#or should i go home and be surrounded by grieving family which is. a whole other process i dont know if i want to deal with

[stuck-in-the-ghost-zone]

uh oh! worlds stupidest little guy used the wrong lotion and now everything smells like my childhood bathroom and the year is 2016 and its february which means its almost valentines day which is perhaps the most accursed date on the calendar and the year is 2016 and your least favorite little guy is in full blown survival panic mode!

[bradshawsbaby]

No Words

Pairing: Bob Floyd x Wife!Reader

Word Count: 5.8k

Warnings: MAJOR ANGST. Miscarriage in the second trimester, intense grief, marital struggles, brief reference to a D&E procedure, mentions of blood, a hopeful ending.

Author’s Note: This was not an easy story for me to write, but it was one I really wanted to tell. Though I have not personally experienced a miscarriage, it’s something that has deeply affected my family, and an experience that many women I know, love, and care about have been impacted by. I don’t think it’s talked about nearly as much as it should be, which is what leads so many people to grieve and suffer in silence. This story is a tribute to the experiences that many people I know have gone through. Please know that if you or someone you know has experienced a miscarriage, you are allowed to grieve and mourn in the ways that you need to. My heart is truly with you.

This story was written for @cherrycola27​’s #top gun taylors version challenge. It was inspired by the song Bigger Than the Whole Sky, particularly these lyrics:

Goodbye, goodbye, goodbye You were bigger than the whole sky You were more than just a short time And I've got a lot to pine about I've got a lot to live without I'm never gonna meet What could've been, would've been What should've been you

There were no words.

As the days faded into weeks, and the weeks melted into months, you tried and failed more times than you could count to find the words to make those around you understand the devastation and grief that you were grappling with.

But there were no words.

How could there be?

How could there be words sufficient enough to explain the way you cried yourself to sleep every night, salty tears soaking your pillow until your body finally took pity on you and allowed you to fall into a restless, miserable slumber? 

What could you say to make people understand that the throbbing ache in your body, the pain that still robbed you of breath when you were least expecting it, was surpassed only by the unbearable agony in your heart? 

How could mere words convey the thousands of ways your world had fallen apart, the way your dreams had shattered, the way your soul would never be whole again?

They couldn’t. They wouldn’t.

And so you had stopped trying.

You had stopped responding to texts from friends. You no longer picked up the phone when your family called. You had groceries delivered to the house.

The kitchen counters, which had once been covered with home-cooked meals and baking supplies, were now littered with restaurant menus and take-out containers.

On the days when you did manage to drag yourself out of bed, you usually made it only as far as the couch, where you’d curl up under your favorite blanket and stare blankly at the walls surrounding you, walls that had been home for well over a year, but which now felt as foreign as the mysterious, far-flung kingdoms you’d read about in the fairytales you’d loved so much when you were a little girl.

But you were no longer a little girl. And this wasn’t a fairytale.

He was worried about you. You knew he was.

You could see it in his blue eyes every time he looked at you, his gaze brimming with the tenderness and deep love that had always made you confident he was going to be yours forever.

���Sweetheart,” he would whisper every night when he came home from work, kneeling beside you where you lay on the couch and gently stroking your cheek with his calloused fingertips.

His name, so precious and beloved to you, always sat right on the edge of your tongue, but you weren’t able to get it out past the lump that seemed determined to remain permanently embedded in your throat. So you’d just look up at him, the sadness in your eyes mirrored in his as he brushed your hot tears away.

And every night, he’d carry you to the bath where he would wash your body clean with gentle hands. If only he could do the same for your heart.

Tucking you into bed, he’d lay beside you and hold you close as you sobbed, “Bobby, Bobby, Bobby.” Over and over and over again, his name falling from your lips like a litany, your voice raw with desperation.

“I know,” he whispered, rubbing your back with his strong, sure hands and pressing soft kisses to the top of your head. “I know, sweetheart.”

But did he know? He was the only one who could understand what you were going through, but did he really know?

You weren’t sure that he did, and that knowledge cut you deeper than words could express.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this.

You and Bob were supposed to be happy. You were supposed to be glowing and bursting with anticipation, waiting any day now for the newest member of your family, your sweet little bundle of joy, to arrive.

But instead, your womb and your arms were empty, and your husband came home every night to a wife who could barely make it through the day without falling apart, a wife who turned away from him when he reached for you, determined to hide from him the tears that still choked you every night, even four months later.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this.

Everything had been going so well. The joy you’d felt when you first saw that little positive sign on your pregnancy test had been exceeded only by the look of pure awe on Bob’s face when you told him the news that he was going to be a father.

