shit, loved them in return.

But who?

My brain has been too scrambled, my interactions with the team too awkward and stilted to give me any clues. Nobody so far has sparked anything in me like that, male or female; not that I’m prejudiced, but the weight on me, the timbre of the voice says it was a man I loved.

Steve says it wasn’t him, but that doesn’t really narrow it down. There’s apparently a thunder god running around out there somewhere I haven’t met in my new form, and his brother, plus a multitude of others, it’s all a jumbled maze in my head right now.

I could be standing right next to this person and not have a fucking clue, thanks to the tangled spaghetti in my brain.

It’s been a week since I was escorted to these empty rooms and I’ve rarely ventured out, preferring solitude to everyone’s well-meaning ‘help’. It’s not like I’m partying it up or anything, most of the time I sleep, exhausted and baby-weak, trying to remember my life when I’m awake, which usually just leads to more sleeping.

The others do get in unfortunately, because even though it’s exhausting and draining to talk with people, see the hope in their eyes that their words are going to somehow trigger some memory in me, it’s also strangely lonely by myself. I don’t have myself in my head anymore to keep me interested, the general background noise of a busily-humming brain. Mine is still shell-shocked, with no files to sort through for entertainment.

The dreams, or perhaps memories, continue. Not all the time, but enough to make me think they’re more than simple fantasy. The whispered words, the warmth of someone’s strong, muscular body. I’d sit down and try to figure it out if I didn’t now have the attention span of three-year old and the napping habits of a ninety-year-old.

“It’ll come back.” Bruce reassures me, but I’m not sure who he’s talking to, me or him.

“The memories,” I clarify. “Or everything?”

“Everything?”

“My… ties with people, friendships?”

Bruce shifts uncomfortably. “I don’t know. It’s still too early to tell, but with traumatic brain injury there is always the risk of permanent damage, personality changes. You being serum-enhanced just makes it a bigger question mark. Steve has never experienced something like this, and Bucky’s amnesia was an entirely different set of circumstances.”

I’ve learned since that first strange encounter with him, that his name isn’t in fact Buck, but Bucky, and both are nicknames for his real name, James; but that’s about it. The guy avoids me like the plague, and I guess that’s fair, since Bruce just said he’s experienced something the same but different, and probably doesn’t want to be reminded about it.

Once or twice, I’ve brought up Bucky to Steve, the first time in curiosity, the second to see if I imagined the first reaction. Both times his face went red and he suddenly couldn’t speak clearly, suffering from an acute case of the mumbles.

It would be telling, his reactions, if I actually remembered the man and whether he was a frequent sufferer of such things, or if my questions are hitting a particularly sore nerve.

“How’s your headaches?” Bruce continues, watching me carefully.

“You tell me, I know you’ve got that computer thing watching me all the time, what’s it called, MONDAY?”

He smiles faintly. “FRIDAY, and it’s for your own protection. You insist on being alone but if you ever suffered a seizure or was suddenly overcome with pain or-”

“I’m fine, really Banner. Don’t need a babysitter.”

“Right now, you do. Sorry Lev, I know that offends your sense of independence.”

“I have a sense of independence?”

“Yes, you were very self-reliant. That didn’t stop you from maintaining strong relationships with the team, but you preferred to nurse any wounds or injuries only in the company of a select few.”

“Them being?”

He grimaces, the same ‘oh shit’ look on his face as Rogers and we’re back into the ‘keeping Lev in the dark for her own good’ bullshit. “Lev-”

“Either tell me or leave me alone, Banner. I’m drowning in ‘what’s good for me’ around here.”

“Lev,” he looks genuinely hurt and I feel bad for a heartbeat. “We just want to help you, this is as strange and new to us as it is for you, we don’t know what will trigger memories for you, or overload you-”

“I know.” I heave a sigh because, as much as it grieves and frustrates me, I do get the sense that these people truly care about me and want what’s best for me.

“Do you feel well enough to try some exercise?”

I shrug, was that something I was into before? The toned lines of my body say yes but, as with everything, I have no memory of gym training.

“You have retrograde amnesia Lev; your personal memories are affected but not the practical ones. Your body remembers repetitive activities, you can dress and feed yourself, if you went down to the training area your body would remember your exercise routine, your muscles would take over.” He paused, weighing his next words. “No guarantees, but it might help trigger your memory as well.”

I nod absently because I’m wondering the same thing. There’s small bits and flashes that I remember now, but they only come if I’m not trying to remember. My mind needs to be blank and floating, basically concentrating on the opposite of thinking and sometimes I’ll get a little hit, some quick blip. Mostly it’s early memories so far, before I joined SHIELD or the team, but I’m starting to get a sense of the scrappy orphan I was, fighting more often than not, learning street smarts more than books.

I don’t feel like talking anymore and if the old me felt the need to exit conversations gracefully, the new one doesn’t. I stand, surprising Bruce and force a smile. “Okay, see you later?”

He recovers quickly and smiles. “Yes, Lev. Later, and I’m here anytime you need to talk, okay?”

Start actually answering my questions and I will, I think bitterly as I leave.

I find gym clothes in the bag someone packed for me, as well as a set of earbuds. Huh, maybe I’ll get more of sense of who Lev was if I listen to her music choices too.

The training area is empty when I get there, which is better than I’d hoped for. I don’t want anyone watching me right now or, even worse, trying to help.

I jab experimentally at the display on the treadmill and start walking. Bruce’s right, the practical shit is still here, I can work a treadmill, but if you asked me what my favourite colour was, I’d be lost.

Oh well, at least this gives me something to do besides sleep.

After a while, I speed up, moving into a jog. Even though I’m still stiff and sore, it feels good to move, and my body seems to remember doing it and doing it well. I catch sight of me in the mirrors and can’t help but smile. I don’t know how much is hard work and how much is the serum, but I love this body, it’s toned curves and latent strength… if only my brain would catch up.

The doors open and I look up, turning down some bass-heavy rap song that old me used to listen to and stumble on the track.

He looks as surprised to see me as I do him.

The infamous and rarely glimpsed Bucky.

He dithers at the door, clearly torn between continuing what he was doing or turning and leaving before setting his square jaw and marching inside. He nods once to me, averting his eyes and heads directly to the weights section.

I try not to stare as he gets started, putting in his own set of earbuds and grabbing a large set of dumbbells. Sweet baby Jesus, but the man is a work of art, and strong as an ox to boot.

I turn up my treadmill and music, forcing myself to look away because, damn.

But, despite myself, my eyes occasionally track back over.

Sweat darkens his tank top, his metal arm shining under the lights. His skin glows with good health and effort, each muscle cut and sharply defined. Small tendrils escape his man bun, sticking to his cheeks and the back of his neck. I can’t hear him over my music, but I imagine a very manly series of grunts as he works, straining at the weights, pushing for each rep. Maybe he swears too, the occasional gasped ‘fuck’ that wouldn’t be out of place in bed either-

Jesus. Calm the fuck down.

My fingers fly over the controls and some program flashes across the screen, something with lots of hills and valleys, whatever and, for awhile, I’m too busy trying to keep up to worry about Bucky. Then, movement nearby makes me flinch, a completely unexpected reaction.

Bucky, a few treadmills away, freezes at my response, something sad crossing his face, dimming the hope I see there, it looks like he was approaching me tentatively, perhaps to talk, and I had to go and spaz instead. I swallow, trying to think of something to say, a feat in itself since this program I chose is actually quite demanding and I’m working my ass off to keep up but, before I can think of anything, everything swirls grey and my knees give out. A loud thump hits my ears and I wonder if it’s my body bouncing off the track, but it doesn’t matter, because the comfort of oblivion has wrapped around me again and nothing else matters.

Raised voices wake me later, that and another monster of a headache. This is getting old, fast and I struggle to make sense of what’s going on around me.

“We need to tell her; she needs to know!”

“She needs to know, or you need her to know?”

It’s hazy, but I recognize the voices, Bucky and Steve, apparently arguing about something I need, or Bucky needs me to know. But then another voice weighs in, Bruce this time.

“We can’t rush her; this seizure just proves how fragile she still is.”

“No, the seizure was because someone told her she was okay to go to the gym!” Bucky snaps. “Who the fuck said that?” The way he asks it says he already knows and through slitted eyes, I see him squared off with the quiet doctor, his face a stormcloud of emotion, scary even. Steve intervenes, stepping deliberately between them. Tony appears, seemingly out of nowhere and the whole tense stand-off is dragged outside the medical lab, the doors cutting off any sound.

I can’t keep up with this shit and I let the darkness take me once more. Sleep is infinitely better right now than cryptic conversations I clearly was not meant to hear.

The next time I wake, my head is better, but my body still aches; what did I hit on the way down and I seriously consider just trying to close my eyes and go back to sleep, but there’s someone sitting beside me again.

It’s Bucky and he’s staring blankly at my hand, which is currently twined with his, tears in his eyes. He looks like sitting here beside me is absolutely killing him, or is it me? Something about me is hurting him. Does he feel bad I fell in the gym in front of him? Were we friends before all this happened?

I swallow painfully and the motion startles him back to life. He looks at me with indescribable pain in his eyes, like he’s dying to say something but can’t, maybe won’t. He’s the one I heard saying I needed to know earlier, what did he mean, what is so earth-shattering that the others seem to think I don’t need to hear yet?

His other hand reaches up and, I must still be semi-dreaming, because he strokes my forehead gently, an easy intimacy, like he has a right to my body and then he murmurs, so softly I almost don’t hear it.

“Baby.”

I jolt, but before I can get myself together enough to speak, he stands, giving me one last heartbreaking glance before leaving and I lay there for a long time in shock.

His voice; the few times I’ve heard him speak it was always in anger, arguing with Bruce or Steve or someone; I’ve never heard him tender, speaking softly and, now that I have, more questions flood into my tangled brain.

His voice is the one I hear in my dreams, the one that makes me feel safe and loved.

[cyn-00]

Moreid one shot, 8 - "how much"

Season 8, episode 18 "Restoration" (It's the one where the team is in Chicago and the unsub was one of the kids molested by Carl Buford, so Morgan is obviously really involved. At the end of the episode, after Derek finds out on the jet that Buford is dead - *yay*)

I have to say a couple things, since apparently if I don't write at least 20 lines of useless information before the actual fic, the Earth threatens to explode: 1) this is kinda obvious, but I always specify the episode and season so if you haven't watched that episode yet you probably shouldn't read the fic cause it may contain spoilers! 2) this is not obvious but highkey useless, I always imagine Reid having long hair (like season 4/5 or maybe a lil shorter), because FOR ME that's his best look (that's why you'll nearly always find expressions like "he tucked his hair behind his ear" even though for ex. in season 9 that wouldn't be possible lmao)

Update: goes unsaid that I partially re-wrote this as well as many others

Read it on AO3

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"Yes. Uh uh. No I understand, thank you for keeping me posted. I appreciate that."

Silence, following that call. Everybody looking at Morgan, waiting for him to say something - anything really. The look on his face was indecipherable, a mix of relief and uncomfort, and wanting to cry or break something or preferably both.

"...Buford is dead."

That was all he said. Not when, not how.

He kept his look out of the window of the jet, like meeting his friends' eyes could trigger an emotional response way too overwhelming for any of them to handle in that moment.

They all stared at him without making a single sound, not knowing what they were supposed to say, what he was expecting to hear from them. Not even Reid: his eyes remained glued to him for a while, unable to get back to reading his book with that lump in his throat suffocating him.

-

As soon as they got off the jet, Morgan vanished. Everyone thought he'd probably quickly got to his office to pick up his stuff and head home, without talking to anyone. But when the rest of the team entered the bullpen through the glass doors, they saw him, not in his office, but sitting at Reid's desk; elbows on his knees and eyes stuck on the floor.

Reid stopped walking and stared for a while from afar, frozen, deciding what to do; while the others headed to their desks and offices silently, not even able to small talk after what Morgan had announced.

Spencer felt a light touch on his shoulder. He turned around.

"He needs you, Spence." JJ's soft voice spoke sense into him. "It only works with you."

That last statement left Spencer a bit confused, but he nodded anyway, replying with a sad but grateful smile as she walked away.

His friend's encouraging words and a few more minutes of waiting were enough for Spencer to finally gather the nerve of walking toward the man.

-

Once he'd approached his own desk, he stood still and carefully looked down at his boyfriend, hunched on himself; waiting for him to notice his presence. But Morgan didn't move a single finger.

"...I thought you ran home." he said, softly.

Derek finally tilted his chin up to face him, straightening a little in his seat: he wasn't crying, but he did look upset. Still: the crack in Spencer's heart couldn't but widen at the damaged look on his usually warm, handsome face.

"Yeah I thought of that, but I- I feel like I need to...talk. To you."

Few seconds of silence.

"You really don't have to talk to me about it if you don't want to..." Spencer pointed out a bit nervously.

Derek didn't answer. He just stood up from the chair with his hands in his leather jacket pockets, staring straight into the other's brown eyes, with a look that said: "Please". Spencer answered with a nod.

Except for Hotch and Rossi, both in the former's office, the rest of the team had quickly got home: it was 11:30 pm. As for the other employees, they simply didn't have such a crazy schedule, so the bureau was empty. However, Morgan didn't feel like talking there, so he headed toward his office, Reid following without questioning.

-

Derek closed the door behind him, not bothering about the blinds, nor turning the light on. He sat on the black leather couch in the corner of the room, looking down at the floor as his elbows dug further in the holes they'd already carved earlier in his thighs.

Spencer put his satchel on the floor and stood there, 5 ft from him, with his hands in the pockets of his jacket: he had a feeling it was going to be a few minutes before Derek could feel like talking. But that was ok. That was the point: being there, silently or not.

The complete but slightly discomforting quiet, the dim light pervading the room coming from the bullpen, but most of all the presence of Spencer that made him feel like he was allowed to finally let go, weren't helping Derek from trying not to burst out crying. He kept his eyes squeezed shut and face down in the attempt to avoid that.

He accidentally let out a sniffle that gave Spencer the final clue that he was, in fact, about to cry. He buried his face in his palm, failing to stop the tears from falling any longer: he got "caught", there was nothing left to hide, at that point.

Spencer gulped. Before that, he had admittedly failed to pick up on how uncomfortable his boyfriend must have felt and how serious that situation was. He just wished he had the power to hug him tight and put the outer world on a pause while Derek let himself crumble down into smithereens; and then whisper comforting words in his ear while he fixed him, piece by piece, bit by bit, until he was somewhat whole again.

"Derek..." he murmured, feeling like his knees were wobbling under his weight at the sight of him like...that.

Spencer finally sat down next to him on the couch, not too close neither touching him. He knew the odds of Derek reacting well to physical comfort right after he exposed himself crying were few. He ran the statistics in his mind. Plus, he knew him. So he just sat there.

-

"I don't know why I'm reacting like this to the death of the man who ruined my childhood." Derek finally managed to say, a bit coldly, still eyeing down at the floor.

"I should be happy or at least relieved. That's what you're probably thinking." he added, pulling himself together just enough to find the courage to face Spencer; a deeply concerned but attentive look on his face.

"I'm thinking that you shouldn't beat yourself up for feeling whatever you are feeling right now." he answered reasonably, and quite frankly Derek wasn't expecting it.

Receiving no answer, Spencer continued. "I think," he paused, clearing his voice "I think that there's no right or wrong way for you to feel about it, because..." he paused again, contemplating whether he should mention Buford's name or maybe it was better not to.

"...cause Buford was never just an unsub for you." He mentioned him anyway, but stopped right there, staying vague, without openly addressing the fact that Buford had in some way been a father figure for Derek, when he was a kid. He didn't know how Derek would react to that: if he'd agree and see what his point was; or accuse him of justifying Buford's actions, in a small percentage.

Morgan didn't retort. He knew what Reid meant, and that what he meant made sense; nonetheless he couldn't erase those feelings of guilt and frustration and sickness that were possessing him. He nodded briefly and got back to facing the ground.

Spencer thought that it was the right moment for him to finally touch him without the risk of him flinching back. So he gently put his hand on the back of Derek's neck, stroking it with his thumb and looking at him with sad eyes.

The second Derek felt the comfort of his soft touch, he felt like crying again, like he had pressed some kind of vulnerable button. He screwed his eyes shut and clenched his jaw, letting out a heavy breath accompanied by a faint whine that he'd been trying so hard to keep buried down in the pit of his lungs.

"He should've rot in prison. What I said to the press gave him a way out." he paused and faced the other way, looking at the empty bullpen through the blinds. "It's- it's like he got what he wanted from me for the millionth time." he concluded, his voice hoarse and shaky.

Spencer understood, from his choice of words - he got what he wanted from me - that he was comparing that to the specific act of the abuse. The way he said it and the change in his demeanor - usually strong, both physically and emotionally - made Spencer's heart ultimately shatter and its fragments fall down to his stomach; and his eyes tingle. But he couldn't let himself go like that - he had to suck it up and support him. That's what Derek needed him to do in that moment; that's what Derek was always ready to do for Spencer, so it was only fair that he at least tried.

Reid switched position from sitting on the couch to kneeling on the floor right in front of him, in between his legs, so that he couldn't avoid his gaze anymore. He cupped his face in his hands to make their eyes meet again.

"You know that's not true." he asserted, pausing to let him process such statement and wiping off with his thumb a tear that managed to escape from one of Derek's eyes.

"He stopped getting what he wanted from you the moment you got out of that block and started becoming the man you are now. Catching people like him."

"He doesn't have to spend the rest of his life in jail now, does he? I did him NOTHING but a favor. And I didn't even notice, just like when I was a kid." Derek instantly blurted out.

"Derek why are you being so naive right now??" Spencer asked, though he wasn't really expecting an answer. He saw the man in front of him imperceptibly flinch at his tone, so he took a deep breath and explained.

"Don't you understand that if you hadn't made that speech to the press, his true identity would've remained secret to everyone? He was counting on restoring his reputation by becoming someone else. You SAW that, Derek." Spencer paused once again to lower his voice further - he didn't wanna come off as aggressive, but he wanted so hard to make him see what his eyes weren't seeing; clouded by his own trauma doubling back to him like a punch in the guts.

"The only person you did NOT do a favor to with what you said, it's him." he concluded.

Derek knew he was right. But - despite him being the one always talking sense into everybody - when it came to the abuse he suffered as a kid there was a small, hidden part of him that just couldn't help but feel guilty and subdued and victimized all over again.

He gently took Spencer's hands, still cupping his face, and put them down, looking at the floor. He felt in some way sorry for him, wasting his time, trying to convince him of the falsity of things that were so deeply rooted in his mind that not even his purest and most unconditional demonstration of love and support could conceal. But he knew it wasn't Spencer's fault and that he in the first place didn't have that kind of demand.

Spencer was hurt, but swallowed the words before they could come out. He figured that gesture meant he had to come to terms with the fact that there was nothing more he could say to him, to make him feel any better.

-

"Is that how I won?" Derek mumbled after a while, his deep voice piercing through the thick silence.

Spencer frowned apprehensively. "What do you mean?"

"I- I won because he died ? Was his death the only possible way for me to find a crumb of...I don't even know, of- of peace ?" Derek explained, looking straight into his eyes again, searching in Spencer's caramel irises for those answers that he already knew but needed someone external to say out loud.

"You won the second you realized you were no longer scared of letting other people know about what he did to you." Spencer replied lucidly, with no hesitation what so ever. "The first time being when you told us, and the second when you told the press. And the third exactly 23 minutes ago, when you chose to wait for me to talk about it instead of going home and closing me out." He paused. "and I honestly don't know how you did any of that but-" he swallowed and waited a second for the courage to say it to arise in him. "but I'm so proud of you I- I don't think you realize how much I am."

Spencer's hand instinctively made its way back to the other's cheek, stroking it with his thumb; uncaring of how it had been rejected earlier.

"You won when you finally understood that you are worth healing." he concluded in an almost whisper; eyes becoming glossy at the slight changes in expression on Derek's face.

Spencer wanted to do more than just brush a digit on his cheek, he wanted to hug him but guessed it wouldn't be the smartest choice. So he just stayed like that, gazing into Derek's eyes, with the other hand resting on his own thigh while his knees started to get sore from being in that position for the past 10 minutes.

-

Derek was speechless. After a seemingly endless silence, he reached his hand out to gently tuck Spencer's hair behind his ear.

"I- I love you. And I don't think you realize how much I do." he finally murmured, with watery eyes, purposely half-quoting what the other had just said.

Spencer's heart melted when he felt his touch and those words coming out so genuinely and uncensored. He slightly tilted his head to lean into such warmth, putting his hand over his and kissing his palm without breaking eye contact.

Derek craned to inch closer and made Spencer do the same by pulling him slowly toward him, with his hand placed on the back of his neck. He closed his eyes and softly pushed his lips into his, finally allowing himself to fully seek comfort in his touch.

He shifted forward so that he was sitting on the very edge of the couch, to eliminate whatever inch of air was left between their bodies, letting Spencer's arms slide up his torso and end up wrapping tight around his waist underneath his leather jacket, left unzipped; as if he was afraid Derek would let him go and run away - which he would never do. He would never let him go.

