#ooof that hits man. cuts deep

[emberphantom]

Concept: Mac, during a failed Project Badass, acquires a head injury that results in a cerebral lesion, and as a result, develops Capgras Syndrome (the delusion that a loved one has been replaced by an imposter). Mac is highly mistrusting of ‘Fake Dennis’, because he isn’t HIS Dennis. Dennis suddenly has Mac treating him extremely warily. But how can Dennis prove he’s the Real Dennis when he doesn’t even know who the Real Dennis is? Maybe Mac knows better than he does. Idek. Thoughts?

God this is just....the implications of this like....man when you let yourself think too much about it, it's so easy to spiral.

Mac...jesus Mac just waxing poetic about "His" Dennis and Dennis doesn't even know if that is or ever was him. He's got such a warped sense of self and after years (his whole life) of pretending to be someone else, trying to live up to everyone else's expectations, but hearing Mac talk about Dennis like that? Like he's not actually there?

Ugh and Dennis deciding to play into it a little, asking Mac more about himself because he wants to find this person in Mac's head.

But Mac's idea of who he is seems so unattainable. So out of reach. How does Mac have a better sense of Dennis's self, than Dennis?

"Mac, how do you just, know all of this? "

The same reason Mac knew he wanted an RPG for Valentine's Day.

Because what they have is so much stronger than just "best friends". They're blood brothers. They know more about each other than they know about themselves.

"Because I know you, man."

[captainsimagines]

the warmth of winter || one

Summary: You’re home for the holidays after landing your dream job. When your dad’s old army friend stops by for the month, he makes waves immediately. Your little vacation is disrupted... for better or for worse? Nobody has to know.

Pairing(s): Bucky Barnes x (F) Reader

Based on the Song: ‘Illicit Affairs’ by Taylor Swift

Mini-Series (1/6)

Warnings: 18+ ONLY; strong language; suggestive language; creepy/clingy coworker; age difference kink (Reader is 25, Bucky is 39)

Word Count: 5,600+

Author’s Note: This is the only chapter without sexual content. This work is explicitly 18+ ONLY. 

     “Ooof.”

The suitcase snaps back and hits you harshly against an ankle. You take it slow, hoping it won’t swell too bad, and suck in a deep breath to lift it onto the first front porch step. There’s a handbag hanging from your left forearm, smacking against your stomach, and it takes another full minute of struggle for you to finally give up. 

“Dad!”

Heavy footsteps sound, and soon enough your dad stumbles through the front door to grab the suitcase from your hand. 

“I told you I would do the heavy lifting, Bumblebee,” he says with a slight grumble.

“You’re getting old and I am young, elastic. At least I tried.”

Your dad huffs a laugh and drags the heavy suitcase through the door, opting to leave it near the living room couch for now. Your childhood room was located upstairs and he would definitely need a small breather before lugging it up there too.

“Humor your old man. It’s built into us men! Lift things, cook outdoors…”

“Ha, ha.”

“It’s true! But hey, I’m happy to do it.”

He looks healthier, shining like the day you turned eighteen, the day you graduated university, the day you revealed you had gotten your dream job. His grays have multiplied but he still has his youth; obviously, considering he’s boasting about being your muscle. You haven’t been home since the beginning of the year, living the life in sunny New York City (haha, sunny), so it really is a big deal. 

He’s decorated the house like you guys do every year — Christmas tree and stockings, a menorah, and only six red and green candles for Kwanzaa since the seventh went missing during the holiday season of 2013. Your dad has so many friends from around the world who drop by this season — most as surprise, some planned. He usually has to run to the store and buy ingredients for certain dishes, and he would always obtain even more miscellaneous decorations. He’s a people pleaser and it worries you when that applies to other things. You hope no one ever takes advantage of it.   

“So, is Sam coming down this time?”

He shakes his head, “Nah, he’s enjoying Louisiana.”

“What about Bruce?”

“Some project of his got greenlit.”

“Natasha?”

“Undercover right now.”

You quirk an eyebrow, “How do you know that?”

“When the text reads ‘undelivered’, you just know.”

So it seems it’ll be a rather quiet holiday season this time around. A few of the neighbors, Wanda and Pietro, and maybe some newbies. “What about—?”

“I’ll just save you the time and tell you who is coming.”

“Okay, shoot.”

“The neighbors are all coming—”

“Ugggggh.”

“Shut it, you.”

You practically cackle and dodge the rogue pillow he snaps your way. There’s a plate of freshly cut fruit on the kitchen counter, so you maneuver yourself expertly around him to devour it. 

“And my old army pal, James. It’s his first Christmas alone. Thought he could spend it here.”

Your dad had so many friends but James doesn’t sound familiar. You wrack your brain: okay, there’s Steve, the Captain, who never really visited but always said he would soon, so you only ever saw him when dad visited him instead; there’s James Rhodes, but your dad only calls him Rhodey, so it can’t be that James; and there’s Bucky, the guy your dad rarely mentions because of guilt — the guy who saved his life in an unexpected firefight.

“He staying with us?”

“Yeah,” he sighs low. “It’s the first time I’m seeing him since…”

So it is Bucky. Must be a nickname.

“You gonna be okay with him here?”

Your dad steals the fruit from your fork and battles you for it. You two giggle for a small while until he ultimately wins. 

“Of course. I think after talking it through, we’ll be good.”

You don’t dig deeper. If your dad thinks James will be comfortable here and that he’ll find it relaxing, then it’s good enough for you. After all, the more the merrier. 

“So, when’s he arriving?”

Your dad steals the fruit off your fork again and pops it into his mouth. “Tonight.”

    Your room is relatively untouched. Every so often your dad enters to grab a certain blanket or to use the old desktop computer that whirs randomly in the middle of the night. The bed is made, the closet is organized, and there’s a random pair of running shoes you had simply thrown across the room last time you were here in January. Your dad even vacuumed around them. 

The water pressure in your apartment is better than the one here, but you don’t complain. It gets the job done. You unpack the essentials and place them on the bathroom counter. You try to arrange everything the same way you do back at your apartment  — makes this short month feel more like being home than on vacation. 

And you’re grateful your new job and your new boss are awesome. Three weeks off mandatory leave for any holiday you ask for, paid, as long as you turn everything in by the deadlines. Editing books just seemed like the right career path — you’d charge people in high school and college to review their essays. Just seemed right. And you’re working at one of the biggest publishing companies in New York City and blessed with a boss that realized her workers were human. 

Seriously, everything is perfect. 

Your phone dings with an incoming message. Okay, almost perfect.

‘Hope you’re doing well. Can’t wait to see you again! - Brock’

The groan that leaves your throat literally scratches it. You went on one date with the guy — ONE DATE — and you even ended it with a gentle, ‘I had a nice time. I’m just not looking to be in a committed relationship right now’. Didn’t work, though. Brock Rumlow is like a mosquito: you feel him invading your personal space, he turns up when you’re least expecting him, he’s drawn to you, and he just doesn’t die. 

Okay. 

Okay, a little harsh. You mean ‘go away’ rather than ‘die’, but for the sake of dramatics, you’ll ignore that.

He’s not insanely bad. He has good ideas and functions well in group settings and everyone seems to like him when he’s having one of his normal days. Everyone just knows to avoid him when he has a deadline coming up. But he always seems to seek you out when he’s stressed and because of that, you’ve seen the side everyone actively avoids. 

Anal-retentive. Obsessed. Clingy. And hopelessly oblivious to your attempts at getting him to leave you alone romantically. 

Your fingers hover over the screen as you think of what to say. You can always ignore it. But then he’d call. And you would kill yourself. 

‘Doing good. Happy holidays!’

There. Simple. You hope.

You’re busying yourself unpacking when your dad makes this excited sound downstairs. He’s literally cheering and there’s a distinctive noise of hands clapping on backs and polite laughs. You blow a raspberry and sigh. Time to meet new people. 

“Bumblebee, get down here!”

“Coming!” you answer, throwing on a knit cardigan before jogging down the stairs. Truthfully, you’re expecting someone close to your dad’s age, maybe older, and you’re prepared for the ‘wounded warrior’ talk your dad was discussing earlier. Except, you’re blindsided by what appears at the doorway.

James is around your dad’s age, maybe the slightest bit younger, with curly dark brown hair and crinkles around his blue eyes. He’s not what you expect — but you weren’t expecting to find Sam or the Captain hot as hell either as you got older. James is perhaps the most beautiful man you have ever seen. Radiating warm greetings and holiday spirit, if his ugly Christmas sweater is any indication. Even with that monstrosity he’s wearing, he’s gorgeous. And your dad seems to love it, and Bucky’s chuckling at him, and you realize he knows your dad truly. He wore it for him. 

It takes a full glance to finally see it: James has two arms. You’re confused for only a moment, before you snap out of your thoughts and decide to ask your dad later. James laughs at one of your dad’s jokes and looks up toward the staircase to finally see you. 

He flashes a kind smile, one that could topple countries and swoon opposing parties: it’s killer, absolutely devastating. 

“Uh, hi. Nice to meet you.”

James looks you up and down rather purposefully that it makes you quickly glance at your dad. But he’s too entranced by the hanging snowmen on James’s sweater so he misses it. You clear your throat and smile back, trying to ignore that growing tickling feeling in the pit of your stomach. 

Here’s the thing about James: For as long as he can remember, with every hook-up or flirty purpose, James has never once, never intended to, or accidentally wanted the attention of people’s daughters. Okay, scratch that. He’s an idiot. Everyone is someone’s son or daughter, but he has never thought that the daughter of one of his friends was attractive. Well, okay, no. Scratch that again. He’s considerate and not a complete asshole, so he recognizes beauty when he sees it. But thinking the daughter was hot? That’s never happened. Until now. And James is about three seconds away from slapping himself upside the head.

“Nice to meet you, too.”

Damn, even his voice is devastatingly beautiful. It’s deep enough that it’s not too rumbly, not too monotone. He sounds like even his laugh can turn water into wine.

“Help me with his bags, Bumblebee! C’mon!” If you didn’t know the major fact that James saved your dad’s life and is the sole reason you even have a father, you would believe your dad was genuinely, over the top giddy to see him again.

But you do know the facts and even though your dad is truly happy to see a longtime friend, he’s obviously overcompensating. This is a chance for him and James to talk things through, to air out the awkwardness that James apparently lost a literal limb and thus allowed your dad to come back home. I’ll give him a day to stop laughing at everything James says, you think. 

You rush to help with the suitcases, even though James is shooing you away as you try to grab them. Still, you reach for them again because deep down you’re ultimately a good host. 

“Damn, what do you have in this one? Rocks?”

“Bumblebee,” your dad scolds. 

James laughs and shakes his head, trading you one of the smaller bags for the heavy one. “Just my other pair of boots and some books. It’s almost winter after all! Can’t beat the snow and snuggling up near the fireplace with a good book.”

Books. Just your type of man.

“And you had to bring twelve?” You wear a bright smile that lets both men know you’re only teasing. James hauls the heavy suitcases into the living room and nods as your dad points out the guest room he’ll be occupying. 

“Don’t hate, sweetheart. It’s still not enough.”

There it is: the air restricted inside your lungs unexpectedly, pressure building in the temples as your face begs to smile wide in reaction. You’re worried once again that your dad is going to say something about the nickname, like he’ll scold James for calling his only daughter something even he doesn’t call you. But he’s already getting the midnight snack kit ready just in case James even mentions food. 

This man is affecting you in ways no man has affected you in a long time — at least, not since college. Not even Rumlow made you feel butterflies or sweet embarrassment on the first and only date. James walks like he owns the room, is quiet like he’s already spoken a thousand words, and as gorgeous as the sun setting in the west. You have the unbelievable urge to make this man some hot chocolate and ask him about his day.

Granted, the goosebumps erupting tell of another thing you’d like to do to this man but that’s out of the question. 

“James is staying until after New Years so he’ll need to go shopping sometime this week for… hey, what do you even eat?”

James laughs. “Same thing you do. Except I changed to oat milk.”

“Oh, me too!” you say a little too loudly, inwardly cringing by how high your pitch is. But James just grins and extends his arms like he’s about to match your pitch. 

“Better than almond, right?”

He’s got this way about him that’s so surreal, so different. He seems like the type of person who is easy to talk to — someone who listens and reads between the lines. You want to speak with him more, share a beer and get to know him regardless of the maturity levels, and it’s then that you realize that James — with little to no effort — has you wrapped around his finger. 

“Blah blah blah, next thing you two will be crucifying me for still drinking milk from a cow,” your dad says, mumbling. You roll your eyes at him and try your hardest to get a grip. This man is your dad’s friend. And he’s several years older than you — a good fifteen at least — and if the feeling you’re getting is anything to go by, it just seems way too taboo.

“I’ll take you shopping tomorrow, alright? In the morning, since we’re celebrating Hanukkah with my friend Wanda later at night.” James picks up his discarded suitcases effortlessly and nods in agreement to your schedule. 

“Hey, I know it’s early but I’m working overtime tonight so I’ve gotta head to bed now,” your dad says to James, then claps him on the back and leads him to the downstairs guest room. 

“Nice meeting ya, Bumblebee,” James teases, his voice low.

You cringe. “Don’t call me that.”

He likes this already. The teasing, the joking, the carefree nature you and the rest of the household already have. He was worried this vacation would be too uptight, too knitted, too strung that the slightest mishap would open the seams and spill the contents on the floor. Because James was ready to pass on this invitation. He hadn’t seen his friend in almost fifteen years, and the last encounter involved an awkward lunch and James choking on his tortilla chip before the entrees came out. Ever since then, it’s been greeting cards and the occasional email. This invitation stewed in his brain for two weeks before he accepted it — one phone call and an hour of packing later, James bought a plane ticket and saved it in his Apple wallet. Even Steve encouraged him to go, and apologized about not being able to make the same trip down. Besides, James’s sister decided to spend this holiday season in Italy with her fiance. So he was truly, embarrassingly, family-free. Not that he doesn’t consider Steve family, but it’s different visiting Steve’s mom and acting like he belongs.

James watches from outside the door frame as your dad sets up the room. “Okay, what do you wanna be called?”

“Uh, my name?” 

James chuckles and rolls his shoulders. He looks you up and down again, breathes in slowly and finally graces you with another kind smile. “I don’t think I can do that, doll.”

Your chest constricts with a feeling like that of a heavy-loaded semi knocking you out of your shoes and three lanes over. Because the slip of his tongue and the roll of his syllables, perfectly calculated, has made you involuntarily shiver. 

And when you shiver because of what a man has said — well, you’re in too deep to disregard the innocent, sweet crush that evolves into a raging, carnal desire to have this man on you, underneath you, and utterly yours. 

He speaks like it’s a challenge: he wants you to deny the new nickname. Choose another one. Perhaps insist he call you by your birth name. But instead you smile back and try your hardest not to show anything but innocent politeness. 

“That’s fine.” You desperately try to ignore the subtle way his eyebrows raise in surprise. “Nice meeting you, James.”

“Bucky.”

You turn on the staircase and look back over your shoulder. “Hmm?”

“Bucky. My name is Bucky.”

“Okay,” you stage-whisper. “Bucky.”

He grins, lip curling up higher on the right side. He speaks low: a sweet confirmation. “Doll.”

     “Hello?” Your little greeting comes out like a sing-song, the bell over the door providing the music. The shop looks empty despite the hundreds of flowers filling it up and Wanda’s instrumental playlist plays on the speakers. “Anyone here? I want to buy some flowers!”

On cue, a head pops out from the back office, already scoffing. “Last time you bought a fuckin’ flower it was an apology to your dad for gettin’ caught taggin’ the abandoned building down the street.”

Clint comes out lugging dozens of roses by the box, shirtless and sweaty. He’s already got this fucking smirk on his face that tells you he’s joking; he even laughs loudly after calling you out.

“Maybe if you were nicer I’d buy some more.” You remove your gloves and heavy jacket, placing them on one of the couches near the violets. “And if I ever do, I’d buy them directly from Wanda.”

He adjusts his hearing aid for a short moment. “Last time the sale was mine,” Clint praises and sets the box on the front counter. He begins sorting through and laying individual roses in their own plastic baggy. “Lookin’ for Wanda?”

“Yeah, she around? Wanted to know what else I should order for tomorrow.”

“Eh, she says Pietro has all the food covered. You just provide the roof.”

Clint runs the shop with pure chaos. He’s done the same routine long enough that he doesn’t prick his fingers anymore on thorns, or end up breaking the new fancy vases Pietro has specially made and ordered. Clint’s come a long way since the Maximoff parents gave him this job, and after they died he seemed to level-up. Now he runs the shop chaotically but efficiently whenever Wanda’s not around; the only thing he loses throughout the weekdays is his shirt. 

Last week it was his pants, but.

You take a seat near the counter to watch Clint work. “Ha, ha.” Clint’s a little older than you and Wanda, give or take a few years, so you figure he might know more people from around here than you do. “Hey, you know anyone by the name James Barnes?”

“James Barnes? I know the last name. By any chance, does the dude go by ‘Bucky’?”

“Yup! That one.” You pick out a rose from the box carefully, mindful of the thorns. It smells fresh.

Clint makes a happy noise and runs his palm over his face. He has this wistful look, like he’s remembering something. Your mouth parts as you think of the next thing to say but nothing comes out. Clint’s still in his little happy place and you awkwardly look around the store. Finally, he continues. “Good guy. Excellent bartender. Good fighter. Someone you want on your side.”

“He sounds important.”

“He’s only a few years older than me. Not by much but we still kinda grew up together. Helped me get this gig back when Wanda’s parents were running the place.”

“No shit?”

“Shit,” Clint confirms. He smiles then looks at you weirdly. “Why?”

You sigh, fiddling with your thumbs. You try your best not to let your cheeks heat up. “Dad invited him over this December. He’s in my guest room.”

“No shit!” Clint fumbles putting the rose he was holding into the plastic baggy, then runs around the shop looking for his shirt. “Why didn’t you say so sooner? He hasn’t visited in years!”

“Hey, woah!” You laugh and find his shirt first, holding it behind your back as he tries to reach for it. “Dad’s working overtime and he’s sleeping. Can’t let you and your big fat mouth go in there when everyone knows you’re loud as all hell!”

“Depriving me?” Clint dramatically gasps. He pounces for the shirt but misses as you maneuver around him. “That’s mean, Bumblebee.”

You roll your eyes at the nickname every person in this town has seemed to adopt from your dad. “This guy made a name for himself huh?”

“Promise me I get to say hi tomorrow.”

You squint at him, “Clint, I’m not depriving you of anything. The dude is probably getting ready for bed after driving all day.”

“You get that little melting feelin’ in the pit of your stomach when you meet him?”

It’s quiet on your part — you struggle to form a sentence. Clint’s just goes back to casually walking around the store, easily falling back into routine, waiting for an answer. But from the way he’s smirking, he seems to already know it. He laughs loudly, “Happens to everyone! Swore up and down I was in love with him for a good two weeks before I realized I was in love with the free beers he gave me at eighteen.”

“I didn’t get that sinking feeling—”

“Melting,” Clint sounds out. “Melting. He gives off this special vibe. Straight up, everyone in town loves him. He better hide good before all the middle-aged, divorced housewives come knockin’.”

You’ve got your eyebrows furrowed and a funny grin. Clint’s making it sound like you’ve got a literal celebrity in your house. “Melting.”

Clint smirks, finally snatches the t-shirt from your hand, and throws it over his head. “You’ll see for yourself soon enough. He’s close with all your dad’s friends, man. How did you not know about him?”

James… Bucky… grew up here. Your dad didn’t. Your dad moved here for the cheap prices, liked the atmosphere, and stayed. So, you grew up here. And it was just pure coincidence that your dad and Bucky ended up fighting in the same unit.

You shrug. “Dad never really mentioned him. And when he does, he says ‘James’.”

Clint hums in understanding. “Weird, though. Bucky helped Sam repair the family boat a few years back. Got the thing up and runnin’ again perfectly. Helped Steve with a VA campaign back in Brooklyn a few months ago. Hell, he’s bailed Nat out of jail more times than she can count on her perfectly polished hands.”

“I’ve been away for a year. How do I not know any of this?”

Clint looks at you like he can’t believe it either. “Guess he’s not popular with people from your age group. Bucky stopped giving underage kids drinks a little after he returned from the Army, so.”

Clint was already a year graduated when you were barely a freshman. You spent your young childhood helping Captain Rogers during the ‘protest seasons’, painting signs and baking cookies for the newly returned vets, and marching down the streets of Washington DC. You spent some summers down by the docks with Sam and Sarah, learning how to fish and fix the boat’s engine a thousand times over. So the first and true time you really got to know Clint was during your last year of high school when you became friends with his niece Kate. 

Kate played Bottom during the fall production of A Midsummer Night’s Dream, loud and boisterous and definitely not an actress, while you played the mildly crazed and horny Helena. But instead of making nice with the girl who played Hermia, you fell for the girl who got her head stuck in the ass’s mask and had to wear it throughout the entirety of the cast party. And you were hooked around Clint’s finger when you brought her home, stumbling over every porch step, until you two finally toppled through the front door. Clint took one hard, long look at you both, bit into his donut, and asked, “Where’s Kate?”

He’s been one of your closest friends since. 

You groan softly, “I’m going to the bar. I’ll tell Kate you said hi.”

Clint chuckles, “You do that. I’ll tell Wanda you stopped by.”

He clips the ends of roses long after you walk out of the shop.

     The bar looks the same as the last time you visited. The regulars are on the barstools, the same 80s posters of random rock bands are plastered over the walls, and the floor is the same shiny but creaky wood. The only differences are the new flat screen gracing the patrons with Thursday Night football and the Christmas decorations. Plus, there’s a cute little tree in the corner and you know for certain that Kate’s the one who decorated it. 

“Now, why didn’t I get the arrival text?”

Kate’s voice is cheery and refreshing. She looks just the same as when you left earlier this January, give or take a few natural differences. Her hair is longer, still jet-black, and she’s taken to winged eyeliner rather than her usual line. It makes her eyes look more sultry, more attentive, and she’s adopted lipgloss instead of lipstick. It’s a decision you don’t agree with as you hate the feeling of loose strands of hair from god knows where getting caught in the gloss. She smacks around the small towel she was just using to clean a glass and starts cheering as you take a seat at the bar. 

“I haven’t even had time to sit down. Get me a drink, will ya?”

She sticks her tongue out but does as told. Clint got her this gig after sweet talking Fury for a whole month. She bartends Monday, Thursday, Friday, and Saturday nights; they’re the best times of the week and you have no idea how Clint swung that. 

“Drinkin’ to forget a fella?” Kate smiles, leaning against the counter while blinking her eyelashes. She grabs you a beer after you roll your eyes. 

“Drinkin’ to try and get to know one,” you answer, and pop open the bottle. You take a long sip and flush from Kate’s excited gaze. It’s obvious she’s waiting for you to continue. “I think I have a crush on my new housemate. And everyone who I’ve mentioned his name to has gushed like a middle schooler.”

“Ooo, do I know him?” Kate asks quickly, but backtracks. “Wait, house...mate?”

You nod, shyly. “Dad’s friend. Dude who saved his life and almost died trying. Bucky Barnes.”

Kate pauses like her ears must have heard wrong, eyes wide, then her mouth drops as she releases the loudest gasp-scream you’ve ever heard. You should have assumed her reaction would be one of shock but you didn’t really want the angry stares from a few customers who are trying to watch the game. 

“THE Bucky Barnes?”

You smile as her voice raises an octave. “Yeah, apparently. Know him?”

Kate laughs again then points at one of the framed photographs behind her. There, a grainy photo that looks like it was taken on a flip phone depicts Fury, who looks only a few years younger, the famous T’Challa who you’ve heard has made it big in California with his and his sister’s big tech company, and Bucky… skinnier, tanner, and sporting one of the brightest smiles ever. 

“What was he, like sixteen?” you ask, shocked, and jump over the counter to inspect the photo closer. 

Kate snorts and giggles madly. “Believe it or not, but he was twenty-six.”

Your eyes widen in amusement and Kate matches your silly smile. You look closer, and that’s when you see it: Bucky’s left arm is a beautiful, metal, shiny black with intricate gold designs. He holds up some sort of certificate but because of the poor quality you can’t make out what it says. 

Kate continues, “Bucky Barnes looked like a twink until his early thirties. Saw him for ten minutes a few years ago. Hot damn.”

You can’t help but laugh. It’s ridiculous, but Kate is spitting truth: Bucky Barnes, since the second you first saw him this afternoon, is hot damn.

“Gonna tap that?”

“Who says that anymore?” you tease, shoving her shoulder playfully. She shoo’s you back over the counter. 

“I’m serious. You didn’t grow up with the guy. This is the first time you’ve met him, I assume?”

“It’s like I’m the only person in town who hasn’t.”

“Makes sense. He moved to Brooklyn when we were kids. Came back one time when you were down in Louisiana with Sam. Has a pollen allergy so he never went into Wanda’s shop.  Came back last year for a week but you were working and I was at a conference.”

“So, I’ve literally missed him.”

“Each time,” Kate confirms. “You know, I fully support this affair—”

“Stop talking.” You roll your eyes and take a larger gulp of your beer. The thought of getting it on with the Bucky Barnes is getting even more and more risque. You and Kate speak a while longer, catching up on discussions about work, friends, family, pets, the works. She’s a little busy so she can only make mild small talk, but coming home and not visiting her that very day? Not possible.

She only brings up Bucky again when you’re about to leave. She gives her approval, then goes back to working. But only for a moment because she pours two shots, passes one to you, and exclaims, “To DILFS!”

To your surprise, about half the bar repeats the dirty chant back. “He got kids?”

“No,” Kate laughs, and shoots back the shot. “Not that this town knows of. And we know a lot.”

God, you’ve missed her. So loud and energetic and isn’t afraid to tussle with her fists or words. Your friends back in New York are more reserved, work-oriented — and sure, that’s great and all but they don’t give you that feeling of childhood wonder the same way your friends down here do. It’s your first year working at that company, and you’ve got to put the time and effort in. Once you get a better footing, you can start scheduling more vacation days.

You don’t know what you were expecting from asking about Bucky around town. Guess you were hoping for some bad stories that would quickly extinguish any flame that previously ignited by just hearing him speak. You wanted a reason to avoid him or adopt him as yet another father figure, but now that’s near to impossible. ‘DILF’ really does fit him and it would take a fucking firing squad to get that image out of your mind. 

Bucky has planted his hyped influence in your house, in the room right beneath yours, in the back of your mind — and you find that you don’t hate it one bit. 

     “You’re up late.” 