You’d had so many grand plans for how you were going to tell him, so many sweet ideas swirling in your brain for how you were going to make this life-changing announcement. But in the end, your excitement had gotten the better of you and you’d found yourself flinging your arms around your husband as soon as he walked through the door, sobbing and laughing in tandem as you shouted, “We’re having a baby!”

You’d done everything right. You took all your prenatal vitamins, went to all your appointments, took care not to put too much strain on your body. Every time you and Bob walked out of your doctor’s office, hand in hand with a new ultrasound picture of your growing babe, you felt like you were floating on air. Was it possible to be so happy?

Turns out, it wasn’t.

Because despite doing everything right, despite taking all your vitamins and eating all the right foods and following all the prenatal exercise plans, despite every appointment going perfectly, despite making it to your second trimester and telling all your family and friends, you were still met with the most devastating words you’d ever been on the receiving end of:

Your baby no longer has a heartbeat.

You had known something was wrong the second you saw the ultrasound technician’s smile falter, her brow furrowing as she gazed intensely at the black screen. The smile she quickly pasted on as she turned to you was tight, though not nearly as tight as Bobby’s grip on your hand as she rose from her stool with a murmured “Please excuse me for a moment” and hurried out of the examination room without a backwards glance.

Your mind knew what your heart refused to accept as the technician returned several painfully long minutes later with your doctor, who took the stool she’d vacated and lifted the ultrasound wand once more, pressing it firmly to your rounded belly. You felt the sob catch in your throat, saw Bobby lower his head as your doctor turned to face you with a sorrowful look in his kind eyes.

“Mr. and Mrs. Floyd, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. But I’m afraid your baby no longer has a heartbeat.”

It was all a blur after that. You were aware that your doctor was talking, but he suddenly sounded so far away. You could feel your husband’s eyes on you, his large hands gently squeezing and caressing, but you couldn’t tear your gaze away from the ceiling of the examination room. Had you ever noticed that it was painted light blue before?

The words came to you in fragmented pieces, none of them seeming to make sense.

Late miscarriage.

Often caused by chromosomal abnormalities or congenital defects.

Never detected in any of your scans.

Sometimes these things just happened, and no one could explain why.

Sometimes these things just happened.

Being so far along…it would have to be a D&E…could be performed right here in the office…recovery could take up to a couple weeks…

Sometimes these things just happened.

No one could explain why.

Sometimes these things just happened.

Why?

That was the only question, the only thought at all, that kept echoing in your mind after it was all said and done and Bobby finally brought you home, your body feeling battered beyond repair.

You didn’t cry at all those first couple days, when the anesthesia and the grogginess were still working their way out of your system. You saw the silent tears that streamed down Bob’s face as he held you—he’d taken off two weeks from work to take care of you in the aftermath of the procedure—but you just couldn’t understand. It was like your mind was trying to shield you from the awful reality, from the truth that your baby was gone, by blocking out any consciousness of it.

But that fragile illusion could only last so long.

When you woke one morning to painful cramps, tears glistening on your lashes before you had even opened your eyes, you sat up with a gasp and pushed the covers back, only to find your inner thighs and sheets soaked with blood.

You didn’t even realize you were screaming until Bob came frantically running into the room, his eyes quickly taking in the sight before him as he rushed to your side, cradling your face in his hands until you met his gaze.

“I’m here, sweetheart,” he assured you, keeping his eyes locked with yours. “I’m here.”

“The blood, Bobby, the bl—”

“The doctor said it was normal. That it might happen for a couple weeks after the—after the—”

He couldn’t say it, but you knew. With sudden, sickening clarity, the pieces fell into place inside your brain and you could no longer hide from the truth of it.

Your baby was gone.

Once the tears came, they couldn’t stop.

Bob tried everything in his power to give you the comfort that you needed. He held you tightly as you sobbed for hours on end. He patiently accepted how you pushed him away whenever your paralyzing grief turned to raging anger, and he was quick to offer words of forgiveness when you tearfully apologized afterwards. He made sure you ate, made sure you took your medication, made sure you bathed each day, even when the thought of getting out of bed seemed an insurmountable task.

He was so good to you. He loved you so much. Through the haze of your own grief, you knew he was grieving, too. And yet, as the weeks passed into months, you found it harder and harder to talk to him.

There were just no words. Not even for the man who shared the burden of a grief as heavy and desperate as your own.

You had tried so hard in the beginning to make everyone see. To help them understand how you felt. But how could they? Your friends and family were so supportive, constantly checking in and asking what they could do to help, but the answer was nothing. They could do nothing to help. They couldn’t bring your baby back, and that was all you wanted.

Your grief was all-encompassing. You felt like you were drowning in it, and you couldn’t figure out how to make them understand that. You couldn’t make them see that you didn’t know how you were supposed to go on, living with this giant hole in your heart. It felt impossible that someone could still be able to breathe and walk and talk and go through life when their heart had been destroyed so completely.