Both his hands on Spencer's jaw, Derek could feel it unhooking, which he took as a silent permission to let his burning tongue find its way into his mouth, melting when it collided with his; sinking in the warmth of only his slim body in a way he didn't know he needed and didn't know he could.

Spencer shifted slightly to lower his head and let it rest on the other's shoulder, nuzzling his nose and lips against Derek's neck; while Derek soothingly ran his fingers through his curls, tilting his own head to lean into the shock of brunette hair.

Spencer slid a hand up front to place it on Derek's chest; slitting a narrow gap between their bodies as a sign to stop, being completely out of air.

They looked into each other's eyes for a few seconds; arms still tying them together even if not so breathlessly tight as a few seconds before.

"You scared me." Spencer's whispery words blowing warm air on Derek's skin.

"I know. I didn't mean to." he answered in a heavy sigh; Spencer's head cradled by the up-and-down movements of the other man's chest as he inhaled and exhaled deeply.

-

They stayed like that for a while, for as long as it took Spencer to start wondering what time it was. He gently let go of him - not that he got tired of it - and checked his watch: midnight.

"Wow. It's late." he stood up, helping himself by holding onto Derek's knees. As soon as he got back on his feet, his face wrinkled in a faint grimace of pain.

"Look what you did to me. I can't feel my legs anymore." he said jokingly, realizing only after a couple of seconds that that wasn't the usual context in which he used such phrase...would've been better if he hadn't let that slip out, he thought.

"Alright. My place? Is that enough to make it up to you or your legs?" Derek asked mockingly as he stood up too, finally showing him that smile of his that Spencer was starting to miss like oxygen in his lungs; confirming that his previous - stupid - comment had either gone unnoticed or hadn't bothered him that much after all.

Even though Spencer was definitely not one to like change, he clearly preferred staying at his boyfriend's place rather than his own. His house was more comfortable and obviously way less messy, but those were just a couple of superficial reasons, he himself couldn't quite put his finger on it - despite his profiling skills, which just gave him answers that didn't sound accurate enough in his heart.

After a few seconds of hesitation - not due to indecision, rather to the brief short-circuit his brain was put through when he saw Derek's blinding smile - he grinned back and nodded, picking up his bag while the other opened the door.

-

Right in the moment they got out of the room, they saw that Rossi had just exited the bullpen, heading to the elevator. God knows what kind of conversation had taken him so long with Hotch, still in his office and probably not even halfway with all the paperwork.

During those couple minutes Derek took to search for the office keys in his pockets and lock the door; Spencer stared at him, leaning with his shoulder on the wall, fiddling with the buckle of his leather satchel.

Derek put the keys back in his biker jacket pocket and raised his eyes to look at him.

"...What?" he asked, feeling his gaze on him.

"Nothing." Spencer answered shaking his head and dropping his eyes, standing straight again.

He tried not to smile, not only failing but moreover making Derek slightly smile too, even being yet clueless to what he was going to be told.

"I love you too."

[britesparc]

Weekend Top Ten #470

Top Ten Films to Watch on Star on Disney+

We’ve been watching a lot of Disney+ lately. This is partly due to the fact that our family movie nights have become, almost accidentally, a quest to watch every bit of Star Wars content on the service; so far, we’ve watched the entire Skywalker Saga and are now moving onto the spin-off movies. The younglings have become addicted: Daughter #1 is getting stuck into The Clone Wars, whilst Daughter #2 is demanding we jump straight into The Mandalorian. As for the Princess to my Scoundrel, well, she and I have been thoroughly enjoying WandaVision, which by the time you read this, will have finished. Sob! Nothing to do but gird our loins until the arrival of The Falcon and the Winter Soldier in a couple of weeks! At least this excellent TV programme appears to have whetted my wife’s appetite for watching more of the MCU movies. Maybe soon I can make oblique references to Mary Poppins, y’all, and someone else in the house will actually know what the hell I’m on about.

Well it looks as if there’s going to be even more use out of our Disney+ sub as the months roll inexorably on, what with their new Star channel. This is where they’ve shoehorned all the mucky films they bought from the naughty boys and girls at Fox; sweary adult dramas, sexy bits, and scenes of explicit wrist-slapping abound. So now we have this toybox of grown-up content to savour! What to watch? What not to watch? I’ve already started at the most obvious place by diving into some vintage Arnie with Commando, one of the funniest action movies ever made. It did not disappoint.

So where to next? Re-watching semi-forgotten classics, films I’ve not seen in literally decades? Or checking out things that slipped me by (there’s an entire list to be made of “films I read about in Empire in the ‘90s, got really excited about, but never saw”). Do I watch the crappier Die Hard films, or cheesy action movies (er, like Commando, I guess)? Or dive deep into prestige fair? Or just watch Spy Hard for the Weird Al theme tune, practically the only bit of the film I remember? The options are virtually endless.

So that’s what this week’s list is: ten films I intend to watch on Disney+ very flipping soon. Or, y’know, just play Zelda until Falcon starts.

9 to 5 (1980): there was a lot of talk of Dolly around the New Year, and my wife and I even watched a documentary about her. As a result, I had a scoot around to see if it was possible to buy 9 to 5 as a birthday or Valentine’s gift for my better half; it’s a film neither of us have seen in years if not decades, and we’re both big Grace and Frankie fans too. Alas, it’s a difficult film to get a hold of; there doesn’t appear to be a Blu-ray readily available. Praise be, then, that it’s now on Disney+; a terrific comedy film, with a nice bit of feminist bite. I’m not sure if it’ll feel dated or – post-#MeToo – oddly prescient. But I’m really, really looking forward to watching it again.

Crimson Tide (1995): I do love a good tense thriller, and I seem to remember this as being a particularly great tense thriller. This feels like one of those “they don’t make ‘em like this anymore” candidates; a claustrophobic two-hander with no real action, almost a theatrical chamber piece, but made with huge stars and a big-time director (the late, great Tony Scott). I saw it once, on video, when it came out, so it’ll be great to revisit.

The Color of Money (1986): another minor classic that I’ve not seen for decades, and a film I remember even less well than Crimson Tide. It’s cool to revisit (or discover for the first time!) films by great directors, and this is Scorsese we’re talking about. Cruise as a freshly-minted movie star, still taking risks; Newman as a great elder statesman. I’ve genuinely no idea what it’s like, it’s been so long, but I’d love to see it again. Just wish The Hustler was on D+ too!

Quiz Show (1994): I’d mentioned before that there are loads of films from the ‘90s that I read about as an eager young film fan but never saw; this is one of them. An apparently-great drama about corruption at a hugely popular TV show in ‘50s America, with Ralph Fiennes in a very early Hollywood role. I think I’d enjoy it.

Looking for Richard (1996): another of those ‘90s films…! This fascinated me as a teen, and I’d love to see it: a documentary about Richard III, made by Al Pacino, featuring people talking about Shakespeare (got a lot of time for that) and also scenes of the play performed and filmed. It’s a real curio; also weirdly came out around the same time as McKellen’s Richard III. Maybe something was in the water? We’re due another big Rich in my opinion.

Jennifer’s Body (2009): a follow-up from Juno writer Diablo Cody, a horror centred around high school and female sexuality, this has always seemed like it might be a dark, delicious delight; it wasn’t very well received at the time, but has grown in cult status; as has its star, Megan Fox, who I’d argue has not had the easiest time within Hollywood. Anyway, I really like the look of it, and it’ll be cool to check it out.

Tombstone (1993): I love a good Western, and I seem to remember that this is a very good Western. A story of Wyatt Earp that goes beyond the famous gunfight, my memories of this are very vague; I know that there’s a very good Val Kilmer performance as Doc Holliday, and of course Kurt Russell as Earp himself. I might try out that “watch along” feature and watch this, remotely, with my dad.

Romancing the Stone (1984): I probably haven’t seen this since the eighties so I’ve got no idea if it’s really any good, but I do remember enjoying its Indy-inspired adventurism and – in particular – Danny DeVito’s bad guy. Douglas is always great value as a leading man, although from what I’ve since read this is really Kathleen Turner’s show. It’ll be interesting to see if it holds up, but hopefully it’ll be a good stop-gap until they finally get the Indy films up on the service.

Good Morning, Vietnam (1988): another film that I want to revisit, even if I remember it a little better than others on this list. My memory is that it’s utterly fantastic, a really stark look at the realities of Vietnam during the time of the war, and also a phenomenal, very human performance from Williams. Also I remember it being very funny when he does let off some steam (sorry, bit of Commando creeping in there). And really, it’s Williams I want to see again; that earnest, real, pained but beautiful Williams we get in his very best performances. It’s very likely I’ll cry just watching him on screen. God, I miss him.

Independence Day: Resurgence (2016): I needed some crappy sequel to talk about, and here it is. I can’t overstate how much I loved the first Independence Day in ’96, so the (apparent; I’ve not seen it) terribleness of this sequel hit me like a sledgehammer. It can’t be that bad, can it? Is it not at least so-bad-it’s-good? I mean, the trailer made it look atrocious, and it’s killed off Will Smith – the best character! – off-screen, so odds are not good that it’s a hidden gem. But I’ve got to know.

This was actually a pretty tough list, and I had to knock off some films that I’d love to rewatch (Conan the Barbarian, The War of the Roses), as well as stuff like Idiocracy and Office Space that I’ve never seen. Also Kingsman: The Secret Service, which is a fairly recent release that slipped me by, and I’m not sure why I’ve never gotten round to seeing; I blame the kids! Also, there was going to be some xenomorph or xeno-monkey action on here, but frustratingly all the Alien (and Predator!) movies are missing, and the recent Planet of the Apes trilogy – which I’ve also never seen! – is only served by its middle instalment. Yeah, I can watch the seminal ‘60s original again (and I may!) or the indecipherable and strange Tim Burton version, but what about, y’know, the trilogy that everyone raves about? I assume this is due to pre-existing deals keeping the films elsewhere (elusive…), but the sagas of Alien, Predator, and the complete Die Hard package are – I believe – being kept until most profitable (mark my works: Die Hard at Christmas). Anyway, it’s a bit frustrating, that, as I’ve never seen Covenant or The Predator, and I’d love to watch the whole lot from the start anyway.

I guess I can console myself by also watching the one Die Hard film I’ve never seen, namely the critically-acclaimed A Good Day to Die Hard. I mean, I’m assuming it’s critically acclaimed. I guess I’ll find out.

[tev-the-random]

A casual Sonic Forces rewrite + some headcanons, because why not

Part 1 – Infinite and Episode Shadow

Just a warning: none of the images used here belong to me! They all belong to SEGA – the game screenshots, the official art and the comic pages.

Next Part ->

I have yet to see the Sonic Movie, because the universe seems devoted on not letting me do so, for some reason. Being as desperate for Sonic content but as determined to not receive spoilers from the movie as I am, I decided to go for the next coolest thing: writing really long and random posts about a game that came out three years ago and no one cares about anymore.

This shall be fun!

(Update: as of posting this, I have finally watched the movie! But I don’t want to throw this away, so I’ll post it anyway. We can have a nice talk about the movie later.)

*“Fist Bump instrumental” intro plays*

*“This is Our World: a New Hero” plays in the background*

I’m the type of person to always try and see the best in every game, and Sonic Forces is no different. Despite its obvious flaws, I love this beautiful game! Mostly the concept of it is one of the coolest things I’ve seen this last decade, but the execution… lacks on a few things. I mostly just fill in the gaps with my imagination and enjoy it nevertheless, but, upon going through the tag and seeing that some of my concerns were shared by other people, I decided to try my hand at rewriting Sonic Forces juuust a tiny bit. Just for fun!

For this first part (and I have no idea how many parts we should have), I’d like to share some of my ideas about…

*Infinite’s Theme plays in the background as I try hard not to sing along*

Oh, my poor jackal boy, what do we do with you? Despite being so heavily promoted and having an undeniably awesome theme song, Infinite’s backstory and general development throughout the game came out as lacking, having the self-proclaimed edgelord become a laughingstock amongst most fans. Nevertheless, I still love Infinite, and it saddens me how much wasted potential he had; it’s like they were trying to write a really interesting character, but gave up halfway through.

So yeah, let’s talk about it. And let us begin with his origin story.

I believe you are all familiar with this scene:

I… I want to defend my boy here, I really do. But honestly, the way this was portrayed, it just sounded like he was throwing a childish tantrum. It seems as if his entire motive for becoming a villain was “Shadow beat him and called him weak”; dude, you’re not the only one: Shadow does this to basically everybody who’s ever crossed his way! We’re not given a reason as to why Infinite gets so bloody offended, nor are we given a reason why we should care.

So, how can we fix this? I think we should firstly focus less on “I’M NOT WEEEEAAAAK!!! URRAAAAGHH!!!” and more on:

It doesn’t need to be – and I don’t even think it can be – as sad of a situation as the Rivaille Squad in Shingeki No Kyojin or anything, but I believe that showing us that Infinite lost something important would already do wonders to his backstory.

The simplest way – that is, the way that doesn’t majorly change how things go, but does give the jackal a clearer motive – to do this would involve the ever so humble inclusion of two new cutscenes and one new in-game battle, plus a few tweaks to some already existing scenes.

Episode Shadow begins not with the usual reading introduction, but rather, with Shadow’s voice. “I was a couple of months before the Doctor took over the world. The first time I encountered him… I didn’t know what he would become.” Then we open with what used to be a couple of months prior (aka where they presented Infinite’s memory, aka where they screwed up), so we’ll go through things in a chronological order instead of having a flashback inside of a prequel, because that’s confusing AF.

Now, instead of starting the Mystic Jungle level immediately, we should get a small cutscene: Shadow gliding through the jungle, cool camera angles/lighting and all – maybe something similar to the opening scene of Episode Shadow in Sonic 06? –, on his way to invade Eggman’s base as a voice coming from the hedgehog’s communicator reminds him about his mission (yep, that’s some subtle exposition to the audience so we don’t think Shadow is there just because). My idea for said mission would be the simple task of retrieving a Chaos Emerald (yeah, remember those?) from Eggman. Nothing too serious; just another day, another emerald stolen like usual; we’ve seen this before, there’s no need for a long dialogue.

As the black-and-red blur crosses the screen, the camera pans to a group of people hiding above in the trees: Squad Jackal. Infinite is not among them. One of the jackals asks “where’ the boss?” to which another one replies that he’s on the other side of the base/talking to the Doctor/whatever and they have no time to waste; their mission is to take down the intruder and protect the base. We get something in the lines of “the boss is counting on us. Expect no mercy, show no weakness. Let’s go!” and the camera fades out as the squad drops from the trees and runs after Shadow.

I believe that having the phrase “show no weakness” – or any possible reference to “I’m not weak”, really – appear earlier as seemingly common and then have it become something the character gives a lot of importance to due to consequences and parallels sounds a bit more interesting than having Infinite’s inferiority complex come out of nowhere.

The Mystic Jungle level plays as usual, except the dialogue in the background doesn’t say that “the Defence Squad has already been completely annihilated”, but rather that “the Defence Squad is on the case. They’re the best mercenaries there are, Shadow won’t stand a chance!” because Doctor Eggman is naive like that.

Once we reach the end of the level there’s another change: a boss battle against Squad Jackal. You see, we don’t want to hear the squad was taken down like some sort of lazy exposition, because it feels incomplete; we want to participate, we want to be the protagonist and see with our own eyes just what is Infinite’s squad. This gives faces and voices to something that will become an important plot point instead of just telling us “yeah, this happened or whatever”. This could also play as some sort of sympathy point for Infinite, because we, while in control of Shadow, took down his squad; it makes the villain’s animosity towards Shadow and his general anger at least a bit more understandable.

The idea is that this battle should play as some sort of field fight – that is, differently than most boss battles in Sonic Forces, this is not a racing track where you attack your enemy while running, but rather a large secluded area, much like the one we get in the fight between the Custom Hero and the DeathEgg Robot –, where squad members would attack individually in different patterns before going for a group attack. The individual jackals would have both projectile (perhaps something like a wispon, knives or some Eggman invention to keep it family friendly enough?) and close-ranged attacks, while the group attack would consist of this mass of wild jackals changing at you, trying to run you over. The opportunity windows could be either the moment when the opponents switch or band together for the group attack.

(I don’t know, maybe some of you can think of better ways to fight the Jackal Squad? This is just a random idea! I’d like to hear different ones!)

Once the fight is over, we get another cutscene: Shadow stands among the fallen jackals – don’t worry, they’re… sleeping… yeah, there’s no visible blood, they’re not dead… except they’re totally dead – and looks around for a second or two. His expression is indecipherable, and he soon leaves without saying a word – one might say he feels bad for them, or maybe he doesn’t give a damn; we leave that open to interpretation. Not a moment passes and we get to see the leader of the squad arriving at the scene. The camera moves in a circle around him as he looks at his fallen comrades in shock. How did this happen? They were the strongest, how could his whole squad be dead? This is a rather touching moment, where Infinite sticks his sword (because in his origins comic he used to have a super cool red sword and I want to pretend we have a reason for it not existing in the game) to the ground; there’s a feeling of anger and vengeance going on as we get a closer look at the last standing jackal. He clenches his fists and faces the direction of Shadow. “Expect no mercy, show no weakness,” he says in an infuriated, strangled voice. He starts to run and the camera fades out.

(Look at his sword and his squad, man. I do wish we could have seen them in the game…)

When the camera fades in again, we get that exact same cutscene from the game. Blah blah, “destroyed my squad”, blah blah, “ultimate mercenary”, a legendary ass whooping and Infinite falls to the ground, weak, pathetic and defeated.

Now, I’d like to add just a few lines to their dialogue, because this:

Doesn’t really sound like Shadow to me. I mean, man: you beat this random guy to the ground, called him worthless and pathetic out of nowhere and then you just leave? I know Shadow is rather apathetic and he’s supposed to be savage and all, but this just felt kind of out of place…

So instead of going full rude mode, what Shadow actually says is:

‘You’re part of the Defence Squad, aren’t you? Why would a bunch of mercenaries work for the Doctor? What is he hiding?’

‘The doctor paid well enough to not have his secrets spilled,’ Infinite retorts while trying to get up. He’s too hurt to do much, but he’s still willing to fight. He looks at Shadow with fiery eyes as he continues, ‘My squad… you took them down like they were nothing… why wouldn’t someone as strong as you be a mercenary?’

‘Mercenary work is for the weak,’ the hedgehog states matter-of-factly. ‘I’ve sworn to protect, not to follow the dirty line of work you did.’

This blows Infinite’s mind and he simply stares at Shadow, dumbfounded. He murmurs, ‘weak? How dare you, I’m not… We’re not weak! We’re the squad o-’

‘Where’s the Chaos Emerald?’ The jackal’s statement is completely ignored. However, Infinite is having none of this, so tries to attack Shadow once again in a fit of rage, only for the hedgehog to give him a signature roundhouse kick free of charge.

(Image merely illustrative)

‘What a waste of my time,’ Edgelord Number 1 says, aware that he’s not getting any useful information from this. He steps closer and Edgelord Number 2 flinches, ‘here’s some advice: don’t show your face around me ever again, or else I will finish you.’

And with that, Shadow teleports away, leaving Infinite to his existential crisis. He wasn’t able to avenge his friends; he wasn’t able to protect the base; heck, he wasn’t even able to hold his title of ultimate mercenary! How useless of a leader was he? Were mercenaries truly weak? Everything they’ve done… was it all worthless? Show no weakness… what did it even mean? They were all defeated, and Infinite can’t shake the feeling that he’s to blame for it. Wasn’t he supposed to be the best?

‘What is this? I’m…’ He looks at his hands, which are trembling ‘I’m shaking? I flinched? I... We failed… How pathetic… All because…’

Infinite stops as if he’s just gotten a moment of clarity. He then gets up and starts walking inside Eggman’s base. ‘I’m not weak,’ he says in a decided, chilling whisper; it’s almost scary. The view is set at the entrance, right in front of the jackal so that he starts blocking the light from the outside as he slowly walks towards the camera - while saying in that scary voice, “No mercy, no weakness”.

(I can totally see Liam O’Brien delivering this line perfectly…)

Then the last expository narrating happens about the same, except that Shadow narrates it – giving continuity to the fact that he was the one who started narrating this episode for a reason I will talk about later –, so we change a few words to match his speech more; it’s all in the third person and very husky and brooding, but with a subtle note of dread (oh, if only Jason Griffith would voice it… No disrespect to Kirk Thornton, but he just doesn’t hit Shadow’s perfect voice like Jason did; for me, at least. His Orbot voice is fantastic, though).