The silky voice startles you and you do a little jump in your chair. You run your palm over your entire face and chuckle back at him. “It’s gonna take me a few more days to get used to not working until midnight.”

Bucky nods in understanding. He goes to the fridge to pull out a water bottle and unscrews the cap. “You his only kid? I remember him saying he had a three-year old at home way back in the desert.”

That makes you gush. The thought of your dad, freshly eighteen and living the most horrible part of his life, telling his whole squad about the three-year old he was trying to create a better life for… it makes you a little emotional. You’re used to the attention: hell, whenever your dad was working, Sam, Steve, and Bruce would reenact Three Men and a Baby at the local grocery store to get dates. “Yeah. Had me at fifteen; kept me around even after my mom ditched. He joined the army for the benefits and money. Left me with his sister while he was fighting.”

“Fifteen… So what, that makes you…?” Bucky looks to be doing the math behind his eyes and a tiny smirk starts forming on his very pink lips. 

“Twenty-five. Yup.” You clear your throat and move the spoon in your tea. The lights from the Christmas tree are on and twinkling and seven of the eight candles of the menorah are lit. Bucky takes the time to marvel at the light too. “You forty as well, or?”

“Just about. Thirty-nine.” Bucky looks back to you and blushes. He rubs the back of his neck with his metal hand. It seems to have had a few minor upgrades since the photo at the bar was taken. It’s the same size as his flesh one and its movement is fluid: thirteen years of experience (if he got it a twenty-six), you guess. 

“Hmm.” You really wish you had turned the television on or something. It’s too quiet and all that can be heard is your breathing. Your dad left for work an hour ago. 

Your little hum has Bucky’s mind whirring. What is that supposed to mean? It’s stupid to overthink it, but he wants to know. Was it a little hum to simply acknowledge his age? Was it a brush-off? Or was it acknowledgement with a sprinkle of interest? Bucky’s a lot of things and being an underthinker isn’t one of them.

It’s already slightly awkward, so you decide to do it now. Rip the band-aid off. You have to say it. “Look, I don’t know how to say this. Or if I should even bring it up… but I’d like to thank you for saving his life.”

“You don’t have to do that—”

“No, seriously. I wouldn’t have had a dad growing up. I mean, I have a lot of father figures. But like…”

He smiles, but takes another sip of water to somehow hide it. “I know what you mean.”

The gesture makes your stomach churn. “Okay… good. I won’t mention it again.”

Bucky’s dressed in a tight, black t-shirt and those cliche red checkered pajama pants. His hair looks recently washed and the ends are curling in all directions. Bucky’s also got subtle bags under his eyes: he must have napped while you were out. He doesn’t look thirty-nine. Granted, you’re used to your dad going gray early from the stress at work. Bucky doesn’t have gray on his head, not that you can see from where you’re sitting. He does seem to have some grays in his beard. You want to stand and look closer, out of curiosity, and to maybe see just how blue his eyes really are. 

“So, uh, what are you?” Bucky says with an awkward smile, twirling his index finger in the air. 

“Huh?”

He then points to the Christmas tree, to the Menorah, to the ‘Happy Holidays’ pillow cases. “You Christian? Jewish? Undecided?”

“Oh!” You cover your mouth as a giant smile threatens to break through. “During this time, um, Dad and I have a lot of friends who visit. Sometimes on different days so we figured for the entire month of December, it should feel like everyone’s welcome. It’s quite funny because we aren’t, like, anything specific. All the colors are nice, though.”

“I think that’s very welcoming.”

He must be blushing as hard as you are right now. His cheeks are pinker than when you started this conversation. “You?”

Bucky shrugs, “Father was Catholic. Mom was Jewish. Guess that’s why I like your little set-up so much.”

You chuckle, then it falls silent again. But it’s not some awkward silence this time: it’s charged with tiny smiles and little shuffles of the feet. That odd feeling starts in the middle of your chest, travels down through each individual rib, and settles nicely in the pit of your stomach. It’s not really butterflies, it’s more like — melting.

You suck in a deep breath and stand to pour your remaining tea down the sink. “I’m sorry if I’m a little awkward. I’m usually very talkative with dad’s friends.”

He shrugs again. “No worries. I basically ambushed you on my way to get water.”

It’s an exaggeration but you know Bucky says it because he must be feeling it too. When goosebumps erupt on your arms, you can’t really expect the conversation to be labeled as innocent. You quickly change the subject. “Well, hey, I usually go running with my friend Wanda in the mornings but I’ll be back before nine to take you shopping.”

“Oh, great!”

You bring your hand up to chew on your index nail for a few seconds. The action makes Bucky’s gaze immediately drop to your lips. Quickly, you say, “Goodnight, Bucky.” You slowly walk past him and to the stairs.

He snaps himself from his daze fast. “Night, doll.”

“You calling me that makes me feel like some 1940s princess,” you teasingly complain, turning on your heel to look back at him. 

That’s exactly why he says it. He’s always been interested in period pieces, old music, even movies based during those years. It’s such a delicate nickname, one assigned to people who truly fit the bill, and Bucky, ever since the moment he saw you hop the final stair and bounce into the room, thought you were an absolute doll. 

Bucky bites his lip and screws the water bottle shut. “Took one look at ya and that’s the name that came to mind.”

Rolling your eyes, you take tiny backward steps until you reach the staircase railing. “Each time you say it, it sounds like you’re trying to pick me up.”

“Mm.”

The air you try to breathe stops in the middle of your throat. You’re not sure your lungs even tasted it. His tiny hum of acknowledgement is so subtle, so innocent, that it’s not innocent at all. You shouldn’t say it — hell, you shouldn’t even be thinking it — but you want him to elaborate on that hum, to explain with great detail just why he didn’t bother denying it. 

“Yeah… Anyway… Night.”

Bucky smirks as he watches you walk away. He only feels a little guilty for enjoying the view.

xxMoni

[a-small-batch-of-dragons]

Security Blanket

Prompts: So in a lot of your TSS fics Janus is the one taking care of everyone, giving sweet pet names, and hugging them, but what about a fic where Janus finally gets taken care of…? Just a suggestion! (I also suggest to include angst!) - anon

So many of your fics are Janus taking care of the others (and he is so valid in that, as are you ) (/pos) but it got me thinking of who takes care of Janus?? - anon

Hi! For a prompt, what about Remus and Logan comforting Janus? It can be really angsty or barely enough hurt for hurt/comfort - anon

ooof thank god i get to post something soft today

Read on Ao3

Warnings: hypothermia

Pairings: duckeceit, loceit, DLAMPR, can be platonic or romantic I don't care

Word Count: 3586

As one might be able to imagine, keeping track of Janus at the best of times is an ordeal.

Even if the man weren’t part snake and literally the embodiment of deceit, he’s a private person. He keeps to himself, keeps to his shadows, and when he allows you to discover anything about him—and make no mistake, he is allowing you to do so—it is never enough to answer all the questions you might have about him.

Remus doesn’t ask that many questions.

He doesn’t care, not really, about the precise inner workings of someone’s psyche or the things that make them who they are. That’s Janny’s domain. He knows what buttons to push to make them jump and what things they’re afraid of so he can avoid them—or exploit them—if necessary. But that doesn’t mean he isn’t paying attention.

He knows Janus gets cold. He knows Janus has a hard time being touched. He knows Janus has a very hard going to others for help.

So when there’s an emergency in Thomas’s apartment and the heating’s on the blink, Remus knows he’s got to be the one that finds Janus.

He checks everywhere he can think of. The cupboard under the stairs, the big open carpet near the windows, the corner of the living room made up with blankets and pillows, and nothing. No Snakey.

As a last-ditch attempt, he checks the bathroom.

He opens the door and the thoughts slam into his chest.

It’s so cold, a cold he can feel right down to his bones as if his body is trying to break apart at the seams just to feel something. It’s so lonely, painfully lonely, every ounce of his body screaming for something, anything, someone, anyone. There’s the sharp sting of pain riding an undercurrent of betrayal so vitriolic it almost feels like a violation. And buried beneath it all is the quiet sob of alone, alone, alone, alone.

Remus blinks and finally sees the figure curled up in the shower.

The shower isn’t running, the figure isn’t naked. It’s a huddle of dark clothes, an askew hat, and a yellow blanket clutched tightly over the face. He tries for a breath and the metallic sting of blood hits him square in the nose.

This is so much worse than he thought it would be.

“Jan,” he calls quietly, “Jan-Jan, are you alright?”

If he hears him, he does nothing. He moves closer, stepping into the shower and crouching down.

“Jan-Jan?”

Janus doesn’t flinch, but he’s too still, his breathing too controlled. Fuck. Janus knows he’s here and he’s terrified.

“It’s just me,” he says softly, “it’s just Remus. Are you hurt?”

Still no response. He reaches out to touch his shoulder. Janus reacts to that.

“Whoa, easy,” he soothes when Janus flinches horribly, “I won’t touch you, I won’t touch you, it’s alright.”

He kneels, coming a little closer. Janus still won’t move, won’t speak.

“Janny,” he tries again, “Janny, I can tell you’re bleeding. Let me help you, I won’t be angry if you show me where you’re hurt.”

Janus clutches the blanket tighter. The message is clear; he doesn’t want to move, he doesn’t want to let go. His fingers move a little and he notices that one is badly bruised.

“Snakey, I—easy,” he says, retracting his hand again as he curls tighter, “I’m not trying to take it from you, but you’re hurt, let me help you, please.”

It takes a long time. A long time of murmuring reassurances, a long time of the smell of blood getting stronger and stronger, a long time of wondering how Snakey turned into this frightened creature, before the blanket finally lowers and two eyes poke out over the top.

“Hey, Snakey,” he says softly, smiling and giving him a wave, “want to tell me what’s the matter?”

Janus shakes his head, pressing himself against the shower wall as he clutches the blanket tightly under his chin. Remus swallows a gasp of dismay at his split lip, bruised cheek, and red-rimmed eyes.

“Do you want to show me where else you’re hurt instead?”

Janus shakes his head again, harder this time, and a loose thread gets stuck on his bleeding lip.

“No?” Janus winces when the thread stays there. “Here, let me…”

His eyes go wide as Remus’s hand starts to move.

“I’ll be gentle,” he murmurs, “I promise, I’ll be quick.”

His chest aches as Janus watches his hand like it’s about to bite him, tenderly moving the thread back from his mouth and snapping it away.

“There, that’s better, isn’t it? Oh, you poor thing,” he whispers as fresh tears roll down Janus’s cheeks, “let me help, please?”

Please, Snakey, let me help you.

Janus moves slowly. Too slowly. Every single inch he manages to claw back looks like it aches, his split lip permanently curled into a snarl. If Remus peers close enough, he thinks he can see frost clinging to some of Janus’s scales.

And the blood is coming from somewhere deep within the folds of the fabric.

“Jan,” he says, “we need to get you to Logan, you’re hurt.”

Janus shakes his head, pulling away when Remus tries to help him up.

“Okay, okay,” he says, trying not to ruin the little bit of trust he’s managed to earn, “I won’t touch you, I won’t touch you.”

He glances over his shoulder. At some point, someone is going to come looking for both of them. And that is going to go about as well as—well, it isn’t. It won’t.

“Why didn’t you go somewhere warm first,” he asks gently, “what happened?”

Janus doesn’t respond but his grip on the blanket tightens. He frowns.

“Did…something happen to the blanket?” Janus shakes his head. “Then why…”

Oh. Oh, fuck.

He can just imagine what Janus would expect the others to do if they found out Janus has a comfort object and that it’s a blanket.

Not that they ever would! Patton’s bed is full of stuffed animals, Logan can’t sleep without a galaxy pillowcase on his bed, Remus clings to his Morningstar like another limb, Virgil’s relationship with sleep is complicated at best, and Roman has a blanket too.

“But you didn’t know that,” he whispers to himself as he watches Janus curl up miserably, “did you?”

Janus doesn’t respond. Remus bites back a curse.

“You’re mad.”

He blinks, startled, and looks down. “Huh?”

“You’re mad,” Janus mumbles again, clutching the blanket tightly.

“…yeah, I am,” he says quietly, suppressing noises of concern when he curls tighter, “but not like that, and not right now.”

Janus looks up at him warily. “…no?”

“No. Come on, now,” he continues, frowning when he winces, “come with me to get you warm, please, Snakey.”

Janus just curls up tighter.

“If I brought Logan here, just Logan,” Remus tries, “will you let him look at you? I don’t have to be here, I can go, but—please, Jan-Jan, you’re hurt. Like, real bad, I can tell.”

The time it takes for Janus to shakily nod is quite possibly the longest twenty seconds of Remus’s life.

“Okay,” Remus breathes out, scrambling to his feet, “okay, I’ll get Lolo.”

He dashes out into the hall, down the stairs, almost smack into Logan.

“Remus,” he scolds, “watch where you’re going. What—“

“I found Janny,” he whispers, cutting Logan off, “he’s hurt. You need to come with me.”

Logan draws himself up immediately, snapping the first aid kit into his hands. “Where?”

“This way.”

The look on Remus’s face is enough to tell Roman to keep the others here, which he does by promptly picking up one of the blankets they’ve scavenged from around and wrapping them all in it, pulling them into his lap. Remus nods in thanks and leads Logan up the stairs. He nods to the bathroom.

“He’s in there,” he says softly, “be gentle.”

“I will.”

Logan takes a deep breath and opens the door.

His breathing catches when he spots the little heap of Janus nestled in the corner of the shower, exhale somewhere between a sigh and a noise of concern as Janus peers over his blanket.

“Hello,” he says softly, crouching down outside the shower, “I’m here to help. Can I come over to you?”

Janus doesn’t take his eyes off of him but he nods.

“Thank you. I’m going to go slow so I don’t make too much noise, is that alright? Alright, I’m going to move now.”

When he’s crouched in front of Janus, he can see why Remus was so anxious to get him here. Janus isn’t hypothermic just yet, but he’s hovering on the edge. The smell of blood is strong enough to be worrying, not enough to make him panic.

“I know it’s cold,” he says, “and I know you can’t move very much, but I need to make sure you won’t bleed out or deteriorate at a faster rate. I need you to move a little for me, just so I can see. Does that sound okay?”

A low whine and he shushes him tenderly.

“If you can’t move, that’s alright, I can help. Is that it?” Janus nods. “Alright. Can I touch you, please?”

Janus looks up at him, gaze piercing, as he curls around his blanket. Logan holds his hands up, empty, and waits. When Janus nods again, he reaches forward and gently, gently lays his hands on Janus’s shoulders.

“Shh,” he murmurs as Janus shakes from the heat, “shh, my dear, you’re doing great. I know, it’s a lot, but we have to get you warm, alright?”

Of course, the warmth just increases Janus’s ability to shiver. Logan hushes him soothingly and slowly, slowly moves to pull Janus’s arms away from his body.

“Lean on me if you need to, I’m warmer than you are, that’s alright, I won’t mind.” Logan peers at Janus’s stomach, seeing the blood drying where the scales meet flesh. “Alright, it doesn’t look like you’ve hurt yourself too badly, it’s just the temperature differential causing a little bit of wear and tear.”

Janus is shivering properly now, two of his hands still clinging to his blanket.

“You can’t stay here,” Logan says firmly, “we need to get you warm. If I help you, do you think you can make it to your bed or do you need me to carry you?”

Janus’s lower lip trembles. His brow furrows, mouth drawn into a hard line. He averts his gaze.

“You’re not being needy,” he continues, softening his voice, “I’m here because I want to be here. I want to help you, I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t. Let me help you, my dear.”

The shock on Janus’s features is enough to make Logan want to summon Roman, who would smother the poor dear in enough affection to drown them all. Just to make Janus believe someone would. But he swallows that need and waits for Janus to figure out that he isn’t lying.

When Janus begins to shyly nudge closer to Logan he smiles, wrapping Janus carefully into his arms and standing, muttering something to Remus about making sure Janus’s room is ready.

Sure enough, when they’ve made their way through the Mindscape, Janus’s bed has a sterile sheet laid across it, warm pads at the ready, and plenty of surgical towels nearby if they’re needed. Janus’s breath is almost torn out of him as Logan crosses the threshold into the warmer room.

“You’re going to be fine,” he murmurs, laying Janus down on his bed. “But I do need to come and clean you off a bit while we warm you up, alright?”

Moving Janus’s arms out of the way is a process, one he sends Remus out of the room for, filled with soft coaxing murmurs as he gently manipulates the stiff limbs.

“You’re doing well, dear, we’re almost there. I know it’s cold, it will hurt less after a moment.”

Janus opens his mouth and tries to say something, only for air to hit his bare torso and it turns into a whine.

“Shh, hush now, dear,” Logan says softly as he begins to clean off the dried blood, “it’s alright. Once you warm up it will feel better. I’m just going to put something on the damages and then we’ll be done.”

“L-Logan—“

“What is it?”

Janus’s eyes are glassy, he realizes, as he looks up to his face. He lets out a concerned noise, reaching up to cup Janus’s face. Janus all but nuzzles into his palm as he does, a shiver racking his body.

“You poor dear,” Logan murmurs, mostly to himself, “you poor, poor dear…”

It ends up taking a little longer than he expected, what with only one hand, but if it keeps Janus grounded, Logan would happily take the rest of the day. It doesn’t come to that, thankfully, as he clears away the last of the medical supplies and gives Janus’s face a little shake.

“Janus? Janus, can you hear me?”

Logan’s face swims into view as Janus blinks away tears that he definitely knows where they came from. Logan’s hand is so warm, it’s so warm, as it cups his face, the soft stroking of his thumb systematically undoing every stitch of Janus’s defenses.

“Can you hear me, my dear?”

Janus nods on instinct, a wounded noise tearing from his throat as Logan’s hand leaves him.

“Hush, now, I’m not going anywhere. I just need to put this aside…there. I’m back, my dear, I’m right here.”

The warm hand is back on his face as the insecurity twists anew in his chest.

What is he doing?

“Shh, none of that now,” Logan chides, “I’m here because I want to be here, remember?”

“‘M not—“ he swallows— “I’m not supposed to be like this.”

“And I’m supposed to be cool, aloof, and uncaring,” Logan says wryly, brushing a stray tear from Janus’s cheek, “and Remus is supposed to be horrible and demented.”

“I can hear you!”

He gives Janus a look like ‘see what I mean?’ “So don’t worry about the roles we play right now, dear, it’s alright.”

Janus swallows again, a massive lump in his throat.

“Is that why you hid,” Logan asks softly, “because you couldn’t separate us from our roles?”

Fat shameful tears bubble at the corner of his eyes.

“Oh, none of that, it’s alright, my dear, shh, shh, oh, come now, don’t cry, don’t cry, I’m trying to make it better, not worse, hush now…oh, you poor thing…”

Janus can’t hear anything over the roar of blood in his ears and the soft slide of Logan’s hand against his face. His breath is coming in great whooping gasps.

“Janus,” Logan says firmly, “stop.”

Janus freezes.

“Good. Now breathe.”

Janus breathes. Logan’s hand, on his shoulder, now, still dry and warm through his cloak, presses down firmly.

“There,” he says, softer now, “that’s better. Just keep doing that, then we can figure out what to do next.”

Janus squeezes his eyes shut, something cold closing into a fist around his heart as Logan pulls away. He wrenches himself into a seated position, starting slightly at the rush in his head. He keeps his eyes shut until he can blink them open, seeing Logan there, watching him carefully.

“Janus?”

“My apologies,” he says, surprised at how smooth his voice comes out, “I appreciate your assistance, but it is no longer necessary. You may leave now.”

He pushes himself to his feet and tries to make it to the door, only for it to fly open, and Remus bursts in.

“Oh, thank fuck,” he sighs as he takes two steps and wraps his arms tightly around him.

Janus’s eyes go wide. The door closes behind Remus as warm warm warm too warm not warm enough don’t let go please let go it hurts it hurts oh fuck don’t stop—

He needs it to go on forever and he needs it to stop.

“Remus,” Logan says after a moment, “Remus, let him breathe.”

Remus lets him go but keeps his hands on his shoulders. Janus is shaking, staring at Remus like he can’t process what’s happening as fat tears begin to roll down his cheeks again. Remus lets out a noise of concern, reaching up to wipe them away.

“It’s okay, Jan-Jan,” he says quietly, almost too quiet for him to hear, “it’s gonna be okay.”

Janus’s face crumbles and he stumbles, scrabbling for Remus’s shoulders for support. Remus scoops him into his arms as he clings desperately to him, walking swiftly to the bed and laying him down as carefully as he can. He scrabbles frantically for his blanket, coiling around it and sobbing desperately into it.

“Ah,” comes the soft voice, “I see.”

“See? See what—oh!”

“Go and tell the others, I can keep an eye on him for now.”

Janus can’t tell what’s happening until he feels warm arms around him.

Logan, Logan, wraps his arms around his waist and pulls him into a hug. His eyes go wide as a sudden flood of warm warm warm solid Logan safe warm care love protection hits him, but none of it takes away from the fact that Logan is hugging him.

Distantly, he hears Remus chuckle as he starts to make his way down the hallway but then Logan’s hand comes up to press his head into the crook of his shoulder and he keens.

“Shh, dear one,” he murmurs, “it’s alright, I’m here, I’ll take care of you.”

His hands clench and unclench in the blanket, unsure of what to do, where to put them, until Logan holds him a little tighter.

“You can touch me, Janus, you can hug me, I don’t mind. Come, now…”

Shakily, he returns the embrace and has to hold back a whimper at the rush of warmth. He feels more than hears the rumble of Logan’s chuckle.

“There you go, dear one, that’s it. Hang onto me, now, that’s right.”

“B-but—I thought—you—“

“You can always come to me for this, Janus,” Logan reassures softly, “I will always take care of you.”

Janus lets out another shuddering breath against Logan’s neck and it’s too much.

“I doubt you’re going to get used to touch if you continue to deprive yourself of it,” he coaxes, pulling Janus closer. “Breathe, dear one, it’s alright, I’m not going anywhere.” He rubs his back. “Just let me take care of you.”

“Wh-where did—Remus—“

“The others are worried, dear, we couldn’t find you. No, no—none of that,” he says as Janus tries to mumble out another apology— “you were afraid and protecting yourself, we can’t be mad at you for that. Remus is letting them know we found you.”

“C-Can—“

“Do you want them to come here? Come help look after you?” When Janus nods shyly and buries his face in the crook of Logan’s neck, he holds him closer. “Alright. Can I call them now?”

Of course, when Logan does call for them, he has about two seconds before Remus is tackling the both of them onto the bed.

“Remus.”

“You got to hog him to yourself, let me have a turn.”

“Be careful.”

“He’s durable.” But Remus softens and scratches a hand through Janus’s hair. “Hey, Snakey.”

“Hi.”

“Pat, move.”

“Okay, okay, I’m going.” Janus lets out a soft noise when Patton and Virgil curl up near the foot of the bed, tucking blankets and pillows into place as Janus moves. “Hey, sweetheart, you okay now?”

“Mhm.”

“We’re just gonna keep watch down here, J, we gotcha.”

The sheet beneath him changes, something softer, warmer. Then the pillows get a little easier to touch, the blankets no longer scraping against his scales. He catches a glimpse of soft red sparks as another pillow changes and looks up to see Roman’s brow furrowed in concentration as he works.

He catches Janus’s gaze and softens, reaching out to carefully set Janus’s hat aside and ruffle his hair.

“Hello, little snake. You just shush and get warm, hmm?”

“Ro—Roman?”

“It’s me, just me. I’m just making things a little easier, you close your eyes.” When Janus keeps staring at him, he raises an eyebrow and gently drags a finger down the bridge of Janus’s nose to make his eyes flutter shut. “There, that’s better. Let us keep an eye on you, now.”

Well, between Logan’s arm around his waist, Remus’s hand in his hair, Patton and Virgil camped at the foot of the bed, and Roman patiently checking the wound on his stomach, Janus isn’t going to be going anywhere any time soon.

Keeping track of Janus at the best of times may be an ordeal, but if he thinks it’s not one they would gladly go through, he’s lying to himself.

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[toujoursmiraculous]

Thoughts and Reaction to WISHMAKER

Oh I'm so excited about this one! Marinette's little soft looks she gives Adrien in recent episodes before snapping herself out of it is adorable. Not overwhelming, just nice. Poor Adrien doesn't know what he wants to do. But the thing that hurts me most (probably because I was always in the same position he is in, so understand more than hurt from it) is the fact he thinks that with Ladybug adding more people to the team, he won't be needed and thus won't be Chat Noir anymore. OOOF it hurts! Poor Adrien doesn't realize that if Ladybug didn't give these Miraculous out, Shadow Moth would've gotten their Miraculous from them a long time ago. I rewatched all episodes out now in chronological order, and it's so obvious she cares about him and could not be able to do what she does without him. What needs to happen is for her to not only tell him that, but express it somehow for him to believe it.

"Come on, Plagg. It's time to start thinking about our future." OUR future. He's including Plagg in that future. Good! I definitely understand what this episode is trying to get across about jobs and careers, but a majority of people can't and never end up doing a job or career they love and gives meaning. Some struggle just to find something they can do with their circumstances, much less something that'd make them happy. A very good message though to encourage young kids to look into many interests and try to find what you enjoy to life to end up doing that makes an impact on the world to spread the positivity and happiness. Hey hey hey Alec, how dare you go after Andre the Ice Cream Maker?! But good on him for not letting it affect him at all, he's doing what he loves so the criticism doesn't matter. "Pistachio and pecan for the clear-sighted young man!" "Who? What young man?" "Hello Marinette." I love Luka so much and Andrew's voice is so smooth. x3 I've wanted to learn the violin for years, I have one, but have never been able to do much with it. Luka having and playing his violin makes me incredibly happy (and adore him even more). "Whoa. You definitely have a gift for finding the right words at the right time." "Adrien." "Ah, well, most of the time." LOL But this entire scene. Luka saying you haven't told him about your feelings have you, her noticing he's sad, and Luka being like let's go talk to him and help him then! Just. AWWW! Poor Adrien has so much pressure to find something he wants to do or his dad will make him do what he wants instead. That's going to make it even harder for him to find something... I remember a spoiler from a long time ago, of Adrien baking with Marinette. What if he finds he loves it when that happens, and it's what he wants to do? :o Ahahahaha when Luka goes and sits next to Adrien, Adrien looks up at Marinette expectantly to sit down too. Probably thought by him. but she went the safe route and went next to Luka. xD Adrien, thinking he knew what Luka and Marinette want to do. Luka knows what he wants but it isn't what Adrien or the rest of us thought. Marinette thought she knew but now she's not sure at all. So all three are kind of confused and it's complicated. Life's complicated. Have you noticed, this is the most honest Marinette and Adrien have ever been about something so deep and personal to them? And they're able to do it around each other. Because Luka's there. He's like their emotional guide to help bring them closer and I love it. "Nothing, my mind is empty!" "I'm completely lost!" - Marinette and Adrien say together. Dang. When Luka explains Marinette and Adrien's "inner music" that felt like the most deep and personal scene this show has ever had. "You two will eventually find what's already in front of you," he says before he knew. As they look at each other. Oh lovely foreshadowing moment here. "But you can't hear it clearly, just let the melody flow." In other words, let things happen as they should. Don't force anything. If it feels right to do something, do it. If it doesn't, don't. Wow that violin is so beautiful. Adrien and Marinette's reactions in

sync, the surprise at the tune, the contentedness, and wordlessly looking at each other before getting up and sitting closer. Such a beautiful scene, this has me in awe honestly. "I've wasted my life!" oh I'm sure that hit hard with some of us older viewers. :c I have trouble sometimes not thinking this way, but there's always still time to change how things are. I love that everyone's dreams are either sweet and positive or just plain silly. Like CrocoJagged.