But still, you tried. For weeks, you tried. You saw the sympathy, the sadness, the desire to help in your loved ones’ eyes. But you never saw that flicker of understanding.

No one understood.

A month after your miscarriage, you decided to try going back to work.

“Are you sure?” Bob asked, worry furrowing his brow after you told him of your intentions. “Mr. Buchanan said you could take as much time as you needed,” he reminded you. Your boss had always been a kind man, and that had proven to be even more the case in the wake of your unimaginable loss.

“I know, but I think it might be good to try getting out of the house. Maybe it will help start to take my mind off things,” you told him, trying to offer him a smile, though you had a feeling it came out more like a grimace.

“Okay, sweetheart. But only if you’re sure,” Bob nodded, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

He drove you to work the next day, squeezing your hand encouragingly before you could climb out of the car. “I’m going to keep my phone on me at work today. Call me if you need anything, okay?”

As it turned out, you needed him much more quickly than you could have anticipated.

After only being back in the office for a few hours, you locked yourself in the bathroom, the tears streaming down your face as you pulled out your cell phone with trembling hands and called your husband.

“Sweetheart?” Bob’s voice sounded anxious over the line as he picked up after only one ring. “What’s wrong?”

“Bobby, please,” you sniffled, wiping at your nose with the back of your hand. “I need you to come get me.”

Your husband didn’t hesitate. “I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”

Bob was the one who spoke to Mr. Buchanan, wrapping his arm around you and shielding you from the curious glances of co-workers as he led you out of the office building where you’d been working for the past few years.

Neither of you spoke on the drive home. Bob kept his gaze firmly on the road ahead, and you stared out the window, tears streaming down your cheeks.

It wasn’t until the two of you were finally back inside your house and seated on the couch in the living room that Bob slowly asked, “Sweetie, what happened?”

That was when you broke down completely.

“They didn’t even care!” you sobbed, your voice breaking as your shoulders slumped forward and you buried your face in your hands. “They didn’t even—they didn’t—” You could barely catch your breath, you were crying so hard.

“Hey, hey,” Bob murmured soothingly, moving closer to you and wrapping one strong arm around your shoulders, tucking you against his chest and resting his chin atop your head. “Slow down, sweetheart. You’re going to make yourself sick,” he told you in a gentle voice, rubbing slow circles on your back until you calmed down somewhat, small hiccups escaping your lips. “They didn’t what?” he prompted carefully, once he thought you had regained some of your composure.

You looked up at him then, your face streaked with tears and your eyes brimming with a pain he would have given anything in the world to take away from you.

“I—I wanted to t-talk about the—the baby,” you explained in a shaky voice, laying your head on his shoulder as he continued to rub your back. “I just—I wanted to talk. But—but no one would let me. Every time I tried, they just told me how sorry they were and then changed the subject. One w-woman even told me that it would be okay because soon I’d have another b-baby and then I’d forget all about this.” When you looked up at your husband, you saw the pained expression on his face at your words. “Forget about it? How could I ever forget about it? How?” you wailed.

Bob’s jaw clenched as he held you closer, brushing your hair away from your face and pressing kisses to your temple and the top of your head. “People try to be nice, but sometimes they don’t understand how ignorant their words are—how hurtful they can be, whether they mean them to be or not,” he said, his voice pinched as he tried to remain calm and steady for you.

“No one cared, Bobby! They didn’t even want to know his name! It’s like he didn’t matter, like he didn’t even exist. But he did!” you cried, wrapping your arms around your husband’s neck and clinging to him as you fell apart.

“Yes, he did, sweetheart. He did. He was our son,” Bob whispered, leaning back on the couch and pulling you onto his chest as you continued to weep.

You and Bob had known you were having a baby boy. You’d found out just a few weeks before you’d lost him.

“A boy! Oh my goodness, Bobby, a boy!” you’d exclaimed happily when you’d opened the envelope from your doctor’s office. “Are you happy, honey?” you asked, wrapping your arms around your husband and pressing a kiss to his cheek.

Bob beamed proudly, turning slightly so that he could capture your lips with his own in a sweet kiss. “So happy, sweetheart. I love you so much,” he whispered, resting a hand on your small bump. “You and our little guy.”

The two of you had even picked out a name—Oliver Robert Floyd.

“We could call him Ollie,” you giggled one night as you and Bob were lying together in bed, fingers intertwined as you dreamed together of who your baby would be.

“I like that,” Bob nodded, his face splitting into a wide grin as he gazed at you. “And who knows? Maybe he’ll end up with a call sign of his own one day,” he teased.