Now, instead of having Infinite looking forward for a few seconds before he gets the Phantom Ruby out of nowhere and places it in his chest very anti-climatically, we’ll do something different: as soon as he puts on the mask, he starts walking away, and we change settings to a dimly lit room, where we see Infinite from behind, fitting the frame perfectly. Following the beat of the background music, the camera changes to a close shot of his masked face as he’s holding the Phantom Ruby, which is glowing, reflecting on his mask and giving us a beautifully red-lit scene; it’s possible to hear very low, indiscernible whispers coming from the jewel. We then hear a small, evil chuckle from the masked jackal – he already sounds rather different from the guy who stuck his sword to the ground in honour of his friends earlier. The screen goes black, the whole “I was… Reborn!” thing dramatically happens in Infinite’s echoing voice and the not-flashback is over.

(I know this last part was quite specific and oddly detailed, but I had the scenes very clear in my head I wanted to try conveying how intimidating it looked to me o3o)

Ok, now that that’s done, prepare yourselves for an intermission. And by that, I mean prepare yourselves for a long analytical commentary on what I just wrote.

*”This is Our World: Phase 2″ plays in the background*

(Who is Shadow working for again? I don’t even know, man…)

Shadow isn’t just the guy who called Infinite pathetic. He’s the guy who killed Infinite’s squad (his friends) without any apparent remorse – and to be hypocrite as to say he’d sworn to protect when he just did something like this (yeah, Infinite doesn’t know any context of Shadow’s life, so of course he doesn’t understand what he meant); the guy who ruined everything he had going with his new job as leader of the Defence Squad; the guy who put him several levels under what he thought he was; the guy who questioned his entire way of living and the guy who put him under a lingering threat; “don’t show your face around me ever again” feels more intimidating now. Not only that, but, despite how Infinite might hate Shadow, he recognizes him as strong, admirable even – “why wouldn’t someone as strong as you be a mercenary?” Remember that Infinite himself is a mercenary; to actually acknowledge someone would be good at something you’re good at, specially someone you don’t like, has to be a sign of admiration, albeit a frustrating one. All of this puts a lot more of weight on how Infinite thinks of Shadow and why being stronger than the hedgehog is so important to him.

I made it so that “expect no mercy, show no weakness” is something like the Jackal Squad’s motto, their philosophy. I like to think it means that they should never count on someone’s mercy, for their enemies won’t spare them; they should always go into battle aware that they might actually be fighting for their lives. At the same time, they should always stand their ground and never let anyone think they can take advantage of a squad member. This is what the jackals live for. But seeing as Infinite’s world has just been shattered and he failed hard on everything, he revises his mentality. “No mercy, no weakness” is what he’s going for now, as he wants to be above everyone, he wants to effectively be the strongest and for people to know that; he will be the one who doesn’t spare others, and he won’t be weak at all. Never again would a failure cost him that much, for never again would he fail.

To have Infinite place the Phantom Ruby on his own chest in Episode Shadow contradicts the opening scene of the main campaign. Remember the episode is a prequel to Sonic Forces’ main game, so it shouldn’t be completely detached from it; things must make sense when put together. As the main game begins by showing us Infinite inside of a tube in Eggman’s lab, we can assume one of two things: he’s either a robot/biological experiment created entirely by the scientist, or he’s a guy who’s been experimented on, thus Eggman was the one who placed the Phantom Ruby on him. With this in mind, it wouldn’t make sense to show us Infinite doing something if you’re going to tell us that he couldn’t have possibly done it on his own. But to have him hold the ruby as someone who deeply desires its powers and who listens to its ominous whispering? Not only does it line better with the aforementioned scene, but it also makes Infinite seem more prone to the ruby’s power (instead of just… you know, “random angry dude”).

As this intermission has gone on long enough, I’ll only make a brief commentary on the Phantom Ruby: I like the idea of the ruby being somewhat alive and exerting influence over Infinite. Now, I won’t say it’s the kind of influence where it justifies his horrible behaviour or the awful things he did. It’s less “mind-control” and more “that best friend who always encourages you and never calls you out on your bullshit”. Its grooming Infinite’s ego and just nudging him to keep making bad decisions, to keep shutting himself in this new reality where he’s all powerful and above everyone else. So it’s the jackal’s pride, spite and grief, along with Eggman’s overall encouragement and the Phantom Ruby’s influence all put together that, in a general sense, make Infinite what he is. (I can go into more detail about this idea once I make a Part 2.)

Mission Accomplished: “angry bitchy boy turned edgy, OP and unimpressed” changed his status to “tragic boy turned edgy, bitter and extremely power-hungry”.

Intermission’s over, let’s get back to the story!

With Infinite’s backstory slightly redone (or rather, shown under a different light), I could stop right here. But I don’t want to, oh no! I say we take this a few steps further and just finish Episode Shadow! Yeah, I told you this was going to be a long post.

*”Battle with Infinite: Second Bout” plays in the background*

Ok, now we cut to a few months later, where Episode Shadow would originally begin. Rouge comments that Omega was on recon mission in that “unknown base of operations that seems to be totally outside the chain of command for Eggman’s army” (whatever that is supposed to mean) when he spotted an unidentified masked person with strange energy readings and an unknown battle ID. Omega reported a “large scale troop” and… that’s it, he just stopped talking. Rouge then talks about that “new weapon” Eggman was supposedly developing and sends Shadow to the base to investigate along with Omega. She makes a remark about how they should get the entire Team Dark together for this (“It should be fun”), but Shadow dismisses the idea, saying that he’s enough on his own. “Omega said the same thing. You two go together like chilli and hot dogs.”

We can keep this at the whole “dialogue on screen” thing. I don’t really mind and it sure spares the budget.

The City stage plays as usual, except the dialogue in the background changes a bit, because Team Dark bickering (or just talking in general, I love this team so much) is my jam.

‘E-123 Omega here. Extermination proceeding without incident. No problems to report.’

‘Omega!’ Rouge exclaims, ‘Why have you stopped responding earlier? We- wait, extermination? This is supposed to be a recon mission, what are you doing?!’

‘I was spotted. Priorities conflicted; therefore I decided to eliminate the enemy altogether. New Mission Objective: Defeat Eggman.’

‘But you can’t go making a scene like that!’

‘See, this is what happens when you send the giant killer robot for this kind of op,’ Shadow sasses. And I’ll imagine Jason’s voice for this too, thank you.

‘I have several reports of recon missions where you retaliated, Shadow.’

‘I might have to join you boys soon enough. I turn my back for five seconds and this happens…’ Rouge comments in a tired voice.

Omega is ready to start robotically recounting the reports of failed recon missions where Shadow retaliated, but he is suddenly cut by static and the vague sound of the Phantom Ruby. Rouge tries to contact him again and we get small bits of his original lines here – “All sensors offline”, “Casualty report”, “Unidentified system intrusion. Emergency withdrawal!” and “I am E-123 Omega, the most powerf-sjfpstswq”, that stuff – before his communication is completely cut. Shadow asks something like “what’s going on?”, but his communication with Rouge is cut as well. We play whatever’s left of the level in silence (except for the sweet background music).

(Oh yeah, this happened or whatever…)

Now, I know the next scene is a screen dialogue again, and I know I just said I don’t mind it, but watching this:

… Is so bloody uncomfortable. This feels dumb. This is so dumb. I feel like they robbed us an epic scene in exchange of some awkward reading with absolutely no context. What the hell is “!” supposed to mean?! What did Infinite do?! If I wanted to imagine the action scenes all on my own, I’d spend my time daydreaming! What, did they not know what to do here so they just threw in some random lines to fill the gap between this and the next level?!

… Sorry, I got a little carried away. This simple scene frustrates me a lot by not existing. So yeah, we’re throwing in a cutscene.

(I just noticed how salty this post is getting. This was not my intention at all, I still love this game, oh dear…)

Shadow reaches the edge of the city and encounters a dark silhouette hovering just above the flames that cover the ground; there’s debris scattered everywhere. The figure has its back turned, and the world seems to glitch ever so slightly around them.

‘The world’s most powerful robot is no more a challenge than crabmeat. Even the Doctor’s most daring designs can’t compete with my power… It is without peer,’ the figure chuckles to themselves.

Shadow starts approaching silently, analysing the situation. Despite this being Omega’s location, he can’t see the robot.

‘Wonder how easy it would be to end this entire planet. Don’t you…’

Suddenly, the voice speaks close to the hedgehog’s ear:

‘…Shadow?’

He turns around to see that the unknown person has appeared behind him, which throws him off. The hedgehog takes several steps back and puts himself in a fighting stance.

It’s hard to see past the jackal’s mask, but he seems amused as he looks down on Shadow. Twistedly so.

‘How wonderful to see that our not-so-tall, dark and brooding guest has arrived. I’ve been waiting for you, Shadow~’

‘Tell me what you did to Omega. Now,’ the agent demands.

‘Oh, come now, Shadow. Our long-awaited reunion and still you spout such nonsense.’ Infinite floats down to stand a few meters away from his enemy.

‘I don’t know you,’ Shadow states. The masked jackal tilts his head, but doesn’t say anything, so he asks again, ‘what have you done to Omega?’

‘Only what is ought to be done when someone stands in your way. Weaklings like E-123 Omega are of no consequence, don’t you agree?’

‘The only thing of no consequence is that big mouth of yours.’

Shadow launches himself at Infinite, who easily avoids his attack. The jackal starts laughing manically.

‘Ah, I suppose you would think so,’ he states. ‘After all, it’s not so funny to be the one losing the battle, is it? I am Infinite. You say you do not know me, and yet I remember you so very well… I’ve lost all I was, I’ve become what I am because of you. Savour that thought as I return the favour.’

Guess what happens? That’s right, we get another boss battle! I think it’s only fair that Infinite gets to have his rematch with Shadow. Besides, it establishes a comparison with the “old” Infinite and how much stronger he’s now – from Shadow’s perspective, that is.

I have no idea how this battle would play out. Maybe something similar to his second battle in the main story (no, don’t worry: we’ll talk about the exceeding amount of Infinite battles in the next part), with the 2D layout. Let’s say Infinite is surrounded with his Red Cubes of Doom while he’s not attacking, so you can’t touch him. Maybe he makes the fire glitch and get closer to you at some point. Maybe he makes clones and you have to defeat each of them to get to the real guy, I don’t know! Tag your ideas, I’d love to see them! ^^

Anyway, once the battle’s over and Shadow “wins” (because Infinite is not defeated, he’s just done with this fight), the jackal might say something in the lines of “I suppose I’ve let this duel go on for long enough. I have other matters to attend to, Shadow the Hedgehog.”

We get back to the cutscene and Infinite is glitching a bit, quickly recomposing himself, laughing. Shadow is panting.

‘What’s the matter, Shadow? Can’t take down a measly jackal anymore?’ The masked one says sarcastically. ‘It seems like I’ve overestimated your strength. You’re no fit to be a mercenary at all.’

There’s a beat and Shadow realises what this is about. He looks at Infinite, frowning. ‘It’s you… Defence Squad Jackal…’

Infinite stares at the hedgehog. He doesn’t seem to be as amused anymore. His golden eye’s glowing under his mask, and so is the Phantom Ruby on his chest. A tense background music plays as Infinite answers dryly:

‘Yes.’

‘I’ve spared you, but now you’re going too far. It’s time to finish this! Chaos Spear!’

The spears of light simply go through Infinite as if they didn’t exist. Shadow goes for a spin dash/homing attack/kick to the face or whatever you can think of, but the masked villain glitches out of the way with ease and lands an almost perfect copy of Shadow’s roundhouse kick.

The hedgehog glides across the floor, almost falling over. Infinite scoffs.

‘This new “me” has limitless power. I have no mercy; no weakness! I am the true ultimate force that will tear this world apart, and what may have worked to bring me down before…’ the jackal starts floating again; thousands of red cubes start dancing around him and, as he raises a hand, they all group in the sky not far above them. ‘… No longer does.’

(Why yes, this is a reference to Mephiles the Dark and that time he destroyed the Sceptre of Darkness!)

Infinite throws his “Take THIS!” and Shadow does the “!” – which is him frantically trying to get out of the way as the thousands cubes of doom come crashing down on him.

The screen goes black.

Scene ends.

The Virtual Reality level should play as usual from there. I don’t even want to change the background dialogue, because I really like it: it’s confusing, it’s weird, it’s unsettling and it slaps Shadow in the face in a way that we rarely see. I love it! (Although, I do think the gameplay should have a tiny little bit more of 3D parts. We love Green Hill, but we also love the freedom to move on more than two directions when playing as the Ultimate Life Form. But it’s cool)

After that, we could get another cutscene (we’re full of cutscenes, huh? Well, this is a hypothetical rewriting with a hypothetical budget. Also, Episode Shadow is more of an exposition episode anyway). In this cutscene, we would start with some shots of different known locations: Green Hill, Chemical Plant, Crisis City, Mystic Jungle, Kingdom Valley, Babylon Garden, you name it! And all of these places are somewhat “corrupted”; they’re glitching out, full of those red cubes, and there’s just this ominous atmosphere in them, as if they’re abandoned, desolated despite looking roughly the same as ever. We then see a black-and-red blur cross the screen, and a short narration takes place:

“I’ve been here for longer than I can remember. This… alternate reality, this fake world. There seems to be no escape. Rouge and Omega talk to me occasionally…”

We see Shadow leaning against a wall. His communicator plays only white noise, then Rouge’s voice comes in; it’s strangely echoed as it calls out to him. Shadow throws the device far away and sighs.

“… They’re fake too. No matter where I go, no matter how much I run…”

Shadow is skating through Pumpkin Hill or something, when the world suddenly starts to glitch out massively; we hear the Phantom Ruby’s noise and suddenly, we’re on the ARK.

“It’s like this place was made to torture me. Although, I wouldn’t be surprised if that were the case.”

‘I’ve moved on from this a long time ago,’ Shadow says to the void of the Universe as we hear gunshots in the distance. He’s not being completely truthful. ‘Putting me through this scenario dozens of times changes nothing. Don’t you have anything more creative at this point?’

There’s silence, except for the shouts in the Space Colony. A voice calls out to Shadow, and he promptly ignores it, albeit with a pained look in his eyes. He’s visibly tired, almost hopeless, if one could ever describe Shadow the Hedgehog that way.

He sighs.

‘Alright, how do I get out of this one?”

We then get a start of a short level in the ARK. Don’t worry, it’s not one of those hellish mazes that usually haunt every ARK level there ever was; this is more straight forward, with doors closing all around you so that you know where you shouldn’t go, and some G.U.N. robots trying to kill you, simple thing.

The catch happens when you’re halfway through the level: as you’re crossing a long corridor, the game begins to “crash” – in the sense of you losing control of the character, the visuals beginning to glitch and the soundtrack going weird, all in a way that makes the soul leave the body of the player for a terrifying four seconds of “HOLY SHIT, I BROKE THE GAME”. But nope, you didn’t break the game: the Phantom Ruby is trolling you. We soon find that out as the signature noise plays and the glitching effect on screen disperses to show a new scenario: Mystic Jungle. The real Mystic Jungle. Congratulations: you get to play in a totally different zone for the rest of the level.

‘My head…’ Shadow murmurs to himself. ‘That was too quick; this can’t be right, it- ugh, why is it so bright here? Where are all the red things? This place seems too normal… is it… am I back in the real world?!’

We then finish the level, get our nice score and head to the last scene of the episode.

Shadow is going through the jungle, taking in everything that isn’t an illusion. He passes by a red sword stuck to the ground and leans against a tree, still a little out of it, still struggling to believe that anything is real anymore. The hedgehog then takes his communicator – surprisingly intact; hadn’t he thrown that away? – and tries to make contact. There is static for a moment, when suddenly…

‘Shadow? Oh my- Shadow, is that you?!’

He’s startled for a moment, but so relieved to hear Rouge’s normal voice again.

‘It’s me, Rouge. What’s the situation? Where’s Omega?’

‘Omega? We lost contact with him months ago; the Resistance says he must have been shut down after the Doctor took over!’

Shadow raises both his non-existing eyebrows in surprise, barely holding a gasp. He then frowns.

‘Shut down? Resistance? What do you mean “the Doctor took over”? What the heck happened?’

‘What happened? What happened?! I should be the one asking you that! You’ve been offline for six months! Everyone keeps saying you’re working with Eggman and Infinite, and I couldn’t contact you or Omega, I thought… I thought we’d lost you for good…’

‘Nonsense,’ Shadow states. We start hearing voices in the distance, and the hedgehog starts looking around while still talking ‘I’ll tell you the details later, it’s long story. What’s the current situation?’

‘Shadow…’

The (Tired) Ultimate Life Form spots something from behind the trees. Still in hiding, he looks closer only to see the Custom Hero holding the prototype Phantom Ruby they just found and talking to Tails and… Classic Sonic, much to Shadow’s confusion.

‘… We’re at war.’

Shadow takes a moment to process what’s just been said. He doesn’t even pay attention to what Rouge says next (neither do we, as the background music starts getting louder than the bat’s voice). He still watches the avatar, Tails and Classic Sonic as they leave; he focuses on the Phantom Ruby.

‘Meet me in the City. I’ve got a lot to tell you,’ Shadow says.

And with that, he leaves, the scene fades out and Episode Shadow is over!

*”The Light of Hope: Menu Version” plays in the background*

Now, a few more analytical notes before we close this ridiculously gigantic thing:

The immediate reason why we have Shadow being stuck in the Virtual Reality for six months is to indicate to us why he doesn’t show up earlier in the main game. It’s not like he was being useless this whole time and just decided to show up whenever it was most Ex-Machina of him; much like Sonic, he was trapped by the enemy. A mental trap that put Shadow on survivor mode for months without any way of communicating with anybody; with twisted versions of his friends trying to get to him and remind him that, hey, they’re still out there, probably in high danger; with these illusions mocking him, reminding him of painful memories, isolating him in familiar places… I say: if you want to emotionally hit a character, hit them hard. And this experience is bound to leave Shadow with some emotional scar, alright.

(Ever heard of conveniently coming out of nowhere?)

Shadow is bound to lose his sense of reality and sometimes it should be hard for him to acknowledge that this is the real world. I hope I can showcase some of his reactions in the later parts of this o3o

The Virtual Reality isn’t all glitchy by mistake. No, no: Infinite is perfectly capable of making a “perfect copy” of the real world, but he doesn’t want to. He wants Shadow to know this is a fake world and to know that he’s completely trapped in it while his real friends and allies are out there doing who-knows-what in a world run by the enemy. He wants to throw Shadow off-balance as much as he can, because he’s spiteful and doesn’t just leave the hedgehog to the side without a second glance.

In the game, Infinite says that they didn’t really have time to tune his power yet, so we can tell putting Shadow in the Virtual Reality was more of a practice of sorts. But man, I think this is too much of a cool concept, so I’ll say Infinite did put his power to the test before all of this; because Eggman, sir: you don’t simply throw your super-secret, amazing, unparalleled weapon in the battlefield without testing it first. This is something that can be inferred, it doesn’t need to be directly told, it just- I’m telling you this right now, ok?

I know Shadow is supposedly “over” this conflict with what happened in the ARK and it probably feels over-used to add it in again, but… it’s a thing the games haven’t tackled in such a long time, I feel like this would be a nice call-back. Besides, Infinite would want to know what would bring distress to Shadow; what happened in the ARK isn’t exactly a secret, especially if he’s working with Eggman. And Shadow can be as “over it” as he wants: it’s still a scar that will never truly leave him. Even if he watches it happen dozens of times, it’s still at least a little bit of an emotional rollercoaster.

ALTHOUGH! I also think this ARK level could be easily replaced with some other random level if you want to argue that Forces happens in Mobius or something, where Gerald and Maria and G.U.N. maybe never existed and whatnot.

What brought Shadow back, you ask? Well, it probably has to do with a certain someone spontaneously activating a Phantom Ruby. Maybe the avatar was thinking of Shadow and how it’d be nice to have him on their side again? Maybe they were thinking of undoing Infinite’s evil deeds? Maybe the raw power of the Phantom Ruby prototype being suddenly activated by the Custom Hero just crashed something another Phantom Ruby user did, like magnetic waves interfering with each other? Who knows?

I also find it important to show the Custom Hero here not only to show that there’s a connection between Shadow’s sudden freedom and their actions, but also to establish the tiniest amount of early familiarity between Shadow and the original character. Then maybe (maybe) I’ll give them a bit more of interaction in the main game, because it’d be nice to have a cool interaction with Shadow; and as endearing as his smile after the avatar does their thing with the sun of destruction is, it feels like it comes out of nowhere, if you think about it…

(I mean... Does he even know who we are?)

Infinite’s sword stuck to the ground goes completely over Shadow’s head, as he has no idea what that is or who it belonged to or what it means. It’s really just there for the viewer to reminisce the beginning of the episode and have a slight existential crisis.

When playing the main campaign, we get some pretty convenient information from Shadow once he finally shows up. Episode Shadow should give us a sense of how he knows those things. Want it or not, he did spend a long time studying the Phantom Ruby’s power far more closely than anybody else – well, maybe Sonic spent almost as much time as Shadow in a similar state, but that’s something to cover in another part.