Hey, hi there, son! I absolutely lost it LOL this was brilliant! And the way he runs away on his hind legs it's too much XD "Hey Adrien, go hide behind that tree!" and then he drags Marinette along to hide her. So funny he's the one taking control in this situation. He's really shown his superhero potential in this and Optigami, even when not suited up. oooh Marinette wasn't where he brought her. That was sus. "HEEEELP I DON'T KNOW HOW TO SWIM!" "If we get hit, we'll reveal our secret identities!" "What do you mean, m'lady?" "When I was six I wanted to be the Knitting Fairy, and the Knitting Fairy didn't wear a mask!" The fact she's distracted and Chat Noir had to be paying attention to pull her to safety was such a Ladybug move. What do you mean you're not needed, Chat?! Obviously you are! Also she's giving you information about herself! LISTEN. She never used to and doesn't have to tell you these things, she's choosing to! And she even asked about you and your childhood! "You must have just forgotten!" or didn't have one. I honestly didn't have a dream as a kid, either. I don't know, I never wanted to grow up and be anything in particular that I thought I could do. I didn't have wishes of things I wanted to do for fun much either. I don't know why exactly, but I had a dad that's enough like Gabriel so maybe that's why. (My sister proceeded to tease me about being a sentimonster, since there's that "Adrien's a sentimonster" theory going around). "But Dad, crocodiles know how to swim..." "I didn't when I was a kid!" THIS SCENE XDD I love it! "If Chat Noir and I get hit, you must come back to this exact moment." Yeah it was at that point my suspicions of Luka finding out about them both seemed to be very likely to happen. "Nobody can know about our secret identities." At this point I was going omg omg omg omg the entire time lol The fact that Adrien would decide to have his identity revealed so he could learn more about himself to help him in the future. o.o This poor boy! And here's Luka finding out about Marinette being Ladybug! The dramatic zoom in! Viperion goes "Marinette?!" literally with Chat less than a foot away and he doesn't even budge. He's really that sad he's not even paying attention to what's going on Dx Okay, Ladybug calling on her Lucky Charm just to have the plushie squeak in her hand got me lol "My childhood dream is being what my parents wanted me to be!" Adrien seems happy. And he's himself, it looks like, so I don't know if we just got it cut off short or if he is exactly what his parents wanted him to be, so he's happy knowing that information?

This back and forth between a serious moment and a hilarious one! Shadow Moth's horrified Adrien's Chat Noir lolol not even the same kind of reaction that was in Chat Blanc when he found out . Okay but back to Luka. I think he was much too far away to hear what Adrien was actually saying, but he can see that it's Adrien standing where Chat Noir was.

He sees Adrien's where Chat Noir was.

The realization that Chat Noir is Adrien.

Understanding exactly what it means for Marinette to be Ladybug and Adrien to be Chat Noir. It's interesting how the people of Paris were able to still have jobs that was as close to their childhood dreams as possible. The man that wanted to be Santa makes toys. Mr. Banana wanted to be a cucumber and while he's not one, he wears a Banana suit every day. Jagged wanted to be a crocodile so the closest he could get was to have one as a pet. Marinette wanted to be the Knitting Fairy and look at all she can knit and sew! Alec: "When I was a kid, I just wanted people to be happy!" so sad that his bullying made him want to make others miserable instead. But it's nice that he wants to start now trying to make others smile and be happy c: "Sorry Alec, but when you're a superhero, even your dreams have to remain a secret." But she told Chat Noir hers. If that's not her going in the direction of outright telling him who she is....! Please let Luka be the one to help Ladybug with Chat Noir and Adrien with Marinette. Please. They need it. They have to have Ladybug realize her feelings for Chat and be willing to tell him everything. And they need Adrien to open his eyes and realize his feelings for Marinette. Once those things happen, they'll be okay. Except Adrien still doesn't know what his dream is because that was taken away by Second Chance. Personally, I think his dream of wanting what his parents wanted him to be, is what he already is. He just doesn't know it. As for his future, that can be up to him to start finding! "Thanks to you, our secret identities were persevered and nobody discovered who Chat Noir and I really are..... uh, not even you, right?" "Not even me. Luckily Wishmaker never hit you or Chat Noir." LIES Funny that he was "Truth" before, but now he's spitting lies. HOWEVER don't worry, I understand very much why he's lying and with the way Marinette is, this would be something she'd worry about and obsess over and Luka doesn't want that for her. He knows he can handle it, and she'll find out about it later when she's meant to. I just think it's ironic and funny lol And ooooof the way Luka's face fell after she left. Poor bb. "It was nothing, Marinette. You know you can always count on me." Luka's going to be Marinette and Adrien's best friend in a way that Nino and Alya just can't be. I can feel it. "We're all okay. Thanks to Ladybug and Chat Noir."

Oh. Oh you dorks! It's like they somehow know deep down they're Ladybug and Chat Noir with that look at that line. They're looking at each other like they know to some extent... I'm sure nothing happened in an episode we have yet to see but, it feels a bit weird, don't you think? "I may not remember my childhood dreams, but that's okay! It's time to focus on the future and find my inner music, like Luka said!" AWWW good for you my precious sunshine boy! Keep being you. Also Adrien's disturbed look at Plagg killed me again.

Marinette: "I'll do it all! .... I'll be Luka's best friend and I'll love Adrien!" Yeah see, that's it! You guys are best as best friends, and Luka will one day find someone else and he'll be happy to have you as his best friend when that time comes too. As far as all the other stuff, that sounds very busy and exhausting, but if it makes her happy! "How can you love other people if you don't love yourself?" Oh dang, that's such a good line to have put in this show honestly! Nicely done. So this is definitely one of if not my favorite episode. Chat Blanc's been my favorite but this is at least up there with it! There's so much to take from this episode, and so much that can come from this episode's events that I'm both extremely excited and scared to find out what happens next.

[cosmiclatte28]

Chapstick Game on!

Hello this is my first kind of smut, but still flirty and still safe to read imagine / scenario! 

I did this real quick, in like an hour or so.... but the air is helping me to type this and HERE IT IS... KISSING GAME WITH TEN!! 

warning : kissing, parties, alcohol, flirty reader and ten!

ENJOY!! 

“So that is the new boy everyone is talking about?” you point your chin to the new guy stepping into the party.

Your best friend follows your gaze and nods, “Yeah apparently that is the hot guy everyone is busy getting into his pants!”

You smirk and swirl the red punch in your party cup, “Including you Yang yang?”

Yang yang rolls his eyes, “No.”

“Are you going to whisper

Ich habe in der Zeitung gelesen, dass Küsse glücklich machen. Darf ich dich glücklich machen?”

You tease your friend, leaning in and whispering that one line you memorized by heart since you like teasing Yang-yang with it, after witnessing him saying that to a girl just to get rejected! 

 Yang yang grits his teeth and steps closer to you, “Do you know what that means sweetie?” Ooof the alcohol is strong tonight!  

Yang-yang doesn’t usually call you pet names in public. Although you are also not his girl or anything.

“No, so tell me what it means.” You also take a step closer and linger your eyes into his red lips. 

Yang yang leans in and whispers into your ear, “I read in the newspaper that kissing makes you happy. May I make you happy?” 

You whistle, and playfully punch his chest “That is hot! Now translate that to I don’t know... what does this boy speak?” you scan the crowded room just to see the “hot” topic sitting on one of the couches, surrounded by girls! 

Yang yang pours a second drink to his cup, “Rumor has it he’s a transfer student from china.”

You snap your finger, “Didn’t you learn Chinese last summer? Great! Now make me a pick up line” Yang yang can only pull up a middle finger for you; nevertheless, he made one for you and you somehow managed to memorize it in your cloudy head. 

“Now watch and learn, I’ll make everyone surprised.” You wink and press a quick kiss on the boy’s cheek before leaving to meet the new boy. 

“Yow welcome back princess!” Jaehyun stands up to engulf you in a hug and invites you to sit in his squad’s table. Your eyes are fixed on the new man with blonde hair. He sure looks pretty up close and his jaw is strong! 

“Have you met the hot guy already?” Johnny offers you another glass of punch. This time it is green. You stare to the guy sitting across you, right and left definitely full of girls you never knew were even coming to parties like this. 

“Hmm I see lots of new faces, or did I miss a lot?” you take your time to get his attention. He looks like he is also scanning you, and you see the boldness hidden behind his “good-boy” look. 

“You didn’t miss anything. Just that yeah there’s a lot of new faces.” Yuta, who is beside you, raises his glass and you press yours into his to cheer. You fix your eyes on him, like a predator keeping an eye to its prey. He, doesn’t seem to waver under your intense gaze. 

Duhh even Jaehyun, the primadona, turns so red when you give him your intense charismatic look. Well you admit you’re not the prettiest, gosh there are more pretty girls out there, but you have charisma and a certain girl crush vibes that draws all the man to line up and win a wink or a phone number for you. If lucky, even be your friends! When you see the night deepens, you start your move. 

“So, you’re the guy who steal my spotlight right?” You act like you don’t care as you ask him this. 

“Sorry, what do you mean pretty?” His sweet honey like voice is deep enough to make your hair stands. Yuta saw the small shudder you did and he just smirked, knowing well how this might end. 

“I mean, before you came here… The eyes were always on me, but today… look at all these people… everyone wishing to be able to taste that sweet lips of yours! Let me ask you one quick question” You see the glint of interest in his eyes and with a smirk, you hit the jackpot

“Kissing is a language of love, so how about a conversation?”

Not much people understand the Chinese phrase you just blurt out, from the peripheral view of your eyes you can see Yang yang smiling and giving you a thumbs up.

The guy across you smirks and leans his body closer to the table. The girls surrounding him are slowly leaving, but the crowds are whispering now, waiting to see and hear what happens next.

“My name is Ten, and if kissing is the language of love, why don’t we kiss instead of converse?” he replies you in a clear sound in ENGLISH, which cause the whole room to gasp.

His smirk is still there, and the aura he shows, dominates the room. He is a flirty one, just like you and he clearly doesn’t like losing.

“Game on,” You drink your cup and wipe your lips.

“Yang yang, you know what to do,” you turn your head and give the boy a very sweet smile.

The said boy smirks back and returns with a bowl of flavoured chapsticks.

“Simple game, you have your eyes blind folded and guess what flavour am I wearing.” You raise your brow, wanting to know if he is in or not.

The whole room is cheering and rooting for the new guy to accept your challenge and maybe win.

“What do you bet?” He leans in closer, body almost leaving the chair.

“Oh I don’t know.. anything you wish? Guess you wouldn’t make it pass 4 correct answers.”

Ten stares back into your eyes, “Princess, if I guess 5 correct answers, I get to choose my prize.”

You think for a moment, hey chances are low for him to answer five in a row.

“Six in a row? If I win, you’ll need to post a pic of you in a maid costume and write it down that you’re a loser.” You lick your lips, already so ready to make this new guy lose.

Ten pushes his chair back, “Everyone here is a witness, if I lose I’ll do what she wants, but if I win, that’s enough to proof that I am the best kisser.”

The whole room cheers and claps as you leave the sofa and move to the two chairs someone had prepared in the middle of the room. You don’t really care if you win or lose, really you just love the adrenaline rushing through your body.

Jaehyun closes Ten’s sharp eyes with someone’s tie and you wipe your lips with some wet tissues. You know the chances are low for him to get 6 in a row.

“Hey rule number one, no peeking… rule two, I’m kissing you once.”

“If you’re only kissing me once, then let me be the one who ends it” Ten cuts you and you ponder for a while

“Okay! No hands!”

Ten obediently brings his hands to his back and he leans back to his chair, “Since I cannot see you, why don’t you come and sit on my lap. That way I can taste your lips better.”

You’re surprised by his boldness, though his eyes are closed, you swear you can feel his intense gaze on you. You gulp, though you’ve done this challenge so many times… no one has been this daring.

“Afraid princess?” Ten asks calmly with his lack of sight.

The crowd cheers again and with pushes from Jaehyun and Yuta you finally make your body balance over his strong lap.

“Game starts in three two one” Johnny hands you the first flavour.

You play the game fair and square, applying a good amount of balm to your plump lips and after smacking them you lean to reach his lips.

The moment your lips touch his, you feel fireworks inside your body. There’s something so new with his perfect smooth lips. How they meld perfectly with yours, and how he sucks on yours while you can feel his tongue runs on your red apples. He is a great kisser and you almost run out of breath.

Ten pulls back and you feel your body heat up,

He licks his own lips and with a smug smile shouts the answer, “Easy, cherry!”

You’re going easy on him and as you put on the next flavour, ten was still calm as if nothing hot is happening here.

“Okay second one, no sniffing okay.” You launch yourself for a second-deep kiss. Man, this boy here is a new sensation. You’ve never had your heart fluttering from a kissing game, was it the alcohol?

You guess he is struggling with the second one, coz he takes longer time tasting your lips and you need to stabilize your body with his shoulder, since Ten still has his hands tidy.

“You’re going easy on me or am I a pro?” Ten smacks his lips several times, “Mango”

You toss the flavour away, gosh you’ll step up the game.

“It’s starters honey, enjoy it while it last.” You grimace at the next flavour Johnny handed to you; nevertheless, you press your lips back together with his, and this time he did not hold the kiss for too long.

“GOSH THAT TASTES HORRIBLE! BACON!” He struggles with his now bacon-taste lips, “Can someone wipe it off?” and with that queue, all of the girls are taking out wet tissues and the fastest one came to clean up his lips.

“Ah who’s that? Thank you!” Ten sounds so cheerful.

“I’ve got three correct answers and only need three more… Is this all you’ve got miss?” He teases you and the next flavour you have in your hand will be the hard one.

“That is simply candy cane and not peppermint” He smirks after his fourth right guess.

You’re now forgetting the game already and instead got lost in his sweet deep hot kisses. He’s so careful yet at the same time so wild for your lips.

“Tell me does my lips swell already?” He can still tease you with his quirky remarks.

To be honest both of your lips are already red and swollen, Ten’s sucking game was not a joke.

“Alright two more!” Yuta hands you a spoon of chocolate, a trick to make him lose.

Ten did not waver when he finds the new creamy texture on your lips. He was sure you’ll do this, and try to make him lose. But Ten is a best party player himself and he did this game a lot of times.

He enjoys himself tasting your lips and licking off the creamy texture on your lips, he tastes them for a while and thinks of all the chocolates he knows.

“It’s not chapstick.. I don’t know if I should call this as a cheating, but honey that is Nutella and I am sure.”

The whole audience gasps and claps their hands, they also thought ten would lose here, but no this man is crazy.

“Okay sorry, but here’s the last one.”

You swear Ten was the one playing the game on you now, for you can feel him smooching you so far to the point where you did not realize his tongue is already inside your mouth. You gasp at his action, but fuck the rules! You bring your hands to cup his cheek and you angle yourself to kiss him back. Your fingers gently tuck on his hair when your lungs scream for air. You tap his nape and he gets the code. Ten pulls back, just to have a triumphant smile plastered on his face. It’s as if he is already sure  he will win.

“Yow queen, you better step up your game… practice your kiss more and change that flavours. The last one is Dr. Pepper and looks like I win the game, right?”

He takes off his blindfold and tosses them to you.

“Guess everybody here needs to wait for another chance to see me in a maid dress! I’d totally look hot and cute, but sadly you all need to imagine it for now!” Ten wipes his lips with one thumb and winks at you

“It was a nice game, (y/n)!” He grabs a new drink and leaves to answer the questions the other party people are having.

Yang yang stands by your side and laughs at you, “Guess we finally found someone who’s the same match as you.”

You bite your swollen lips and smirks at your friend, “Didn’t you realize I have never given him my name? Yet he knew me already? Guess I was not the only one learning things about him.” You bottom up your drink and go to hang out with the remaining boys.

Later on, that night, nobody knows the secret rendezvous you and Ten have.

THE END!!! hahaha tell me if I can write more like these.. Imagine a 7 minutes in heaven with shyboy!jaehyun AAAA BRB OP IS DEAD IMAGINING THINGS

[theoriginalladya]

Dragon Age II - Meghan Hawke/Nathaniel Howe, Sebastian Vael *ears perked* *grabby hands* :D for your WIP folders?

Hehehehe   Thought that might get your attention! :)

Okay, so let me start with Meghan and Nate.  Meghan is the only Hawke I’ve ever played (dual wielding rogue).  I ended up playing her twice because on my first playthrough (romanced Fenris) the save I tried to import didn’t work, but I didn’t discover it until Alistair showed up and I knew that language I needed to hear, and I didn’t.  Okay, not so bad.  So I reimported it, it took this time, and I romanced Sebastian second time through in the game.  Great - now I have some baseline on both of those romances.  

That said, I already knew Meghan wasn’t going to be with either of them in her story - she ends up with Nathaniel Howe who she meets when he is still a squire for his lord in the Free Marches.  In fact, they meet in Kirkwall as he is waiting on the ship that will take him back to Ferelden.

Going to put under a cut because this got long really fast! lol

(And I do not vouch for any of this as I first wrote it about six years ago, possibly longer! lol  I’ve certainly learned a LOT more about writing since then, so these will inevitably get cleaned up before I think of posting them in future)

Deep in thought, Meghan left the table and returned to the bar.  She waited to be served another and was considering looking to round up a game of Wicked Grace to entertain herself with when she was unexpectedly and quite rudely hit in the back.  The move shoved her belly first into the bar counter, and the edge caught her just beneath the ribcage.  “Ooof!” Her breath was forced out of her lungs, and for the briefest of moments, Meghan thought she saw stars ….

“Maker’s breath, are you alright?”

Blinking back pain and trying to suck in enough air to breathe let alone reply, Meghan coughed harshly and finally resorted to nodding.  Her vision wasn’t quite back to normal yet, but a strong hand at her back pounded a few times in an offer of help -- help?  How does this help?  

Almost as if he sensed her thoughts, the hand grasped firmly at her shoulder and he guided her to sit on a nearby bench.  She recognized that it was a he, despite still being doubled over from pain.  His voice had that soothing baritone feel to it, very similar to the voice her father once had.  

Once seated, he left her side, returning a half moment later.  He dropped a tankard on the table beside her with a not so gentle thud and both he and she ignored the suds and ale that sloshed over the side, dripping down to form a ring around the vessel.  “I must apologize,” he told her, dropping to a knee in front of her to bring them to eye level.  

Meghan lifted her head, still searching for enough breath with which to speak, when she met cool, steely grey-blue eyes.  Blinking, her mouth worked again, but still nothing escaped that even remotely resembled words.  At best, a rough grunt slipped past.  His eyes narrowed in concern and he moved to her left as if to pound on her back again.

Meghan reacted instantly.  Straightening, she lifted her hand, warding off his actions, and finally drew in a deep breath.  “No, thank you!” she rasped.  She pulled in another immediately following, and then another.  Absently, she rubbed at her ribs where they’d hit the counter. “I’m … good.”

“Are you certain?” he asked.  The look of concern on his face didn’t fade.  If anything, Meghan noticed, his brow seemed to furrow more deeply.  “I would hate to think that I --”

She managed a lopsided smile, waving her hand back and forth between them.  “I’ll be fine,” she promised, this time with better vocal projection even if it was still rough around the edges.  “What -- what happened?”

He grimaced. Glancing around, he pointed towards a mild brawl taking place that was now moved onto the far side of the tavern. “I guess I walked into the middle of something.”

Meghan’s eyes followed his direction and she spotted a pair of vaguely familiar faces in the center of the tussle.  Sighing, she shook her head.  “Willis and Farlan are always in the middle of some ruckus,” she assured him.  Her voice was stronger now and she straightened further.  Reaching for the tankard, she took a careful drink.  Tilting her head slightly to the side, she observed, “You aren’t from these parts, are you?”

The concern finally eased from his face, but Meghan wouldn’t say it softened his features at all. Dark hair, light eyes, and eagle like features even down to his unfortunately large ‘beak’.  Still, he wasn’t entirely unattractive, and Meghan had to admit the caramel smoothness of his voice more than made up for any perceived deficiencies so far.  

“I’m not, no,” he agreed.  Rising, he took a seat on the bench next to her, his eyes drifting to follow the activities across the room.  “My name is Nathaniel Howe.  I’m a squire for Ser Rodolphe Varley.”

Meghan frowned, searching her memory for any information on that name.  She’d heard it a time or two, but had no first hand knowledge. At the same time, something about Nathaniel dropped into place for her.  “You aren’t from the Free Marches, are you?”  When he looked startled, she smiled.  “Your accent -- Ferelden?”

Slowly, he nodded. “I’ve worked hard to disguise it,” he admitted, “and thought I’d made progress.  Obviously, I was mistaken.”

Dropping into the Fereldan tongue, Meghan gave him a sassy grin and extended her hand. “Meghan Hawke, lately of Lothering. My family and I fled to Kirkwall when the Blight started.”

“Lothering?” His look of astonishment faded into a half smile of amusement.  “Your accent, on the other hand, is quite good.”

“My parents were originally from Kirkwall,” she explained.  “They moved to Lothering before I was born.”  She took a healthier swallow of her ale.  “Can I buy you a drink?” she asked after a moment.  

Nathaniel chuckled softly and shook his head.  “It is I who should be buying you one, I think,” he told her.  

Meghan jumped to her feet, only the slightest of tightening at the corner of her eyes indicating any residual pain left from her injuries.  “Nope.  This round is on me.”  She left him before he could protest, returning a couple of minutes later.  Handing him the tankard while regaining her seat, she reached for her own and lifted it to clink against his.  “We Fereldens have to stick together.”

Now, let me tell you a bit about Sebastian in this world.  I adore Sebastian, good parts, bad parts and all the in between.  I’ve always thought he got the short end of the stick on some things too, and I wanted to include him more predominantly in this series of fics, so I’ve sort of broadened his horizons, so to speak.  

Now the clip i’m going to share technically is a part of Serafina and Alistair after the Blight, but it happens in Kirkwall (long story there, too), so I sort of wedged it in on this side of things to make it easier to find in my notes.  You see, he and Serafina met years ago when she is visiting Orlais.  Neither has seen each other since then - about five years previous to this moment.  This is how they bump into one another after all that time...

Their path took them into an open courtyard and for a moment, Serafina’s steps slowed.  

“Did we take a wrong turn?” Alistair asked, his eyes searching the area.  

“I think we must have,” she replied.  “Oh, wait. There’s the Chantry.”  She pointed across the way.  “I think we need to head that way.”  Her hand drifted to a stairwell to the right of the building.  

Alistair’s eyes lifted to view the large building looming over the city.  “You know,” he mused in a tone only she could hear, “I’ve always heard how the people of Hightown think themselves above those in Lowtown, but I didn’t think it was so literal.”

“Hmm?”  Serafina glanced around.  Smiling gently, she nudged him in the arm.  “There is a lot of history here,” she agreed, “but most people tend to forget the simple yet more important aspects of it.”

“Oh?  What do you mean?”  He stopped walking, pulling her over to the center of the courtyard near the Chantry Board.  

Casually, she pointed to the exits to the immediate area.  “What do you see?” she challenged.

Alistair blinked. “Stairs?”

Serafina nodded. “Where do they lead?”

He frowned. “Down?”  

She nodded again and waited, her eyes meeting his.

“To … Lowtown … Oh!” Blinking, Alistair tilted his head to his right.  “Stairs lead up and down.”

“Exactly.  They might find themselves above those whom they think they are better, and their history certainly provides enough reminders that even the bloodiest of battles have not reached these heights,” she pointed out, “but the fact remains that when that happens, they are still stuck. Those stairs are their only way out. If a siege can be held long enough, they have no means of escape.”

“Thankfully,” he muttered for her ears only, “Denerim isn’t set up the same way.”

“There is that,” she agreed.  Then, walking out into the middle of the square, she turned in a slow circle, eyes lifted and surveying the architecture and situation of the buildings surrounding them, “On the other hand, it’s difficult to argue that it isn’t a pretty view.”

“And clean,” Alistair interjected as his eyes followed her.  Granted, certain parts of Ferelden’s capital city were better tended than others.  He wondered how much that had to do with the Blight and civil war or simply because Cailan had been king.  His eyes fell back to her after a moment and he stiffened when he realized …  “Watch out, behind you!”

Serafina, eyes still on the buildings around them, stumbled as she stepped backwards into someone. She caught herself awkwardly, but didn’t quite lose her balance.  “I’m so sorry!”  A strong hand at her arm helped her maintain balance, and she dropped her eyes … to an unexpectedly handsome and familiar, if somewhat older, face from her past. Gasping, her own eyes widened.  “No!  It … it can’t be!” she breathed.  “Sebastian?”

Startled, the man released his hold on her and took a step backwards.  “I’m sorry.  Have we met?” he asked.

It was all Serafina could do to break her gaze from his.  When she did, her eyes trailed over the rest of him.  He stood before her, just as vibrantly muscular and male as she remembered, now dressed in armor that clearly had Chantry’s influence in the design.  That, perhaps, answered a question.  However, some things remained the same.  The blue of his eyes.  The velvety roll of his voice and the soft burr as he spoke ….  

It stung a little that he didn’t recall without some prompting, but considering the circumstances that led to that night, it wasn’t much of a surprise.  “Five years ago in Val Royeaux,” she murmured quietly.  “There was a masquerade and …”

Recognition hit him instantly and he took another quick step backwards from her.  “You!” he gasped, face paling with shock.  

She nodded slowly but remained where she was.  She didn’t realize Alistair had joined her until his voice, quiet but urgent in his concern for her, penetrated through the fog of surprise.  “Are you alright?”