“Oh, would you like that? To be an aviator like Daddy?” you asked, glancing down at your belly and poking gently. You felt a tiny flutter in response, which made your heart sing. “He says he’d like that,” you told Bob, laughing brightly as your husband lowered his head to kiss you.

But Ollie would never get to be an aviator like his daddy. He would never get to be a little boy with big dreams. He would never get to be a man who carried on all the things you and Bob had taught him. He would never get to be anything.

Your son was gone.

But he had been here once. He had been real. You had felt him.

You couldn’t just forget him. You would never forget him.

And yet your co-workers and colleagues didn’t even care to know that he had a name.

After that disastrous first day back to work, everything started to go downhill. Mr. Buchanan said you could take as much time off as you needed, and you did. You didn’t want to go anywhere. You didn’t want to do anything. You didn’t want to see anyone. You just wanted to be left alone.

No one understood. No one knew what it was like to have to say goodbye to the child you had never even gotten to meet, never gotten to hold in your arms or give gentle kisses to. No one knew what it was to wake up every day and wonder who your child could have been, would have been, should have been.

It was a pain, a grief, an agony that you carried alone.

As time continued to pass, and the hurt only seemed to get worse and not better, you found it too difficult even to talk to your husband about it. And that hurt, because you loved your Bobby more than anything in the world. But as the weeks continued to slip by, it felt like he was able to move forward, to continue with his life, while you were caught in this intangible place of mourning. He was moving on, and you were stuck here, unable to move, unable to breathe, unable to do much of anything.

Bob could feel the distance growing between the two of you. You knew he could. He’d reach for you, and you’d stiffen or pull away. He’d try to talk, and you’d tell him you were tired and needed to lay down.

The hurt that flashed across his face each time you pulled away was like a constant knife in your heart, but you didn’t know what to do. The chasm just kept widening every day, and you no longer knew how to cross it.

“I stopped by Dr. Morales’ office today on my lunch break and picked this up,” Bob told you one night when he returned home from work. You were sitting on the couch and just blinked at him blankly. He set the glossy pamphlet down in front of you. “It’s for a support group at the hospital. For women who have miscarried or lost their babies. Dr. Morales highly recommended it. He thinks it would be good for you.”

You just stared down at the pamphlet, but didn’t make a move to grab it. You didn’t say anything either, just continued to sit in silence.

“Sweetheart, I really think that we should—”

“I’m tired,” you said flatly, rising off the couch slowly and turning in the direction of your bedroom.

“Sweetie, please.” Bob begged, reaching for your hand, which you swiftly pulled out of his grasp.

“I just want to be alone,” you snapped, more harshly than you intended. Swallowing, you tried to look away from the pain that bloomed across your husband’s face.

“Of course, I’m sorry. I just…” Bob sighed, hanging his head. “Go get some rest.”

Turning away and fighting the tears that were threatening to spill over once more, you wrapped your arms around yourself and stumbled on unsteady feet towards your room. You resolutely refused to look at the door on your right as you passed by it, the door that had remained firmly shut since the day you had been given the news that your baby had no heartbeat.

All you wanted to do was sleep. At least when you were asleep, you could escape the pain that had been your constant companion these past four months. Not to mention, you could also escape the reality of the constant pain you’d been inflicting on your husband lately.

He was so good, so full of gentleness and love and compassion, and you just felt so broken.

Crawling under the covers, you squeezed your eyes shut and tried not to think about how perfect things had seemed just a few months ago.

When you woke with a start a few hours later, your bedroom swathed in darkness, you were startled to realize your husband wasn’t beside you. It felt as though he’d never come to bed at all. Trying to swallow back the nausea you sensed rising up your throat, you pushed the covers back and climbed out of bed slowly, padding across the room on quiet feet.

When you opened your bedroom door, you were met with darkness in the rest of the house.

Where was he?

Taking a tentative step into the hallway, you began moving slowly in the direction of the living room and that was when you saw the light up ahead. It was faint, as it was spilling from behind a door that was only partially ajar.

The door you hadn’t opened in four months.

You felt your heart squeeze painfully in your chest, but you forced your feet to keep moving, one in front of the other  Your pulse quickened in your veins and your breathing grew more shallow the closer you came, until you were standing right outside the room.

Taking a deep, fortifying breath, you carefully pushed on the door to your son’s nursery, widening the opening without stepping inside.

You had thought your heart was already broken beyond repair, but what you saw in that moment proved that that must not have been true, because you surely felt your heart break all over again.

There, kneeling on the floor beside the crib that he had proudly spent hours putting together with his own two hands, was your sweet husband, cradling the little teddy bear that the two of you had bought not long after you first discovered you were pregnant. The first gift you’d purchased for your baby boy.