The fact that Shadow is the one narrating this entire episode is supposed to allude to him telling Rouge exactly what happened during those six months he was gone. But if you want to read it as him talking to himself in the Virtual Reality as he slowly descends into madness, then be my guest!

I don’t know if it’s noticeable, but I’ve tried to tune Infinite’s cheesiness down a bit. I don’t think I can rid him of it entirely – after all, he is somewhat of a pompous, edgy, over-the-top character in general; he’s a full-on drama queen 24/7 and the only character cheesier than him is Sonic. Now, what we do with Infinite is to at least give a base to what he says. Also, I wanted him to sound a bit more like he lets the power get to his head. Oh well, I surely hope we’ll be tackling more of Infinite in the future!

Episode Shadow is extremely short, even for a DLC. I mean, it’s about only 20 minutes long – even less, if you’re good at it! With the addition of the cutscenes, the small changes, the boss fights against Squad Jackal and Infinite, and the added levels, the episode shouldn’t get overwhelmingly longer, but longer enough for it to feel more satisfying!

And with that, we’re done! I hope you enjoyed this massive thing. Despite me really liking Sonic Forces, I do think a few things could be improved. It’s not like it will happen, but rewriting is a lot of fun!

And why, no: I don’t take myself seriously.

[gigi-sinclair]

5000th Post Ficstravaganza: Part 5/5

And my actual 5000th post!

Part 1 is here (The Terror, Joplittle, Pancake Day)

Part 2 is here (The Terror, Joplittle, Edward’s spectacles)

Part 3 is here (Good Omens, Aziraphale/Crowley, bathing)

Part 4 is here (The Terror, pre-Joplittle, a dark and stormy night)

For @buttymcbuttface, who requested Edward being very ticklish, and Thomas taking advantage of it. Full disclosure, I actually really hate being tickled myself, so this may not have the graphic tickle scenes you were hoping for, but there is some light bondage!

Forever and Not Nearly Long Enough, rated M. A followup to my fic Breakaway, aka the football/agent modern AU I stole borrowed from lafiametta. Mentions of Goodsir/Silna and Crozier/Fitzjames.

Tom doesn't realize just how drunk he is until he attempts to put his key into the front door, and the lock eludes him. 

"Need a hand?" Ed presses up behind him, his arms winding around Tom's waist and his tongue tracing the edge of Tom's ear. He moves down to kiss along Tom's jaw, then to suck at his neck. None of this does anything for Tom's coordination. He tries to bat Ed away, but Ed doesn’t move.

There are only two other flats on this floor, and the corridor is currently empty. Still, Tom has no desire to be caught making out against the door like a couple of horny teenagers. 

Ed's public coming out has gone better than Tom honestly thought it would. A couple of his bus shelter advertisements have been defaced with unimaginative slurs. At first, there was a little awkwardness in the club changing room, which Tom has stopped visiting, but Ed hasn't lost any endorsements. In fact, he's gained a couple. More important are the emails and Instagram messages Ed has received from dozens of LGBTQA kids who, up until now, had believed their sexuality automatically precluded them from any future as a professional athlete. Ed doesn't say much about it, but Tom knows how much those notes mean to him.  

The key finally hits home, and Tom and Ed stumble into the darkened flat. The moment they cross the threshold, Ed kicks the door shut and is upon Tom once more, pushing him against the wall and sliding his tongue eagerly into Tom's mouth. 

"If I'd known weddings did this to you," Tom gasps, when Ed grinds against him, "I'd have taken to you to one a long time ago." 

Harry and Silna's wedding was beautiful, like most weddings are. The bride was radiant; Goodsir spent the entire time looking like he couldn't believe it was actually happening. Tom had a great time, dancing with Ed and talking to the other guests, including Francis Crozier's new, close friend, Britannia Fitzjames. On the heels of Ed's coming out, the popular Instagram model made an announcement of her own, revealing her identity as a transwoman. Tom admires her, but not as much as Francis does. When Tom and Ed left, the two of them were sitting in a cosy corner, holding hands with hearts in their eyes. 

"Not weddings," Ed murmurs. "Just you." He backs off a little and removes his jacket, tossing it carelessly onto the floor behind him. 

Tom frowns. "Don't leave it there."

"What?"

"Your jacket. It'll get creased as hell if you leave it on the floor.”

An indecipherable look appears in Ed's eyes, even as the corner of his mouth lifts in a smile. "What will you to do me?"

"Excuse me?”

"What will you do? If I leave the jacket there."

Tom isn't sure what this is about, beyond the fact Ed is clearly just as drunk, if not drunker, than Tom. It's rare for him to be playful. Tom finds himself wanting to take advantage of it. 

"Oh," Tom says, "I know just what you deserve." 

He reaches out and yanks Ed's shirttails from his trousers. Before Ed can react, Tom slips his hands beneath and slides his hands up Ed’s bare sides. 

"Fuck, Tom!" Instinctively, Ed tries to escape. Tom doesn't let him. "You bastard," Ed laughs. 

The discovery that Ed is extremely ticklish was made quite by accident. In bed one day, Tom noticed him squirming and giggling--actually giggling--when Tom brushed his sides. Further experimentation revealed Ed had a similar reaction to Tom touching under his arms, the back of his knees, the soles of his feet. Being a kind and benevolent man, Tom has never abused this knowledge. Until now. 

Still laughing, Ed twists away from Tom's tickling fingers and flees. Tom puts the jacket on a hanger, because, all jokes aside, it is Louis Vuitton, and follows.

He reaches the bedroom just a dozen paces behind Ed, but it's long enough for Ed to  position himself to attack. He jumps out as Tom steps through the doorway, tackling him onto the bed. The mattress dips beneath their sudden, combined weight. "You think you're clever?" Ed asks, grinning. 

"Yes," Tom replies, honestly. Ed sits up, but doesn't remove himself from Tom's body. Pinned beneath him, Tom watches as Ed loosens, then removes, his own striped club tie. 

"You know how I feel about being tickled." 

Tom remains defiant. "I don't regret it." 

"Not yet, maybe." Ed loops the tie around Tom's right wrist and ties it to the headboard with the loosest knot imaginable. If he so wished, Tom could easily break free. He finds himself not wanting to. More than that, he finds himself growing warmer, his breath coming faster as Ed pulls off Tom's tie and uses it to restrain his left hand. "There." Ed surveys his handiwork, a flush on his cheeks Tom is certain must be matched on his own. "Seems like I'm the one in charge now." 

Tom swallows around the lump which has suddenly appeared in his throat. "True."

"Seems like I can do anything I want."

"Seems like it." 

Ed falters. For a moment, Tom thinks Ed will revert to his usual self, but he doesn't. Instead, without saying a word, he steps off the bed. Remaining in Tom's line of sight, he removes the rest of his clothes: shirt, shoes, trousers, underpants and socks, leaving them piled on the floor in a way Tom is sure is deliberate. Once he is naked, he straddles Tom once more, giving him an excellent view of most of Ed’s many tattoos, including Tom’s favourite: Tom’s own name, inscribed right over Ed’s heart.  

"What if I want to tease you? Get you all revved up and leave you hanging?" Ed asks, with a little wriggle.

“You wouldn’t do that.” Would he?

Another gleam comes to Ed’s eye. “What if I want to ride you?”

They've never done that before. Intellectually, Tom knows, for Ed's sake, this isn't something they should be undertaking for the first time while they're drunk and, at least in Tom’s case, growing increasingly desperate, but Tom's intellectualism disappears the moment Ed unzips his trousers and pulls out Tom’s already-eager cock. 

"Don't come on my clothes," Tom says. 

"Yes, sir," Ed replies. Tom's cock jerks again. "Any other requests?" 

"Enjoy yourself." 

Ed laughs and slides down the bed to take Tom into his mouth.

It's amazing, of course. Ed undertakes everything he does with single-minded focus and determination. After several months of living with him, and several more of working with him, Tom has learned he personally does not always appreciate this unswerving dedication of Ed's, particularly when it would be useful for him to multitask a little. In bed, however, Tom has no complaints. Rather the reverse. The look of pure concentration on Ed’s face as he lowers himself, slick and tight, onto Tom’s cock is a thing of such beauty, Tom wishes he had the artistic skills to capture it. Then again, Tom is happy with this view being for him and him alone. 

Afterwards, Ed cares for Tom gently, although that feels more like something Tom should be doing for Ed. He unties his wrists and undresses him the rest of the way. True to his word, there is not a spot of semen on Tom's bespoke Jermyn Street suit. 

Ed even goes so far as to hang up Tom's clothes, as well as his own, before returning to bed. Tom knows he should ask after him, make sure he's not too sore or, worse yet, embarrassed by what they just did, but he’s so tired, he can't bring himself to form words. In the morning, he promises himself. 

Ed rests his head on Tom's shoulder.  "Three months."

"Hmm?"

"It'll be our turn to walk down the aisle in three months."

"Ten weeks.” Tom has an intricate system of colour-coded folders dedicated to every aspect of planning their wedding. Tom opens his eyes. "Are you looking forward to it?"

"Are you joking? I can’t wait. I’d marry you tomorrow, if I didn’t know how much work you’ve put in for this big do." The complete certainty in Ed's voice brings a smile to Tom's face. Not that he ever doubted it, but Ed isn't always the most expressive of people. It's nice to hear it out loud, once in a while. "Even," Ed adds, "if you are a bastard."

“Your bastard,” Tom corrects. “Always.”

Ed reaches up for a kiss, then cuddles in close. Tom falls asleep happy. with his face in Ed’s hair and his arm, steady, secure and not at all prone to tickling, about Ed’s middle. 

[searchingwardrobes]

Hope is the Thing with Feathers: 4/5

This fic was created with the help of @hollyethecurious and seems to keep growing . . . must be because it started as a birthday fic for @kmomof4 You know we love you though, Krystal! Story banner by @hollyethecurious

Summary: Emma and her son Henry move to the quirky town of Hopeful, Maine for a fresh start. Emma isn’t expecting her son to become obsessed with a haunted castle or for her to get involved with the handsome, mysterious man who lives in the cabin behind it. Emma soon finds that both the castle and the man have secrets that she never could have imagined.

Rating: M for steamy/not smutty times

Trigger Warning; Positive portrayal of past Millian/Milah

Words in this chapter: 1,600

Also on Ao3

Tagging @snowbellewells @whimsicallyenchantedrose @jennjenn615 @bethacaciakay @teamhook @thislassishooked @kday426 @snidgetsafan @delirious-latenight-laughs @winterbaby89 @shireness-says @let-it-raines

  Chapter Four: Abash the Little Bird

Emma couldn’t sleep that night, tossing and turning as she remembered Killian’s hurt expression as she’d left him standing by the cliffside. She’d told him twice that she trusted him, yet when it really counted, she had jumped immediately to thinking the worst of him. Just before dawn, Emma threw the covers back, frustrated with her inability to settle down. She threw on a pair of sweats, then slipped out of her and Henry’s room at the inn. With all the work on Gold Manor, she still hadn’t gotten around to finding a realtor to look at listings.

She walked through the quiet town, amazed to find that even on Main Street, you could hear the sea. She wasn’t the least bit frightened at being out before the sun, time in her youth of living on the streets having hardened her. She did, however, remain on the alert. Some habits never left you.

Emma didn’t have a plan when she left the inn, but suddenly she knew exactly where she wanted to go. She turned around and headed back to her bug parked behind the inn. She winced when the engine revved to life; hopefully she hadn’t awakened anyone, especially Henry. She headed down Main Street, passing the dark post office as she made her way towards the town line. She passed Hangman’s Way, then the front of the Gold Estate. She glanced that way, wondering if Killian was having as restless a night as she was.

Finally, she turned off the road and into the tiny parking area beside the Hopeful Primitive Baptist Church. According to David and Mary Margaret, it too had been abandoned for years. Most people now worshipped at the large Catholic Church downtown where a cloister of nuns served the community.

It wasn’t the church, however, that she was here for. She exited her bug and made her way towards the tiny plot of graves behind the church. The wrought iron fence was falling down, and the weeds grew so high that you could hardly make out the headstones. Emma tapped the flashlight app on her phone and shone the beam over the tombs. She had probably lost her mind deciding to come out here in the dark.

The grave she sought was near the tree line. The tombstone had sunken into the ground over the years and tilted sideways. The letters carved into the stone had been worn away almost completely over several centuries. All Emma could make out was: M i h G d 166 - 693. But she knew what it said: Milah Gold, then beneath it 1661-1693.

“Hi,” Emma said, setting her phone down on the ground at her feet so its beam would illuminate the tombstone. Emma shuffled her feet, suddenly feeling very silly. “Yeah, so I’m out here like a crazy person talking to the dead ex of the guy I’m sleeping with. Oh God, that was an awful way to break it to you . . . “

NIce, Emma like she’s gonna answer you back.

“But Killian, he uh, he’s doing well,” she tucked her arms across her chest. What was she even doing here.? “I guess I just wanted to say that you had it great, you know? A guy who could have sailed off and never looked back . . . instead, he kept finding reasons to see you again, kept looking up at that cliff, hoping you’d be there waiting. How could I have doubted him, a guy like that? I mean, did you wonder? While you were there on that cliff? Were you afraid you would never see him again? That you risked your heart for nothing?”

Emma paused again, kicking at a pebble at her feet. “I couldn’t sleep because I felt so awful about how I left him yesterday. We had just made love -” Emma suddenly stopped and cringed. “You probably don’t want to hear about that.”

“She’d probably say it’s about damn time, Killian, I’ve been dead for three hundred years.”

Emma spun towards his voice, jumping a foot in the air. “Killian, what the hell? You don’t sneak up on people in a graveyard!”

He chuckled, but stayed where he was, shadowed in the trees. “Most people aren’t in a graveyard at four in the morning, Swan.”

She rolled her eyes, even though she wasn’t sure he could see her. “And you don’t expect me to believe you’ve been celibate for three hundred years, do you?”

“Well no, but,“ he started out with humor tinging his voice, but then it lowered an octave, “I wasn’t referring to just sex.”

Emma was glad for the darkness as a blush heated her face.

“I would come and wrap my arms around you, but I’m afraid this is as far as the curse will allow me to come,” he explained as the silence stretched between them.

It was all Emma needed to hear. She sprinted towards him, tripping over the root of a tree, and reaching him just in time for him to catch her as she pitched forward. Even as they awkwardly regained their balance, Emma threw her arms around his neck and dove in for a kiss. But it was so dark, she missed his lips. She didn’t let it stop her, peppering his face with more kisses as he laughed. Finally, their lips connected, and he pulled her closer, his fingers entangling in her messy ponytail.

“I’m sorry about how I took off,” she told him when he pulled away.

“You’re forgiven,” he assured her, “and I hope you know I don’t see you as a mere means to an end.”

She cupped his face in her hands, and at that moment the first hint of dawn illuminated his eyes. “I know that. Somehow, I’ve always trusted you. It’s just . . . running is my habit. Even when I was a kid, it’s just what I did. Henry’s dad actually told me once that home is a place where when you leave, you just miss it. So I guess I kept running, hoping to feel that, but I never did. Even now, as an adult, I keep running, but now from people. Except Henry.”

“Home isn’t a place, love,” Killian said gently, brushing her hair out of her face.

“Exactly,” Emma agreed, “Henry has always been my home, but tonight as I tossed and turned, I realized something. It sounds crazy, but . . . I just missed you. I wanted to turn the clock back and change how I left, but not just because my words hurt you.” She shrugged. “I just want to be with you.”

His smile widened. “And I want to be with you.”

He bent and kissed her again, and she smiled against his lips. ”Is it weird that I was talking to her? To Milah?”

“No,” he said, “brushing his nose with hers. The funniest part is, I was coming to talk to her, too. About you.”

“You think she likes me? Or is she gonna start haunting me now?”

“I think,” he said, thumbing her chin, “that the two of you understand one another.”

*****************************************************

“So, what do I do to break this curse?”

Belle looked up from the computer at the library’s front desk, her eyebrows lifted almost to her hairline. Emma shuffled and bit her lip. So she didn’t do subtle, okay? She handed Belle the other to-go cup she was holding.

“Earl grey tea with milk? They said that’s your regular order.”

Belle smiled as she took it. “If this is bribery, I accept.” She took a sip. “I was running late this morning and had to skip stopping by the Leaf & Bean.”

Emma grinned back as she reached for the pastry box under her arm. “I also brought bear claws.”

Belle cocked her head as she rose from behind the counter and came around to the front. “Okay then, now that we have sustenance, let me show you what I found.”

Emma followed her through the stacks to the table in the back corner of the room. Old books with cracked leather covers were stacked there along with piles of yellowed documents, some inside plastic sleeves. Belle set her tea down carefully on a small wheeled cart at her elbow, and Emma followed suit. It didn’t take a genius to know the items were of great historical value. It wouldn’t endear Emma to her new town if she ruined these documents with spilled coffee and vanilla glaze.

“I finally made the connection in this book of ancient legends,” Belle explained as she thumbed through a thick volume. She opened to a wrinkled, brown-stained page.

Emma’s brow furrowed; the writing indecipherable in her eyes. “You’re going to have to translate all this Belle, I’m lost.”

“It’s in an extinct Celtic language,” Belle laughed, “and I had to get a friend from university to translate it for me. Anyway, it’s legends about birds.”

Emma leaned closer. “Killian said you thought my name being Swan was important. He also said cardinals represent freedom?”

“That’s right,” Belle said animatedly, “but Killian didn’t fully understand what kind of freedom. Legend says that every red cardinal is the soul of a person who has died.”

Emma snapped her finger as she remembered something. “I had an elderly foster mother once who said her husband was visiting her every time she saw a cardinal. I just thought she was crazy.”

Belle nodded. “That’s right. I mean, well, I don’t know if it was really that woman’s husband, but that’s what the legend is. The thing is, Killian wasn’t dead when he cast that spell -”

“- so his soul is trapped,” Emma finished, finally realizing where all this was going. She shook her head. “But where does the swan come in?”

“While cardinals represent freedom of the soul, swans represent souls tied together.”

“You mean soul mates?”

“Exactly.” Belle searched through her books again and pulled out a slimmer volume. She opened to yet another page that looked like an alien language to Emma.

“Some extinct Celtic stuff again?” Emma quipped.

“No, Latin,” Belle said, barely pausing for breath, “anyways, I tried re-casting Killian’s original spell, substituting a swan feather for a cardinal feather, but it didn’t work. Then after meeting you, I remembered reading this: Swan in woman’s form, injustice to right, the enslaved to free.”

Belle’s eyes were bright as she locked them with Emma’s.

“What? Like a savior?” Emma stammered, her cheeks heating.

“In a way,” Belle said softly. “He needs to be free of this curse, Emma. I think all you have to do is recite the incantation on the anniversary of when Killian first cast it – Halloween at midnight.”

Emma swallowed hard, her tongue wetting her suddenly dry lips. “And what if you’re wrong? What if it doesn’t work?”

Belle closed the book and hugged it to her chest. The smile fell from her lips. “What does he have to lose?”

Emma’s eyes darted away from the brunette’s earnest expression. “What will happen when he’s free?”

Belle’s answer made Emma’s blood run cold.

“I imagine he will be free to join her. After three hundred years, he will finally pass on and be with Milah again.”

[unityghost]

Failure

A bad day had to turn into fanfiction. Because then, the suffering turns into a gift. I like my little system. Good coping skills. *continues to avoid life*

This story reminds me of being in therapy. Like, “I know that it’s logical to feel grief when you have no parents” and “Ah yes, the five stages of grief” and “I suppose grief is not an unreasonable reaction in this case,” and she’ll be all, “Can we … actually talk about feeling feelings?”

Anyway, this is part of my series Post-Asmodeus Sabriel Feels. Gabriel’s alive in my universe because we all want him to be.

I’m also on Archive of Our Own: http://archiveofourown.org/users/unityghost

Thanks for reading!

For once, Gabriel was useful. Being alive for as long as he had, he was familiar - at least to some degree - with almost every human language ever spoken, written, or signed.

This meant that otherwise indecipherable texts sitting deep within the bookshelves of the Men of Letters bunker could actually offer some helpful information. Spells, mostly - spells that even Rowena didn’t recognize.

Gabriel was glad he could give back to the Winchester brothers, whose hospitality had been ridiculous. It was nice being able to stay with them, and as tempted as he was to ditch so that they wouldn’t have to keep addressing his “post-traumatic stress,” he was trying to accept that it seemed they wanted to. Sam was stubborn whenever the subject arose, and frankly, Gabriel thought that perhaps he was more likely to incur Sam’s anger or disapproval by insisting that Sam was wrong. After all, Sam seemed far less exasperated when something made Gabriel flinch or freeze - or worse - than when Gabriel said, “I don’t want you to put up with me anymore.”

But how far was too far? What could Gabriel ask for, and what was more than they could handle? Crossing a boundary and being thrown out was a lot worse than just leaving on his own, without the ache of rejection.