[winters-blue-children]

After Josh's attack, he gets an unexpected late-night visit from Buck. However little he may have in common with his good friend's little brother, what he knows is that he doesn't want to be alone.

“What are you doing here?” Josh blinks dumbly at the man before him. Behind his front door was Evan Buckley, his colleague turned close friend’s little brother. At half-past ten on a Sunday night no less.

“Ooof.” Buck pulls his handsome features into a grimace as his eyes wash over the cuts and bruises, still swollen and painful, but not as bad as the night before.

“It looks worse than it is,” Josh says shortly. He sighs before taking a step back and beckoning a hand behind him. “Come on in.”

Buck nods in thanks. He closes the door gently behind him as he takes a look around the other man’s apartment.

“I suppose Maddie told you, huh? I should have known.”

“She just didn’t want you to be alone.” Buck follows him into the kitchen and sets a bottle of red down on the island, a peace offering. A brief, awkward look crosses his face for a split second before he masks it with a shy grin. “Do you wanna talk about it?”

Hell no, Josh doesn’t want to talk about it. “Maybe after a glass or two,” he finally says.

“Attaboy,” Buck says with a grin that should be too attractive to be legal.

Josh looks away and pretends to busy himself looking for wine glasses—he pretends not to notice. Nothing to make him feel even more self-conscious than usual like having a really hot guy in his apartment.

“Us solos gotta stick together,” Buck says as he drops himself down heavily on Josh’s couch.

“Oh no no no,” Josh cuts him off right there, his tone somewhere between annoyed and exasperated. He hands the other man a glass of wine before taking a good drink from his own. He’s careful to leave a good two feet of space between them as he sits.

Buck tries to meet his eyes, but Josh stubbornly evades him.

Fuck, they barely know each other, Josh thinks. Where the hell could this night be going?

“What is it?” Buck presses as the other man refuses to meet his gaze.

“Don’t… just don’t compare me and you. It’s—” Josh groans and drops his head back onto the couch. “It’s embarrassing. As if I wasn’t humiliated enough,” he adds. Poor gay, single Josh, who thought for a second that some nice, sweet guy could have possibly been interested in him.

What an idiot he was.

Buck awkwardly turns his head away. He couldn’t honestly say that anything like that had ever happened to him before. But he hopes he can be a good friend about it. When Maddie told him what happened to Josh, he was shocked for a moment, and then furious. Not that he was even remotely close to the guy, but he still wanted to do something to help.

Which is why he came over tonight. Unannounced.

“What did you mean by that?” He eventually asks.

Josh stares at him.

“Don’t compare me and you,” Buck waves his hand between them. “We’re not so different, you and I.”

“Ha!” Josh can’t help but let out a laugh, which he immediately regrets because it pulls at the cuts on his face. He winces and touches his tender lip. “Come on,” he looks at Buck, eyebrows raised because it’s so obvious.

Buck stares at him like it’s not.

“Look at you!” Josh finally says. “You could get anyone you want! Man or woman, people are constantly jumping at the chance to get with you! Tell me I’m wrong!”

Buck pulls a face and looks away. He’s shaking his head when Josh cuts him off.

“Please! Firefighter. Hero. The brave and courageous fireman who literally fought his way back from hell after a life-changing injury in a serial bomber attack. You’re amazing,” Josh says with a grin before his expression turns somber. “And then there’s me. Sad, pathetic loser who can’t even get an online date that’s not a scam.”

“You’re not a loser,” Buck says quietly.

They nurse their drinks as a quiet moment passes between them.

“I’m just… humiliated,” Josh finally says.

“I’m sorry,” Buck says quietly. He doesn’t really know what else to say.

Josh is starting to think spending the night alone would have been a better option when Buck speaks up again.

“I bet I could tell some war stories that would make you laugh.”

Josh snorts, already chuckling at what Evan Buckley might consider a dating war story.

“Come on,” Buck throws him a bright grin, “What d’ya say?”

“Alright,” Josh nods. “Give me your best shot.”

Buck’s grin grows wider and he shifts, turning his body to face him on the couch. “Alright, picture this,” he raises his hands like he’s painting a picture. “First date, with a beautiful woman. She’s older.” Buck fucking winks at him. “And mature. And I mean, I am just head over heels for this woman. I swear, I’d never met anyone like her before. Never met anyone who made me feel that way before, you know? Like those butterflies in your gut that tell you it’s something really special.”

Josh doesn’t know, but he’s not going to mention it. He swallows and beckons the other man to continue.

“So we’re at dinner. Really nice restaurant. And I’m doing my best to keep my cool and not say anything embarrassing. We’re eating Italian by the way. Everything’s going great… and then I start choking.”

Josh raises his eyebrows.

“I don’t mean I’m not able to perform,” Buck clarifies with a stern look. “I mean, I am literally choking on my food.”

“Oh my god,” Josh bursts out laughing.

“The waiter tries the heimlich—nothing. She’s pounding me on the back and I can’t fucking breathe. I pass out.”

“No way.”

“There’s no time to wait for the paramedics! No, no, no… in 911 operator fashion, she calls for help and…”  

It takes him a second. “Emergency tracheotomy?”

Buck nods and ducks his head, hands raised in finger guns. “Got it in one.”

“You’re serious?” Josh laughs. “That is insane.”

“It was mortifying. But also kind of hot to have a chick save your life like that.”

“Okay, you were right,” Josh admits, bowing his head in defeat. “That was a pretty bad date.”

Buck sighs and looks a bit forlorn. “Hot date with a beautiful woman ruined by complimentary bread.”

Josh snorts and takes a drink from his glass.

The two of them lapse into a comfortable silence. Buck finishes his wine and carefully looks over before speaking, “I really am sorry for what happened to you. I can’t even imagine what that feels like…”

“I don’t need you feeling sorry for me.”

“I don’t feel sorry for you,” Buck clarifies. “I think you’re feeling sorry for yourself. And speaking from personal experience, after the last six months I’ve had… feeling sorry for yourself doesn’t get you very far.”

Josh shakes his head. “Having hope is the worst part. I actually thought, for a minute, I actually thought this cute, funny, charismatic guy was attracted to me. I feel like such a moron.”

“You’re not a moron, you were the victim of a sociopath. I’m serious,” Buck says when the other man rolls his eyes. “There’s so many crazies out there, you’re lucky all they wanted was your wallet.”

But there’s something in the way that Buck says it, a twinge of something dark and bitter that causes Josh to frown and do a double-take. “What do you mean by that?”

Buck suddenly seems to realize he said too much. “N-nothing,” he stutters, looking away. “Forget I said anything.”

“Buck. Tell me.”

Buck looks genuinely uncomfortable for the first time that evening. “Alright,” he finally says. He bites his bottom lip and asks, “do you want to hear the story of my actual worst date?”

“What could be worse than your date cutting into your windpipe?”

Buck shifts uneasily and starts, “it was a year or two after school. I was… kind of lost at the time. Doing a bunch of random jobs, I didn’t really know what I wanted to do with my life. I was sleeping around… a lot. And, one night… I met this guy at a bar.”

Josh can’t help the flutter in his chest. Maddie mentioned more than once to him that her brother likes both, but the vibes he got were hard to read the few times they met. He didn’t want to get his hopes up.

But when Buck continues, his words are the last thing he wants to hear.

“Anyway, we really hit it off. We talked for hours, and then I brought him home for a night cap.” Buck pauses and frowns. “The weird thing is that I always considered myself having a pretty high tolerance for alcohol. In school, I was the one who never puked. Last one standing at the end of the night, you know?”

When Josh realizes Buck is looking at him waiting for an answer, he stutters, “kind of.”

“There was no way a half dozen drinks over three hours at the bar plus a light beer, leaves my head spinning and me not able to see straight.”

Josh’s heart drops into his stomach. “Buck, did he…”

“He tried. It was real fucked up. But I managed to sock him in the face and then I stumbled-ran into the bathroom.”

“Did you call 911?”

“See now, that would have been smart,” Buck nods. “Instead, I threw myself out of a second-story window and broke my arm in two places.”

“Shit, Buck.” Josh doesn’t know what else to say. “That was…”

“Attempted rape? Yeah,” Buck says dryly. “So they tell me. I guess he didn’t think I was a sure thing. Shocking, I know.” He adds, after seeing the look on Josh’s face.

“That’s awful.”

“I was fine. Nothing actually happened.”

“That doesn’t make it okay, Buck.”

Josh must have made a face because Buck looks away. He hopes it wasn’t pitying.

“It was a long time ago. I’m over it.”

But the thing is, Josh has heard enough over the end of a phone line to know that this isn’t something a person just gets over. He knows there can be scars, deep and invisible. And if not properly cared for, they can fester.

“Is that why you don’t date guys?” He asks softly.

“Nah,” Buck finally says after a while. He gives him a small half-smile. “Just haven’t met the right guy.”

Josh feels his cheeks warm and he suddenly fixes his gaze on a spot on his lap as if it were the most fascinating thing he’d ever seen. “What I would give for someone to think of me as the right guy.”

“You’ll find someone,” Buck says lightly.

Josh doesn’t feel very confident about that. Not when the dating pool is already limited due to his sexuality. Add in the muggers and would-be rapists and it’s suddenly a pool he has no interest in jumping in.

“What’s wrong?” Buck asks.

“It just… feels bad complaining about a few scrapes and bruises when you just told me… you know.”

Buck winces and looks away. “I shouldn’t have said anything.”

“No, it’s fine! I’m glad you told me. I’m glad you feel like you can confide in me. I mean,” Josh swallows and takes a shaky breath. “We barely know each other.”

Buck’s eyes drop. The normally bright crystal baby blues suddenly look grey in the dim light of his living room. Josh kind of has the feeling Buck’s not quite in the room anymore.

“I never told anyone what really happened.”

“Not even the police?”

Buck slowly shakes his head. “The guy was long gone by the time the paramedics got to me. I told them I drank too much and fell out the window trying a dumb stunt. I never mentioned the guy and… I guess they just ignored whatever they found in my system.”

Buck pauses and looks up. “I never even told Maddie. Please don’t…” His voice trails off, looking more vulnerable than Josh had ever seen him.

“Of course not,” Josh says quickly. “Thank you, for telling me.”

Buck nods slowly. “Therapy isn't really my thing, but… it kind of feels good to get that off my chest. You’re a really good guy, Josh. Anyone would be lucky to have you.”

It was kind of touching, except the context was trauma and gay-bashing and how is anyone supposed to trust anyone in this day and age? He wants to be mad. To scream that good people don’t deserve bad things happening to them. But instead, he just feels tired.

“I just want someone to notice me,” Josh says softly. “I mean really notice me.”

Buck smiles bitterly. “Don’t we all.”

“So there is a guy.”

Buck groans and looks away. But there’s a smile tugging at his lips. A welcome sight after the melancholy of their evening.

Josh smiles. “You don’t have to lie to me, you know.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I know pining when I see it.”

“You don’t know—”

“Eddie Diaz?”

Buck sputters helplessly and it says more than an entire novel. “How did you know?” He finally asks.

“Oh, I’ve heard things,” Josh teases lightly.

Buck pulls a face. “From Maddie, right?”

“Not just from Maddie,” Josh clarifies. “But yes, she is convinced that you two are meant for each other and that you’ll grow old together after raising that sweet boy of his.”

Buck chuckles and looks genuinely embarrassed. The way he gets whenever someone mistakens him and Eddie as a couple, or calls Christopher his son.

“It’s… it’s the look on your face when you talk about him,” Josh explains. “It’s like he is your entire world, and nothing else matters to you but his happiness.”

“Do I really look like that?” Buck sounds honest-to-god surprised.

Josh nods, eyebrows raised high. He saw the look on poker night when Buck couldn’t stop gushing over Christopher. He saw it the day Maddie invited him to happy hour with the 118 crew and Buck was glued to Eddie’s side the entire night. Never has he seen a man so in love, than the way Buck looks at Eddie.

The one upside to the painful jealous gnawing in his gut—knowing that he might never find a man to look at him the same way, is that it doesn’t get his hopes up about Buck. The last thing he needs is to be the guy pining over his friend’s hot brother. Her really, really hot brother.

“Yeah,” Josh finally says with a small grin.

“Shit.”

“You’re in love with him,” Josh says simply. “It’s so obvious, a blind man could see it.”

“Everyone except him apparently,” Buck says forlornly. He sighs heavily and finally admits it out loud. “I’m in love with him.”

He looks to Josh, a mix of desperation and pleading in his eyes. “What do I do?”

“Babe, I wish I had the answers for you,” Josh grins softly. “But I don’t. And I think you might be on your own for this one. My advice? Let him know how you really feel. His answer might surprise you. And let’s be real… people like us could really use a win right now.”

Buck tilts his head, a small grin on his lips. “You know… I didn’t think I’d be baring my soul tonight.”

Josh gives him a light shove with his elbow. “And I didn’t think I’d have the pleasure of the company of such a cute guy in my apartment.”

Buck laughs. “I guess I’m alright. Not exactly a catch.”

Josh manages a derisive snort. “You are totally a catch.”

“I’m a recovering sex addict in love with his straight best friend.” Buck chuckles and tries to laugh it off but Josh reaches over and grabs his hand in a firm grip. He’s stern and confident and feeling uncharacteristically sure of himself.

“Evan Buckley, you are a wonderful man. You are strong, and courageous, and loving, and you have so much to give.”

Buck blinks and takes a slow shuddering breath. “Thank you,” he says softly. “You know, I came over tonight to make you feel better.”

“You did,” Josh says honestly. “And I definitely appreciate the company.”

And then Buck does something completely unexpected. He leans over and presses a gentle kiss to his lips. It’s soft and sweet and only lasts a brief moment. But it causes those butterflies in his stomach that Buck was talking about earlier.

“Um… what was that?” Josh asks hoarsely after they part.

“I just felt like doing it,” Buck whispers.

Josh grins and presses a hand against the other man’s chest. He pushes him away gently. His cheeks burn and he really hopes it’s not noticeable.  

“Alright, slugger. Maybe it’s time to sleep it off.”

Buck laughs. “Don’t worry, I’m acting of my own volition.”

Josh leans back and grins. He doesn’t need to figure out Buck’s misguided drama. He knows where he stands, and he certainly would like to think that Maddie had given him enough warning about her unpredictable brother to fend off any foolish advances.  

Though not necessarily unwanted.

“This was really great, Buck… but I don’t want you to regret anything.”

Buck nods solemnly and leans back, closing his eyes. “I don’t have the best impulse control,” he admits.

“You’re better than you think,” Josh murmurs.

Buck hums under his breath. “Maybe I should go.”

Josh laughs lightly. “No judgment, Buck.” He leans back as well and watches the ceiling. “It’s good that you’ve found someone, you know.”

“I guess,” Buck says softly. “Doesn’t feel great sometimes.”

Josh doesn’t say anything. He blinks slowly and closes his eyes. No one has the answers, and no one has the magical words that will fix the injustices of the world.

But for now, they sit in silence, enjoying each other’s company. And for a moment, everything is okay.  

[novantinuum]

Fandom: Steven Universe

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Words: 3.6K~

Summary:  She’s poofed, he repeats to himself like a dying man’s mantra. She’s poofed. She’s stuck in the rubble, but she’s only poofed. She’s fine, and I’m fine, a-and—

Above the scars of Steven's wreckage, thunder claps like mighty titans colliding in the heavens.

(Or: what happens in the moments after Steven and Jasper's rematch.)

Some canon compliant ooof set mid-Fragments.

If you enjoyed this, I’d greatly appreciate your support through reblogs here, or kudos/comments on AO3 as well. Thank you! <3

_

Fight the Future

The impact shreds the landscape, gouging deep cracks that penetrate through to bedrock and felling nearly every tree in a good hundred-yard radius. Rubble is still settling, small fragments of bark and stone raining to the ground like scattered bomb shrapnel, but in the heat of the moment he genuinely can’t hear a thing through the blood that pounds in his ears like a war drum. There’s only ringing. Nothing but ringing...

Floating high above the scars of his wreckage, Steven Quartz Universe pants hard, exhausted and lightheaded from all the physical exertion and yet clutching to the tingling energy pulsing under his glowing pink skin with all the desperation of a lost child. This... the raw diamond power he’s been holding back on expressing all this time... surely this has to be what he’s been searching for. This has to be the piece to fill that growing emptiness he can’t seem to shake, right? Right?? Stars, he doesn’t want to let go of this feeling, this invigorating rush, not now, not yet. His fists tremble at his sides. H-he... he’s not ready to be anything else. Besides, the fight isn’t even over. His opponent hasn’t gotten up yet. She’s probably feigning defeat, hoping to catch him off guard. Hah, good ol’, typical Jasper!

With a huff of resolve, he wipes the sweat off his brow and wills himself to drift down to the shattered earth below. Sandaled feet meet the ground toes first. As he fully settles upon his soles, loosened soil shifts under his weight. He scans through the wreckage for the quartz Gem, the inanity of this whole harebrained situation drawing breathless laughter from between his lips. For a split second its darkened tone almost strikes him as alien, but he quickly shreds this thought. After all, everything’s fine! He’s fine. In fact, he’s more than fine. He’s nearly won.

“Please, I know you’re not finished yet,” he goads, an intoxicating dose of satisfaction (as for once in his life, he has full control of something and that thought feels so alluring it’s as if he’s finally greeting the sun) flooding his synapses. He cracks his knuckles hard enough that she’ll be sure to hear. “The fight’s barely started, get up!”

Nothing. No footsteps, no taunting, not even her usual groan of derision. Outwardly he turns his lip up in a sneer. Inside his chest however, a far different story plays out. His heart constricts like it’s being crushed by a vice, tinnitus acting up ever stronger as he tries with desperation not to let this deafening silence taint his apparent victory.

Something’s wrong, something has to be wrong, his mind screams underneath all the mock bravado holding him in one piece. In retrospect that should’ve been his first sign to disengage, the fact that even his body is viscerally reacting to the sight of his wreckage, but in the heat of the moment he stamps out this nettering worry like Jasper would a bug. No! He will not allow himself to crumple to fear again! He’s not afraid of this. That’s why he’s been training. He’s in control now. Not Jasper, not the Gems, not these emerging diamond powers, nor his ever-increasing list of anxieties. And it’s for that precise reason that in all the moments he bares his fists, drops on his haunches... whenever he consciously allows the full force of his ability to burst forth in a flash from the deep wells of his soul like lightning to a tree... he’s not just fighting to prove himself to someone.

He’s fighting the future itself.

He’s done being yanked around by tragedy, by genes, by all his family’s unfinished business. It can’t control him. He won’t let it, not anymore.

I’m in control.

And yet...

(A throat tearing scream, propelled by the creeping desire to fix, to refine, to control... and yet a crater of spiderwebbed cracks he never intended branching underfoot as his audience looks on in slack jawed horror—)

(A dome of his own subconscious creation, born of fear and anxiety and selfishness, unstoppable, pressing inwards, pressing all who dare touch him ever closer towards their ultimate fate—)

(A surge of strength, built from anger and betrayal and loss felt for the stable life he’d never have... the sickening realization that he’s helpless to swerve out of the way as he slams his foot down on the break—)

...if he’s in control, why hasn’t his opponent showed her face yet? Why can’t he force his tensed muscles to ease up, or will away that unbearably nauseous sensation growing ever more present in his gut?

“Jasper, come on! I didn’t hit you that hard.”

The waking world responds by confirming his solitude, the dust that‘s swirling around his legs finally beginning to settle as he takes five wide strides towards the center of the impact crater. The closer he approaches, the more he realizes that his view of the site from far above really didn’t succeed in illustrating just how radical his influence on the landscape was.

Sure, so maybe the monolithic hard light barrier he constructed by sheer force of will has long since dissipated, but its apocalyptic hand on the environment remains. A few concave indents (from the spikes) are scattered throughout the cracked, uneven earth where it is not otherwise fractured beyond all recognition. The tree trunks left standing are so harshly splintered that he’s sure the razor sharp edges of their bark could slice his fingers. Fallen branches, heavily segmented and warped, mix evenly between blocky chunks of stone and clay. Pine needles are scattered across the face of the ruins like confetti. With his overactive digits growing increasingly squirrelly at his side the longer he observes his handiwork, his gaze shies down.

Stop!!!

His sandaled foot hovers.

Ants. A vast colony of them, tiny and black and darting about all lost and confused. Normally one doesn’t see so many of them crowding at the surface, but all this destruction must have unearthed their intricate network of tunnels.

Steven stumbles back a few steps from the heart of the panicked, scurrying mass, knowing immediately by the sharp twist in his chest that he didn’t manage to miss all of them. H-he- stars, why does he even care so much? They’re just ants. It’s not like he’s never accidentally stepped on an ant before, yeah? And it’s certainly not like he, a self-proclaimed vegetarian, hasn’t spent the past three days surviving entirely off fish he personally caught, skewered, and broiled! It’s not like any of this is inherently wrong, it’s just... different. He’s different. He’s changing, transforming, just like this landscape changed. And that’s okay!

This is exactly what I wanted, he tells himself, a broken smile creeping across his face. I’m different, but I’m better. I am! I’m in control of myself now!

The teenager grips at his hair, fingers clutching tight around thick clumps of unwashed, overgrown curls, and yanks. (Needle pricks of pain shoot across his scalp like a metaphysical lattice. His choice. Somewhere, somehow, it’s probably deserved.) An almost tipsy peel of laughter surfaces from a place deep in his soul yet unbeknownst to him. His limbs tremble as he struggles to take a breath between it all.

“I’m in control,” he rasps, hands drifting to press at his temples. Nature responds with a startling thunderclap. He flinches on instinct, another laugh bubbling over the brim. “I am, I’m...”

Another roll of thunder. Slowly, steadily, he begins to feel cold raindrops sprinkle against his still-glowing skin as he inhales fast and shallow, standing at the center of the clearing. Almost everything outside the narrow radius of his light is dark and muted and painted in shades of brown and grey. There’s barely any green. With the intruding storm, no blue. And as for orange...

Suddenly feeling like nothing more than an insignificant speck upon this landscape, he cups his mouth and roars.

“Jasper!!”

For a moment nature seems to accept his cry, taking it up through her roots like a tree does nutrients from the soil, but it quickly becomes obvious that the nutrients he provides are nothing but toxic. Degenerating. Something to be rejected. The distant cliffs bounce his words back at him without thinking twice, naught a single response to be found on the wind. There’s only rain now.

Nothing but rain.

A harsh shudder runs through his body as the reality of his situation begins to set in. He stands motionless, feet chained into place, his clothes growing wetter and wetter as the thunderstorm’s strength picks up. In all this time, Jasper’s made no move to retaliate. She hasn’t even shown her face. So... This fight- is that it? Is their rematch over? D-did he...

His eyes widen so far in his dawning comprehension that they sting.

“Oh geeze, I poofed her, didn’t I?” he says out loud, bluntly answering his own question. “That’s why she’s not responding... I-I—“ his words are cut in the middle by a choked sob, a strange noise caught somewhere between the tides of pride and utter disbelief— “I actually poofed her!”

He quickly finds himself overrun with laughter once more, this latest batch rough and strained, a wordless plead for help. (But no worries, though, really! He can figure this out!) Desperate, wandering fingers tug across the coarse stubble dusting his cheeks. Dampened curls plaster against his forehead, his head almost feeling heavier for it. So yeah, maybe he poofed her. From all evidence, that seems to be the most likely scenario here. He, Steven Quartz Cutie-Pie DeMayo Diamond Universe, singlehandedly poofed a Gem. But it’s not like he‘s never done that before?? Bismuth? Spinel? This isn’t anything new. He’s not so innocent as he’d like to believe he is. And sure, so maybe he held the upper ground on his finishing blow, and maybe this entire fight wasn’t in self defense like the others to begin with, but that’s not a problem either! All this? Just a spar. It’s just training. In a moment he’ll find Jasper’s gem buried in the rubble, and when she reforms back at camp she’ll give him a rough clap on the back and admit something uncharacteristically touchy-feely about how she never imagined he actually had it in him, and everything will be fine. It will!

Inhaling deep through his nose, he drops to his knees at the center of the crater— pointedly ignoring the damp soaking through his jeans and the shiver dancing up his spine— and begins pulling aside thick slabs of stone. Another nearby lightning strike asserts its presence with a frightening clap, his limbs seizing up and his heart ramming double time on impulse. He grimaces, rainwater dripping off his nose and chin. Stars, it’s only thunder! He hasn’t been scared of thunder since he was a child, so what’s all this about? He’s stronger than this. He’s better than this. Stubbornly refusing to let nature’s force intimidate him, he pushes on. Another roll of thunder, another stone overturned. Not a glint of orange to be found here either.

It’s strange... he’s not even off the ground, but he feels like he’s falling, his body limp and helpless to break his descent, the ground rushing to swallow him whole faster than he can move to even protect his face. And like an ill-fated omen, a destiny he may ignore but never shake, this feeling clings to him like the inescapable stench of smoke on charred clothes. If anything else, he supposes it’s proof he faced the fires head on and survived.

He can’t say the same for Jasper.

Above, thunder claps like mighty titans colliding in the heavens.

(Boisterous, neigh-unrecognizable laughter, a sky walled off in panels of incandescent light… his opponent’s terror-stricken form shackled to the very Earth she detests as she awaits his next attack, finally powerless in the claws of the diamond once beaten and belittled by her might and doesn’t that just drip with irony, doesn’t not holding back for once against someone who hurt you feel great—)

Chunks of clay break apart in his hands as he angles to relocate them. No gemstone yet.

She’s poofed, he repeats to himself like a dying man’s mantra. She’s poofed. She’s stuck in the rubble, but she’s only poofed. She’s fine, and I’m fine, a-and—

His mind grows dizzier and fainter by the second as he searches for his reassurance, for some steady surface upon which he might gently end his descent. Falling… He’s still falling. But the problem now is that his heart is pounding so hard his chest feels like it's bruising from the inside out, and all the drab greys and browns of his surroundings have blurred together until he can barely distinguish the start and end of anything. Hands once steady and assured now repeatedly fumble over uneven chunks of wet stone, unable to grasp their edges solidly enough to turn them over. H-he… no matter how hard he fights, he still can’t—! The diamond huffs, smooth, blemishless fingers slamming into hardened fists. Frustration spilling out broken and raw like hunks of cotton from between his soul’s uneven seams, he stares into the face of the uncaring, stormy sky and screams.

Energy explodes outwards, momentarily tinting his world in pink. He screams until he’s hoarse, until his throat burns like an inferno and his innate healing factor has to once more clean up the damage he’s sewn. (Although today he almost wishes it wouldn’t.) Behind him, something cracks at his command. Still very much panting in light of such a bombastic release of power, he presses a weary hand to his forehead and turns to meet the sight head on.