Bob had his face buried in the bear’s fuzzy belly, his back turned so that he didn’t see you standing in the doorway. You were fairly certain he wouldn’t have been able to see you anyway, not through the tears.

Your husband was weeping, a heart wrenching sound that immediately cut through the fog that had been blanketing your heart and mind for weeks.

Letting out a soft cry, you immediately raced into the room that you had sworn you would never look at again—the nursery that you and Bob had spent so many happy weeks designing and decorating and organizing before all your big dreams had come to a crashing halt. Collapsing on the floor beside your husband, you wrapped your arms around him and held him close as he cried.

“Why?” Bob rasped, the tears streaming down his face as he lifted his head slightly, still clutching the teddy bear tightly to his chest. “Why?”

You felt the tears running down your own face as you shook your head, cradling his head against your chest and running your fingers through his honeyed hair. “I don’t know. I keep asking myself that same thing, but I don’t know. I don’t have any answers,” you admitted, resting your cheek against his soft hair.

Bob clung to you desperately, like a drowning man would cling to a life preserver. You held him just as tightly, the two of you weeping together in the center of the nursery your son would never get to see.

“I miss him,” Bob confessed quietly, his voice laced with such agony that it pierced you straight through. “He should be here with us, and he isn’t, and it isn’t right. It isn’t right,” he sniffed, his tears soaking the front of your shirt. “I miss him so much.”

“Oh, honey, I miss him, too. More than words can describe,” you cried, stroking his hair. “Every day, I wake up and for a second I think I’m going to feel him still inside me, or hear him crying in the nursery, and then reality hits me and I—I just can’t do it. I can’t even get out of bed some days.”

“I don’t want to either most days,” Bob told you, looking up to meet your gaze with his watery blue eyes. He’d never told you that before. “I wake up in the morning and I go through the motions and I get in the car and drive to work and I cry the whole way there.”

“You do?” you asked in surprise, eyes widening slightly. “You never—you never told me that.”

“I didn’t want you to know,” Bob admitted, suddenly looking ashamed. “I wanted to be strong for you. I wanted to be your rock.”

“Oh, Bobby,” you breathed out, reaching to cup your husband’s face in your hands.

“You’ve been through so much, and you’ve been suffering, and I didn’t want to add to any of your pain or make it harder for you in any way. I wanted to take it all away. And I knew I couldn’t do that if you were worrying about me on top of everything else,” he explained, a few stray tears trickling down his cheeks, which you brushed away with your thumbs.

“We’ve both been through so much,” you insisted, caressing his cheek lightly. “And you shouldn’t have to carry your grief alone. We’re supposed to carry it together,” you told him, resting your forehead against his and closing your eyes for a moment. You took a deep breath before opening them again and continuing, “I thought—I thought maybe you were moving on.”

“What? No! Never,” Bob shook his head adamantly, cupping the back of your head and holding you close to him. “Did you think—oh, God, you didn’t think that I was just getting over it, did you?”

Your breath suddenly caught in your throat as you choked back a sob. “I didn’t know what to think. It felt like—I knew you were grieving, but our grieving looked so different and I didn’t understand yours and it felt like you were moving forward and I was just stuck here and I was going to be left behind because you were learning how to live with it and how to move on and I couldn’t and I—”

“Oh, sweetheart,” Bob gasped, the teddy bear still clutched in one of his hands as he wrapped his arms around you and nuzzled his nose against yours, seeking an intimate, close contact with you. “Oh, my love. No, no, no. I would never leave you behind. Never,” he promised, his lips brushing warmly against your forehead. “I was struggling because I didn’t know how to help you. It felt like everything I said was the wrong thing and every time I tried to get closer, you kept pulling back, and I was so scared to see you withdrawing like that, and I just didn’t want to push you too far. But I should have been honest with you. I should have let you see that I’ve been struggling, too. So much.”

“I’m sorry, honey. I’m so sorry,” you apologized tearfully, burying your face in his neck. “It’s been so hard trying to make people understand how I’m feeling. But I realize now that, as much as they may love me and want to help, they’ll never really be able to understand. But you do. You lost him, the same way that I did. You’re the only person I can share this grief with. And I’m so sorry that I pushed you away instead.”

“Oh, sweetie,” Bob murmured softly, wiping your tears away with gentle fingers. “You don’t have to say you’re sorry. Grief is messy, and right now we’re in the middle of the mess. I don’t know how long we’ll be here. Maybe a part of us will be here forever. I don’t know. But what I do know is that I wouldn’t want to be here with anyone but you. And I want us to get through this together,” he said, taking your hand in his and squeezing it tenderly.

“I want that, too,” you whispered, your voice cracking on the last word.