Lately, the bunker had begun to feel small and tight. Although most of the refugees from the other side of the rift had left - gone back through the portal to try and resurrect what good had once colored their world - it felt oddly more crowded when it was just Gabriel, Sam, Dean, and often Castiel. There were days when the quiet lighting and plain decor made Gabriel feel as if he was back in Hell. It was silly, he knew - but he found he couldn’t always escape the chill in his spine.

Gabriel didn’t think he was the only one who felt a little claustrophobic. Cases became stressful; quarters became close. There were days even Dean and Castiel didn’t get along.

“Why don’t you three go out once in a while?” Gabriel asked Dean in the library while Gabriel was translating and Dean was simultaneously shoveling pizza into his mouth and poring over a cloth-bound booklet. The book was so old and frail its pages were flaking all over the desk. “One of you is gonna have a stroke trying not to bite the other’s head off.”

“What makes you say that?” Dean demanded through a mouthful of pepperoni.

“Uh, well, the last thing I heard you say before you slammed your door last night was ‘the next time you leave the fridge open I’ll take your goddamn hippie salad and replace every grain of quinoa with wendigo meat,’ so … just hazarding a guess but you seem a little on edge.”

“Hey, my brother’s the one on edge. Can’t even remember to keep the food cold. I’m telling you, something’s wrong with that kid.” Dean took an aggressive bite. “He’s lucky I’m such a patient guy.”

Gabriel blinked. “Yeah. Yes. Okay. Well, I know that I could stand to get out for a couple hours. Was thinking I’d head on over to that shady diner a couple miles away.”

Dean frowned. “What shady diner?”

Gabriel sputtered. “Seriously, Dean? You know every greasy spoon in all of Middle America and can’t be bothered to step foot in the only one you could get to without have to stop to fill up on gas?”

“I’ve still got no idea what you’re talking about, but I’m sure Sam would take you.”

“Nah, I don’t want to bother him. I’ll go myself.”

Dean narrowed his eyes. “I don’t think so, Gabe. You don’t have enough power to get there without walking. And two miles is a long-ass way to go when you’re still recovering.”

“I think I can manage two miles,” Gabriel answered dryly.

“Maybe. But I also think my brother needs to get out of this place too. Before any more leftovers manage to develop their own ecosystems.”

Gabriel’s lips tightened. “I’d really rather go by myself.”

“Ask Sam.”

“I don’t need his permission to go anywhere! I’m a grown archangel! I follow nobody’s rules but my - ”

“What are you two talking about?”

Gabriel jumped - unexpected voices, even familiar ones, made him a little uneasy - and relaxed when he saw it was just Sam. “Dean thinks you’re my mother.”

“Oh. That’s creepy.”

“And also not what I said,” Dean groused. “Listen, Gabe has a little cabin fever going on here. What d’you say you take him our for some fresh air?”

“Or,” Gabriel interjected, “I could go myself, which is what I want to do, which is what I’m going to do.”

“No,” Sam replied immediately.

“Why not?” Gabriel demanded.

“Well, one, because you haven’t been outside at all since you got here a month and a half ago; and two, because I don’t trust you not to run off.”

“What - that’s - I’m not gonna run off!” And what do you care if I do?

Sam shrugged. “I could stand some fresh air myself. Where d’you wanna go? There’s not much around here, but - ”

“Gabe said something about a diner,” Dean told him.

“Oh, yeah, the one a couple miles down the road.”

“See, Dean-o?” said Gabriel. “Maybe you have bad eyesight or something.”

“Yeah, that’s a great idea,” Sam decided. “Let’s go. You and me. When was the last time you had coffee? Or an ice cream sundae?”

“A while,” Gabriel admitted.

“You know, there are other food groups,” Dean reminded his brother.

“Oh, yeah, thanks for that. Enjoy the two slices of heart attack you have left. Come on Gabriel, let’s head out.”

“I’d reeeeaaaally prefer to go alone.”

“Yeah, well, I’m the one with the car.”


“I’m the one with the car,” Dean corrected.

“Well, I’m second in command.” Sam turned back to Gabriel. “Sorry, Gabe, but I’m not allowing you to just go off without someone else.”

Gabriel groaned. “Archangel. Celestial creature of light and glory. Bearer of good news. Sexy multi-winged beast. Not a kindergartener, Sam.”

“Hey, what about me?” Sam objected. “Maybe I want some company, huh? It’ll be good for me to take a break. Don’t argue with me on this; just come.”

Gabriel shoved himself to his feet. “Hate that orphan-child look of yours. Fine, but you’re paying, Oliver Twist.”

The inside of the diner was just as gross as the outside: peeling paint, a clock stuck at exactly 9:14, greasy tables. And as much as Gabriel was loath to admit it, he was glad he hadn’t come here by himself. It would’ve creeped him out.

“So,” said Sam after they were seated, “You feeling okay on your first trip out in … forever?”

“Fine,” Gabriel replied, not quite sure whether he was telling the truth. It was nice not to be trapped in the bunker, but admittedly, until recently, he’d felt a little uneasy at the prospect of leaving. Lately he’d been oscillating between desperation for a world beyond the underground - he’d had more than his fair share of that - and fear of being exposed to new unknowns.

After all, any one of these people - the wait staff, the customers - could be demons in disguise. Demons prepared to take him back. To retrieve what had been rightfully theirs for so many centuries.

Well, not theirs. He’d belonged to their master. But there were those still loyal to Asmodeus, and those who knew they could benefit from archangel grace themselves. They’d seen the power it had given the prince. And now that they knew -

“Hey. Gabriel?”

Gabriel’s eyes refocused. Sam was watching him in confusion. “Did you hear me?”

“Uh. Yeah. But um, I forgot what you said.”

Sam raised an eyebrow. “I asked if you know what you’d like to eat.”


Gabriel squirmed. “Not hungry. But coffee sounds nice.”

“You know you have to eat. If you want your grace to come back faster.”

Gabriel rolled his eyes. “I appreciate your expertise, Sam. Look, I’m just not in the mood right now. Food wouldn’t be …” He hesitated. “I just don’t want it.”

Gabriel had had a lot of trouble eating since getting out of Hell - partly because he hadn’t had food in such a long time that it was like trying to communicate with his old self in a foreign language, and partly because memories of being force-fed made everything feel heavy and putrid inside of him.

“Soup?” Sam pressed.

“Sam. I really, really don’t want it. See, this is why I planned on coming alone. I didn’t need you pushing me around.”

Sam looked hurt, and Gabriel immediately regretted his words. “Sorry, sorry, that’s not what I meant. All right, look, if you’re so set on it - fine. I’ll get some soup. Okay?”

Sam’s face relaxed, and he nodded. “You don’t have to eat all of it. What kind would you like? They have, uh …” He looked down at the menu. “I’m assuming you don’t want anything with chicken or beef.”

Gabriel shuddered, remembering what had happened the last time he’d been exposed to meat. Sam had been incredibly patient with him, taking him away from the table and helping him calm down even as Gabriel was violently sick.

“Looks like there’s also minestrone,” Sam told him. “And cream of celery.”

“Which sounds disgusting.”

“Minestrone it is, then.”


“Do I get a say?”

“Well, I could order the chicken noodle, but - ”

“Never mind. Minestrone sounds nice and … minestronal.”

Sam requested coffee for the both of them, and a sandwich for himself. Gabriel didn’t fail to notice that Sam omitted meat from his own order.

Gabriel bit back the urge to tell Sam not to sacrifice what he liked just because Gabriel was liable to have some kind of bacon-induced meltdown. Then again, this was probably better for Sam’s sake: eating cheese and lettuce on rye was preferable to dragging Gabriel into a piss-soaked restroom before he could throw up all over the table.

Gabriel barely touched his coffee, even after pouring almost a third of the sugar jar into his mug. He felt ill at just the notion of having to eat. Why had he thought to come here in the first place? Now it seemed stupid.

Gabriel was still lost in thought when their waitress arrived at the table.

“Provolone melt for Hagrid,” she said, setting Sam’s plate in front of him, “And soup for scrawny blondie.”

Gabriel cast her a dirty look as she walked away.

“Just a little, okay?” Sam coaxed.

The soup was too hot to eat. “Let me wait for it to cool down.”

“Yeah, all right. Sure.” Sam took a bite of his sandwich, and then a sip of coffee. Gabriel missed being able to enjoy a meal like that. It had been an indulgence for him when he still had his grace; now it was important that he eat to replenish what he’d lost, and he couldn’t.

“Come on, Gabriel.” Sam’s voice was gentle.

Gabriel picked up a spoonful of soup and cautiously put it into his mouth. The temperature was fine and the minestrone relatively bland, for which he was grateful.

“So,” Sam began after several moments of silence, “How are - ”

Just then his cell phone vibrated. He pulled it from his pocket and glanced at the number before answering. “Hey Dean.” Silence while Sam listened to his brother. “Oh, uh yeah, sure. Hang on.” Sam handed the phone across the table. “He wants to talk to you.”

Gabriel blinked in confusion but took the phone. “Uh. Hey?”

“Hey Gabe,” came Dean’s voice, “I got a question for you. This translation you were working on before you left? Well, it looks pretty good, except I don’t know if this spell is right.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Yeah, you put down something about” - there was a pause, as though he were looking more closely at the translation - “the bark of an elm tree, and that looks fine; but then you wrote down, uh, ‘canine tooth of goblin.’”

“Yeah, I did. I remember.”

“You ever tried mixing those two?”

“I flunked out of Hex Lab 101.”

Dean sighed. “It’s a dangerous pairing, man. Has the potential to blow the entire bunker to Reese’s Pieces. Be careful next time, okay? If I hadn’t known about that - ”

“Yeah, I - I get it.” He gripped the phone tightly. “So you think the translation is wrong.”

“I’ve seen this word once or twice before. I’m 95% sure it has a different meaning. It’s all right man, just … maybe double-check from now on. And if you need one of us to translate, we could probably do it.”

Gabriel swallowed. “Sorry about that, Dean-o.”

He hung up and handed the phone back to Sam.

There was a moment of silence.

“Gabriel?” Sam spoke warily. “Why do you look like you’re about to pass out?”

“I don’t look like that.”

“You definitely look like that.”

“The lighting in here sucks.”

“What’d Dean say to you?”

“He just … had a question about the translations.”

“What kind of question?”

“Please stop interrogating me.”

“Did he scare you?”

“Nope. He just had a question. I’ve asked questions before too. They’re all the rage up in Heaven. I hear they come in different colors now.”

“Dude - ”

“All right.” Gabriel clapped his hands together. “Howsabout you finish up here and I start walking back? I know you’re gonna try and fight me” - he raised his hands in a gesture of good will - “but look at me. I’m fine. I ate.”

“You had half a spoonful.”

“Which, when you’re as powerful and majestic as I am, is more than enough.”

“Is there an emergency over at the bunker or something?” Sam didn’t sound worried - just skeptical.

“No,” Gabriel replied. “Unless you consider a question an emergency.” He rose to his feet.

Sam’s face hardened. “Stay put.”

Centuries of training had taught Gabriel to obey a command when he heard one.

He retook his place at the table. And didn’t move. Didn’t breathe.

“You need to tell me what’s going on,” said Sam. “Now.”

Gabriel inhaled sharply. “Okay, I - I think - ”

Sam raised his eyebrows, pushing him to continue.

“I think I made a dumb mistake with the translations,” Gabriel confessed. “I’m not - listen, for like five minutes there I thought I could be helpful to you guys, but apparently I almost got you killed.”

Sam frowned in puzzlement.

“Look, I know a thing or two about words, okay, but I’m not exactly a Nobel Prize candidate for witchcraft. I shouldn’t have been translating that stuff; I messed up and Dean noticed it. He told me it could’ve been disastrous if he hadn’t. I, um … there’s nothing I can do for you guys now. I’m sorry, I …”

He stopped, looking down at his soup, feeling his stomach churn and Sam’s eyes lock onto him.

Gabriel raised his head. “Stop staring at me.”

“Gabriel, it’s all okay,” Sam assured him. “Dean spotted it. Nobody got hurt.”

“Okay. Cool. But obviously someone could have. In fact, all of you could have. So how about this? You enjoy what’s left of your three-dollar cheese-flavored throw rug, I go on my merry way, and you guys never have to worry about me setting fire to all those manuscripts that Castiel could probably translate with a lot more common sense ever again.”

Sam closed his eyes. “All right - no. Stop it. I mean it. Stop. Just slow down, Gabriel. First, we’re not gonna make you work for us. Second, of course you’ve been helpful. And third - did I ever tell you about the things Dean and I have mistranslated? Seriously? I came up with ‘duck on iron eats sage’ and Dean read the same passage as ‘cherry never runs.’”

“Yeah, well, waterfowl choking to death on herbs sounds a lot less intimidating than an underground hovel going up in flames. Plus, you really should have lower standards for yourself. Mortal shortcomings and all that.”

“Thanks, Gabe.”

“Look, all I’m trying to say is - ”

“I know what you’re trying to say.” Sam’s voice softened. “Gabriel, are you afraid we’re mad at you?”

“Well - I mean - aren’t you? I would be. And even if you’re not, I’m apparently useless, so - ”

“No one’s asking you to be useful.”

“Oh, okay. Then I guess I’ll just have to get comfortable with mooching off your space, and your charity, and all your goddamn patience, until I turn into an angel again!”

Everyone in the diner turned to stare.

“Gabriel,” Sam muttered, “Chill.”

Gabriel slunk down in his seat, humiliated.

“Listen,” Sam went on, keeping his voice low, “You can take a break from all the translation stuff if you want. We don’t need anything right this second, okay? And if you do want to stick with it, it’s fine; Dean and I know what we’re doing, so we’ll notice if something looks off. All right? No one’s gonna spontaneously combust because you miss a word or two here and there. And if it’s too much, just … just don’t worry. Everything’s fine. You’re not here for slave labor.”

Gabriel hesitated, trailing his eyes over the lumps of soggy vegetables in his soup. “Sam, I need to tell you something.”

“Yeah, what is it?”

Gabriel looked up at him. “There were days when I didn’t have enough. Days when he’d come for my grace and it was just … gone. Because he’d taken all of it. And he wanted more, and …”

Gabriel’s eyes swam with tears and he ducked his head. The minestrone became a murky puddle. “When I couldn’t give it to him, he got so angry. Asmodeus would do everything to me - everything. He told me it was my fault. He said I must have done it on purpose, that I was playing a cruel trick on him. And he tried to drill it into my head that - that my days as the Trickster were over, but I already knew that. Before he sewed me up I tried to tell him I couldn’t help it. I just needed time and then he could have whatever he wanted. But he - he wanted so much from me.”

Gabriel shut his eyes, and the tears spilled, streaking his face.

He wished this wouldn’t keep happening. It was all part of Sam being nice to him. If only they were a little more violent, he could just take their beatings, take their insults.

Instead he was reduced to this, because everybody else refused to give him the agony he deserved.

“I gave everything I could,” Gabriel choked without opening his eyes. “Every time he came for me - I was scared of being empty. The pain was so - so bad - but nothing compared to - ”

He felt hands on either of his arms, and Sam lifted him from his seat. “We’re gonna go outside.”

Gabriel heard the rustle of dollar bills and then the soft thus of coins being lain on the table. After that, Sam steered Gabriel over to the exit. Gabriel opened his eyes as they made their way across the parking lot to the Impala.

“Come on,” said Sam. “Get in.”

Gabriel followed his instructions, hugging himself and shivering as if the air weren’t mild and clear.

Sam climbed into the driver’s seat and shut the door. “All right, hey.” He reached across Gabriel to open the glove compartment and handed Gabriel a half-empty packet of tissues. Gabriel took one of them and, avoiding Sam’s gaze, scrubbed at his face.

He thought maybe having dry skin would help him feel calmer. But he’d lost control over himself, couldn’t stop jerking with hard, almost painful sobs.

“This is just because of the translation?” Sam asked.

Gabriel didn’t answer.

“The translation doesn’t matter,” Sam insisted. “No one cares.”

“Then why - ” Gabriel shuddered, trying to swallow down another spasm of crying. “Why did Dean call me to tell me?”

“I think he just wanted to make sure he was reading right. It was possible that he was the one making a mistake. Did he sound frustrated?”

“I don’t - I don’t remember. I don’t think so. I couldn’t tell. I just assumed he was.”

“Trust me, you’d know if he was upset with you. Hey - you need to breathe a little more. You’re gonna make it worse if you don’t try for a deep breath.”

Gabriel attempted to loosen his shoulders a little. It was easier to breathe that way.

Sam smiled at him. “Look, see, you’re all right; you’re okay. Now take a deep breath. Just one.”

Maybe it was the tenderness in Sam’s voice that made Gabriel collapse into another fit of tears. He was incapable of doing what Sam had asked of him. Incapable of ever doing what Sam asked of him. He couldn’t translate; he couldn’t breathe; he couldn’t calm down. He could never calm down.

Sam put a hand on Gabriel’s back. “It’s okay, Gabriel. You’re safe.”

Gabriel shook his head. “I’m not.”

“You are. You’re with me.”

Gabriel shook his head more fiercely this time.

“Gabriel, you’ve got to let me help. You know I can. You know I want to.”

“He was right!” The pitch of Gabriel’s voice - high, strangled, keening - surprised even him. “He was right to do what he did! I know that now; I - I was only good for my grace and when I couldn’t give it - I was nothing. I’m still nothing. I can’t give you anything. I tried and I can’t. I’m nothing.”

“You’re not nothing.”

“I’m nothing!” He lowered his head, seizing fistfuls of his hair and sobbing into his knees. “Nothing!”

“No, Gabriel, no.” Sam was trying to soothe him by running a hand up and down his spine. It was confusing, even frustrating, that he knew how to touch Gabriel without scaring him. After everything Sam himself had experienced, he shouldn’t have this kind of gentleness in him. He should react to others with the ferocity he’d been taught under Lucifer. Sam should be trying to protect himself, not Gabriel.

“I know that I am,” Gabriel rasped. “Stop trying to tell me I’m not!”

“But you don’t want to be, so why are you trying to convince yourself that you are?”



“I don’t want to lie!”

“Me neither. I’m good at it, but I don’t have to like it. I’ll take any opportunity to be honest. This seems like a good one, don’t you think?” He was still sweeping his hand over Gabriel’s back. “Hey, Gabe, I need you to sit up, okay? You’re not gonna make any progress down there by yourself.”

When Gabriel didn’t respond, Sam eased him upright and offered him another tissue.

Gabriel didn’t take it. He didn’t deserve to look clean when he knew he was filthy.

“All right.” Gabriel flinched when Sam dabbed at his face with the tissue, trying to soak up the worst of it. “Hold still, okay? Just try to relax.”

“I can’t.”

“I’ve seen you do it before.”

“Sam - ”

“You don’t want to make yourself sick again.”

“I don’t care what happens to me.”

“I care.”

“You shouldn’t.”

“Whatever, I still do.” Sam withdrew the tissue and studied him. “Should we go home?”

“Dean’s not going to want to see me.”

“Yes he is. If there’s any problem I’ll put him in his place.”

“I don’t - I don’t want him to look at me, Sam.”

“All right, well, then we can avoid him and I’ll just hang out with you until you feel better.”

Sam started the car and pulled out of the parking lot. Gabriel leaned against the window, exhausted and ashamed.

True to his word, Sam brought them both into his bedroom so that Gabriel didn’t have to face anyone else.

As much as Gabriel hated to admit it, this was his favorite place to be. He’d spent more time than he deserved in Sam’s room, often in the middle of the night when a dream sent him into hysterics.

“Lie down,” Sam instructed. “You don’t have to sleep. Just rest for a minute.”

Reluctantly, Gabriel lowered himself to the bed and curled up on his side. He was comfortable, and that disturbed him, because he wasn’t supposed to be comfortable. As much as Gabriel had loathed the cell - the chilly stone floor, the greasy walls, the funereal glow of the candles - at least he knew it was where he was supposed to be. He hated it, but he had no right to wish he were somewhere else.

And now that he was out, he had no right to be afraid. The revulsion that was coming - whether now or somewhere down the line - was exactly what he deserved.

He wondered why that didn’t make it any easier, why that didn’t make the fear go away.

Sam sat on the other side of the bed. “You all right?”

“Not really.”

Sam sighed. “I know.”

“Then why the hell did you ask?”

“I’m not sure. Can I get you anything? Water, maybe?”

“No.”

“Really? Because you do deserve some water, you know.”


Gabriel rolled over to look up at him, surprised that Sam had interpreted his refusal correctly. “No. I don’t. I don’t want it.”

“I’m getting it anyway.” Sam stood and left the room for a minute. When he came back, he set the water on the nightstand. “Not pushing. But it’s there if you change your mind.”

Gabriel raised himself to a sitting position. “Sam?”

“What’s up?”



“You knew that I thought I shouldn’t have water.”

“Yeah, I could tell.”

“How?”

“Because when you feel worthless, it’s easy to think everything is a privilege.”

Gabriel sat in silence, contemplating what Sam had said. “I didn’t realize you were so good at reading minds. They teach you this stuff in college?”