Be it from exhaustion or clear-cut denial, it takes a while for him to fully comprehend what he’s looking at.

His screams have cleaved a flat slab of stone in half. Before, this slab seems to have been propped diagonal against a sturdy boulder in an almost tent-like fashion, shielding the rough soil below from the elements and any further defacement. Both the soil, and…

Oh.

His head fills with static. Glimmers of orange flood through his synapses as if he’s staring through the eyepiece of a kaleidoscope, and suddenly the whole world’s spinning and shifting and—

The next moment he’s aware, he’s on his hands and knees before the sight in question, those quivering, squirming fingers clawing into uneven earth as if it too may abandon him at a moment’s notice, having realized far too late how terrible a person he is, how he- NO! He heaves for breath as his herculean form pulses with light and shrinks down to his typical soft, stocky self, leaving not a trace of pink in its wake. The surrounding world is plunged into darkness. Choking back a sob, he yanks his hands out of the ground and desperately smooths over the divots he made as if this single act could in any way make up for the blunt reality that he’s a sha- NO! NO, NO NONONONONO- not real not real not real, NONE of this can be real, there’s no way, it’s not true, stars, h-he’s not—

His whole body trembling like a man angling to greet death, Steven reaches a hesitant finger towards one of the orange, glittering quartz shards littering the soil. This isn’t real. Those shards can’t be real, can’t really be lying amidst the rot and ruin in the rain, and he’ll prove it. H-he’s having a nightmare, he has to be. He has to! Because if he’s not, a-and he caused this, and Jasper, she- if she’s really—

Skin meets crystal, organic heat pooling against the cold, lifeless facet in a veritable explosion of sensation. The shard shifts under his touch and knocks against the other pieces of Jasper’s gem. Tangible, and very, very real. Gasping, he jerks back as if burned by ice, bile rising in his throat.

SHATTERER I’m a shatterer she’s shattered she’s dead she’s GONEGONEGONE shards broken, fractured, cold, there’s nocomingback youSHATTEREDher you’reamonst—

NO!

The last stitch holding his battered soul in one piece snaps. His chest heaving, strained, sloppy wails begin to rise into the air like the threads of thin morning mist, fading into obscurity under the thunderstorm’s might. A rush of wind bites against his face, the salt of his tears mixing with the steadily falling rain. Gently... reverently... (too late too late you’re too late) he gathers up all her shards in his palm.

Steven’s genuinely unsure how much time passes while he sobs there in the crater’s heart, the soil turning to mud under his knees. Each second is an eternity spent locked within the recesses of his own mind, screaming in denial at the wreck he’s become, the mess he’s made. Connie, his dad, the Gems, and now her—! In all paths of the known universe, how is it that— despite years of tireless effort to do the right thing— his life has fallen to this? What’s wrong with him??

He doesn’t notice he’s pink again until the glow’s already overtaken his body, entombing him like a second skin. Blood pumps wildly right alongside the dizzying rush of hard light through non-organic veins. The teen’s breath hastens, and he‘s powerless to stifle his cries as he begins to swell up, an ungodly sum of pressure threatening to burst out right then and there from the arc of his spine. On his own there’s nothing he can do but hunch over and ride the episode through, his head throbbing and mind shrouded in static. Arms tremble to support his upper body. His chest bows in and out in an unpredictable pattern, and yet no sum of air is enough to quell his panic. Grinding his eyes shut, he hunts for an anchor. Shirt... his shirt. It’s sopping wet now, sticking to his back. The scent of pine needles, mingling amongst the rain. Sandals on his feet. The thunder, still causing him to seize like a child with each startling clap.

The weight of her fragments in a shatterer’s his hands.

(For once, a title not even Mom could claim, hah! Imagine that...!)

It’s a slow path to victory, but eventually his anchors are successful. The swelling recedes. The stone and soil around him grows drab and neutral in color once more, the pink glow fading from his skin. His lungs ache from exertion as his breath evens out. Sitting back on his haunches, he lifts the remains of Jasper’s gem to eye level, watching as the sharp edged fragments knock against each other, waging battle even in death. Memories flicker through his mind like a roll of polaroids: the terror he experienced that night he met her on the beach; standing up to her as Stevonnie; the moment he realized with shame stewing in the pit of his heart just how insecure she really was, watching her all but corrupt herself; every day he tried to convince her with no success to reach out to Little Homeschool. Even if he didn’t... didn’t hurt her, would all this still be his fault? Could he have done more? Is this nightmare he’s trapped himself in a failure of aid as well as a failure of morality?

What happened to him, Steven Universe, savior of the galaxy? When did he stop being the boy who heals?

“What... am I doing...?” he pants, gripping the shards in closed fists. “I.... I have to fix this.” Blinking heavily against the rain, his emboldened words spill out into the observing wilderness. “There’s gotta be a way to fix this!”

With a stubbornness as hard as diamond stirring in his heart, he grinds his teeth together, opening his eyes so wide that they sting. His tears once brought Lars back to life. They outright resurrected the dead. So shouldn’t it stand to reason they should also weave shattered Gems back together?

“Come on,” he says pitifully, holding the glittering orange remains close to his face. “Please! Cry, Universe, cry! I just...!”

He feels his face screw up, powerless once more to hold the sobs back. They strip the layers of his soul to bedrock, each gasping cry more helpless and desperate than the last. Water carves a messy trail down his cheek, dripping off his chin and onto the slick shards. The droplets clinging to their surface area cause the ambient light to scatter at new and unpredictable angles. If not for the sobering context, he’d call it beautiful. But despite the tracks of his tears, the shards remain dim and cold.

Lifeless.

His shoulders shudder.

“I-I don’t want this,” he says, voice hitching, “I don’t want to hurt anyone! So why can’t I just—“

Wait, he realizes with the speed of a lightning strike to a tree.

“The diamond essences,” he whispers hoarsely, tasting each syllable on his tongue. “They- they can heal corrupted Gems, bring them back w-where I can’t alone. Is… is it possible they could also—?”

Steven shoots to his feet at the crater’s center, clutching onto the pieces of the quartz Gem like a lifeline. He- oh stars, he has to get back to the house, quick! There’s still time. There’s still a sliver of hope. He can still mend this mess he’s made. Turning on his heels, he begins to sprint back to camp with Jasper in tow, his flip flops noisily squelching in the mud.

The future won’t win, not here, not now. I won’t let it. I’m not a shatterer a healer! I’m Steven Universe. I'm in control.

I’m still in control.

[headoverjojo]

Can you write a scenario or some headcanons of what Risotto would think and how act if he found out that a ... "appreciated one" or even an esteemed disciple expresses that he would like to take revenge like him? I would like it to also include a flashback of when his cousin was killed and he decided to take revenge, "condemning" himself and awakening his stand, if you do not mind...

Hi there, dear! Of course :3 sooo, for this one I didn’t use my usual “you/reader insert” ‘cause it sounded too strange when I read it again, so I went if a generic “he”, as you had specified it was a male disciple, I hope it’s ok! And ooof I might have gone apeshit with the flashback sorry-

This said, I hope you’ll enjoy it! :3

Risotto Nero’s reactions to his pupil who wants to take revenge on someone, just like him when he was young

(Under the cut for length!)

Being part of the infamous Squadra Esecuzioni wasn’t easy. Even if G/N’s0 Capo, Risotto, hadn’t sent him on mission yet, he knew it was a matter of time. Seeing his pupil’s potential, Risotto offered to train him himself; even the other senior members have been shocked by his offer. He usually left this kind of duty to Prosciutto or Gelato… he hadn’t told it to anyone, but what really convinced him to take G/N as his pupil was the light in his eyes. That sinister and gloomy sparkle in his eyes… he knew it. Oh, he knew it too well.

His eyes too, before turning red, have had that same sparkle. The sparkle of hate, the sparkle of desire of revenge.

However, he never told him what he had understood. His only concern was to be sure he would have been ready to accomplish his future tasks as assassin and, especially, to come back alive. And maybe… maybe, he would have found a goal other than a bloody revenge. That was what he hoped, at least.

However, deep in his heart, he knew this couldn’t happen, no matter how much he tried to push him towards new goals. G/N wouldn’t have found peace until his revenge was finally accomplished. And Risotto already knew what G/N wanted to talk about, when he entered his office with a serious and gloomy look on his face.

He sighed, rubbing his eyes and lifting them to watch him. With an almost imperceptible nod, he gave him the permission to sit in front of his desk. He stared at G/N, calm and serious, as usual. He didn’t flinch, when his red eyes fixed on him. His stare made men bigger and more powerful than him shrink in fear, but not him.

For G/N, he wasn’t the enemy, the lethal assassin… he was his capo and, especially, his mentor. The only person on this cursed planet he trusted wholeheartedly and, he knew, could perfectly understand the burning agony in his heart.

“What’s the matter, G/N?” he went straight to the point, and G/N’s jaw tightened. It was time… He had thought so much about what and how confide him his desire… but now his mind was blank, aside few, important words.

“I’ve worked to enter the Squadra Esecuzioni for a precise reason. I want… I have to kill a person. Or my family would never rest in peace.” Risotto sighed again, closing his eyes for a moment. Oh, he had already heard this story…

“Tell me what happened.” his jaw clenched, when he heard his pupil’s story, how his big sister was shot down during a robbery, and how, when the thefts had been finally jailed, the judge found that the evidences weren’t enough to keep them in prison. Judges, lawyers… same old story.

“So? Do you want to use our team’s resources to find these men and to kill them?” he hummed, when G/N nodded, determined and serious. It was like being in front of a mirror…

“I’ll tell you what I’ve decided tomorrow. Leave, now. Go to sleep.” G/N knew he couldn’t get anything more from him, but, at least, he had said what he had to. He got up and, when he finally closed the door behind him, Risotto let the steely façade he was keeping on fall down. He tiredly rubbed his eyes again, and he took off his black hat, finally freeing his white locks, that he immediately started to torment. The ghost of a smile graced his lips, when he remembered that his cousin always scolded him when he found him fidgeting with his hair. You’ll become bald if you go on like this, he always said, laughing. His cousin… the smile died out, when the memory of him hit him like a punch in the guts.

His parents were always too busy to care about him. Work came first, and Risotto learned to care about himself since he was a child. His grandparents were too sophisticated, too noble to like him. He was a constant disappointment in their eyes. They wanted a grandson who wanted to become a bank director, a manager, or even a politician. And what they got was a grandson who, instead, wanted to work as farmer. A grandson who loved the earth and who was incredibly good at make every kind of plant grow healthy and strong. He wanted a farm, to have a full and satisfying life in his beloved Sicily, in the countryside he loved so much… and his cousin was the first to fully support his dreams and inclinations. He always took his little cousin with him when he had to go to the fields and he was the one who taught him all the techniques and the little secrets to be a good farmer. His cousin, always with a smile on his face, with a laugh so loud it always scared the nearby birds, was his hero. A giant, gentle hero. He wanted to be like him, he wanted it with his whole heart.

And then his cousin was took from him.

He had seen everything. He was waiting for him at his uncle’s house entrance, at the end of another day in the fields. His cousin was carrying a big bag full of peaches and apricots…

While he was crossing the road, a car suddenly turned the corner. The driver, as the police found about later, was drunk. His cousin didn’t even have the time to turn his head to see the car.

He was hit so hard that his back snapped. There was blood everywhere, too much blood… on the car, that drifted away without almost witnessing what had just happened, on the road, on his cousin, on Risotto’s still small hands, that were trying to keep his cousin together, to bring him back, on the fruit…

He still couldn’t eat peaches or apricots. Every time he took one on his hand, he always saw his cousin’s blood on it.

And then in his mind there was just place for revenge. No more farms, no more plants and a quiet life… just revenge. He wanted to murder the bastard that took away his hero from him. He wanted to find him and to make him suffer like he had made him and his uncle and aunt suffer. He didn’t care if he would have gone to hell… he would have gone with a smile on his face, knowing he had accomplished his mission.

That was his end. From then on, he fell more and more in disgrace, until he finally disappear, when he was just eighteen years old. His parents and grandparents never missed him; they never fully considered him part of the family, anyway. The rest was history.

However… he sighed, rubbing his face, as to chase away those memories. His revenge had been his only goal for so many years that, when he finally avenged his cousin, he found himself empty. He had killed the monster, the man that had so abruptly murdered his cousin… but now? What had he to do? What was the meaning of his life, now?

Finding it again had been even more painful than the agonizing waiting to get his revenge. At least, when he still had his revenge to wait for him, he had something that drove him forward, but then… he had nothing. No family, no dreams… no cousin. Avenging him hadn’t given Risotto the peace and the satisfaction he had sought so much. Killing the monster hadn’t brought his cousin back.

He didn’t want G/N to go through the same, grievous path he had to. Maybe… maybe he could help him. He could let him have his revenge and then help him to start to live again, to accept and embrace his pain and, instead of drawing just hate and grief from it, to draw the strength he needed to face even the darkest days. To put aside the painful part of them and to embrace the light the memories of his sister could bring to him. And, oh, he would have needed all the light he could gather, in order not to lose himself in the dark sea he was swimming in with your comrades.

Morning came faster than what he thought and, with the first sunbeams, G/N too came to his office again. And now Risotto had finally an answer for him.

“This will be a mission out of the ordinary. I will help you personally to get your revenge, Y/N… but you have to promise me something.” G/N nodded, serious, trying hard not to let spill even a drop of what you were feeling. He was so near to your revenge… it almost seemed unreal.

“I want you to learn to live, first.” he frowned, perplexed. Learn to live…? Seeing the confusion in G/N’s eyes, Risotto went on.

“I was in the same situation as you’re in now. And let me tell something… when I finally got my revenge, it wasn’t as satisfying as I thought it would have been. I was left without any goal and will to live. Finding it again had been… hard. That’s why I want you to find a reason to live now, before you get your revenge. When you have found a real reason to live, then I’ll aid you. You’ll get your closure. It’s a promise.” he looked down, at Risotto’s words. So, it wasn’t now… but soon. Well… if he wanted him to find a reason to live other than his revenge, he’ll have done it. For him, his mentor, for his sister. But especially for himself.

Risotto’s lips slightly bent when G/N nodded. It was good… he could start to heal for real, then.

And he would have been here, to assist and help him. He would have been the figure he too would have wanted to have near when he was wandering in the darkness.

He wouldn’t have left him alone.

[mycupoffanfiction]

A Real Sweet Guy Part 6

A biker!Bucky x shy!Reader Series

Part 1  Part 2  Part 3  Part 4  Part 5  Part 6

The reader lives on the same street as Bucky, the leader of a biker gang, which everyone in her building is afraid of, except for her. When Bucky makes a simple act of kidness to the reader, she realises she was right to not be afraid of him.

Warnings: Fluff, language, sadness. 

Word count: Approx 4000

Masterlist

Tag lists are open.

Ooof okay, this one took a while! I won’t lie, I’m not 100% happy with it and writing His Favourite Gal burnt me out a little since this series and HFG both usually have long chapters. I’m sorry I took some time to focus on oneshots and smaller things for a while, it was just my way of getting back into the swing of a larger series!

I really hope you enjoy this part, it’s fairly tame this time around, the next one will be very cute and fluffy!

Enjoy your week 💕💕💕💕

__________________________

“Y’know, Stevie’s gonna be jealous.” Bucky chuckled, looking down at you as you cut a slice of your homemade apple pie. “We’ll save him a slice.” You shrugged, grinning as you plopped a piece onto a small plate and slid it across the table, the older woman beaming at you. “Thank you, dear.” She looked delighted, taking in the cinnamony apple smell. “You’re welcome, Mrs Barnes.” You mirror her smile. “Please, Winnifred is fine, dear.” She insisted on you using her first name, but you were just so nervous at meeting Bucky’s mum that you’d been defaulting to her last name.

 “You said you didn’t talk much to your family.” Winnifred struck conversation as Bucky took over for you, slicing you a piece that was way too big for you. “Yeah, we uh- we don’t get along.” You nodded; eyes trained on your apple pie. You glanced across to Bucky, the contrast of him in his red flannel shirt, ripped jeans and heavy combat boots, hair down and messy against Mrs Barnes’ tidy, florally decorated home was quite amusing. “I don’t have any close family.” You added, Bucky’s hand coming down to rest on your knee. “But you have the Commandos, sweetheart.” Bucky grinned. That you did. They were the best family you could have asked for and in truth, they were better than your real family ever were. No one ever judged you, no one was mean to you, you were never singled out or bullied. Everyone treated you fairly and with so much love and compassion.

 Just the other day Steve had a call from Peter, the kid had gotten picked on at school and you and Steve spent about an hour on the phone to him to try and calm him down until his adoptive parents, Pepper and Tony got home from the diner. You were all as close knit as it came, even friends or family of members were always welcome, like Pietro was. He’d often join outings to Pepper’s diner or take walks with you and Wanda and sometimes even hang out with some of the guys too.

 “James tells me you work at the local bookshop; I was hoping I might have recognised you.” Mrs Barnes smiled as she dug her spoon into the apple pie, taking a bite and nodding in approval. “I do, I love it there, although the shop can be a little trying.” You smiled, it was true, you did love the shop and while you had a tendency to complain about rude customers and how much the day drags or how exhausting it is sometimes, you still loved it. It was like a second home to you and your manager George had been so good to you while you had worked there. “Delicious pie, dear. I’m not sure Steve will get any.” She joked, causing you to giggle in response. “You’ll have to give me the recipe, perhaps we can bake together.” Mrs Barnes suggested and you grinned at the idea. “I’d love to.” You smiled, glancing across at your boyfriend.

 “Now, let me show you some photos of James when he was little.” Mrs Barnes laughed as she reached behind her for the bookcase. “Maaaa.” Bucky groaned, his cheeks lighting up with a bright red as he dropped his face into his hand.

 “So does Mrs Barnes like you?” Wanda asked down the phone as you walked down the sidewalk, rain pattering down onto your coat hood. “I think so, she seemed happy when I met her, even hugged me when I left.” You smiled to yourself, thinking back to your meeting with Bucky’s mum. “Can’t believe he never told me his first name was James.” You laughed, having taken it light heartedly. You had been seriously confused when Mrs Barnes had referred to your biker boyfriend as James instead of Bucky, but you were so used to his nickname now that you weren’t sure that you could see yourself using his real first name much.

“Barnes said you made her apple pie. Why didn’t you give us apple pie when you met us for the first time?” Wanda teased. “Hey, I gave you cookies.” You argued, a smile on your lips. Your smile quickly dropped when you stepped right into a puddle, soaking through your shoe. “Fuck me.” You hissed under your breath, shaking the water off, but it was no use, your sneaker was totally soaked. You turned the corner, Wanda giggling down the line as you explained what had just happened. “I gotta go, Wanda. Maybe I’ll have customers today.” You scoffed as you approached the bookshop, ready to start your shift. “Alright, text me when you get home.” Wanda said her goodbyes to you before hanging up and you heaved a sigh as you approached.

 The rain came down heavier, the wind picking up. The storm was coming. Your hood flew back, exposing your freshly washed and dried hair to the angry elements. You barely paid attention when you reached the shop front, reaching out for the door and smacking right into it as you had expected it to open, but it was locked up tight. You let out a frustrated humph as another strong gust of wind almost pushed you off balance as you rummaged around in your pocket for your keys. A deep rumble of thunder rolled across the heavy storm clouds above, rain getting heavier. You didn’t bother putting your hood back up since you’d be indoors in a second. Or so you thought. “Fuck.” You whispered to yourself. The keyhole was covered by a piece of wood nailed to the door. It was at that moment that you stepped back and noticed it. Oh. Oh shit.

 Big, bold letters. In a chunky red marker. Your heart sank as your backpack dug into your shoulders, your hand clutching at the wet strap, rain lashing down onto your shoulders and head as you stand completely still in the middle of the pavement. Your hair glued itself to your face, your hood having fallen down a few minutes ago. The cold wind whipped down the street, giving you a shivering chill, arms breaking out into goose bumps, ears hurting with the cold.

OUT OF BUSINESS.

Why didn’t your boss tell you? To be honest, you’d sort of seen it coming, with the tiny amount of custom your shop had received in the last few months. Still, it made your heart sink, down, down into the pit of your stomach. You had loved working at the bookstore, it was a safe haven. How could you not love it? But it was gone now. How would you pay your bills? Would you even be able to stay in town to find a new job? How would that affect things?

 “George?” You squeaked out; phone pressed against your ear as the line crackled on the other end. “(Y/n), I am so sorry I didn’t tell you sooner.” Your manager sighed. “Is it really closed forever?” You asked, voice sad as you stared at the front door, letting the rain drench you as you shivered uncontrollably from the cold. “Sadly, yes. I’m sorry, I should’ve warned you.” He responded. “It’s alright.” You huffed. “I’ve got to go, make sure you drop off your keys to the shop over the next couple of days.” George reminded you before hanging up and you were left in silence again. The traffic behind you seemed to just drown out into a low hum. The only sounds you could really hear were the rain and a couple of pairs of heavy footsteps walking around behind you, splashing against the wet pavement.

 “(Y/n)?” A well-spoken voice came from behind you and you quickly whipped around to see Loki and Thor paused in their step on the sidewalk. “What are you doing out here in the pouring rain? You’ll catch a cold dear.” Loki fussed, rushing to your side and covering you with his umbrella. When you didn’t answer, heart caught in your throat as the realisation hit you, Loki noticed. He noticed how your shoulders dropped, your head hanging a little, the odd sniffle here and there as you kept your emotions at bay. “Whatever is the matter, darling?” Loki asked, glancing over his shoulder at Thor to motion him over, heavy hands coming to rest on your shoulders, the towering man stepping up behind you, chest brushing against your back. You didn’t say anything, but Loki noticed before you could even have a chance to force yourself to speak. He saw where your eyes were glued to. “Oh.” Loki said just above a whisper. “Oh (Y/n), I am so sorry.” He murmured, pulling you into a gentle hug, Thor moving around the side to inspect the sign on the door.

 “Why would they not tell you?” Thor pondered, finger pressed up against the window at the sign, head turning to look at you, although his hood blocked his face a little, wisps of blonde hair shifting slightly in the wind, the tips of his long hair getting damp from the rain as they stuck out of the edges of his hood. “Never mind that now, let’s get her somewhere warm, brother.” Loki coaxed you along with him, arm wrapped around you as Thor fell into step with you both, leaving you sandwiched between the two brothers.

 “Let’s walk you to the café across the road, you need to warm up before you catch a cold small one.” Thor’s large hand rested in the middle of your bad as you pressed yourself against his side, the warmth radiating off his figure already starting to warm you up. “Didn’t you see Bucky this morning? Does he know?” Loki questioned as you walked down the street together. “I saw him before he went to work, we went to meet his mum. And no, he doesn’t know.” You shook your head. This was bad. It took you so long just to find this job, you were finally at a point where you were comfortable in your life and now this. The constant worry of having to move to find a job was looming over your head. You could hear the two brothers talking, but it was as if their voices were muffled.

 “There you go, small one.” You were suddenly sat down in the coffee shop, you didn’t even recall walking in and sitting down, but you were here. Thor slid a large cup of hot coffee across the table to you, dropping a few sachets of sugar onto the table next to your cup. Loki settled down opposite you with a cup of tea, Thor clutching a cup of coffee in his hand as he pulled out his chair roughly. “Thank you.” You said quietly, peeling your soaked coat off your cold form. “Darling, take my jumper.” Loki spoke softly, getting up from his seat to take off and give you his woollen jumper. You gladly took it, thanking him as you did and pulled it over your head, the length of the sleeves and the body on you making you smile. You began pouring sugar into your drink and stirring as the two brothers quietly watched you.

 “I called Barnes on our way over, I tried telling you but you zoned out a bit.” Loki tried to catch your eye contact. “What did he say?” You asked. “He said we should take you to your apartment and he’d come over during his lunch break.” Loki explained. “Okay.” You mumbled into your mug, bringing the rim close to your lips to take a sip of the warm, comforting liquid. “Will you stay with me? I get it if you’re both busy.” You murmured. “We’ll stay with you, small one.” Thor gripped your shoulders, gently squeezing.

 “I don’t know what to do.” You huffed; eyes trained on your coffee. “The bookshop was my livelihood.” You sniffled, eyes feeling watery as you let your emotions bubble up to the surface. You took another sip of your coffee, emotions breaking the dam as hot tears rolled down your cheeks. “Oh, (Y/n).” Thor whispered, pulling his chair around to your side “It’ll be alright, darling. I don’t think you’ll be jobless for long, especially since the head of a biker gang is your boyfriend, I’m sure he could pull a few strings, maybe a favour or two.” Loki spoke softly to you as Thor’s arm draped around your shoulder as you leaned into his side.

 After you finished your coffee, warmed up a bit and waited for the rain to die down, the three of your made your way back to your apartment. You kicked off your wet shoes, Loki helping by going to get you some towels from the cupboard while Thor fiddled with your TV, getting something on for the three of you to watch and preparing blankets on the sofa. Whatever the two of them had been doing before they came across you was obviously considered less important than looking after you, and while you felt a little guilty for consuming their morning with your issues, neither of them seemed to mind at all.

 You sat on the sofa, squished between the two brothers, who at this point were like your own two siblings while Tangled played on the TV. Thor seemed absolutely taken by the movie and you quickly realised this was absolutely not the first time he’d seen it when you caught a glimpse of him mouthing the words, not to a song, but to an entire scene of the movie.

 You didn’t even notice when Loki got up to open the door for the two men, you and Thor completely captivated by the movie. It was only when Bucky came to sit beside you, the smell of leather, car oil and his woody, spiced cologne catching your attention. “Hey darlin’.” Bucky’s voice was low and husky, the kind tone he used melted you as you turned to see your boyfriend. Although you’d seen him that morning, it felt like it had been too long with the sadness that came with your bookshop shutting down. Your heart leapt into your throat as you looked up into his deep blue eyes, his arm resting on the sofa behind you, his metal hand on his thigh as he sat facing you. His leather jacket was still on, hair thrown back in a messy low bun, stubble thick and soon to be shaven again. Grease marks around his forehead and some in his hair, you knew he’d have trouble getting that out later when he showered.

 “Did Loki tell you what happened?” You asked softly, not wanting to disturb Thor as he enthusiastically mouthed a song that was playing on screen. “Not in detail, but I know the bookshop got shut down, your manager didn’t tell you and you found out from a sign on the shop front and Loki and Thor found you absolutely soaked.” Bucky gave you a brief rundown of what Loki had told him and you nodded. “I’m so screwed.” You whispered to yourself, not really intending to say that out loud. “No, you’re not.” Bucky shook his head. “Absolutely not, sweetie.” Steve cut in, standing behind the sofa, his hand coming down onto your shoulder.