Bob pulled you into his lap and the two of you sat for a while in silence, your husband rocking you slowly back and forth as you sat on the floor of the nursery. You looked around at the walls, which you and Bob had painted a light blue—“Like the sky,” Bob had smiled when you’d chosen the color.

“I thought I’d never be able to come in here again,” you confessed, biting down on your lower lip. “I thought—I thought it would hurt too much.”

“I know,” Bob nodded, kissing the tip of your nose. “I know you never wanted this door open. But tonight, I just felt like I had to come in here. And when I did—well, it felt like a moment frozen in time, y’know? I looked at the crib and the rocking chair and the toys and the clothes and I just…” He let out a heavy sigh. “I just broke down. I just kept thinking about what could have been. What should have been. And who he would have been,” he murmured, running his fingers through the ends of your hair. “Sometimes I feel so broken, and other times I feel so angry.”

“I know exactly what you mean,” you told him, curling up against his chest. “I feel the same way.” You paused for a moment, turning something over in your mind before you went on. “I think part of me is afraid to let go of all this grief and anger because—well, because it’s all I have left. And if I let it go, I feel like it means I’m letting him go,” you admitted, your voice breaking as you started to cry again. “And I don’t want to let him go. I don’t.”

“Oh, honey,” Bob whispered comfortingly, squeezing you close to his chest. “I don’t want to let him go either. But you know what?”

“What?” you sniffled, wiping at your nose and looking up at your husband.

“We don’t have to,” he told you, grasping your chin in his hand and gazing deeply into your eyes. “He will always be our son. Always. No matter what some lady at work or anybody else says. He wasn’t just some moment, here one minute and gone the next. We’ll always have him.”

You nodded at that, your tears trickling down your cheeks and soaking his hand, which was still holding onto your chin firmly.

“But I don’t think that means we have to hold onto the pain forever,” Bob continued, kissing away your tears with gentle lips. “The grief will always be with us. We’ll carry it in our hearts forever. But I do believe that we’re going to be happy again. Maybe not tomorrow. Maybe not next week. But soon. We’re going to be okay, sweetheart. I know we are.”

And for the first time in four months, you really believed that. For the first time since your life had come to a standstill, you had hope that tomorrow would be a brighter day. Like Bob said, the grief would always be there, a pain that you would have to learn to live with over time. And you would learn to live with it, so long as you had this man by your side.

Shifting in Bob’s arms so that you were facing him, you wrapped your arms around his neck and kissed him, a bit shyly at first and then with more confidence. “I love you so much, Robert Floyd. I always will. Forever.”

Bob smiled, a genuine smile, and cupped your cheek in his hand as he pressed another kiss to your lips. “I love you with all my heart. Forever and always.”

The two of you sat there, wrapped in each other’s arms, for a while longer until Bob finally rose, lifting you up as well. “Do you mind if I bring this with us to our room?” he asked, holding up the teddy bear he’d been holding tightly to all this time.

“I think that’s a wonderful idea,” you told him with a small smile, leaning against his side as he led you out of the nursery. Once the both of you were out in the hallway, he reached back to shut the lights off and was going to close the door, when you suddenly said, “Leave it open.”

“Are you sure?” he asked gently, eyebrows raised in surprise as he looked down at you.

You were quiet for a moment, but then you nodded. “I’m sure.”

Gazing at you proudly, Bob slipped his arm around your waist and led you down the hallway to your bedroom, where the two of you slipped under the covers and found your way back into one another’s arms.

And as you slowly fell asleep, resting safely atop your husband’s chest, you realized the ache in your chest had lessened for the very first time.

You and Bob would survive this grief, together.

You would be okay.

Your husband had finally given you the words you had been searching for.

[kuro-ousama]

Blue moon

Cerainly, it's already been a year.

There are a lot of fandoms with their author passed away, I wonder how they can keep on going. A fandom can eventually withered away when there's no more stories to tell, no more arts to enjoy, and people moving on. 

The news still freshly imprinted in my memory like it was yesterday, none of us were expecting it. In this day and age, if no illness, a healthy man can live up to his senior years and should be passing peacefully on a bed surrounded by their family. Mr. Takahashi was 60, he was alone in the cold sea and discovered by the news 3 days later.

Whenever he died for his heroic acts, I still found it an incredible hard pill to swallow. Partly because I wonder if the US marine guy ever called for help for him, and if he didn't saw Mr. Takahashi dive into the waters, how can he retell the story later with him in it? Did his student saw? Why did nobody called to help him too? Did the US military forbidden them from talking? Was that how the news got delayed for 3 whole days?

It's frustrating when you can only sit at home, trying to assemble the puzzle pieces, tried to deny the possibilities, hoping it just a fake news, and so on.