Sam resettled himself on the mattress. “I’m not exactly a rookie, you know.” He picked up the water and handed it to Gabriel, who accepted it this time.

“Are you feeling a little less … frantic?” Sam asked as Gabriel took a few tentative sips.

“Little bit. Be nice if I could hold onto my dignity for more than fifteen minutes at a time, but you know. Comme ci comme ça.”

“Don’t get so worked up. You can’t help it.”

“Um. Yes. I’d have to agree with you. And therein lies the worst of the problem.”

“There’s no problem here, Gabe.”

“Yes there is. You just handed it a glass of water.”

“Gabriel,” said Sam, “Do you think that if you keep telling me how much I’m supposed to hate you, I’ll finally decide that none of this is worth the effort?”

“Not exactly,” Gabriel replied. “More like if I pester you enough, you’ll come to your senses. Then, for your sake, you’ll kick me out. Out of the bunker and out of your life. It’d be doing me a favor, Sam. I can’t bring myself to hit the road on my own.”

“Good. I was afraid you might.”

“Hence why you wouldn’t take no for an answer when I said I didn’t want you following me to the diner.” Gabriel rolled his eyes. “You know something? You’re almost as much of a pain in the ass as I am.”

Sam smiled. “But you don’t want to get rid of me, do you?”

Gabriel stared at him in disbelief. “That’s completely different. You’re just annoying. I’m … for Dad’s sake, you wiped up my snot back at the diner! The worst you ever do is dedicate yourself to pointless martyrdom. But me? Come on, Sam. We’re hardly on a level playing field here. You should - ”

“All right, all right, there’s nothing to get upset about. Drink some more water, okay?”

Gabriel complied. It did feel good on his lips and throat. Even if he couldn’t enjoy food the way he used to, water was still okay.

“Helps, right?” Sam asked.

Gabriel nodded, drinking more.

“Gabriel,” said Sam, “Does part of not eating have to do with … with not deserving it?”

Gabriel lowered the glass. “I guess so. A couple of times I’ve been hungry, and - and it seems wrong to eat.”

“Okay. Got it.” Sam hesitated, as if not entirely sure whether he wanted to go on. “You know I was tortured in Hell, right? And Dean was too, before he started torturing others.”

“Yes.” Gabriel looked away. “You two have your own shit to handle.”

“That’s not what I’m trying to tell you. What I mean is that I used to wonder if maybe Lucifer was doing the right thing. That I was just … not meant to be okay. Because I wasn’t worthy of being okay. I was scum. That’s what I thought.”

Gabriel’s eyes widened. “What the everliving - Sam. That’s so stupid. That’s, like - that’s contagious stupid. Don’t come any closer; I don’t wanna catch your stupid.”

“And I still have those days,” Sam added.

Gabriel just stared. “But that’s - ”

“It’s what? Ridiculous? Not true? Look - I know. I know that now.” He glanced away for a second. “Mostly. Anyway, what would you do if I was in your place?”



Gabriel shrugged. “Quite possibly the same fairy godmother routine. But you’re not me, and I could never be you.”

“No.” Sam touched his shoulder. “You’re not supposed to be. Besides, can you imagine having two of me?”

“Better than having two of your brother.”

Sam considered. “You’re probably right.” He got to his feet. “Speaking of Dean, I’m gonna go see how he’s doing. See if he needs any help with the … with anything.”

“Ask Cas for help with the translations,” Gabriel said bitterly.

“We’ll ask if we need it. You just chill in here for a few minutes and wait for me.”


“I don’t need constant supervision, you know.”

“Why, you don’t want me to come back?”

“No, I do. But you shouldn’t be - ”

“Okay, good, me too.” Sam left before Gabriel could say anything else.

“Stubborn dick,” Gabriel murmured, because the alternative was getting lost in self-disgust again.

Being alone was tough. The silence was more than Gabriel could handle.

It drove him nuts that he sort of did need supervision.

He curled up on the bed, leaning back against the pillows. His spine tingled, waiting for ugly touch.

But the silence would be over soon.

No matter how little Gabriel deserved it, it was good to know Sam was coming back.

[eleanor-writes-stuff]

a language that i never knew existed before - Day 22

For the anon who requested jealous Kylo/Ben in any setting: here’s a canon-verse post-defection Ben getting jealous over... a lot of things, really.

Jealousy has always been foreign to me, especially romantic jealousy, but I tried my best. Thanks for the prompt, and I hope you like it!

Only three ficlets left, you guys! I’m freestyling it from here on out, and I hope you’ll like what I’ve got in store for everyone.

25 Days of Reylo Also available on AO3

A week after Ben defects to the Resistance, Rey leaves him to dine in private with his mother and joins her friends for dinner for the first time since the unexpected turn of events.

It’s a quiet, awkward affair thanks to the widespread rumor that Ben gave up the galaxy for her, made all the more awkward when Rey pushes aside her half-empty plate and clears her throat.

“I know that this is… odd, for everyone,” she acknowledges, eyes flitting from Rose to Finn to Poe to Kaydel. “But the general and I would be really grateful if…”

Rey falters, drops her eyes to the table. “If…”

Under the table, Rose reaches out to give her hand a reassuring squeeze, and when Rey looks up she finds an encouraging smile on her friend’s face. “If?” Rose prompts.

“If you guys would let Ben sit with us tomorrow,” Rey says in a single breath, nearly tripping over her own words. In the silence that follows, the nervous flutter of her heart seems almost deafening to her ringing ears. She resists the urge to close her eyes, to walk away, to hide forever–

“I mean,” Poe begins contemplatively, twisting the fork in his hand. “The man did try to kill us, but he’s also singlehandedly turned the tide of this war.”

“I guess everyone’s capable of change,” Finn adds reluctantly, after a rather obvious jab to his side courtesy of Rose.

All eyes turn to Kaydel, who’s been calmly picking at her meal throughout. “If it makes the general happy,” she shrugs without looking up from her food.

And so the next morning they drag an empty chair over to their table, leave it next to Rey, and wait for the former Supreme Leader to join them for breakfast.

Rey catches sight of him hovering by the entrance while everyone else is busy discussing the day ahead, raises a hand to beckon him over–

His eyes land somewhere to her right, fixed on a seemingly random point between her and Finn, and the next thing she knows he’s scowling and turning and leaving.

The Bond is blocked that day, like a pipe clogged up by something she can’t quite identify.

A month after Ben’s arrival, the Resistance plans a celebration.

It’s nothing grand, barely a feast according to those who remember what that was like, but it’s the first celebration of any kind that Rey will ever experience, and somehow word of that reaches Leia.

Poe finds her two hours before the party and marches her over to the general’s quarters, and the next thing Rey knows she’s sitting on the ground while Leia runs soothing hands through her hair and slowly fashions it into an intricate braid befitting the occasion.

“Are braids… important to you?” Rey asks haltingly, staying as still as she can. “You don’t have to answer, it’s just that, well, you’re always wearing them, and I’ve noticed that they change, sometimes, when things happen, and Kaydel said something about your home planet once–”

“Alderaan,” Leia says quietly, hands stilling for a moment. Rey winces to herself, realizing belatedly that maybe she shouldn’t have brought up the lost planet and all the grief that comes with it on such a happy day. But when Leia speaks again, her voice is wistful instead of sad, with an airy, faraway quality to it rather than the weight of sorrow.

Leia keeps weaving. “Braids are a language all on their own, to my people. We lost a lot when our planet was taken from us, but this… this we kept. If I had a daughter, I would’ve taught her all about it the way my mother taught me, the way her mother taught her.” She laughs then, a rare, beautiful occurrence that’s increased in frequency ever since her son’s return. “I had Ben instead, but he made a perfect student nonetheless, always climbing up on tables and chairs to reach my hair and practice.”

Rey nearly, nearly turns around and ruins all of Leia’s hard work. “Ben can braid?” she asks, smiling at the thought.

“Oh yes, I taught him nearly everything–”

The door connecting Leia’s quarters to Ben’s opens, and the man himself appears with a frown on his face and a datapad in his hands.

“Mom, I’d really rather not–”

He looks up from his datapad, pauses as he takes in the sight of Leia on the edge of her bed and Rey on the floor next to her, a half-formed Alderaanian braid between them, and all Rey can think about is Ben in place of Leia, running those large hands of his through her hair, being so, so gentle with her as he honors his mother’s tradition–

She’s forcibly yanked out of her daydream when a spike of something ripples through the Bond, an indecipherable mess of a dozen emotions tangled together.

“I’ll come back later,” Ben says, and shuts the door behind him.

Leia sighs heavily and goes back to work without a single word.

Six weeks after he first arrived, the leadership grants Ben permission to leave the compound and train with Rey.

She guides him through the forest with their hands intertwined and leads him to her favorite spot, a little secret she’s kept to herself all this while and can’t wait to share with him.

Ben’s smile is as wide as her own when they finally reach her meditation spot, her excitement leaking through the Bond and seeping into his receptive mind.

“I think this is my favorite place in the galaxy,” Rey admits quietly as she tugs at his hand and urges him to sit down on the large, smooth stone she added the day he arrived, a darker twin to the one she’s been sitting on ever since she stumbled upon this place.

They settle into a peaceful silence, surrendering themselves to their surroundings, to the nexus of the forest. From this spot on the riverbank they can hear the distant crashes of the waterfall and feel the sun as it rises above them, drown out their thoughts and concerns with the sounds of the forest surrounding them, birds calling to each other and tiny critters scampering past and beyond that, below that, life itself, an ancient pulse beneath their feet that sustains the entire continent.

Rey gives herself over to it, syncs her own heartbeat to the heartbeat of the planet, of the Force–

“I can’t,” Ben growls, his red-hot irritation snapping her back to reality. When she opens her eyes he’s already up on his feet and pacing along the river, and Rey watches as he runs a hand through his hair and yanks at the ends.

“I was never any good at this anyway, the padawan who couldn’t master even the most basic kriffing task like a failure–”

She jumps to her feet then, crosses the distance between them and places a hand on Ben’s shoulder. “Hey. No. You are not a failure–”

Ben doesn’t look at her, shrugs her hand off. “Easy for you to say,” he scoffs, and there it is again, that disturbance in the Bond that makes everything seem awful and wrong and–

And suddenly, Rey understands what it is.

“Jealous,” she realizes out loud, and from the corner of her eye she catches Ben as he abruptly stills. “You’re jealous,” Rey confronts him, nearly laughing in incredulity as he hangs his head, a wordless confession. She pushes a little more, untangles the complex knot to understand– “Of me. Of me? Over me, too, but of me, Ben? Why would you possibly–”

The first time he tried to join them for breakfast, Finn had a hand around her chair – around both hers and Rose’s because he’d been laughing so hard just moments before that he needed the support but Ben didn’t know that, Ben didn’t see anything other than Finn’s hand on her chair and Finn’s hand being the first to ever take hers and Finn’s hand reaching for her, always reaching for her and just like that, he made up his mind to take all of his meals far, far away from them.

When he walked in on Leia braiding her hair it felt like a slap in the face because that should’ve been him, that could’ve been him, he’d been itching to touch her for weeks, months even, but instead he’d kept his distance and now his mother was the one partaking in this intimate ritual with Rey, his mother who’d been the one to teach him, his mother who used to share this with him and only him–

“Oh,” Rey whispers to herself while Ben continues to stare at the ground. “Oh.”

Silence hangs between them, filled with all the things Rey can’t bring herself to say.

Finally, Ben does it for her. “And now… now here you are, effortlessly connecting with the Force while I keep reaching and reaching and reaching for this thing that I’ve had since the second I was born–”

Rey takes his clenched fists in her hands and slowly pries his fingers loose so that she can tangle them with her own. “Ben, that’s not… that’s not how it works.”

“Of course it’s not,” he laughs bitterly, but his hands stay in hers and that’s a start, at least. “I’m supposed to be a Skywalker, Rey. I’m a kriffing Skywalker, and I can’t even meditate right. What is wrong with me?”

Everything, he blurts out into the Bond.

Nothing, Rey counters firmly, fiercely as she guides him back to the rock and kneels down next to him.

“Did I ever tell you about the first lesson Luke taught me?” she asks, treading lightly on thin ice.

Ben tenses at the mention of his uncle, but otherwise shows no signs of reacting to it. So Rey leans in, presses her forehead to his to feed him a memory from a lifetime ago – Luke’s leading question, the blade of grass, her revelation.

She stops there; he’s seen the rest before, witnessed her question herself for succumbing so easily to the call of the Darkness.

“Now do you understand?” Rey whispers, eyes still closed as she wills him to see what Luke showed her all those months ago. “You don’t have the Force, Ben. None of us do. It’s not something for you to control; it’s something for you to connect with.”

Rey falls back on her haunches, waits for Ben to open his eyes and see, for him to understand that there’s nothing to be jealous of. The thing with Finn and his mother and her, they can work through that later. But this, the Force, the one thing he’s always been able to rely on… this she has to show him.

He stays quiet for a while, and Rey gives him the time and space he needs, backs away from the Bond to let him work through his thoughts in private, to let him rip everything he’s ever known into shreds and piece it together again.

That heavy, ugly knot of jealousy is the last thing to go, but when it does Rey feels it in her soul, snaps her eyes up to find Ben already looking at her, waiting for her.

“Will…” He slides down from the rock, kneels on the ground with her and holds out his hand. “Will you teach me?”

She smiles, laces their fingers together and leans in for a quick kiss. “We’ll learn together,” Rey promises him, and so they do.

Damn, this got out of hand. So much so that at some point I actually walked away from this and tried to write a shorter version based only on the braiding scene, but then that one got too long as well so... It’s official: I’m hopeless, you guys. Both at keeping ficlets ficlet-length and writing jealousy. Sorry, anon! I really did try, I promise.

As always, thanks for reading and I hope you enjoyed it. Please don’t hesitate to like/reblog/comment!

[lena-in-a-red-dress]

Post S3 Finale Fic, Part 14

They return to Alura's home that evening with their fingers still laced together. They don't blend in anymore-- the lost daughter of the house of El and the woman from Earth. Eyes catch on them and their barely concealed smiles, but no one says a word.

Not until Alura meets them in the kitchen.

"Kara," she says with a knowing smile on her lips. "I think we need to have a talk."

Only then does Lena disentangle her fingers from Kara's. "I'll leave you to it," she says, tucking her hair behind one ear.

When she disappears upstairs, Kara can barely contain herself before breaking into a beaming smile. Her mother's smile grows to mirror it, and when her arms open Kara surges into them.

"It looks like you managed to fix things after all."

"Not completely," Kara admits. "But there's hope."

"I'm happy for you, little one." Alura tightens her hug. "And you remember more of the old ways than I thought you would. It takes a great of honesty and trust to make the oath you did. I'm so proud of you."

"I've tried to remember everything," Kara pulls away, just enough to look her mother in the eye. "There was no one else who could. I was the only one left."

Alura's gaze grows deep, softening as she realizes the burden of survival she'd placed on her daughter's shoulders. "I'm so sorry, Kara."

Kara swallows. "You did what you thought was best."

Of all the things to question about her parents' decisions, Kara is at least certain about that. She melts back into her mother's arms, and imhales the scent of her. "I love you, xiexiu."

"I love you too," Alura breathes. "So much."

---

They surrender the data crystal of Zor-el's research in a semi-formal ceremony in the council hall. Kara does the deed-- she'd argued that Lena should, since the council asked her to retrieve the data in the first place, but her friend had refused.

"It shouldn't be me," was her only explanation.

Nevertheless, Lena doesnt let her face the council alone. She stands beisde Kara in the green robes Alura had first set out for her upon their arrival. The material is finer, it's lines more clean-- more appropriate for an official council session than the blue dress they'd gotten from the market.

Kara struggles not to stare at the crest of her family on Lena's chest, mimicking her own. Most guests only wore a blank shield, but for whatever reason, Alura had left the el mayarah. Perhaps a silent, yet bold nod to Kara's very public oath the day before.

"We thank you both for your aid," the head council pronounces upon receiving the crystal. "And once more grateful that Kara Zor-el has returned. You have been much missed, child."

"Thank you," Kara responds. She hides her rankle at the diminutive-- she hasn't been a child since the day she watched Krypton die. "But I wouldn't have gotten very far without Lena. Your gratitude belongs to her."

"We agree, most vehemently," the man replies. "Lena Luthor of Earth: please step forward."

Lena jolts beside her, every muscle suddenly stiff. Green eyes flash to her in question, and Kara nods encouragement. Lena steps forward, and then forward again when the head council invites her to step onto the round pedestal centered before their seats. Kara finds it odd--traditionally, a plaintiff must request to address the council-- but not alarming. Still, she sees the subtle lift of Lena's shoulders, bracing for some unknown inevitability, and only then does she recognize the resemblance to Earth's own courtrooms.

Kara moves to reassure her, only to be calmed by her mother's hand on her wrist. "It's all right," Alura promises.

Kara settles back against the edge of judgement that suddenly fills the air, emanating from the pale figure in green between them. 

When she glances at the Council, she finds the head counsel's gaze on her. It lingers a moment, indecipherable, before turning to Lena.

"We have been made aware of the trials your world has faced as a result of ours. From the inmates of Fort Rozz to our displaced neighbors of Daxam-- and now the abominations of the dark cult living under our very noses. And yet you have come to our aid. First, to provide more harun'el, so that our people could survive, and now this-- returning our knowledge, so that our people may thrive."

Lena barely hesitates. "It was the least I could do."

Another council member speaks up then, her features warm with a hint of mirth, as though she understands exactly what Lena is trying to do.

"The least you could do was nothing," the councilwoman says. "Instead you have given us our present and future. That is not nothing." 

The head counsel beckons to an attendant, who emerges from the shadows carrying a small lidded chest in their arms. 

"Please accept our gratitude, and this small gift."

The attendant opens the box, revealing its contents. Kara cranes her neck to get a better look, and finds the familiar pentagonal shape of a Kryptonian crest pillowed against soft, sheer fabric. The only trouble is that she doesn't recognize the sigil carved in its face.

It's not until Alura prods her forward that Kara can get close enough to spot the artfully rendered symbols merged into a brand new sigil of Lena's very own.

"Those are the symbols of compassion," she murmurs softly to Lena, letting her fingers trail over first one swooping character, then the other, "and trust."

The head counsel's nod is echoed by the rest of the council.

"You have shown us compassion, and asked for nothing in return," another council member explains. "Our people have very little in the wake of Krypton's destruction, but you have earned our trust. Both are embossed on that seal, so all may know you are a friend to Argo."

"Thank you. Your gift does me great honor, but..." Even without her superhearing, the sound of Lena’s swallow is audible. "I cannot in good faith accept it."

"Lena!" Kara blurts, but the head counsel motions for her to quiet. She does.

"On what grounds do you reject our gift?"

"My brother is Lex Luthor," Lena explains, "a fact known intimately by Kara and her cousin. On multiple occasions he has attempted to destroy Kal-el. He nearly succeeded, and in so doing killed dozens of people. And my family has stolen kryptonian technology, and used it to enact violence on other aliens living on Earth."

The head counsel eyes Lena, features impassive. "I see."

"And did you collaborate with your brother and family to commit these crimes?" another council member asks.

"No."

"Lena has denounced her brother's actions for years," Kara adds, letting her voice carry across the quiet chamber. "And she was instrumental in apprehending the rest of her family for judgement."

Lena's gaze flashes to her, sharp and quick. But before she can argue any further, the councilwoman speaks up.

"We do not bequeath this gift to your brother, or your family," the councilwoman says gently, still with her smile of understanding softening her features. "We give it to YOU, Lena Luthor, and no one else."

Silence follows, before Lena finally nods in surrender. "Thank you."

She lacks her usual eloquence, but manages to replace the seal in its box, and accepts the whole thing from the attendant before retreating back to where Alura stands. Kara follows slightly behind, catching the head counsel's discerning gaze for another split second. Shortly thereafter, the council adjourns, leaving their three guests to find their own way home.

The walk to the house is quiet. Kara's mind buzzes with the weight of a brand new sigil-- gifted to an offworlder, when even the youngest crests of her childhood had already been revered for centuries. Kara doesn't even know what merits the creation of a sigil, let alone whether the honor is purely symbolic, a relic, or either it conveys the same political weight as any of Krypton's other houses.

All the while, Lena radiates tension. When Kara brushes her knuckles against her arm, Lena can barely grind out a response.

"I don't want to talk about it."

Her low voice feels like a door slammed shut in Kara's face. But a look at Lena's features turns Kara's reactive hurt to concern. Her eyes are dark with heavy thought, and a sheen in her eyes promises she's not okay.

Lena disappears upstairs the moment they get to the house. Kara gives her a few minutes' headstart before following. She finds Lena seated on the edge of her bed, box sitting closed and unthreatening on the mattress next to her. 

"This doesn't feel right," Lena tells her without looking up. "I can't accept it."

Kara slowly crosses the room to join her on the mattress. The box sits between them. Silent. Deceptively harmless, save for all the weight carried within.

"You know... when I first met you, you told me that you were out to make the Luthor name stand for something beside Lex's madness." 