 “You can come and work at the repair shop for the time being so you can pay your rent until you get back on your feet if you like.” Steve said as he brushed a lock of your hair behind your ear, Bucky swiping his hand away to do it properly. “Really?” You sounded surprised, tears still in your eyes. You’d been on the edge of tears for a few minutes, but the dam broke and hot tears spilled over your cheeks. “You’d do that?” You squeaked out. Of course you could refuse, but why would you? “Or Pep said she might be able to open up a position for you down at the diner. Her and Tony don’t have enough staff with it being on the entry road to the town and all.” Bucky interrupted. “But in the meantime, while they open up something for you, you could help down at the shop for a few weeks if you like. We got an overload of paperwork and marketing needing doing and we need someone, doll.” Bucky cupped your cheek gently, wiping your outburst of tears away with the pads of his thumbs as his hands cradled your face.

It wasn’t long after that, that Bucky and Steve left to have lunch and go back to work, promising to take you out to the diner later for milkshakes and dinner with anyone who would come.

“Small one, Barnes loves you more than anyone I’ve ever seen him around.” Thor smiled widely; eyes trained on the TV screen. You’d spent the rest of the afternoon with Thor watching movies after Bucky and Steve had to return to work and Loki left to run errands, leaving you alone with the big softie. “His last girlfriend was uh-.” He cut himself off, shifting awkwardly on the sofa, glancing across at you. “He told me about her, she sounded like she was more in it for the sex than the relationship.” You finished for him. Thor hummed, nodding. “She wasn’t the best for him, we all tried to tell him. Poor guy was so in love he didn’t see it at first.” Thor spoke low, so not to interrupt Star Wars episode five too much. “I think he knows he’s in love this time, because he sees that you’re good for him.” Thor thinks out loud, fiddling with the blanket that was half heartedly draped over him. “You think I’m good for him?” You ask, looking over at him, your attention now on the conversation rather than the movie. “We all do.” He nodded, tucking his blonde hair behind his ear, glancing between you and the TV.

 “I think you ground him, he’s so caught up in the biker life, everything revolving around his group and bikes. You’re a different perspective.” Thor went on, eyes glued to the AT-AT fight on Hoth. He paused as he watched the scene, waiting for the cool bit to be over before he started talking again. “I think he’s good for you too.” Thor mumbled; a bit too distracted by the movie to really talk in depth again.

 “I can’t believe that!” Wanda raged, arms flailing, almost knocking over her milkshake. “How could they just not tell you?” She frowned, Sam nodding furiously next to her as you leant on the diner table. “Why’d he have to leave it to the day of the shop closing to say something?” Wanda was far more enraged by your sudden loss of employment than you imagined her to be. Steve, who was sat on the other side of her, gestured for her to lower her voice, the other patrons in Pepper’s diner turning to see what all the commotion was about. “That does sound unreasonable.” Peter agreed from beside you, Bucky’s metal arm draped over your shoulders as you glanced at Peter. “I know.” You sighed, shoulders dropping a little. “Hey, on the bright side, you get to work closer with us now!” Peter beamed up at you. “Pepper is trying to convince Tony to make a spot for you.” He repeated the news the boys had told you earlier. “I really appreciate everything you guys are doing for me; you really don’t have to do it though.” You smiled gratefully around the table, catching all of their eyes. Everyone had made sure you were okay. As soon as the word got out about your situation, the entire group was at your beck and call, running to your aid to try and cheer you up. “We absolutely do.” Wanda answered before anyone else could, voice stern as her finger pointed at you. She was really mad about it, but you appreciated the passion she showed for your wellbeing.

 “Honestly, as I see it, it was the only right thing to do.” Steve continued the conversation after a short pause. “We’re a family, you’re part of that (Y/n). I’d feel terrible if I didn’t offer up a spot for you, even if I didn’t really need someone to do paperwork for me.” Steve admitted, a lopsided smile on his face as your gaze met his. “Since you two met, I feel like we’ve become fast friends, I see you more like a sibling than just my best friend’s girlfriend.” Steve grinned widely, a little pink blush on his cheeks. Holy shit that’s cute. “You do?” You squeaked out, cheeks burning bright red, a huge grin on your lips. “I love you Stevie- I mean love as in like not love, love, but love as in kinda love.” You stuttered out, a few chuckles from around the table. Steve shook his head as he chuckled, Bucky squeezing your side tightly as a laugh rumbled through his chest. If you weren’t already blushing madly, you were now as red as a tomato as you nervously giggled to yourself. Such a way with words. “I kinda love you too, (Y/n).” Steve chuckled, hand landing gently on yours and squeezing a little before he went back to cupping his milkshake glass.

 “We all kinda love you, (Y/n), except for Bucky, he really loves you.” Sam teased, winking a few times at you both, causing Bucky to scoff in response. “I more than really love you, doll.” Bucky whispered in your ear, only for you to hear, causing you to blush and giggle shyly. “Ooh sharing sweet nothings there, Barnes?” Sam teased. “Shut it Wilson.” Bucky glowered at him, Steve chuckling at the exchange. “What did he say to ya?” Sam asked. Perfect opportunity for the unsuspecting jokester. “He told me how he’s going to kick you out.” You deadpanned, face void of expression. Steve almost choked on his milkshake, Peter pausing mid sip, Wanda had a knowing grin on her face as she exchanged looks with Bucky. The table fell silent, Sam wasn’t too sure that you were even joking by your incredible ability to keep a straight face. He was only thrown off when Bucky finally cracked next to you, letting out a hearty chuckle, the others soon following. “That was cold.” Sam pointed at you, a large smile on his face. “It’s always the quiet ones.” He shook his head, making the remark more to himself than anyone else.

 You sat and talked with your friends, chatting with Wanda, making stupid remarks with Steve, groaning and laughing at Sam’s jokes, giggling to Peter’s awkward stories and enjoying the sweet words Bucky would whisper into your ear. You were with your real family. The real family that loved you and supported you the way you needed them to.

You were home.

______________________________

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[danwhobrowses]

WWE Royal Rumble 2021 - Initial Thoughts

I know I’m late, but employment is still a thing, and I had to prioritize that over an all-nighter, but it’s time for the Royal Rumble, one of the more exciting shows of WWE’s schedule, so let’s get on with it!

Spoilers for Royal Rumble, you have been Warned

I might not invest too much in kickoff matches but the Women’s Tag Match was not a good time

It was fine before the end, but who the hell decided that Charlotte should control 90% of the champions’ offense and have the hot tag!? Asuka is the RAW WOMEN’S CHAMPION, not Charlotte. After the tag Asuka literally had one spot and she was dead, completely taken out of the match for *checks notes* being thrown over the Announcer’s Table...you know that thing several wrestlers come back from easily.

The finish was just too much too, Ric distraction didn’t work, Lacey distraction didn’t work, Kirufuda Clutch didn’t work but then the brass knuckles did. Too much.

And why TF are we putting titles back on Nia!? We should’ve just given the titles to the Riotts, or the winner of the Women’s Dusty Classic. It also cuts me deep that Asuka and Shayna are treated this way, even as champion Asuka is a side character to Charlotte T_T

Main show though and I don’t like the package and interviews between entrances

Drew vs Goldberg was just...meaningless.

It was cringy enough that Cole had to spout drivel to make 60 year old Goldberg seem strong but to have Drew be ‘injured’ by a barricade spear - something much more tired wrestlers have and will get back up from in less time and continue a longer match - was daft. Also saying that Goldberg’s spear or jackhammer is the best move of all WWE is stupid, it was a WCW thing

Thank God Drew Won, but the post-match does remind you of the meaningless circumstances this feud came about. Suddenly Goldberg is okay with Drew’s same manners of respect

I mean, Carmella’s entrance and gear is cool, but do you think it eats at Corey a little that Carmella’s ‘behind the curtain’ bit is a tad...red light district?

Sasha’s promo didn’t hit for me unfortunately

Reginald didn’t deserve to be ejected for that! He caught Sasha and get beaten up for it

Jesus Carmella! Sasha got barely any of that dive

Screeching and faffing aside, Carmella got a good showing...I do hate quick tap outs in title matches though

Sami cuts a good promo, but his content wasn’t exactly the best. New Day are hardly the management’s faves, it’s taken this long for E to get a singles run, Fans literally had to Yes Movement their way into giving Kofi the world title.

New Day’s Brodie gear was good though

Bad Bunny as the ‘Biggest Latin Artist’? Is Cole for real? I didn’t even know who he was before today

If the song is about Booker T then why is he dancing around GI Bro?

Come on Book, you hang on the Sucka! That’d be like if the Rock just went ‘If ya smell what the Rock is cooking’ without the drags or pauses

Ric’s ‘with a tear in my eye’ promo was after the Rumble though...

It’s actually a sad stat that just over half of the Rumble winners win titles

No Morrison segment for the escape spot!? He did it as much as Kofi dammit!

Sorry Greatest Royal Rumble is not canon for me

This Stat Attack has taken far too long

I’m okay with Mike Rome but couldn’t a woman have announced the Women’s Rumble? Where’s Lillian at!?

NAOOOOOOOMIIIIIIIIIIIIII GIRL WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN!?

That hair is amazing as well

I know you can’t say it, but we all remember that Benoit won the rumble in the first two as well

Was...Bianca wearing earrings on her entrance, she looked like she was taking them off

Billie actually had the right idea, can’t be in the match until you enter the ring, it’s clever stuff

That tank did not look like it was meant to turn that direction XD

It actually surprises me every time how tall Shotzi is, I always imagine her short

Billie no...not with Shayna

The piped boos are highly unrealistic to boo even a heel Toni Storm

Shotzi eliminated and then horrible singer Jillian comes in? Urrrrgh, Bad Singer Jillian was terrible

Wrestling wise she hasn’t missed a beat though

Billie’s surprisingly being a highlight here with actual narra-OHMYSHITITSVICTORIA

Gear was a bit meh but Victoria definitely can still go

Oh Peyton the purple looks good on you, and her Widow’s Peak was not bad at all

Ah, good for Santana, for a moment I thought it said Santina and got a very bad chill

Damn Liv, Speed Machine!

Ooof, the betrayal is real Billie

THIS IS MY BRUTALITY!

Somehow I’m genuinely upset by every elimination so far, good job!

Aaaaaand then they got rid of Victoria and brought on Charlotte to immediately take out Rhea -_-

That was a clever move from Bayley but damn Ruby landed hard

Are we seeing a Bayley/Peyton team? Or is she just eliminating the Riotts for revenge for Billie, but also Liv Nooooo!

Torrie now, eh okay

Ouch for Dana

Lacey...no, this ain’t working

Poor Peyton, her elimination was a side chapter

And we missed Bayley’s elimination!? For Shame

Mickie! Good to see ya! Aaaaand being beaten by Charlotte...

Nikki Cross is back too! Hopefully they find a good story for her

Alicia Fox? I guess she sobered back into the good gra...R-Truth? No

Oh yeah, Humberto is a thing

Jerry shut the fuck up!

The 24/7 stuff was super unnecessary, we did not need to take focus off this match

Lacey eliminating Mickie, rude.

Dakota should’ve gotten more time, she barely lasted a minute

Reginald again deserves better

See Tamina vs Rhea would be exciting...if Tamina was booked better

Naomi’s chemistry with Bianca is really insane right now

Lana *reminded of her feud with Shayna and Nia* Also Lana *goes for Rhea*

That was a hard tackle on Alexa by Rhea...aaaaand she’s eliminated mid ‘transformation’ a bit worthless for me

Road Warrior Ember Moon! And right into the Eclipse that’s the good shit

Baszler probably shouldn’t have eliminated Lacey story-wise

The Betrayal is real for Tamina as well

What’s with the crazy camera cuts!?

Nia eliminating Baszler? Nah...

Hold on Cole, baiting Nia over the ropes isn’t a ‘tremendous elimination’

The betrayal is real for Lana too, Nattie sure shrugged off that double assault

I get that the narrative is that Charlotte has beaten both Bianca and Rhea before, but to hang against both of them after already being in a match and hanging on from two apron attacks was daft. Stop making her super strong, she’s mega talented yes but giving her the Brock Lesnar energy does her no favours

That close call though with Rhea and Bianca was great, need more spots of two wrestlers about to be eliminated at the same time

The final bit of chain wrestling too was great, that’s what you need at the final part of a rumble, the mini-match

I had Rhea as my win prediction but am more than happy for Bianca, who was my second choice. Winning at No. 3 is great and her emotional promo just gets her more over. Bianca vs Sasha’s gonna be wild too

Overall the Women’s Rumble was good, most of the women got shine and there were a few mini stories too, do wish that more time was given to some women and that Sonya was in the rumble but the returns were good and most of the eliminations got me good

Miz talking about guaranteeing a championship run like he didn’t lose the last cash-in and didn’t have a chance to cash in previously this night when Drew was ‘reeling’ from the barricade spear.

I reiterate that I wish Sonya was in the rumble, but do like her endorsement of Bianca

Again, this 24/7 stuff is wrong place and time right now

Last Man StANDing Match for the UniVERSal Championship

Cole, there is Champion’s Advantage. Triple H vs Michaels Last Man Standing, neither men made the 10 so Trips kept the title, 17 years ago. Royal Rumble 2004.

See, this is where a Finisher Spotfest works, because it’s not about pinfalls it’s about keeping people down

The camera switches are not doing good on this portion of the side of the thunderdome

Yes, attacking the knees, this is the Cerebral ‘rope breaks with his pinkie finger’ Owens I like to see

Ooof the Golf Cart, a la Kane and Stadium Stampede

Why is this training area just like a second arena

Lil’ running ref in the background

Right into that conveniently placed mini-ladder

Not the forklift! Think of Judy Bagwell!

Oh that curtain is the thing Becky took a photo of! I mean she was always gonna be backstage

Corey before the match ‘there must be a winner’, Corey after Owens went through the stage LED ‘The ref should consider stopping the match’

Did the Ciampa move there to stand up

I don’t think you’re allowed to use a Ref Bump that way

Then the Second Ref restarts the count and stops at 5!? If this doesn’t come back next SD it’ll be a misstep

It was a physical match, not the best I think the finish brought it down. The problem is that KO has lost 3 times now and the last time is a botch finish, and we can’t have him lose again - the poor guy needs a win

ON THIS DAY, I SEE CLEARLY!

I will say this immediately, revealing Edge and Orton as 1 and 2 beforehand was a terrible idea, just because you don’t have a live crowd doesn’t mean the people watching from home can’t be surprised

‘Number 3 is the worst number to draw on average’ - Belair just won at No. 3

Ali at 4? Then went after Edge and not Orton?

Sami, just don’t get in Orton’s face

Refs what are you doing? No rules in Rumble, where were you with Nia and Shayna with that logic

‘What does Shin need to do to be more successful?’ - for one not face AJ Styles, he is still a tag, US and IC champ as well as a RR winner, that’s quite successful

Carlito finally shows after the Legends Night tease and yes those are some abs

So...Randy’s just sleeping with this knee injury

Big E enters with some snappy camera angles again

I was hoping for more Ali - especially since Ricochet came immediately after - buy angry E was nice to see

Wait is that Elias’ entrance? Where’s the guitar strum?

Priesty, wonder if this is his main roster call

What DJ leaves his equipment on stage anyway?

‘The biggest star in the world in the music business’ - for real?

‘I’ve heard of flying squirrels but flying bunnies!?’ - Corey you need to watch Tokyo Joshi Pro, they got a flying sugar rabbit

To quote Ross Tweddell, MMMmmm Riddle...does not do it for me

Stop with the camera cuts I beg of you!

Mayor of Knox County!?

Ricochet eliminated by Kane, le sigh

The betrayal is real for DBry

Big Elim for Priesty though

‘Now it’s a Royal Rumble’ - reminder that Edge is a KOTR winner too, and that Nakamura is the King of Strong Sty-oh and Corbin eliminated him :/ what was the gauntlet about if you’re gonna Corbin him?

Otis’ new gear is slick

aaaaand Corbin’d again

Big Dom Fuck im Uhhhhhh Spinebuster’d

Damn he got him though

Dang that bounce sound from DBry

Bobby no why you gotta do Dom like that!?

Hurricane back from his Gangrel crossing and disposing Sammy Guevara’s broken body in Elite Deletion to do another rumble

One of these days, he’ll hit that Chokeslam and shit will go wild

Christian! This time getting the more emphatic reaction

Oh that smile, that hits you in the chest cavity...then Riddle ruins it

Rey comes in and WWE made him an advertisement ¬_¬

Edward James Omos what are you doing? well...I know what he’s doing, IC feud between AJ and E

Edward James Omos fuck you for eliminating Rey

The betrayal is real for Shamu

Cole how did you know it was Seth before his entrance hit?

I don’t think we were supposed to pick up Shamu welcoming Christian back but that was sweet

Then finally BWOAR

And Bwoar eliminates Cesaro, what was the point of his push? (it’s because his contract’s nearly up isn’t it?)

Again with the camera switching

Seth No! And where’s the boos pipe music!? DBry was a heavy favourite, that would’ve caused heat

Can’t believe Mmm Riddle lasted ahead of DBry

I didn’t forget about Orton, but the finish was good, that Orton tease got us good

It was a decent rumble, in hindsight you could tell Edge was winning given how they put express focus on Michaels winning at number on in the stat attack, Edge being face in peril for the first 10 entrants and Cole reminding us how long Edge has been in there

I don’t at all hate the end result, though I do question whether it was the best choice in the long run. Edge had his rumble win returning from injury already and throwing more legends at Drew does imply a heavy lack of depth in the current roster. Edge didn’t really need the win, but I’m not disappointed in him winning

The Men’s Rumble itself wasn’t as good as the women’s I don’t think, a lot of favourites of mine were unceremoniously dumped out quickly, any layered storytelling didn’t get enough time and it did feel a little by the numbers, almost a microcosm of modern WWE booking

Overall it was still a decent PPV, happy with the winners of the rumbles and that’s mostly all we need from a Royal Rumble. The Road to Wrestlemania starts here

[thisgirlhastales]

Simon and Baz Carrying On, like Wayward Sons ...

I’m here to write more about Wayward Son because @apostrophe-philosophy got me thinking with the wonderful additions made to my first lengthy post about it :)

Honestly, I’m loving the book more upon reflection, though I still have my same issues with it. I think the initial shock of the cliff-hanger had to die down for me (though, again, still have some things that irked me about said cliff-hanger). I’ve got more ranting to do, so, ah, here we go again, and warnings for spoilers beneath the cut!

Apologies for any repetition but this is mostly a ramble with less organization than my previous semi-essay post, and a little more in-depth on the characters, I think.

Carry On, as @apostrophe-philosophy stated so wonderfully, is a book that shook up all those tropes we know and love (when they’re executed well) of the Chosen One narrative, and I was so very pleased that Wayward Son kept that going — in fact, were Carry On the typical Chosen One type story, we would never have gotten a sequel because all’s well that ends well, right? (See: HP Epilogue).

But Wayward Son didn’t feel like a sequel to me, so much as … letting the cameras roll after the movie is over? (Er, assuming the characters are real people, so forgive my crap analogy.) We see how very broken these people are despite (or because of) their victory. We see that there are years of healing ahead of them, assuming they can even come to terms with all the things they’ve done and seen. It’s very much a life goes on and on story; as in, life doesn’t stop after a narrative goal or milestone are achieved. It just goes. On. Without needing permission. It is relentless.

And it doesn’t care if you can’t keep up.

Which is what I believe is happening to Simon, Baz, and Penny (and Agatha, to an extent, though she really feels like she has her shit together way more than the others do, and who’d a thunk?).

Simon Snow, Former Chosen One, Saviour of Watford and Conqueror (?) of the Insidious Humdrum, Now Retired and Mage-Less

Ooof, let’s start with the guy whom the series is named after, because oh Simon. My dude, your problems are as vast and deep as an ocean, and I feel like you never really learned how to swim properly ‘cause your mentor/father-figure (who was your actual father, and won’t that be an agonizing reveal?) really messed you up by nearly drowning you repeatedly. Metaphorically. Or literally?

Simon Snow was neglected in many ways as an orphan child growing up, moved around and ignored, until he met the Mage. Then he gets a huge destiny shoved upon him, and he’s taught how to fight with a sword and with magic, although, ah, the latter he really sucks at because for all his immense power, he lacks control. Many, many near-death experiences later, and he’s finally hit a point where everything he came to know as his reality crumbles beneath him because the Big Evil he’s fighting is a piece of himself (nice bit of trope subversion), and he has to figure out what the hell to do with it … Oh, right, fill in that hole and give up all his magic, the thing that saved him. And incidentally, the way this happens is that he witnesses the death of one of his closest friends/older mentor figures, and the Mage is the one who did it. Furthermore, the Mage refuses to accept reality, i.e. that Simon needs to give up the power, not give it to someone else (him). Penny and Simon inadvertently kill him … And it hurts me when, after Simon begs Stop hurting me! as a magic spell, that Penny has to tell Simon that the reason the Mage died is because the magic dealt the final judgement — the only way the Mage would be able to stop hurting Simon is if he were dead.

Simon is gonna have to contemplate that crap for a while … But we don’t see too much of it in Wayward Son because Simon is a disaster (but “still so lovely” as Baz says) who won’t think too hard about why he’s such a disaster — he’ll just torment himself over it, and thus break all our hearts (and Baz’s) …

As @apostrophe-philosophy delightfully stated, what seems like a happy ending “can very well feel empty when your mental state is in fucking shambles.” And, yeah. I think Simon’s lost magic and resulting lack of direction in life are part of why he’s so depressed and feeling “worthless” now (although, he is not worthless). The other reasons are all the myriad ways in which his childhood did not prepare him for life, and in fact, damaged him in several ways (thanks for nothing, Mage). It’s all hitting at once. I’m sorry, Simon.

What we do see in Wayward Son is that he still reflects on the Mage somewhat fondly. He can never forget everything he was taught, particularly when he still uses it to keep himself and his friends alive. He switches back into soldier mode so easily (Baz notices, realizes what Simon’s life must have been like while the Mage had him under his thumb). Simon in the United States is a Simon who plunges headfirst into adventure and the unexpected and the good fight, but not into anything that involves speaking to Baz and/or Penny. Good grief, please, Simon.

I was okay with other aspects of his journey being hinted at — curious and excited to see how it all plays out. @apostrophe-philosophy, you mentioned that water spirit recognizing him? So interested to see where that goes! The fact that Simon impacted magic all the way around the world? Does this mean he touched every corner of the globe with his explosions? With the Insidious Humdrum? How many more creatures know of him? Is he kinda part dragon now? He “gave back more” than he took? What? How? What?!

All of that is left for another book, and I’m cool with that. Less cool with other things being left hanging …

Simon is loved so profoundly by Baz and Penny, but that alone cannot fix him — it can keep him afloat at times, but those underlying issues are not going away because he has an awesome boyfriend and best friend. It is so damn gratifying to read a magical adventure tale that actually acknowledges this. I don’t mind my fluff when I can get it, but Carry On wasn’t about that life, and it would’ve felt disingenuous if Wayward Son was … but it wasn’t, so yes.

I agree with you, @apostrophe-philosophy, when you say that Wayward Son feels more mature. It’s not just that these characters are now “growing up” and trying to figure themselves out — it’s that they’re all such huge damn messes (love it), and that they’re mad at themselves (and sometimes each other) for not having their shit together. Mostly they’re angry at themselves and despairing of each other. And if that ain’t adult life, y’all … Geez.

“Yes, Carry On was full of life and magic. Wayward Son is, in the words of the humdrum, what’s left when you are done.” Well said, honey!

Ah, there are so many ways that Simon broke me — when he talks about how easy it is to kiss Baz, but being kissed  “suffocates” him? It felt like he couldn’t stand the loss of control again — it’s allowing something to happen to you, it’s revealing in ways you can’t control, which is the story of his entire life. When he and Baz are kissing in the aftermath of battle, when Simon feels the most like himself, when he doesn’t care and he’s just overjoyed to be awesome and alive and with Baz — he’s all over his boyfriend and loving both sides of that intimacy (that he initiates). But when that isn’t the case, when he’s back in that negative headspace, back to depression and anxiety and all the consequences that the Mage wrought … He needs control, and kissing is easier than being kissed. Easier than allowing yet another thing happen to him, being vulnerable and seen in his vulernability, particularly with Baz, who knows him and can see past his defences.

(The great irony, of course, is that Baz actually can’t see what’s going on with Simon. It’s entirely in Simon’s head, holy crap, boys, fucking talk to each other.)

That part where Penny thinks about Simon: “I don’t really care if you feel crazy—because crazy isn’t dead.” That part where Simon has to compromise his Mage-taught morals to fight with vampires against other vampires and he has to keep rationalizing why being in love with Baz is okay, and the proper ways to rescue people because that’s all he did as a child soldier in the Mage’s army, and as Baz has said about the Mage — may he rest in pain for so thoroughly fucking with Simon’s head when he was a child and in awe of him and just … gah. Fuck you, Davy.

Simon being ready to die, to live to the last second as the saviour because that’s all he thinks he’s good for — taking one more enemy down for his friends, for Baz … Damn it, Simon. I know he sucks at words, he’s admitted as much himself, but wow, any words would do, Simon. Any.

I live for aftermath, and watching Simon (not) deal is giving me all the feels. He really believes he’s less now that his purpose is fulfilled since he has no magic. And since he has/is less, he feels he should “set Baz free” and all that. He only feels like himself when he’s being a sword-fighting badass, rescuing people, being a soldier (again, fuck you, Davy) — and yeah, he is very skilled, even incredible at that, but that’s not why Baz and Penny love him. Simon, oh Simon. If you would just open your mouth and start talking about all of this, the world of good it would do you …

But, hey, you know who else stressed me out?

Tyrannus Basilton “Baz” Grimm Pitch, Fail Vampire (Except When Kicking Ass), Powerful Pitch Sorcerer, General Posh Representative of UK Mages

Baz, my crappy vampire, my brilliant pyro-mage. You need help as badly as your boyfriend does. Baz’s arc kills me in a different way than Simon’s — everything Simon is dealing with is somewhat expected, and I understand it well. I get what his issues are, and the ways he is (but more often, isn’t, so very much is not) coping with them (and definitely not actually healing from them).

Baz? Oooh man. There were the things I expected — being on the outside, watching Simon slowly go to pieces, feeling completely helpless and lost, not knowing what Simon wants or needs, and that includes whether Simon wants or needs him anymore …

And yes, dealing with striking out on his own, in defiance of his family and all other magical society expectations, which puts him on a rather solitary path (apart from the world he knew — at least he has Simon and Penny, Messes Though They Are).