Every day, every year, there's news of other deaths, and so it covered up the previous news, and just like that, Mr. Takahashi faded in obscurity.

Maybe I should be glad about such, it means that his death won't be the gossip talk for a long time, he can be in peace, but I couldn't. What was the correct course of actions, let his family grieve in silence, or should he be remembered by the world? Serenity or reminisce?

He never took a wife, a family, his loved ones are probably his parents and friends, who should not buried their own child, and his beloved Shiba, in which, I took a peek again at his old archived posts, saying the dog was getting old, too, and yet, in the end, he was the one who passed before his pet can know its owner will never greet it again.

Every year, in my hometown, instead of bright summer suns, we have rain, rain from April to early November. I find rain to be soothing, I like the sounds of it tapping on my windows, it's easier for me to be lost in my thoughts, for me to dream about hope, passing by memoirs of childhood innocence, a childhood in which Mr. Takahashi had built for his fans, for me.

After a year, I think I will be too, at peace now. What I should try, is to enjoy myself, paint with my own hands, keep on going instead of waiting out on others, expect them to take actions, expect someone else to take the spotlight and fanning the fire. I think I've been a back seat for too long already, I should learn to take the wheel, too.

[andrastesflamingknickers]

I Don't Understand, But I Want To Hear You Talking Still

Obligatory AO3 Link

Elio grimaced as he removed the last bit of armor, setting it neatly beside his pack. They’d been unlucky enough to have crossed paths with a party of soldiers who were rather extreme in their support of Loghain and their… opposition of Wardens, to put it kindly. Since words never seemed enough to settle any dispute these days, Elio and his companions had to resolve their disagreements the old-fashioned way.

Which, of course, meant a hearty use of violence.

The nameless soldiers and radicals had gotten more than a few good hits on him, and while Elio was hardly on the cusp of death when all was done, he did have to down a few elfroot potions before he could get back on his feet.

So… he was more than a little sore when they found a safe place to set up camp.

There was still an hour or so of sunlight, time spent preparing camp. His companions had scattered about, gathering and hunting as needed.

For his part, Elio was sitting on the dirt, a map of the kingdom spread out in front of him, several smaller, local maps surrounding it. He needed to figure out where they’d go in the morning. They needed to find the Dalish, but their being a nomadic group made that task somewhat difficult. As far as anyone knew, they shouldbe in the Brecilian Forest. The key word being should.

His gaze flickered to the local forest maps. There were a few pockets of villages around the forest. With luck, one of the settlements may have traded with the Dalish or had seen signs of them recently enough to give Elio a direction to go in so they wouldn’t have to wander the forest blind.

Despite his best efforts, Elio couldn’t help but feel… uneasy about meeting the Dalish.

Sure, he was an elf, and they were elves. In theory, they should all be able to get along swimmingly! Except theories rarely panned out, and the alienage back home painted a mixed picture when it came to them. Alarith said they’d saved him when he was a child, so Elio hoped things would go okay. But Valendrian never seemed too impressed by the clans.

Elio squeezed his eyes shut as he thought back to the alienage. In the months of travel, his home still felt like a fresh wound, gaping and bleeding. He missed his family and his friends, and he still grieved the life he was forced to give up. He hoped Shianni was doing okay and his father was caring for her. He hoped that Soris’ marriage to Valora had been happy and that Nesiara was doing okay. Maybe she’d found herself a better groom and was happily engaged to someone better than him.

Now, he felt even worse. Great.

Shaking his head, Elio rolled the maps back up and tucked them safely into his pack before looking around. Most of the party was still out doing their tasks. Sten was over by his freshly erected tent, kneeling on the dirt in what looked like meditation, and Garahel was happily sleeping in the dirt.

He spotted Morrigan off to the side, and his gaze focused on the flashes of magic around her.

Curious—and when was Elio ever not curious when it came to her? Curious, invested, enthralled, there was a whole vocabulary list that could be used—he pushed himself back to his feet with a pained grunt and made his way over to her, a limp in his step as his wounds were jostled.

Seeing his approach, Morrigan paused in whatever arcane act she had been working on to watch him close the distance. A small smile was on her lips, a smile different from the one she had when mocking and taunting the other companions; this one was reserved only for him.

“Ah, the Grey Warden himself; how kind of you to check up on me,” Morrigan teased, hands on her hip as she looked down at him. Elio couldn’t help but grin back at her, feeling his heart flutter.

He wasn’t sure what they were. It wasn’t something they discussed. They were more than friends; he knew that much; after all, friends didn’t regularly kiss each other or roll around the bed sheets together. What he did know was that he always felt inexplicably delighted when he was with their residential witch.

“You know me, have to make sure everyone’s content and not planning to kill our wayward prince,” Elio quipped back lightly, breaking off into a slight hiss of pain when he twisted the wrong way, agitating a gash on his side.