Downstairs, Alura sets about preparing their evening meal. Kara hears the sound of her mother moving around the kitchen, and the clink of dishes being set out and used to slice and stir. A small part of her revels the fact that she has no idea what her mother is making. Without her powers, it's a mystery-- along with so many other things. 

"I think," Kara continues carefully, "maybe you've told the world you're not your brother so many times, that sometimes you have difficulty believing it yourself."

Lena doesn't respond, though she inhales several as though she might. When her chin turns away, Kara remembers her own words to Lena, not so long ago.

"Part of that is my fault, now. I'm sorry. You didn't deserve it, not from me."

"From Supergirl."

"Especially from Supergirl," Kara agrees. "I was the one who told you we didn't have to follow our family's path."

"Except I did. I did, and I succeeded where Lex didn't. I'm just as--"

"Don't finish that sentence," Kara says sharply. "Lena, you didn't make the kryptonite to kill me-- you made it to help protect people."

Lena shrugs. "Lex said the same thing. To this day, he still claims to have done it all for the sake of humanity. How am I so different?"

"Because Lex never had this conversation."

That catches Lena's attention. She falls still, and Kara can feel some of her tension bleed away. 

"Lex never asked if he'd taken things too far. Or if he was doing the right thing. He never tried to refuse an accolade, worried that he didn’t earn it.”

Kara reaches out to take Lena's hand. Lena lets her, but says nothing. 

"Maybe keeping the kryptonite secret was a bad choice. But you know what? When I tossed my boss off a balcony, I almost wished Lex would show up to stop me. I couldn't stop myself, even though I knew what I was doing was wrong. Someone else had to stop me, and at the time, I didn't know if the DEO could."

Lena gazes at her with a deep stare. "That's quite a turnaround."

"Yeah." She casts her gaze across the room, rubbing her palms together anxiously. “I’ve been giving it more thought. The truth is, my cousin and I aren't the only Kryptonians on Earth. Even with Reign gone, there are others, still hiding. Thomas Coville said he tracked one down not too long ago."

"Are you worried they might pose a threat like the Fort Rozz escapees?"

Kara shrugs. "I don't know. And I don't know if I'll be able to stop them on my own. If I can’t… maybe there is value in having Kryptonite in a worst-case scenario, no matter how I personally feel about it."

"You still don't like it." Lena doesn’t phrase it as a question.

"I will never like it. I can't. Lena, I can't explain how awful Kryptonite is, how much it scares me. But I can learn to accept it, as long as it's in hands that I trust." 

Lena stares at her like she can't quite believe it. Kara isn't sure she can either. But she has to. She doesn't have the luxury of trusting that she won't lose control again.

"So you should keep the sigil," Kara finishes, clearing her throat awkwardly. "You deserve it. Maybe it can remind you when no one else believes it."

It doesn't seem to make her feel better. Kara doesn't know what else to say. Maybe there isn't anything else to say. If Lena doesn't trust herself, she's not going to trust Kara. 

"I made the harun'el because I was desperate to restore Supergirl's trust in me. And because in a way it let me make amends for what Lex did." Lena rubs her thumb across the smooth lid of the box, avoiding Kara's gaze. "How does that make me selfless enough to earn this?"

Kara nods solemnly. "So without those two things, you would have let Argo slowly die?"

Lena shrugs. "Maybe I would have."

"Lena..."

"I guess we won't ever know for sure."

Kara rolls her eyes. "Maybe you won't. But I already do."

Green eyes turn to her, suspicious and desperate all at once. 

"Why do you think I asked in the first place? I didn’t think my trust had any bearing on the situation at all, so I didn’t even consider it a factor. But I still knew you’d say yes. Because it was the right thing to do. Because who you are, Lena Luthor, is someone who helps if there’s even the slightest chance she can. Without hesitation."

Kara reaches over and hinges the lid open. Taking the sigil from within, she holds it over the crest already embossed on Lena's chest, and waits for the fabric to reshape itself. When she pulls it away, the symbols of trust and compassion are ridged into the dress. 

From where Kara sits, it almost looks like an English L. 

"Right where it should be," Kara observes softly, placing the sigil back in the box. Lena runs her fingers over the fabric, but Kara can sense the conversation is over... for now. "Are you hungry?"

Lena shakes her head. "I think I'm going to rest for a while."

"Okay. I'll be around if you want to talk more."

---

She doesn’t. The rest of their stay is uneventful, spent walking the city and steering clear of the heavy conversations still to come. But Lena wears her sigil and lets Kara hold her hand even as they wait for the transmat portal to activate for their trip home.

“You okay?” Kara asks softly.

Lena shrugs. “Maybe I’m just making a mountain out of a molehill. It’s just symbolic anyway. Not like yours.”

Kara merely shrugs her eyebrows, wisely keeping what Alura had shared with her the night before to herself-- that while the sigil had originally been intended to be little more than an a symbolic gesture, Kara's oath at the Hall of Truth had changed that. That as a result of her proclamation, Lena Luthor's name and sigil had been recorded among the honored houses of Krypton. A minor one, but official enough that the sigil can only be worn by her and her progeny, and that should she so choose, Lena would be welcomed to Argo with open arms.

She'll tell Lena, in time. But maybe after she’d wrapped her brain around the idea of simply a symbolic crest.

Lena gives Kara's hand a squeeze as the shimmering event horizon of the portal swirls into existence. "Ready?"

Kara shakes herself, fortifying herself against the return of her powers-- and the responsibilities and arguments bound to come with them.

"Let's go home."

-FIN-

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10, Part 11, Part 12, Part 13

[hairringtonsteve]

you have me.

(steve harrington x reader)

summary: steve’s not so great at admitting things in the best way possible. but it works out for him, so he sticks with it. 

request: Can you write an imagine for whoever based on the song Passenger Seat by The Summer Set 😂😂😂

word count: 5, 275

a/n: so yesterday i posted a poll, and the votes amounted to steve getting posted next! so here it is!! also, @dacrethehalls this is for you 

You fell in love in the passenger seat of Steve's car.

Steve fell in love on the first day of ninth grade. Seventh period. Ms. Ranson’s Geography class.

You were the new kid. It had been the same routine in every single class that day. Whatever teacher was in charge of said class would give the same hey class this is y/n and she's new. please, tell us about yourself and you’d be stuck coming up with some new fact.

I'm from the Northeast. I like pizza. I like reading.

On and on and on, coming up with some new inane fact per class. It was exhausting. Ms. Ranson's class was no different. She introduced you to the class in that nasally voice of hers and you muttered something about drawing. You'd barely gotten the words out before she was shuffling you to the nearest empty seat.

“Hey, I'm Steve.” The whispered words came from your left. You glanced over and gave him a sharp nod.

“Cool.”

It was quiet for about twenty seconds when you heard him again.

“You like to draw?”

“Yeah.”

“What can you draw?”

Ms. Ranson cleared her throat. She eyeballed Steve, the very beginning of a glare easing onto her face.

“Mr. Harrington, what do you think you're doing?”

“I'm following your instructions, ma'am. You said to make her feel at home, so I am.” The older woman allowed her features to fall into a full glare.

“That smart remark just earned you a detention, Mr. Harrington.” He let out a scoff of protest, but quieted down when you spoke up.

“But he was just following your instructions, ma'am. That's not fair, for you to punish him when he's just being polite.”

You glanced over to Steve, who was staring at you, lips parted in awe. He shook his head when he realized that you were looking. A red flush colored his cheeks. You turned back to the teacher, who was shaking her head at the both of you.

“Well, if you're so keen on defending him, then you can defend him right to detention. The both of you have just earned yourselves a detention on the first day of school. An admirable feat.” There was sarcasm lacing her words. You and Steve exchanged an eye roll, and from that moment on, were attached at the hip.

“Do you ever think of your life as - as pictures? Like, snapshots?” You blinked, bleary eyed as you looked over to Steve. The beer can in your hand was starting to get warm. It wasn't that bad, though. A warm, fuzzy feeling had started to spread through your limbs. It felt nice.

“What do you mean?” He had a brow cocked at you, that small smile of his playing on his lips. You leaned into his side a little, your feet moving back and forth, gentle in the warm pool water.

It was the night before your senior year started. Notebooks had been bought, clothes had been picked out for the next day. It had become tradition for you and Steve to sneak some of his dad's alcohol and drink out by the pool. By some miracle, the tradition had continued on to its final year, despite Steve getting an offer to hang out with Nancy that night.

“I don't know. It's just, well, like summer. Summer isn't big things for me. It's… driving in your car late at night. Or sitting on the edge of your pool, like now. Or screaming the lyrics to Africa at three in the morning when you got us lost in Chicago.”

“I didn't get us lost. You were shit at directions.”

“You're not getting it!” You exclaimed, waving a hand out in front of you. You made a vague motion with it, but Steve nodded as though he understood what you meant.

He always understood what you meant.

“Then help me.”

“I just - it's - everyone keeps telling me about the big things. Graduating high school. Going to college and having a career and marriage and babies and just all these big things.” You paused. “But no one talks about how good the little things are. How important they are. No one talks about how you look when you make me sneak out of my room so we can just drive around at night.” You were rambling. Maybe you'd drank more than you'd thought.

“How do I look when I make you sneak out of your room?” His voice was soft in the darkness. The only light was from the pool, hazy and soft and blue. It reflected on his face, catching the way his gaze was fixed upon you. You couldn't tell if he was the one holding his breath, or if it was you.

“Like magic, Steve.”

He ducked his head, the blush on his cheeks visible even in the low bluish light. You watched him for longer than necessary. The beer in your hand - your third, maybe - was making it hard to focus on the right things. Instead, you were focusing on the way your chest twisted at the sight of him; the way it felt as though your heart was being wrenched this way and that at the idea of not seeing him every single day.

“What’s going to happen to us after we graduate?” Your words slipped out unbidden. They fell at his feet, bloody and vulnerable and ready to be trampled upon.

“What do you mean?”

“We're not gonna be in the same town, regardless of where you go. And, uh, most people think it's weird when a girl calls a guy that's dating someone else.”

It was quiet for a long time after that. Steve stared at the gently moving water, his knuckles white as he gripped the beer can. You'd said the wrong thing, then. It was the truth, though. Guys didn't call girls that they weren't dating. Guys didn't write to girls or keep in touch with girls that they weren't into. You and Steve were platonic, therefore this year was it.

It was all you'd get.

“Demogorgons.”

“Yeah.”

“A shit ton of demogorgons.”

“Yep.”

“You're telling me that you battled interdimensional monsters a month ago and you're just now telling me because Dustin Henderson is allowing you to?”

“Uh, yeah?”

Benny's Diner wasn't the most popular spot in town, but it was open and close enough to the middle school that the two of you wouldn't have to rush back to pick Dustin up. But most of all, it was the place that Steve had deemed to just lay everything on the table. Or on the dashboard, really.

No one had left the car since he'd parked. He hadn't been able to keep quiet, instead spewing up word after word. Every syllable was crazier than the last, but it made sense. A year of insanity, wrapped up in Steve's car.

“So… Is that why the late night car rides started becoming a bit weekly thing? Nightmares?” Steve stared at you, reminiscent of the way that he'd looked at you that day in ninth grade.

“I literally just told you that monsters exist and that a girl with psychic abilities is in Hawkins, and you're concerned about my nightmares?”

“Uh, yeah, dumbass. Have you been sleeping? You're going to make yourself sick if you don't,” you said, frowning at him. He had to understand that this was important, right? The boy needed sleep. Now that you were looking, the bags under his eyes were obvious. They were dark and puffy, screaming for someone to notice them.

“How are you more concerned with my nightmares than with El?”

“She has Hopper. You have me.” You stared him down, daring him to disagree. His mouth hung open a little. The cold must've filtered into the car by then because there were little puffs of white coming out with each of his exhales.

“I have you,” he parroted. There was something off in his voice, like he was too caught up in his head. His eyes refocused on you, suddenly bright and a little intense. “I have you,” he said once more, his voice firmer this time around. Like he was stating a fact.

“That's what I said.” You watched him, brow furrowing. He was indecipherable. For the first time since you'd met him, you couldn't read him. “Look, how about we stop at the dance, tell Jonathan to bring him home, and we head back to my house?”

“Why your house?”

“ You sleep better there.” You'd looked out of the window, smiling faintly as flurries started to fall.

You totally missed the way that Steve was looking at you.

Sleeping at your house became a thing.

But the bigger thing was the late night car rides. They'd been a staple of your friendship, but they'd become more frequent. Before he'd told you, they happened about twice a week. After he told you, it was almost every single night.

Steve would toss rocks at your window. You'd climb onto the roof and then make the small jump to your favorite tree in the backyard. After shimmying down, it would be straight to his car. His BMW had become a safe haven of sorts.

“It's like the wardrobe,” you'd said one night, watching as the orange streetlights streaked by.

“The what?” Steve's fingers were tapping along to the music. Occasionally, he even started humming.

“The wardrobe, from the Chronicles of Narnia. You know, the thing that Lucy went through to get to Narnia?”

“Yeah, didn't read that one.”

“Okay, so Lucy Pevensie goes through this wardrobe and ends up in this magical land of Narnia. And your car feels like that wardrobe. Like we're going to somehow leave and go to this incredible place, on this adventure.”

“How's everything turn out for Lucy?” You looked over at his question, lips forming a small smile. The warm glow was resting on his face and it made everything seem like a dream.

“Pretty good, actually. It all worked out in the end.” Steve nodded his head a couple of times, slow and loose, like he was thinking about something.

“And my car is the wardrobe?” There was something lying underneath the surface of that question. It was just out of reach, brushing against your mind but refusing to stick. Steve was looking for an answer but you didn't know what it was. So you went with your gut.

“Yeah, it's the wardrobe.” The answer satisfied him, the corners of his mouth curling upwards.

You'd ended up in your room not long after that. The rest of the ride had been spent in silence aside from the radio. You'd fiddle with the dial, going from station to station until Steve would swat your hand away with a roll of his eyes.

That easy camaraderie had shifted by the time you got back. You had your back to him and vice versa, slipping on your pajamas as you tried to pin down what felt different that night. You'd been doing this for at least two months. Nothing had changed, yet it had. There was a tension in the air, rippling and shifting with every look that Steve gave you.

By the time you laid down in bed, you felt like you were going to crawl out of your skin. You slid under the covers, briefly relishing in the warmth that your pajama pants provided. But then Steve was climbing in and the feeling was back in full force. He hesitated for a moment before you scooted towards him. His arm went around your waist, tucking you into his chest.

Around week three, you'd both given up pretending that you didn't end up cuddling at night.

“Y/N?” Steve whispered, his warm breath curling around your ear.

“Yeah?”

“I - I can tell you anything, right?” His voice was wobbly and unsure. You struggled not to tense up. The last time he'd sounded like that, you'd sat in his car as he exploded on about bullshit.

“Of course, Steve.”

It was quiet. If you listened close enough, you would have been able to hear your dog padding down the hallway. The wind blew, causing the occasional tree branch to crack or scratch against the side of the house.

“I'm in love with you.”

Your heart stopped. You'd never gotten it whenever people said that their heart had stopped. Of course a heart wasn't going to just stop beating because of what something had said. However, those five words had caused your heart to slam against your rib cage and pause for a painful second.

“Like… like a friend.”

“No.”

The single word was so sure of itself that you wanted to punch him. His arm was still wrapped around your waist, and it was too much. You shoved it up and out of the way, almost launching your body away from him. You started to pace, back and forth, stepping on the clothes strewn across the floor.

“You don't love me.”

“Yes, I do.” He was sitting up in your bed, running his fingers through his hair as he watched you. He was almost frustratingly calm. You would've thought he wasn't worried at all, but his teeth nipped at his lower lip. His fingers thrummed against his leg. He kept messing up his hair. You knew him too well.

“You're full of it.”

“Do you know when I knew that I loved you?”

“Steve, stop it.” You were shaking by then.

“First day of ninth grade,” he started, ignoring the way you were staring at him, begging him to stop. ‘Seventh period. Ms. Ranson's Geography class. You defended me. No one - no one ever did that before. And you - you're still the only one that's ever defended me. That's ever given a shit about me beyond my fucking popularity status. So don't tell me to stop it, okay? Because I can't.” His voice cracked at the end and it hurt you to your core. But this was you, and you dealt with pain the same way that your dog did - by lashing out.

“You can't? Really? You can't? You dated Nancy for a year, Steve.”

Steve shot up, finger jabbing at you as his eyes darkened. There it was, that anger. You needed him to be angry. Anger was easier to deal with than… than the other thing.

“And I felt like shit all the time because deep down I knew it was bullshit on both sides. I… It wasn't right for me to date her, but it fucking killed me to know you don't feel the same,” he spat out, scowling. He loomed over you, making something in your chest twitch.

“You can't just spring this on me, Steve. Not now, now here. It isn't fair.”

“Not fair?” He asked, a hysterical note to his voice. “We've been sleeping in the same bed for two months! We spend every free second together. You told me that I look like magic. We act like a couple. We talk like a couple. You care more about my wellbeing than I do! You hold my hand and are there for me and -” He cut himself off, glancing for a second to your door. You'd almost forgotten that your parents were home.

“That's what friends do, Steve!” You took care that your voice was a whisper, but it was still louder than you'd meant for it to be. “Because we're friends.”

“Friends.” The word came out bitter, his lips twisting into something unpleasant. “Right. We're friends.”

“Why are you saying it like that?”

“Because that's what we are. It's what we've been for years. It's what we'll always be.” He was spitting the words out then, scowling as he stepped away from you.

“Why are you saying it like that? And why - are you leaving?” You watched as he gathered up his clothes, shoving his legs through his jeans and tugging on his sweater. “What are you doing?”

“I'm going home.”

He was leaving.

“But why?”

He was leaving you.

“I need some space, alright? I just do.”

“Steve, don't-”

“Why don't you call Matt, hm? Christ knows you two were never just friends.” The mention of your ex stung. It was a low blow, and he knew that.

“What the fuck is your problem, Steve?” He just waved his hands in the air as he shoved his feet into his sneakers.

“I'm not doing this right now. I’ll see you later.”

And just like that, he was gone. You stared at the open window, watching the curtains shuffle with the breeze. It was the middle of February, and the air had a cold bite to it. You left it open. You didn’t even bother going to your bed, instead just sitting on the ground, staring at the spot of where his sweater had been.

He was in love with you. Apparently had been for years. You slammed your hand on the ground and scowled. How dare he throw that on you then! It was only a couple of months until graduation, and then what? Seeing each other on holidays and maybe the occasional call? Losing Steve was going to be hard enough, but throwing those kind of emotions into the mix just wasn’t fair.  

Your heartbeat sped up at the idea of those emotions. He was full of shit, ruining a perfectly good friendship over this. The boy couldn’t even handle himself, let alone another relationship. He was still rebounding from Nancy. He was deluded and exhausted and emotional. He wasn’t thinking clearly. Steve had just been spewing nonsense when he’d said those things, about the two of you acting like a couple. You didn’t act like a couple. You didn’t.

Without meaning to, your thoughts shifted. Sure, the two of you hung out more than most friends did. And yeah, you were more affectionate towards him than friends would normally be. But his parents were rarely ever around and he needed someone to be there for him, to hug him and make sure that he was okay. And you had said that he looked like magic, but that was referring to whenever he was driving late at night.

And it was true.

Steve looked like a dream that you’d have late in the winter when you were longing for summer. The orange glow would light up his face and make everything soft. His eyes would narrow anytime that you’d turn the radio dial, and you’d end up shrieking when he’d lightly slap your hand away. He always let you have the last say, though.

From ninth grade until twelfth grade, Steve had been a constant in your life. And when he’d gotten his car, that was a constant too. Your summers were judged by how many days you’d rode in his passenger seat, windows down as you screamed to the music. Your winters, by how many mornings you two had sat in his car before school, talking enough that the windows fogged. Spring and Fall were spent riding around in the evenings, watching the leaves sprout and change color.

It was as though everything had been spinning in fast, chaotic circles, but suddenly, it screeched to a grinding halt.

You were in love with Steve. You had been in love with Steve for a long time.

Oh.

“Nancy,” you said, skidding to a stop as you reached her locker. She cocked a brow at you, tilting her head as her eyes narrowed.

“What’s wrong with you? You look terrible, Y/N.”

“I…” You trailed off, glancing around to make sure that no one was close enough to overhear. “I think I’m in love with Steve.” You were waiting for some big reaction. You’d betrayed a friend of yours by being into her ex. You were waiting for her eyes to wide and her mouth to fall open and for her to stare at you in shock. But instead, she just cocked a brow at you.

“Yeah. What’s the big deal?”

“What do you mean, what’s the big deal?”

“Wait, is this news to you?” You stared at her.

“It’s not news to you?”

“No? You and Steve got really close after everything happened in November. I thought you two…” She waved a hand in the air to motion towards something.

“We’re just friends, Nance.”

“He’s been sleeping at your house for two and a half months.” She said the words slow, enunciating every word, looking dubious.