But the other aspects of himself — as in, his vampire nature and how that plays on his mind? He was suicidal in Carry On because he believed that’s what his mother would have wanted, that the vampires in the UK were so low and beneath him, and he was a Pitch, so how could those pathetic creatures like Nicodemus also be him? I was hoping we would get into all of that that here … and man. Oh man.

How devastating was it to find out that Baz is actually physically unhealthy because he doesn’t feed properly? Because he had no one to teach him how to eat without killing or turning someone? How to eat non-blood food without his fangs showing? When Lamb didn’t quite believe that Baz was twenty, like, legit, he’s twenty, he’s a baby vampire … How small is the world of mages back in the UK? Baz wasn’t even allowed access to the Internet. Good grief, this guy is smart as a whip, but he knows almost nothing and it shows, but it wasn’t until he met the American vampires that it felt painful. I just want him to learn all the things. Simon wants that for him (albeit for reasons that amount to you’re better off without me), and it’s just … Give Baz some true vampire knowledge. Let him feed without killing or turning. Please, cut this boy some slack.

My heart broke to see all the ways Baz was just … missing vital parts of himself. It was killing me to watch him hungrily take in everything Lamb was telling him … He needs something or someone to inform him (who isn’t a raging douchebag like Lamb). There must be some half-decent vampire somewhere who can help. I feel like we’re in for a conflict with his Aunt Fiona, since she’s been vampire hunting this entire while … So, you know, more pain on the way.

I’m sure I’m not the first to say this, but I truly believe we have hints that Baz is more than just vampire or mage. The fact that he aged from when he was bitten, the fact that he can use magic (Nicodemus couldn’t, and we have it confirmed that vampires can’t) … Pretty sure there’s something going on there. He’s a hybrid? He’s a new species entirely? He’s something that NewBlood wants so badly, but they can’t get because it can’t be recreated in a lab?

Baz needs his own long, long period of coming to terms, and then doing something about all those things boiling beneath his skin, because, my dude, you are more than you realize, and that’s not just the vampire stuff I’m referring to, Baz. More than his family’s expectations. More than his magical world. More than Simon’s boyfriend.

Penelope Bunce also gave me feels — “I was never invincible. I was just in the vicinity.” Again, @apostrophe-philosophy, you nailed the issues surrounding her so well: “But Penelope A-Plan-And-Backup-For-Everything Bunce? Hitting the literal end of her rope? Letting us see that she’s perhaps the biggest fraud, who doesn’t know how to fake it till she makes it once her belief in her own abilities has started to waver, because she had never known failure before and is now confronted by it on so many fronts?” Much like you, I am totally on board for her coming into her own, learning from her failures and becoming that much capable and hopefully healthier as a result.

And Agatha Wellbelove, oh, Agatha, realizing that she is magic. That she can’t run from herself, but she can learn — I loved every cynical bit of her in this, but she still had the capacity to realize that she could do something, and she did something, and it was awe-inspiring. It was coated in regret, in self-flagellation of the highest order, and every belief that it would all end in flames, but she did it. Bless her for becoming the saviour of that day.

So we Carry On, Wayward Sons, But There’s No Sign of Peace Yet For When You’re Done?

I’ve said this before, but I’ll say it again: I still feel like the lack of partial resolution to any of the emotional/psychological arcs drives me up the wall.

That being said, upon re-reading a few of my favourite passages/chapters, and re-reading the last quarter of the book … I will say that there’s a touch more resolution than I realized. Particularly for Simon

“It’s time for me to stop pretending that I’m some sort of superhero. I was that—I really was—but I’m not anymore. I don’t belong in the same world as sorcerers and vampires. That’s not my story … I think I’d rather get a job. Earn something for myself. Pay my own rent. It feels good to think about. It feels like—shit, I’m crying. It feels awful, but it feels clean.”

There’s a mess in that realization as well, but there’s also some clarity. No, Simon is not a superhero — nice, good! Also, he can belong with vampires and sorcerers, maybe, (Shepard is proof), but he doesn’t need to be the be-all-end-all hero/soldier of everyone around him, so there’s that realization at least.

But then it gets cut off shortly after (like, a couple of pages), so … I’m sighing big time here.

Baz gets even more heaped onto his shoulders. But I feel like for all he knows that he’s lacking significant knowledge on half of his identity, i.e. being a vampire, he knows that he doesn’t want to be either like NewBlood or like Lamb’s people. So. There’s that.

Penny gets brought low at the start and is … pretty much still there by the end, though saving Agatha is a plus one in her healing column, maybe? But everything else is just … there. It’s a shorter book — there was room to have one or two conversations? About one or two of these many issues? I’m not even saying those conversations had to go well — but at least informing the characters on a few of the problems that we, as the reader, can so clearly see? The plot was interesting, but sometimes it did feel a bit like a contrivance to keep the emotional arcs in suspension. Because they spent so many days on the road together, nights in motels, they were basically almost never apart for a significant amount of time and not once, until the end, did they try to talk out their shit in a real way.

Again, l love this book. I love so many things. I’m cool with cliff-hangers. But I feel like I needed at least partial resolution on a couple of things — a cliff-hanger after we got Simon acknowledging some parts of his issues and speaking them out loud to Baz? Or vice versa? Because they would be able to see each other’s problems more clearly — the misunderstandings might have continued, but along a different vein? Because, the thing is, acknowledging the problems is a thing, yes, but the healing from them part is the bigger, longer, more painful thing, and I feel like it’s just … so much to cover, and I would’ve liked a better grip on that healing process before the next book?

The third book may endear this second book to me further, but as of right now, it doesn’t quite stand alone for me. It feels a tad unfinished. Again, love so many moments in here, love the characters, including our new disaster friend, Shepard, but the book just feels like it cuts off far too abruptly.

But, to quote again from @apostrophe-philosophy: “I really just want a cast of characters who have actual fucking problems they can’t fix with love and friendship alone and to watch them get what they deserve by claiming it of their own accord. Not because it falls into their hands.”

I want that too, so badly. And I think we’re getting it — we definitely got a piece of that, a solid beginning of that in Wayward Son, and I am so, so hoping we get even more (way, way more) in the next book! (Books?)

Whew. And that is where I am stopping! That might be the end of my meta rope for this novel. Man, I love this book, and if anyone made it through this massive post, you’re amazing. Again, many thanks to @apostrophe-philosophy for adding onto to my previous essay with a beautiful and beautifully worded series of thoughts! *hugs* :)

[peacenik0]

In A Dark Place

By peacnik0 and @observeroftheuniverse​

xfpornbattle prompt: "Fuck or die" Mulder and Scully are forced (at gun point, or by some other coercion) to have sex with each other. Dub-con - they both want and have feelings for each other, but not under those circumstances. Bonus points if this is their first time. 

A/N: We stick pretty close to the prompt as we get into the main part of the story ( part 2 and after are definitely dubcon) So if this is not your kinda thing... you’ve been warned, lol.

tagging : @today-in-fic​, @improlificinsarcasm​, @xfpornbattle​

This part rated pg-13

---

Part 1

“Damien Skrinavich,” Scully begins, looking down at her file. Their suspect’s eyes stare back at her, making her stomach clench. “He is wanted for several kidnappings, sex crimes and physical assaults throughout rural Maryland and West Virginia.” Scully has seen all manner of depraved criminals, but Skrinavich seems to be particularly vile.

Mulder is behind the wheel of their rented Ford Taurus, attempting to tail Skrinivich’s white van without being seen. They are in the deep backwoods of rural Boonsboro, Maryland and they haven’t seen another car for miles.

“Yeah, this guy seems to get his jollies off of forcing his victims to perform lewd sex acts in front of him.” Mulder cracks a sunflower seed between his teeth.“This guy sounds like a real winner, Scully.”

“Mulder, I’m gonna call in some backup.” Scully looks down at her cell phone, and sees a “no signal” sign on the green LCD screen. She huffs in frustration. “Never mind, no chance of that; I don’t seem to have any service out here.” She reaches over to the center console and flips open Mulder’s phone. “And it appears you don’t either.”

“Well, I guess we’re shit out of luck then.”

“Maybe we should head back to where we can get signal. Skrinavich is a dangerous man, and Skinner warned us not to approach him without backup.”

“Scully, there’s no time,” Mulder glances over at her from the driver's seat. “If we lose sight of Skrinavich we might end up back to square one on this case. I don’t want to risk it. We need to stop this maniac before he’s able to a acquire more victims.”

“I suppose you’re right. But something about this guy just gives me the creeps.” Scully shivers as she looks at the file photo of Skrinavich; his eyes are dark and hollow. If Scully believed in such a thing, she would say that he appears to be possessed. “I just hope we can capture him before it gets dark out here.”

“Don’t worry, Scully. We’ve both got guns, and we’re highly trained.” Mulder looks over at Scully with a smirk. “Besides, you’re more than capable of holding your own against any kind of monster or man that we’ve ever encountered.” She looks out the window and grins a bit at Mulder’s compliment.

“Thanks. I don’t know, there’s just something about his guy, Mulder. I know it’s not entirely logical, but I have a bad feeling about this.”

“Hey, I’ve got your back, you’ve got mine.” Mulder’s voice is soft and reassuring, he reaches over and places his hand on top of hers. “I’m not going to let anything happen to you.”

“It’s not me I’m worried about. Skrinavich seems to be particularly interested in men with a certain… physical appearance.” Scully scans through the photos of their perp’s victims, all of the men looked like they could’ve stepped out of a GQ magazine. “All of the male victims are  Caucasian, and above six feet tall, with brown hair…”  Scully looks up from the file. “Mulder, these victims look like you…”

“I think you’re grasping at straws. Besides, that guy,” he points to one of the file photos- “has nothing on me.” He smirks looking pleased with himself. Scully rolls her eyes. “Weren’t the female victims also quite aesthetically pleasing?” Mulder says carefully.

“But they don’t seem to share any notable physical traits. Most of the female victims seem to be innocent bystanders; they were just caught in the wrong place at the wrong time. Taken because of their close proximity to their male counterparts. I think that the male victims are the main target for Skrinavich.” Scully pages through the file, piecing together a profile on their perp. “He gets off on having control over his victims. Maybe he’s trying to enact some sort of revenge fantasy. Perhaps a high school rival, or a man that his mother had an affair with?”

“Nice profiling work, Scully.” Mulder cracks a sunflower seed between his teeth. “If I’m not careful, VCS might try to steal you from me.”  

“Thank you,”  she looks down and picks at her fingernail. “Anyway, I just think we should be extra cautious around this guy, Mulder.”

“Okay, fine…” Mulder drifts off, and pulls the car over to the side of the road. Scully spots the suspect and ducks down to hide.

“There he is; look he’s getting out of his van and heading into the woods.”

“Let’s chase him down on foot.” He whispers to her as he gets out of the car.

She checks her weapon quickly, and follows after him quietly. Mulder jogs ahead of Scully into a dense thicket. It’s dusk now, and her vision is not so clear. They follow the suspect on foot for about a mile when all of a sudden her foot catches on something, knocking her off balance and to the ground. She feels her ankle roll to the side, followed by a shooting pain up her leg.

“Mulder!” Scully calls ahead to him. She grits her teeth against the terrific burn as she attempts to move into a sitting position.

“Scully!” His face is a mask of concern as he quickly doubles back to her. “Scully, what happened?”

“Uh, I think I sprained my ankle.” Scully sucks in a breath as she attempts to wiggle her toes. The pain is almost excruciating. Mulder reaches down to gently elevate her leg up onto his thigh. “Oh, ow,” she grimaces and clenches her jaw

“Are you sure it’s not broken? It looks like it’s already starting to swell.”

“Uh, well, I won’t know for sure until I am able to get an x-ray.”

“Okay, maybe we should head back to the car, it’s dark out and we’ve lost sight of Skrinavich anyway.” Mulder says, helping Scully up from the ground and slinging his arm around her waist. “Here, put your weight on me.” They amble forward for a bit, when Scully realizes she is missing her gun.

“Oh, Mulder, I think I must have lost my weapon when I fell.” Scully winces as she puts some weight on her injured ankle. “Do you have your flashlight?” Mulder searches his pockets, and comes up empty.

“No, I must have left it in the rental car. Dammit.” He scratches the back of his head.

They stumble blindly through the brush in search of their rental car. Scully takes a step forward and SNAP. She feels herself falling, falling. Her bad ankle comes in contact with the ground, and she yelps. Mulder hits the ground next to her with a loud thud.

“Ooof,” Mulder gasps.

“Are you okay?” Scully sucks in a sharp breath against the pain.

“I should be asking you that… “ Mulder shifts next to her. “I think I just got the wind knocked out of me, but otherwise I seem to be fine.” The space they landed in is dark and dusty. “Any idea where we are?”

“Uh, I don’t know…” Scully blinks into the darkness, trying to adjust to the lack of light. “Perhaps an abandoned mine?”

“Maybe…” Mulder breathes out, and she  hears him shuffling around in the dark. “Oh, I think my gun got dislodged from the holster when we fell.” He sighs in frustration. “Talk about a series of unfortunate events.”

“No kidding.” Her eyes have finally adjusted to the darkness.

“Let me get a look at that ankle.” Mulder rolls over and once again gingerly props her heel up on his thigh. He prods at it carefully. Scully grimaces at his ministrations. “I can’t see that well, but it definitely looks worse Scully, I think it’s probably broken now.”

“I think you’re right…” she pauses and sucks in a breath. Mulder pulls her to a sitting position. “We need to try and find a way out of here.”

“Not so fast agents…” a voice with a squirrely southern drawl comes out of the darkness from behind them. The lack of light is disorienting. Scully hears a shuffle of feet then CRACK, the unmistakable sound of of the butt of a gun striking the back of Mulder’s head.

“No!” Her desperate voice cuts through the dark. The air feels cold, ominous. Scully feels Skrinavich behind her and she freezes. “Stop!” Her throat goes dry. The last thing she remembers is blinding pain at the back of her skull.

END PART ONE

TO BE CONTINUED

Thanks to @defnotmeyo​ for her excellent help with beta, you are the best Meyo!

tagging @pickingoutchinapatterns​, @lappina​, @shyromanticfreak​, @storybycorey​, @i-gaze-at-scully​, @baronessblixen​, @monikafilefan​, @illnevermeettheground​, @scully-eats-sushi​, @msraddicted​, @iloveurscratchybeard​, @xfimnotdone​, @spookydarlablack​

[shirtlesssammy]

1x03: Dead in the Water

Then:

A Season One Aesthetic

Now:

Lake Manitoc, Wisconsin

We open to a quaint family tableau: father, daughter, and son. The daughter is a bit of a health nut and heads to the lake for a morning swim. If this brand new baby of a show hadn’t been named “Supernatural”, the under the water shots of her swimming would tip us off that something creepy is about to go down. The woman hears voices and is suddenly sucked under the water. We then are shown 2.5 hours of bubbling water. SUSPENSE.

Dean Winchester is on the case though! (Natasha: Look at these precious babies, still using printed newspapers to research cases!) Bby is a bit thirsty for a buxom server to really care about Sam’s slight bitchiness that their dad is still missing (I’ll always remember my resounding, insistent questioning about where their father was when I watched this the first time. Lol, John Winchester is coming back for episode 300, and I no longer am chomping at the bit for this. Ok, so like, yeah, I think it’ll be good --it better be cathartic for the brothers, especially Dean, who’s changed and grown so much since his father has died. Instead of writing this recap, let me write a 1000 word essay on the return of John Winchester.) Dean makes it very clear that he wants to find their dad, but until then, they’re going to hunt everything they can. 

Wildlife Agents Ford and Hamill are on the case. They interview the brother, who tells them his sister was an expert swimmer and nothing was amiss about the lake that day. Sam wants to interview the father but “he’s kind of been through a lot.”

They head to the sheriff’s office. Ha, the sheriff insists that there’s nothing in the lake big enough to pull a human under, “unless it was the Loch Ness Monster.” (We won’t learn for several seasons that the Loch Ness Monster is actually real. I wonder if the brothers know that at this point.) In the process of explaining the unexplainable, the sheriff spills that the dam is falling apart. In 6 months, there won’t be a lake --or a town for that matter.

The sheriff’s daughter and grandson pop in. Dean turns the creep factor up a bit at the daughter, Andrea, but turns on the soft father-type he really is when he sees the grandson, Lucas. Lucas doesn’t respond to Dean, and his grandfather admits he’s “been through a lot.”

Andrea walks Dean and Sam over to their motel. Dean tries engaging her in conversation, but she sees right through his weak style. “Must be hard with your sense of direction, never being able to find yourself to a decent pick up line.” BURN.

Although, Sam calling Dean out on not loving kids is rich. WE KNOW HE DOES --but Sam doesn’t at this point. (Sidenote: Dean counting with his hands and scratching the back of his head. That’s it. That’s the sidenote.)

Sam’s research reveals that whatever is haunting the lake, it’s picking up its pace. There have been disappearances over the years, but it’s becoming much worse. They discover that Lucas is the only witness to what’s happening in the lake. He was out with his father a couple months before when his father drowned. Yeah, I guess this kid has been “through a lot.” Dean’s empathy with Lucas breaks me.  

The brothers track Andrea and Lucas down at a park. Dean heads to talk with Lucas while Sam stays with Andrea. Dean’s beyond the flirting stage, and wants to get to the bottom of this case. He also has a major soft spot for a kid in pain. BRB, crying.

Dean tries engaging a mute Lucas with reminiscing about green plastic army men. BRB, crying. (GOD! There are really some things that can hit you A LOT harder on a rewatch.) Dean asks to sit and draw with Lucas. He has an artist’s eye (WHERE’S THE DEAN IS AN ARTIST FANFIC, YOU HEATHENS.)  Dean then proceeds to start drawing and, lit by nothing but soft, reflective music, talk to Lucas about his own childhood trauma. He tells Lucas that he’ll listen if Lucas wants to talk (or draw).

Dean reconnects with Sam as Andrea tells how traumatized Lucas is. Lucas walks up and hands Dean a picture of a house.

That night, the father of the victim sits morosely in the dark, his son insisting he eat something (Sidenote: I love how the budget was so tight in early seasons of Supernatural that they couldn’t afford lighting.) While the son preps dinner, the sink water turns black and starts bubbling up from the drain.

Ok, Asshole, we’ve all seen It. Do you want to float too? Ugh. Apparently so, because bro sticks his hand in and gets sucked under. The water eventually drains away to reveal his dead face.

Upon learning about the latest lake victim, Sam and Dean quickly put it together that whatever is haunting the lake is in a race against time. It can reach out beyond the lake, and it will take what it can, while it can. The brothers go to visit the victim’s father, Bill Carlton. He’s in a deep state of grief, and in no place to talk. Dean thinks he’s also hiding something. He also notices that the drawing of a house Lucas gave him matches the Carlton home.

They go to talk with Lucas. Dean asks Lucas about his drawing, and feels that Lucas is scared. (Dean admitting he leads his life the way he feels others want him to. BRB, crying.) Lucas gives Dean another picture of a boy and a bike.

For Pained Boy Noir Science:

In the car, Sam spins out theories that Lucas is experiencing trauma-induced psychic visions. (I wonder if they'd planned Sam's psychic arc at this point?) (Later edit: They DID! Excellent!) Sam also tries to address Dean's revelation about seeing their mom die, which Dean shrugs off with his signature macho deflection. Damn it, Dean.

They find the church and the yellow house that match up to the drawing Lucas gave Dean and head in to investigate. An elderly woman lives there who tells them about the disappearance of her son 35 years ago. “Losing him – it's worse than dying.” Dean finds an old photo of the missing boy and Bill – the father from the cold open.

Cut to Bill sitting on the end of the dock addressing the water, saying that he finally understands what it wants. Losing his children is “worse than dying.” When Dean and Sam arrive, he's already piloting a boat out into the water. His boat gets thrown into the air and...game over.

Back at the Sheriff's, Lucas is freaking out. He grabs Dean, distressed, but can still say nothing. Dean looks after him as he leaves, equally distressed.

For OH NO, DEAN BEAN Science:

Later, the Sheriff interrogates Dean and Sam, telling them that he knows they're not Fish and Wildlife Service. Uh, yeah, no kidding! They start to leave town but Dean changes his mind and heads back. Sam's surprised.

Dean: I just don't want to leave this town until I know the kid's okay.

Sam: Who are you? And what have you done with my brother?

Dean: Shut up.

Natasha: What Dean said.

Meanwhile, Andrea is preparing an extremely full bath. She relaxes into it as brackish water begins pouring in through the tap. Suddenly something grabs her and tries to pull her down into the bathtub. Dean and Sam arrive during the attack and Lucas opens the door for them and leads them to the bathroom.

Dean kicks down the door (Mmmmhmmmm) while Sam drags Andrea from the bath, fighting the spirit’s fierce hold. They save her! Yay! But that nice wood floor is ruined, man.

(Sidenote: I love how this episode was filmed. There are so many interesting shots through windows and mirrors, as though these are reflections or looking through the surface of water. Well done, show!)

The next morning Sam gently interrogates Andrea while Dean researches through old family albums. He finds a picture of the Sheriff – Jake - as a young boy, in a Boy Scout troop photo with Bill and the missing boy, Peter. A clue! 

Lucas interrupts them by staring intently outside, and he leads them to a patch of moss. Sam and Dean dig, only to find Peter’s red bicycle buried in the ground.

Jack interrupts the Winchesters and pulls a gun on them, asking them how they knew the bicycle was there. Ooof. How did YOU know it was there, buddy? “You can't bury the truth,” Sam tells him. Dean tells Jack that the kid they killed is haunting the lake and plans to kill Andrea and Lucas AND Jack. They need to burn and salt the remains. Andrea runs out to talk to her dad and asks him for the truth. She reminds him that her husband died and tells him she was recently attacked. Jack begins to break down. He tells her that he and Bill bullied Peter. They held his head underwater too long and he drowned. The body sank into the lake.

They're making plans to leave the lake when they notice Lucas leaning over the end of the dock.

They race to pull him away, but it's too late. A gray arm reaches out of the water and drags Lucas in. 

While Sam and Dean dive into the water to search for him, Jack wades into the lake pleading with Peter's ghost to take him instead. Andrea watches it all from the dock and HELLO, TRAUMA.

Jack gets pulled down into the suddenly crazy deep lake. Meanwhile Sam emerges from the water and shakes his head sadly. NOOOOO.

Suddenly Dean bursts up out of the water with Lucas in his arms! Lucas is limp :( :( :(

The next day, Sam and Dean get ready to leave town. “We're not gonna save everybody,” Sam tells a sad Dean. NOOOOOOO. Just then, Andrea calls to them and she and Lucas approach! Oh, show, good job tricking me. They've brought them lunch! Lucas is speaking again! Andrea is super cute!

Andrea and Sam wrap up the case. Andrea’s seeking some closure and peace with the loss of her father. Dean and Lucas share a different farewell. Dean teaches Lucas to say, “Zepp rules!” Oh, Dean. I’d say never change, but I enjoy the journey.

Dean gets a kiss from Andrea. Dean's adorable about it and SOFT. Then Dean Bean ushers Sam back to the car. Time to hit the road! On Netflix, we get played out with some random pop song but on the originally released show Bad Company's "Movin' On" starts to play and they head out to the next hunt.

Natasha: This episode holds a special place in my heart because it's the moment when my eyes were open to Dean Winchester in all his traumatized, dutiful, and soft glory. I loved the little glimpses we get into the loss of Mary and the effect that had on Dean. This episode reads like a thesis statement on macho Dean and his underlying softer layers – from his empathy with Lucas to his use of Ford and Hamill surnames for their cover. (Boris: HARD AGREE)’

Still Searching for the Quote-Ness Monster:

We will find Dad, but until then, we're gonna kill everything bad between here and there. Okay?

I’m Agent Ford, this is Agent Hamill. We’re with the U.S. Wildlife Service.

Kids are the best, huh?

Must be hard, with your sense of direction, never being able to find your way to a decent pickup line.

Watching one of your parents die isn’t something you just get over.

Kids are strong. You'd be surprised what they can deal with.

My mom—I know she wanted me to be brave. I think about that every day. And I do my best to be brave.

Zeppelin rules!

Want to read more? Check out our Recap Archive!

[chocobobutt]

MOTE IT BE

READ ON AO3 

Cloud is a witch who just opened a potions shop (magic is common) and on his weekly trip to pick herbs he meets a hunter of magical creatures hurt in the woods, healing him was easy but both soon learn cloud might have used the wrong type of healing spell.

Thank you @thequalityrunaway for being my beta <3

Star of love, burn so bright Aid me in my spell tonight Unite my true love to me As I will it, so mote it be

Crunches of partially dry autumn leaves scattered across the ground became a cacophony of noise against the quiet forest. A distant humming began as the lone traveler in the woods went around looking by tree stumps and under bushels of leaves for herbs. Owning a potions shop was a common profession for most witches in this day, but this witch wanted the freshest ingredients for his shop, and those were found only in the forests. It was often the blonde witch would go out in the early mornings when dew or frost still littered the ground. Today was no different as once again the blonde witch had on his black boots that definitely didn’t seem witchy at all. Due to the Autumn weather he kept an over-sized hoodie on as well, black as the rest of his clothing. The only article of clothing on him with even a little color was his woven basket with its light blue lining to keep all the herbs he collected safe.

The sky above was still in the early dawn stages; yellows and oranges just peeking over the hills to clash with the deep midnight blues of the night. It was a time when most magical creatures were preparing to sleep after another night of mischief, and thus one of the safer times to be alone in the woods for most. This night had been particularly cruel to one human, a hunter of creatures. Many hunters found well-paying jobs in small towns and cities protecting the inhabitants from all ill-willed creatures. There were wicked fairies and good ones, trolls who traded and trolls who kidnapped. All magical creatures had temperaments of their own and while some worked well with humans, others aimed to hurt. Thus came the hunters. It was never an easy job but there had been schools for those who showed promise. There was never the guarantee of coming back alive and this particular hunter had scars to show, a rather large one across his face.

The witch was on his way back, heading to a patch of mushrooms he frequented when a boot that definitely wasn’t supposed to be there had him tripping and falling into a very soft and mildly cold body. “Ooof!” The witch called as he quickly tried to get up and recover any fallen herbs. The moment his blue eyes narrowed in on who and what he had fallen on, he quickly checked for a pulse and found a faint one. “Crap, crap, crap!” Forgetting the basket and herbs for the more dire task at hand, the witch looked for any wounds. He tried to pull at any parts of the others clothes without ripping to tell if there was any blood. When the stranger was deemed clean, the witch took out his little travel spell book from his pocket and quickly flipped to whatever healing spell he could find. His eyes darted from page to page as he tried to read them as quickly as the pages flipped, landing on an older blurred spell. “Healing L Spell? Light spell maybe? Fuck I don’t know this one well...” A shiver from the stranger below him had him throwing whatever caution he had to the wind as he read the spell over and quickly drew a protection circle by the top of the other’s darker hair.

“Healing thoughts sent in flight, bring the brightest of blessings this very night. Send this healing white light from above, surround my friend now in healing love.”

As the words left his lips, the stranger glowed a pale, almost pink, tone for a moment before icy eyes opens and he started to cough. It wasn’t until the witch looked down and noticed that he was still sitting on the stranger and the cause of his now coughing state that the got off and sat to the side of him. “Are you alright? What happened? You were nearly dead!”

The stranger coughed once more, clearly trying to gather his surroundings when his eyes focused on the witch. He heard him talking and clearly freaking out a little most likely from him suddenly waking but regardless of how much he wanted to just tell him to shut up and explain things, his body just reacted on its own and he pulled the witch in for a kiss.

Almost as quick as their lips met, did the witch punch the stranger in the face. “I’m so sorry but what the hell? I know I saved you but you don’t just go kissing people!”

The punch had hit harder then the stranger thought such a small witch could throw and he’d be damned if he didn’t have a bruise for awhile now. Explaining the bruise was going to be annoying when he got home but the more pressing matter was why he had just kissed a stranger. He had never even wanted to kiss another before. “.....” Afraid of his own body now, the stranger tried after a deep breath to say anything but was cut off from the other.

“Just...let’s get you out of here alright? I’m Cloud, what’s your name?”

“....” For a moment the stranger didn’t answer. It wasn’t until his icy eyes looked away from Cloud’s that he would reply. “...Squall.”

“Huh, I guess the weatherman did forecast it being rather Cloud-y with a chance of Squalls today.” The blonde joked, cracking a slightly sheepish smile.

The puns were just so bad that Squall had to look back at the other and with a gloved hand over his mouth he chuckled and tried to ignore the prickling feeling coming from his heart at that joke.

“I don’t live too far away. If you can walk I’ll lead you there. I have some potions I can maybe use to heal you up better.” With that, Cloud stood up and brushed his black clothing free of any dirt before extending his hand to the other.

Squall was hesitant to take it still but this Cloud really did seem like he wanted to help.

“...Thank you…” He managed to say as he stood, ignoring the hand for now. Once standing it seemed the world went upside down as his head spiraled and he had to grasp onto Cloud to keep himself upright.

“Whoa! Okay hold on don’t fall. I think you got up too fast, man you must have really been out long.” His arms wrapped around Squall to help him stand, making sure most of the weight was put onto him and it seemed to help. “Better?”

“Mhm…” The moment Cloud touched him to help him stand, Squall lost himself again. He wasn’t as dizzy anymore and with Cloud this close to him he could smell him. He smelled sweet, spicy, with undertones of incense and a bit of mint. It was familiar and inviting yet foreign at the same time, the scent of magic. He liked it and leaned into Cloud a bit more, resting his head on the shorter man’s shoulder.

Cloud was no mind reader; that was Aerith’s forte, but he knew something wasn’t right with his new travelling companion. Not knowing the other well enough, he wasn’t sure how much was normal and how much wasn’t. For all Cloud knew the man was normally very touchy with others, but something was telling him that wasn’t the case. They needed to get back home so he could research exactly what he had done to the other. “...Right...well let’s head back.”

The travel back had been going well until Cloud had almost tripped over a leaf covered root. It was after that minor inconvenience that Squall had turned the tables and carried Cloud instead. When Cloud had asked why the only response he received was a strained, ‘I don’t know.’ Both men were clearly uncomfortable after that but Cloud didn’t stop him, he had a feeling he couldn’t even if he tried and now was pretty sure what kind of spell he had used on Squall.

“Well here we are….you can put me down now Squall.” The house they came up to was on the farther end of the town, small on the outside with it’s old stone exterior covered in moss. When Squall put him down Cloud quickly went to his wooden door and unlocked it, entering the home as lights flickered on. The inside was bigger than the outside perceived and more modern as well. The outside was a typical witches dwelling but the inside was decorated in a modern fashion in grey and black tones with only some hints of colors here and there. Cloud quickly went from the entrance which had his small living and dining room/kitchen and to a back room with an oddly ornate door. He was only away a few moments, enough time for Squall to look around at the place. He kind of enjoyed the minimalist approach himself though a tad but more of color would have made this place more homey. He thought witches enjoyed rustic over modern anyway.

“Found it!” Cloud announced, walking back into the front area with a large old tome in his hand. “As I suspected….you um...well you are healed but…” There was hesitation in his voice and those cyan blue eyes looked into icy blues.

Squall could tell Cloud was nervous to say and that only made him sigh“...It’s a love spell isn’t it?” When he saw Cloud nod his head he moved closer and hugged him tight. “It’s okay...I can’t be mad at you.” While his voice sounded sweet and genuinely smitten, his words weren’t. “I physically can’t be.”

Cloud cleared his throat and pushed Squall away, unused to any kind of physical touch with anyone let alone a stranger. “It shouldn’t last too long. I might make it worse if I try to counter it so waiting for it to wear off might be best. I...I have an extra bed if you want to wait it out here and I’ll do my own thing so there isn’t anything weird happening.”

“Fine.” Short answers were going to be Squall’s new best friend until the spell wore off. He didn’t trust himself to say anything overly affectionate since every time he looked at Cloud’s face he was sure his own was red. The blonde was incredibly cute with his big blue eyes that held such emotion in them while the rest of his expression was stoic, and his slightly rounded face was even the more cute with that light dusting of freckles on him. Squall wondered for a brief moment if there were freckles ALL over Cloud but he quickly shook his head at that thought, the spell was really affecting him it seemed. “Can I rest?”

“Rest? Oh, ugh, yeah, go right ahead. I’m not the best cook but I’ll leave out some food for you if you want it later.” The guest room Cloud took him too seemed misplaced in this home, it was so rustic with its wood floors and chocobo print wallpaper that Squall thought he was imagining it. The room was small with just a twin sized bed, end table and chest of holding for any clothes the guest would bring. “Sweet dreams then?”

‘This is so tacky…’ “Thanks sweetie.” Squall blurted out, completely the opposite of what he had planned to say and silence surrounded the two men for a moment. Cloud was clearly uncomfortable and so was Squall so he just went inside and closed the door to separate them. Cloud’s magical scent wasn’t too strong in this room so once the door was closed he felt more like himself and went to bed, hoping to maybe wake up to the spell over so he could go home.

Squall was not so lucky.

The spell didn’t break when he woke up from a nap, nor did it break the next day, or the day after that. It seemed to get worse as time went on in fact, causing Squall to say sweet nothings at Cloud and to grab and hold him any chance he could. Cloud was incredibly wary of it at first, he’d never really been a people person unless he had to make some sales nor was he experienced in ever having a relationship. The gentle touches weren’t welcomed, at least until Squall started taking over cooking. The sweet words and touches were easy enough to write off as Squall being cursed, but the other making such delicious meals wasn’t. Cloud wasn’t the best cook; he knew that, but Squall was in a league of his own. He started looking forward to waking up early just so he could have fresh bacon, not cold like he had the day before due to his lazy ass not wanting to wake up. It was different to have someone else constantly in his life. Cloud had never felt he was lonely before, but the more time he spent with Squall the more he started to get used to having a roommate, a friend.

Squall had to admit that staying at Cloud’s until the spell wore off wasn’t the worst thing ever. The blonde didn’t bother him with unnecessary things and gave him space which was appreciated. The spell did have him following Cloud most of the time around the home and despite the one guest room, the only other room that was odd was Cloud’s workshop. It was behind that rather ornate door he had seen his first day there and when he entered … the place was an absolute disaster. Books were piled high on top of each other in mounds in the corners as herbs of all kinds hung around to be dried. The smell of so many spices and herbs was assaulting on his nose at first, but he grew used to it. He had wanted to organize the room but when Cloud worked it didn’t seem as chaotic anymore. The blonde went almost in a trance like state, easily moving through the mess to get whatever he needed. It was almost like a dance the way he’d make his spells and the more times Squall watched, the less he was sure if it was the spell or his own volition that made him follow Cloud every day into the workroom to watch.

The curse did eventually break. Cloud woke up before Squall, a good six week after the initial curse. He had been worried and for a moment thought Squall was cured and left in the dead of the night. When he went to check his room he saw the other was still there and sleeping. He’d looked so peaceful there, brunette locks framing his face like a mane. “Cute…” Cloud had never really had others around him, his mother was a witch and had taught him everything he knew, but she died a few years back. There were some in his life who visited in passing like Aerith, Tifa and Zack but they all had busy lives away. Squall was the first person Cloud had really allowed into his home, even if it was only because of a curse. In this moment however, Cloud was hoping the curse wouldn’t end. The longer he stayed around Squall and opened himself up, the more he wanted him to stay. At first the thought was scary but now looking at him like this, all Cloud wanted to do was keep him with him. Somehow he was falling in love with Squall.

“Morning…” Squall’s voice broke Cloud’s thoughts and he quickly got up and off the bed. “Did you need something, Cloud?” The brunette looked at him confused, it wasn’t that he didn’t mind seeing Cloud first thing in the morning but today something seemed off. He felt that now familiar pitter patter of his heart just by looking at Cloud but his body wasn’t reacting to it. He wasn’t throwing himself over the other like the past days. Realization hit him hard and he quickly got out of bed and went to Cloud, grabbing his arm. He did nothing more but hold him, no pulling in for a hug or trying to kiss him. “Cloud...I think...I think the curse is off!”

Cloud’s face paled at those words. He didn’t want to accept it, he didn’t want to lie either. The moment Squall had called him ‘Cloud’ and not babe, honey, sweetie, honey bun or any other term of endearment Cloud knew the curse was lifted. ‘Y-yea...it looks like it is.”

“I can finally leave and go home now!” Squall was already getting dressed in the room, putting on the hunter’s gear that Cloud had since mended and enchanted. “Not that there is much to go home to but I’m sure they missed me.” In the middle of lacing his boots up Squall paused, looking over at Cloud and saw nothing but sadness from the other. “I..mean..not that this wasn’t kinda nice. Thank you for taking care of me Cloud.”

“It was nothing, really.” It was hard to breathe, hard to even look at Squall. That loving look he got used to seeing was gone. They weren’t lovers, they were just acquaintances now. “I..um…” He couldn’t think of anything to say, he felt like the room was spinning. “I’ll make you a lunch to take with you.” Before Squall could even protest, Cloud darted out of the room.

“Cloud…” Yes Squall was very happy he wasn’t cursed anymore but seeing Cloud like that wasn’t what he wanted either. Curse or not he still seemed to like the other man and truthfully he didn’t want to leave, but he didn’t want to overstay his welcome either. He had friends and a sort of family back home, but he was a loner. It wasn’t the first time he’d been away for days on end and doubted anyone thought him missing at all. At least from Cloud’s reaction, it seemed someone would miss him. He just hoped he wasn’t misinterpreting it. Gathering the remainder of his things, he went to the front room where Cloud was still putting a lunch together for him. For once he felt the urge to hug him, not because of a curse but because he genuinely wanted to … but he held back.

“Thanks for everything again…”

“Oh it’s no problem at all.” Cloud was faking a smile as he quickly turned to Squall and then back to the sandwich he was preparing. “Annnnd done!” He turned and quickly shoved the bag into Squall’s arms before holding his hand out. “It was a pleasure meeting you Squall.”

“I..um..yeah….”Squall wasn’t so sure on Cloud missing him now. He shifted the weight of the bag in his arms as he took Cloud’s hand and shook. Icy blues met cyan and Squall couldn’t seem to let go of him. His own smile faltered and still holding onto Cloud’s hand he looked at the door and then back to Cloud. “I...um...on second thought I’m not sure I can leave yet.”

“W-what? Did you forget something?” Cloud couldn’t deny how his heart jumped at the thought of Squall staying, but he had said he couldn’t leave yet, not that he wouldn’t.

“I…” Squall sighed, letting go of him. ‘Why is this so hard? Just say you want to stay with him.’ His grip on the bag tightened and the longer he stayed in Cloud’s home the more he felt he needed air. He couldn’t seem to say the words he wanted to most, was it maybe a side effect of the spell?

Either way he bolted to the door and went as far as the small fence around Cloud’s home, leaning on it for a bit. He heard Cloud follow behind him, calling for him and when he turned Cloud was right there and worried. “I don’t want to leave.” He finally blurted.

It took a moment but Cloud finally replied, taking the lunch from him and hugging him tight. “I don’t want you to leave either.”

Squall hugged him back just as tightly and smiled. “Just one condition, no more magic on me okay?”

Cloud smiled, pulling away from that warm embrace for a moment to gaze at him. “Deal”

[thereluctantinquisitor]

Omg all those prompts are so good 0_0 *wheezes* Okay, snowball fight in Skyhold's courtyard (include as many chars as you want) combined with either “we were playing in the snow and you suddenly tackled me to the ground and now…we’re just…staring… at each other…” or "PULLING YOU IN FOR A KISS WITH A SCARF", with Maraazim maybe?? >3> Hope you get your muse back soon

Well, here it is! Apologies if this is riddled with mistakes; it is 1am and I do not have any energy left to edit u_u

~2500 words. Featuring Hanin Lavellan, The Dawn Squad, Jarvaazim (@taerellavellan’s OC) and Maraas Adaar. Most under the cut

It was a rare thing, for the soldiers of the Inquisition tofind a few moments to just relax. Unwind. Breathe.The snow fell softly from a marble sky, decorating hats and the shouldersof coats, dusting its way across every signpost and steeple. There wassomething picturesque about winter. It froze the world in more ways than one;gave people longer to enjoy it.

So, as one might imagine, the sound of cursing and delightedsquealing came as something of a shock to Hanin.

Grumbling, he snapped his quill down against the table, hisreport barely a third finished and already overdue by more days than he caredto count. He had tried ignoring it, and it had worked for a time, but now thenoise had swelled to the point of inexcusable. And right outside his window. So, tugging on his coat and marching downthe stairs from his quarters, Hanin mulled darkly over what he would say.Terse, strict, and scathing. Their lack of duty did not give them leave todisrupt the work of others. He would set them to cleaning out the stables if hehad to, just to get a moment’s peace. He would—

Hanin threw open the door, teeth clenched, jaw stiff withirritation… then blinked in surprise as a blonde blur rocketed past him,laughing brightly until he copped a ball of snow to the face. He stumbled andfell with a fwump into the snow… thenwas up again almost immediately, grinning broadly, cheeks flushed, nose red,remnants of powdery snow falling from his freckled face as he began franticallypreparing his counter-attack.

“Ha! Got you!” Ralon whooped, white teeth flashing againstdark skin, another snowball already in hand. He tossed it up lazily, catchingit again and losing almost half the snow in the process of showing off. “Who’snext, huh? Who dares to challenge me, Ralon, King of the—OOOF!”

Lyrene appeared almost out of nowhere, sniping Ralon with asnowball to the back of the head, knocking the man forward indignantly. Helanded in the snow face-first, his rear in the air, arms sprawled out in frontof him as the archer let out a thrilled laugh, skipping from where she had concealedherself behind a snow-covered fence. “Less talking, more throwing, your Majesty,” she jeered playfully as Ralon extractedhimself from the snow. But the Antivan did not rise, instead succumbing to afit of laughter, flopping onto his back and covering his face with one glovedhand in mock-shame.

Darren, who had been running around dodging snowballs tossedby some of the other off-duty soldiers, came to a breathless halt when henoticed Hanin standing in the doorway. His face immediately coloured and,puffing, he tucked his hand behind his back, snowball melting into his glove. “S-Sir!I, ah… we were just… um…”

“Come to piss on the parade, sir?” Cyrus asked. He waslounging against the wall of one of the buildings, a pile of pre-rolled snowballsbeside him, clearly content to just peg them at anyone foolish enough toventure too close. Connors sat beside him, dutifully rolling snowball aftersnowball, seemingly content with the task. The dark haired man cocked his head,smirking. “Huh. I figured your allergies would be playing up, what with peoplehaving fun so close-by.”

“I was working,” Hanin replied, still a little caughtoff-guard by the scale of the conflict taking place in the courtyard. Were those… forts on the far side? “Writingreports.”

“Oh…” Darren dropped his snowball and dusted off his gloveanxiously. “You were? Are we being too loud? Maker, I said we shouldn’t do this here…”

“C’mon, it’s the only place with enough room for us all,”Lyrene countered with a pout, wandering over to Darren and slinging her armaround the boy’s shoulders. “Stop acting like you killed somebody, yeah? We’lljust keep it down a bit.” She turned her attention towards Hanin. “That alrightby you, sir?”

Hanin thought on it for a moment… but Darren’s hopeful gaze,peeking out from beneath snow-tousled hair, was enough to break even thestrongest of wills. So, despite his earlier convictions, Hanin just grunted,leaning against the doorframe. Folding his arms, he regarded the group. “Verywell, then.” Darren let out a gasp of delight, Lyrene grinning and laughing aswell, but Hanin raised his hand to silence them. “On one condition.”

“Knew it was too good to be true,” Ralon noted with a sigh,having composed himself and moved to stand with Lyrene and Darren. “What’s itgonna be? Silence? No running?”

Hanin’s gaze flicked between the three members of his squad,then over to Cyrus and Connors, then over to the distant forts on the otherside of the courtyard. “Whose forts are those?”

Ralon frowned, and all of the Dawn Squad turned to regardthe two forts. “Riegler’s squad’s on the right, I think,” he said after amoment. “Yeah… that looks like Sanson and Naria.” Murmurs of agreement rose fromthe others. “The one on the left is Maraas’ and Jarvaazim’s.” Ralon snorted. “Ain’tno one getting into that fort.” Then,slowly, the group turned back to look at Hanin.. “Uh… what about them, sir?”

Confused, they all gazed at Hanin. The warrior, so bitterbefore, so angry, let the momentstretch for a time… then a smirk tugged up the corner of his lips.

“You have half an hour to take one of them.”

“Shit, those kids really don’t let up, do they?” Maraas letout a booming roar, hefting a large snowball in one hand, then leaped up,hurled it over the wall of the fort and sending it crashing into Darren, whowas quite literally knocked flat by the impact. His squadmates immediatelyrushed to cover him, pelting Maraas with counter-snowballs, and the largeVashoth ducked back down again, tossing his head back and laughing. Unrestrained.Fun. This was surprisingly fun. Heglanced across at his teammate, and snorted in amusement. “You wanna share someof those, partner?”

Jarvaazim, who had a veritable mountain of snowballs by his side, cocked a brow at Maraas, handsalready working another clutch of loose power into a tight sphere. “Sure. When you stop wastin’ all ourartillery.” He flashed a wicked grin. “Rate you’re goin’, we’ll be out in halfa minute, easy.”

Again, Maraas just succumbed to laughter, shifting to movecloser to Jarvaazim. “Aw, c’mon. Don’t you want to see me floor some of Hanin’sducklings? It’s pretty fun once y—OOF!”

Sadly, sometimes being a Qunari was a distinct tacticaldisadvantage, and Maraas failed to keep his head low enough, copping a directhit, then another in rapid succession, thrown by Lyrene and Darren. However, seeing thedelight on the kid’s face at having actually hit him, Maraas made a big show of falling over, vanishing behindthe wall and groaning loudly, as if dazed. There, lying in the snow, he grinnedas he heard Darren’s delighted laughter and the sound of high-fiving drift overthe fort’s wall. “Reckon Hanin’ll have them cleaning out the stables later forslacking off?” Maraas asked Jarvaazim amiably, tilting his head towards his snow-sculpting teammate. Thepirate hummed, an amused smirk flickering across his lips. Maraas watched the expression appreciatively. Good lips, those...

“Sure. If they lose.” Jarvaazim hefted a perfect snowball in his hand, inspecting it for a moment as thoughit were a work of art, then launched to his feet. “Avast! I may be a man down,but ye’ll never take this fort!” He hurled his snowball, then another, catchingRalon and Cyrus this time. Then, Jarvaazim grinned, snagging a third snowballand aiming it at the pile Connors was building. It smashed into it, scatteringthe carefully moulded snow, earning shouts of dismay from the Dawn Squad astheir supply was ransacked. Triumphant and satisfied, Jarvaazim crouched backdown behind the wall, then tossed a wink to the still-prone Maraas. “Got ‘emgood that time. See? It’s all about tactics.”

“Yeah, yeah, tactics. Huh….”Maraas let out a sigh, his gaze slipping away for a moment to watch the clouds.Then it flicked back, a frown playing across his face. “You’ve uh… got a littlesomething. On your nose.”

Jarvaazim blinked, surprised by the sudden announcement, andreached up, brushing his fingers over his face. “What? Where? Did I get it?”

“Nah, still there.”

Frustrated, Jarvaazim swiped again, then turned towardsMaraas. “Now?”

“Nope. Missed it again.” When Jarvaazim groaned and cursed,Maraas just grinned, gesturing. “C’mere. I’ll get it, you big baby.”

“Ay, says the one who wanted to come play pretend with thekids,” Jarvaazim shot back, although both Vashoth’s tones remained playful. He shuffledover, proving wiser than Maraas and keeping lower than the wall. “All right. Goon, then. Go get i—mmph!”

Without further ado, Maraas reached up, snagged the scarfbundled around Jarvaazim’s neck, and tugged the pirate down for a kiss,catching his lips with his own, smiling as he pressed himself hard against theother man. Jarvaazim pulled back on instinct at first, then let out a grunt ofamusement, leaning into the moment once he realised what was going on. Afterall, he was down there now. Might as well make it worth the trip.

“You’re such a shit,” he informed Maraas once they brokeapart, air steaming between them as their breath mingled with the cold. Themercenary just laughed, a deep, wholesome sound, hand still tangled inJarvaazim’s scarf.

“Maybe,” he agreed after a moment, grinning, “but it keepsthings interesting. Where’s the fun in playing by the rules, right?”

Jarvaazim considered Maraas for a moment, then succumbed tohis trademark smirk. Shit, Maraas really likedthat smirk. “Sounds like one of my lines,” he mused. “Don’t tell me youactually started listenin’ when Ispeak.”

“Hm? You say something?”

Jarvaazim rolled his eyes and let Maraas tug him down foranother kiss. They hummed against one another’s lips, content despite the coldand despite the water slowly seeping through Maraas’ coat from lying in oneplace for so long. It was an easy thing to ignore, with such a good distraction…

Distraction….

Frowning, Maraas pulled out of the kiss, placing a stillinghand on Jarvaazim’s chest. “Hey… is it real quiet, or—”

Suddenly, the Dawn Squad came careening over the wall,whooping and roaring battle cries, snow trailing behind their coats and boots inan explosion of white as they breached the forts defences and surrounded thepair of Vashoth. “Surrender!” Lyrene declared as they all aimed snowballs atthem. “Or we’ll be forced to… wait…”

Maraas watched in amusement as realisation dawned on each oftheir determined faces, exhilaration turning to confusion turning to understanding.“UGH!” Lyrene abandoned her snowball, vaulting back over the fort wall withreckless abandon, crying, “Nope! Not worth it!” Connors followed, albeitsilently, until only Cyrus, Ralon, and Darren remained. The three young menstared down at the Qunari, who stared back, utterly unperturbed by the untimelyinvasion.

“Well shit, don’t let us stop you or anything,” Cyrus saidwith a smirk, folding his arms. “Was a lot of work getting this far – might as well get a showfor it.”

“Hm, gotta agree,” added Ralon, nodding sagely. “But eitherway…” He flashed a grin. “We win.”

“We did?” Darren asked, seemingly shocked by the prospect.He was also the only one who remained steadfastly in the confusion stage of the realisation process. But his expressionbrightened nonetheless, and he clutched his snowball close, as though it were aprize. “We won!”

Jarvaazim opened his mouth to argue, but Maraas tugged himdown again, chuckling, keeping his voice low. “Ah, c’mon… let the kid have it.”He released Jarvaazim and sat up, brushing the snow off his coat and raisinghis hands. “All right, all right! You win – we surrender,” he declared loudly,then let out a melodramatic sigh. “Alas. It was a hard battle, but it seems FortHorny has fallen.”

“Oh now that’sdisgusting,” Cyrus declared, wrinkling his nose. “Really?”

“First order of business: renaming Fort Horny,” Ralon announced with a snort of laughter. Darren justblinked, blue eyes flicking between his squadmates and the pair of Vashoth.

“I don’t get it. What’s wrong? It makes sense.” He gesturedwith his melty snowball to Maraas and Jarvaazim. “They both have horns.”

Laughing, Maraas hauled himself to his feet then reachedout, ruffling Darren’s messy blond hair, earning a squeak from the boy. “That’sright. We sure do. Keep up the good work, kid.”

Darren pouted, sensing there was something he was missing,and Jarvaazim stepped forward, draping an arm around Maraas’ shoulders. “Cyrus’llexplain it to ye after, lad,” he declared, then winked at the man in question,whose expression had gone from amused to horrified in a matter of seconds.

“Like hell I will! Ralon, you do it.”

“Whoa, hey, you heard the big guy – it’s your job!”

“This isn’t fair! Can someone please just tell me what I’mmissing? What’s wrong with the name?”

Laughing, Maraas and Jarvaazim exited their fort to the sound of the trio bickering, acceptingdefeat with a surprising amount of grace. “Can’t believe we lost to that lot,”Jarvaazim grumbled as they wandered off towards the tavern, thoughts of thewaiting fire all too alluring. Maraas just hummed, nodding, content with hisarm wrapped around the pirate’s waist.

“Ah, they fought well,” he said. Then, he started to chuckle.Jarvaazim cocked his head, bemused as he regarded Maraas.

“What?” He frowned, then added accusingly. “What did you do?”

“You know that mound of snow at the centre of the fort?”

“Aye. The one you told me not t’ touch.”

Maraas glanced across, eyes glinting, and grinned a wickedgrin. “Let’s just say… I cleaned out thestables earlier.” He gave Jarvaazim a knowing look, then burst intolaughter when he saw the telltale look of horror sweep over the pirate’s face.

“Oh now that’sdisgusting,” he declared, then snorted despite himself. “Well… they’re in for anasty surprise when they go digging around in it.”

Chuckling to himself, Maraas reached out, shoving open thedoor to the tavern as they arrived.

“And that, my handsome sea-loving friend, is why you never underestimate your enemy.”