“Because he can’t sleep at night.” Nancy tilted her head back against her locker, rolling her eyes so far back you could see the whites of them for a moment.

“That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard, and you know it.”

“Oh, my god.” You leaned back against the wall, the sick feeling that had been in your stomach all morning multiplying. Jonathan paused by Nancy, giving her a quick peck on the head as he looked over to you.

“What’s up with you?”

“She’s just now realizing that she’s in love with Steve.” Jonathan frowned, looking almost exactly like Nancy had just seconds before.

“Oh God, I’ve been leading him on.”

“No, you haven’t. If you tell him that you-”

“He told me that he loves me last night and I panicked and said that he didn’t love me and that we were just friends,” you blurted out, cutting Nancy off in the middle of her sentence. She and Jonathan both stared at you, sharing the same look of utter shock.

“You’re shitting me,” Jonathan said. “Is that why he almost punched me in the face when I say hey to him in Mr. Reese’s class?” A bell rang out, and the three of you blanched. “Shit, just - Talk to him, please? If not for you, for me? Because I cannot deal with him regressing back to his King Steve shtick, okay?” With that, the boy was dragging Nancy down the hall as the rest of the students cleared out.

You headed in the opposite direction, your heart pounding more and more with every step. Eventually, you stopped outside of Mr. Clarke’s room, praying that Steve had actually showed up to class. You opened the door and popped your head inside, ignoring the way that everyone turned to stare at you.

“Uh, Mr. Clarke?”

“Yeah, Y/N, what can I do for you?”

“Steve’s wanted in the office for something. Principal Norris asked me to get him.” You allowed yourself a little weak moment and looked over to Steve, who was staring at you with a blank expression.

“Head out, Harrington. Get the notes from somebody later, alright?” You watched as Steve got up from his seat, throwing the strap of his backpack over his shoulder and practically shoving past you to get out the door.

“What’s Norris want with me?” His tone was neutral as the two of you started down the hallway.

“Uh, she doesn’t. I just - we need to talk, Steve.” He stopped in his tracks, looking down at you with a scowl. You’d seen that look before. It had been aimed at Jonathan in years past, more recently Billy and Tommy. But not you. Never you.

“Cool. I’m heading back to class,” he said, shaking his head at you. His shoulder bumped against yours as he passed. You reached out, fingers wrapping around his hand as you tugged him to a stop. His skin was warm against yours, somehow comforting you and hurting you at the same time.

“Steve, please.” Please came out cracking and broken. You weren’t sure if you’d ever sounded so desperate, so scared and aching and wishing that things could just be right.

“Then talk.” The last place that you wanted to talk was in the hallway, but his feet were planted and he wasn’t moving. Your fingers were still wrapped around his hand, but he was making no move on his part.

“You can’t - it’s not fair that you just threw all of that on me last night.” He whirled around, opening his mouth to argue, but you held up your free hand to silence him. “You just… You don’t know how fucking scared I am, Steve. Once August comes, everything is different. I’m heading off to college and you’re joining up with Hopper and we won’t be together. This is it and it’s fucking cruel to throw in that when it’s just going to hurt even worse when the times comes.” You were shaking a little as you stood there. You’d acknowledged that you were scared of leaving Hawkins and him, but with everything else, it was a hundred times worse.

“Wait, what do you think is going to happen?” You shook your head and shrugged your shoulders. “You think that we’re not going to be friends after August? That we’ll flush years of friendship down the toilet because we’re too lazy to call each other? Y/N/N, c’mon. You can’t be serious here.” His entire body had softened as he’d started to speak. His shoulders lost the tension in them, the fire in his eyes was muted. He just looked young and sad and tired.

“We’re not good at that kind of thing, Steve. We’re shit at keeping in touch with other people. Why would this be any different?”

“Because you have me.” The words took you back to that night in his car outside of Benny’s Diner, him asking you why you cared more about his sleep schedule than a girl with psychic powers. You glanced down at your hands, realizing that you hadn’t let go. His fingers finally threaded through yours, slotting together like they were made that way.

“What if we fuck this up, Steve? What if we try this whole thing out and we really fuck it up?” Steve furrowed his brow at you, leaning forward a little as confusion settled onto his features.

“What do you mean, try this whole thing? What whole thing? Staying in touch?”

“No. The other thing. The… together thing.” Your cheeks were a bright red by that point. Confrontation had never been your strong suit, but this was a whole other level of embarrassment.  

“What together thing? If I remember, last night you told me that we’re friends.”

“Yeah, don’t remind me of how you made that a bad thing.” Steve used his free hand to run his fingers through his hair, shaking his head a little as he looked down at his feet.

“I was just upset. You were telling me that I was full of it for telling you how I felt. You know that I know that being friends with you is the most important thing in my life.” His voice had gotten as soft as it had been last night, when his arm had been curled around your waist and his breath on your ear.

“You came on so strong, Steve. You just kept plowing through and I was already freaking out in general about leaving and then you… you say that and I panicked.” His thumb brushed against the back of your hand, a small comfort.

“Yeah, well you were telling me that I didn’t mean it, and I started panicking.” You let out a soft snort at that, more of a huff of laughter than anything else. “I’m sorry, though. I shouldn’t have stormed off like that. That wasn’t okay.” He paused once more, looking from the floor to you. “What together thing are you talking about, Y/N?”

“Can we not talk about it here? I just - the lights - and someone’s going to see us and I don’t want to… be here.” You let you babbling die off, fading into the quiet as Steve watched you. It took him a second or two to realize what you’d said, and then he was practically dragging you towards the parking lot. His fingers remained intertwined with yours, firm and secure as he lead the two of you into the bright, cold afternoon air. It was quiet between the two of you as you walked, heading towards the safe haven that was his car.

It remained quiet as you got into the passenger seat, staring ahead at the dusty dash while Steve rounded the car. It was still quiet as he got in, and as he turned on the engine and pulled out. Trees sped by the window as he drove through the quiet of Hawkins.

“Do you remember when I said that this was my seat, when you first got her?” You started, tapping the very seat that you were sitting on. Steve let out a soft hum, acknowledging that he heard you. “I didn’t realize it ‘til last night, but um, I… I think I feel the same about you. I can’t breathe at the thought of not talking to you. My best memories are in this car with you.” You were staring down at your lap, hands folded neatly there. It was better than looking at him, to see the emotions that would be flickering across his face. “I’m pretty sure that I fell in love with you in my passenger seat a long time ago and I’m kind of panicking right now. So, uh, yeah.”

The words had tumbled out of your mouth and hung in the air. There was no sound except for the soft rumble of the engine, and the occasional whizz  of a car speeding by. Steve didn’t talk, didn’t say a single word as you waited. After around a minute or so, he flicked on his turn signal and pulled over to the side of the road. You still didn’t say anything as he turned on his four-ways. He was the one that held the power to shift the balance. You weren’t going to let yourself sway him one way or another.

Still, he didn’t say anything, so eventually, you glanced over to him. He was staring at you, so intent that you tried to turn away. But he reached out and laid a hand on yours. It was quiet for a beat before he was leaning forward and pressing his lips against your lips. It wasn’t the soft, quiet, or gentle kiss that you would have thought he’d give. No, this was hard and insistent, reassuring you that there was no fucking chance that he was going anywhere at all. You scooted forward, pressing into the kiss with everything you had left. You rested a hand against his neck, the other tangling in his shirt as you tugged him closer.

The kiss screamed closer.

“I thought I was going crazy,” he breathed out, pulling away just enough to rest his forehead against yours. He was panting, chest heaving as he stared at you. His lips were swollen and red. “I could’ve sworn that I was going crazy and you didn’t -” You stopped him with another kiss. This one was sweet and soft, but still reassuring. Still letting him know that it was alright.

“I’m sorry I was a dick about it last night.” He let out a laugh, grinning wide before he pressed another kiss to your lips.

“Don’t be. We were both dicks.”

The two of you laughed, foreheads pressed against each other as the cold air slowly seeped back into the car. But neither of you minded.

Because the two of you didn’t know what was going to happen after school. You didn’t know what would happen over the summer, or where the fall would take you. But what you did know, was that it’d be okay.

Because you had each other.

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[faintblueivy]

Dialogue challenge: “no, I’m upset my friend doesn’t want to help because he insists on being an idiot” for BoruSara

Okay, tbh, I was not supposed to post this fic until I would have written the second part but I have changed my mind and decided to post this piece.

This might turn into a three shot fanfic.

@kairi-chan I think you intended it to be a humorous one but I don’t have any regrets turning it into an angsty one on purpose. I apologize.😂 And I want to say that they’re twenty-three in this fic.

Matters of the heart

Chapter – 1

Mitsuki’s dilemma

The sound ofthe rustle of the leaves and collective footsteps were the only thing thatcould be heard besides some dampened whispers. The Shinobis of Konoha alongwith some other ninja from other hidden villages were mixed in. They were allheading towards the battlefield.

Battlefield?You ask. Yes, it had been so long since a war took place that people hadstarted to take peace for granted. But all that peace was suddenly disturbed bythe sudden invasion from the outer continents. Despite the Kages trying theirbest to control the situation and prevent the war from breaking out by themeans of negotiations proved fruitless. Instead, the meeting between theleaders for Negotiation was a lure trap, the enemy was desperate to finish offthe most powerful shinobis of the Shinobi world at once under this pretence.

Butthankfully enough, they underestimated the prowess of the Kages and especiallyignored the man who has so dutifully been referred to as the Shadow Hokagecapable of a feat called dimension travelling. In a massive battle on the enemyland, the six Kages emerged victorious and alive from the battlefield back to thehome, but with a cost. The severe injuries that incapacitated most of them,with Naruto Uzumaki having taken the greatest burnt of it.

And theyalso ended up with a crazy enemy unable to accept defeat, the flames ofhumiliation and hunger for power burning and starving them. So, all the capableKages and the all the Kage apprentices came together to mobilise the Shinobialliance again to fight the crisis, with Konoha under the cape of Uchiha Sarada,the soon to be Hokage, who was being supported by the previous Hokage – theRokudaime – Hatake Kakashi.

But the warwas not the cause of Mitsuki’s worry. It was rather the man who has also beenhis team mate for long, currently appointed as the supreme commander of theforce that was being directed towards the battle area. Boruto Uzumaki.

Some of therecent actions of Boruto has had tipped Mitsuki over the edge with the degreeof queerness. He knows Boruto and most of the times he is able to decipherBoruto’s behaviour and reasons behind his actions. But not this time. Somethingwas different in this picture and it felt wrong.

Not realizing how obvious he was being in hisglaring the back of his team mate’s head, he was brought out of thoughts with aheavy tap on his shoulder. His golden orbs flickered towards her amber ones asan unsaid question went between them.

Are you okay?

Mitsukisighed. Chocho Akimichi. They were not very close before but came to know eachother better because the girl was the closest female friend Sarada had. Overthe course of time, they grew accustomed to each other and always lamentedtogether over the fact that their attempts at making Boruto and Sarada realisetheir feelings went down the drain.

All in all,Mitsuki could easily call Chocho his partner in crime and a friend.

Before hecould reply, Boruto’s strong voice echoed through the woods, halting them allin the process.

“Let’s camphere tonight. We have made a good progress today. We’ll be heading out tomorrowmorning.”

The forestsounds dimmed as the buzzing of an army of ninjas moved to follow the orders oftheir commander. Amidst the frantic movements, Boruto simply vanished fromMitsuki’s sight.

…

He washelping with the filling up of the water containers when a familiar presenceappeared.

“Spit itout, snake boy.”

“What do youwant me to spit out, fatty?” He asked nonchalantly.

“Why are youupset? And don’t you dare deny it.” She warned gruffly.

“I don’tneed your help, Chubs.” He retaliated again, some reason insistent on notallowing himself to bring out the cause of his discomfort.

“Fine!” sheyells, “but at least go to that bratty commander of ours, he is your friend,after all, he can help you to do something about that stupid sad face you aremaking. Seriously, that gloominess of yours is quite depressing to watch!”

Mitsukitastes something bitter in his mouth at the name of Boruto.

“Actually, no, I’m upset, and my friend doesn’t want to help because heinsists on being an idiot.”

He says,agitated.

“What? Whatdid he do now?” Chocho asks, unimpressed. Boruto being an idiot isn’t a newsnow a days.

“Well, longstory short, Sarada almost confessed.”

“Oh, Isee….wait! What?! Sarada confessed?!”

“The keywordis ‘almost’, Chocho.” He tells her. But in a fraction of a second, the girl ison him, eyes wide and yells at his face.

“When,where, how??? Tell me everything!”

“I will ifyou give me some space to breath.” He deadpans.

She stumblesback with a little flush on her face but settles back a little.

…

“So, you’re all dismissed.” He raiseshis voice and waves his arm to signal the same. The entire group of ninjasvanishes in a blink of eye.

He sighs and leaves to inform Saradathat the task has been completed.

As he is about to enter her officewhen he senses a weird sort of tension enveloping the entire room, so halts andwatches from the shadows.

Sarada moves around with somedocuments, stealing nervous glances at an oblivious Boruto every now and thenwho was busy with a few scrolls spread all over the table.

Suddenly she readies her posture asif she is going to a battle, her onyx eyes lighting up with determination andMitsuki realised something.

Is she…?

Is she going toconfess?

And then he is unable to stop himselffrom grinning.

Boruto is going to beflabbergasted.

He smirks when Sarada speaks out withiron in her voice.

“Boruto, we need to talk!”

“Hmm…about what?”

Maybe realising what she is about todo, she grows nervous and her eyes dart around everywhere.

“I-I need to tell you something!” sheexclaims fidgeting.

Mitsuki grins even wider.

Just one more step.Just one more!

But he is stunned when Boruto moveslike wind and places a hand over Sarada’s mouth, his normally expressive eyeswere even indecipherable at the moment.

He only thought that goes over andover in Mitsuki’s head is ‘He stoppedher?’

Sarada herself is shocked and looksat Boruto with wide eyes trying to gauge out some explanation to his suddenaction.

“Sarada” he halts and swallows thelump in his throat, “whatever you want to say…let’s save it for another time?After the battle?”

He removes his hand from over hermouth and turns around, his bangs hiding his crystal blue eyes but then rotatesaround again and asks with a slightly distorted smile.

“Let’s go and get some hamburgers?I’m hungry and tired. Mitsuki, you too.” He leaves the office passing Mitsukion his way as Sarada tails behind him. She looks at him with saddened eyes andgives him a heart-breaking smile.

Mitsuki grits his teeth.

He extends his hand and gentlytouches her wrist trying to convey that he feels the same way as her. Theconfusion, the anger, and the disappointment…all of it. His golden gaze getsfixated at the golden haired team mate of theirs in front of him.

What the hell do you thinkyou’re doing Boruto?

…

“A-are youkidding me?” Chocho whispers in disbelief.

Mitsukishakes his head solemnly.

“That idiot!Did he know you hard it must have been for Sarada to finally confess?” Sherages,” in fact especially after he doesn’t have enough guts to be honest withhis feelings!”

She turnsaround angrily and bellows, “I’m going to teach him a lesson and pummel himinto the ground for toying with my best friend’s feelings!” she is about tomarch on when Mitsuki’s hand clasps around her wrist firmly.

“No!” hesays sternly, “Don’t. It’s their problem, let them solve. Matters of the heartcannot be answered by outside interference. I believe that they will find away.” The utmost faith with which he utters those words cause Chocho to stop.

She thinkshow hard it would be for him to hold himself back so that his obviously-in-loveteammates can reach to a proper conclusion regarding their feelings.

And heradmiration for him grows even stronger.

Boruto, you better clear up the messyou have made, shethinks.

***

So don’t forget to tell me what you think of it. Of course I cant write angst as good as @lazymilkshakecolor but i have tried! Hahaha!

You can read my other stories here.

My ffnet and ao3 accounts are here!

[thomasblanky-moved]

write about ernesto post movie

he didn’t feel as if he belonged in the city itself. he’d always just passed through, on his way to for from shantytown. everything was too bright in the city proper, too jovial; there was always an air of stillness to shantytown, regardless of how many people were there, an ever changing sea of faces. but the same woman was in the plaza day after day selling empanada, the same musicians singing the same songs.

it was too constant, for him.

so he goes to shantytown every now and again. sometimes there are faces that he recognizes, but every time there are fewer and fewer and it gnaws at him. héctor was lucky; they weren’t.

“there’s another one,” one of the abuelitas tells him in her raspy voice, dealing cards. they were different every time, but there were always three old women crowded around the same small table, playing some indecipherable card game. “he’s holed up in chicharron’s old place, primo. he’s not talking to anyone.”

héctor pops his hip and puts a finger to his mouth, his expression quirking with something almost playful, mischievous, and one of the old women cackles, leaning back in her chair so that it creaks. “well,” héctor says, “someone has got to welcome him to the neighborhood.”

it’s the work of memory to pick his way across the rickety walkways, but now his feet have shoes, bare bones no longer getting caught on rough wood. it’s strange, to look at himself as he had been then and compare to how he was now, and vaguely uncomfortable.

“¡oye amigo!” he calls, rapping his knuckles against the door of what used to be cheech’s bungalow. “time to come out and meet the family!”

there’s some shuffling from inside, a something that sounded almost like a dog. strange- most of the nearly forgotten that héctor knew just simply didn’t have alebrijes, which seemed like a cruel twist of fate. he hears footsteps, loud on the floorboards, and then a pause just on the other side of the door before it opens.

“héctor?”

before him is ernesto, surprise and dismay and perhaps even just the barest hint of fear on his face before it his hidden away beneath careful blankness. ernesto’s shoulders square from their hunched position, his back straightening as if he had something to prove. his expression was still neutral, but héctor recognized the stubborn set to his jaw.

“ernesto,” he says, sounding slightly breathless, more unsteady than he’d like. “i… oh, i didn’t know you were… here.”

in truth, he hadn’t given much thought to where ernesto might have gone. he hadn’t wanted to think about it.

something on ernesto’s face twists but he turns his back to héctor and leaves the door open as he wanders away, so héctor follows him in. an alebrije scratches at his ankle, a tiny bright-blue chihuahua looking up at him with beady eyes.

“what do you want, héctor?” ernesto still has his back toward him but he sounds tired, defeated. all of cheech’s junk has been cleared out, replaced with modest furniture, and ernesto seems to be bracing himself against the single chair at the tiny dining table.

héctor feels almost sorry for him, sorry for this man that had killed him once and attempted to do so twice, had tried to kill miguel. he squashes down the pity, but there’s still something unsettling about it; the ernesto that héctor had known was a vain, prideful creature, full of life. not this worn out empty shell of a man.

“i didn’t know it was you,” héctor says again, feebly. “the abuelitas were, uh, curious.”

ernesto gives an inelegant snort and reaches for a bottle on the table, uncapping it with vigor and bringing it to his mouth violently. héctor tries not to flinch.

“why are you here?” ernesto demands, glancing sharply over his shoulder. he looked ragged, his hair loose from its typical slicked-back style. “you came inside. what do you want?”

héctor thinks about it for a moment but the answer is obvious, painfully so, in a way that he doesn’t like to admit. but ernesto, for everything else he was, had always been his friend, had known him better than everyone else.

“i missed you,” he says simply with a little, hopeless shrug. he circles around so he can see ernesto’s face. “you were mi mejor amigo, ernesto. i loved you, once.”

ernesto seems to go tense all at once, his head bowed, shoulders rounded inwards. héctor wants to reach out to him, to pull him into one of those one-armed hugs that had been so easy for them, once upon a time. but he doesn’t, and instead curls his fingers tight into his vest.

“loved me?” ernesto asks, and his voice cracks halfway through; héctor does flinch, this time. “you left me, héctor, you were always going to leave me, how could you love me?”

“you killed me!” is héctor‘s response and all of a sudden the hurt feels fresh again, the betrayal sharp and pressing. ernesto winces, still not looking directly at him. and then, softer, “you killed me. of course i loved you, but i had a family. i couldn’t keep running off with you; i needed to be a father to coco. she deserved that, at least.”

héctor had never been good at being angry; he had always been too nice, too willing to forgive. too soft, ernesto himself had joked when they were younger. but this… ernesto hadn’t just taken his life, but also imelda’s husband and coco’s father. he hadn’t been able to see coco grow up, hadn’t been able to watch her get married or hold his grandchildren.

and now he was stuck like this, forever.

“i just wanted to see my family,” he says, “and you took everything from me.”

and in that moment he can’t decide who’s more pathetic: ernesto, with his rounded shoulders and dull expression, or himself, shouting down a beaten man for things that happened a century ago. he didn’t know if he wanted ernesto to suffer like he had, those decades- ernesto was the one living in shantytown now, alone without the company of the other nearly forgotten- but that damned compassion twists in him again, almost painful.

“but i have them now,” héctor says, as if to himself. “you can’t take them from me again.”

“héctor,” ernesto says, and his voice is rough, though decades removed he may have given a cold smile. “i never wanted to take them in the first place.”