For a moment, he thought he saw a flicker of concern in Morrigan’s eyes, and maybe it was just wishful thinking, as she was just as quick to look slightly irritable. Then again, irritable was her default expression. "Are your wounds from our last little fight causing you trouble?”

“Nothing more than I can handle.”

Morrigan’s gaze was a skeptical one. “So you say,” she countered, looking him over with a raised eyebrow. “Try not to drink all our potions in the meantime, hm? The road ahead is long, and who knows when we’ll have the chance to restock with so many villages razed by the Blight or overtaken by Loghain’s Warden-hating forces.”

She had a point—she always did. And so Elio did what he did best: He smiled and laughed slightly awkwardly before responding, “You’re right. I’ll have to ask Wynne when she gets back if she could patch me up.”

It was easy to miss for most, but Elio caught her scoff. “I’m no spirit healer, but no self-respecting mage would go on their merry way without knowing a healing spell or two,” she said, holding him in her steely gaze before holding out a hand with all the tenderness of a porcupine. “This will, at the least, ease the pain.”

There was a moment of pause, a silent asking for permission, and Elio gave her a slight nod. Moments later, he felt the rush of magic—a sensation that he was becoming increasingly familiar with—flow through him, and with it, his pain faded.

“Feeling better?” Morrigan asked as she pulled her hand back.

“Much.”

The witch nodded. “Marvelous. Now, if you don’t mind, I’ve work to return to,” she said as she retrieved her staff again. Catching Elio’s gaze and his silent question, she exaggerated her sigh. “If you must know, I was doing the same as I do every time we settle down for the night in the wilderness. I’m in the process of casting wards.”

That was a curious thing. He’d never seen her casting wards before, and Wynne had never commented on it, so clearly, it wasn’t harmful. But… well, Elio didn’t know enough about magic to understand, and he’d never pass up a chance to provoke Morrigan into talking more about her craft.

“Care to elaborate on these wards?”

Humming, he saw Morrigan silently debate her answer; he could see the urge to respond with something sarcastic in her gaze. “Deterrents, of a sort. To keep dangers from the camp.” His surprise must have been more evident than he thought if her disapproving look was anything to go by. “Did you truly believe the wandering darkspawn, bandits, and beast chose to avoid us on a whim?”

“Well…” He never thought much about why nothing ever came to bother them at night, no matter how deep in the wilderness they got. Apparently, he should have.

Morrigan, at least, took it in stride with an amused huff. “T’was no coincidence we’ve remained undisturbed since we began our journey. Should I fear for your common sense if you were unaware?” she asked mockingly.

He held his hands up in surrender. “It’s not as if I just assume we’ll be fine, and I do make sure we have someone keeping watch while the rest of our group sleeps,” Elio defended. Sure, most of the time, the one keeping watch was him; the nightmares made it hard to sleep, so he figured he’d get some use out of it. But the point still stood.

But he couldn’t be expected to understand or know every little magic-related thing Morrigan or Wynne did. He’d never had any contact with mages before the Blight, and magic was still new to him.

She watched him a few seconds longer before shaking her head, “I suppose you are correct. And you are not entirely hopeless; your delegation skills, at least, have been impressive.” She said it with a much more approving tone, which relaxed him. “We arrive here at camp, and within minutes, you had Sten setting the tents, Wynne collecting herbs and berries for our supplies, Leliana hunting game, and even that miserable oaf off to collect wood for the fire. It’s remarkable how they are all so quick and ready to rally behind you, and you are most adept at using their individual skills.”

Morrigan leaned slightly on her staff as she looked at him, her sudden slouch bringing her closer to his height. “That leadership quality will take you far in life, when utilized correctly, of course.”

Unable to help himself, Elio grinned and pushed himself onto his toes to be higher, and closer to Morrigan. “Aww, if you’re trying to butter me up with flattery, it’s working.”

Morrigan snorted back a laugh and gently shoved him back. “Oh, you are insufferable. You know t’was not meant to be flattery.”

“I don’t know. All I’m hearing is that the group would have fallen apart without me,” Elio said, still as playful as he shrugged. “Alistair doesn’t like to lead, and the others are unqualified or would have never been recruited to our little group. And you certainly are not leader material.” Not that he really thought anyone in their group was.

Still, he was rewarded with a light smack to his shoulder.

“I’ll have you know I possess excellent leadership qualities, should the situation require,” Morrigan said crossly. “But you are the Gray Warden, and thus, I shall follow your lead when it comes to the issue of darkspawn,” and then her irritated expression shifted into a taunting one. “Unless you would rather I gather my own Blight-conquering troupe and saunter off, leaving you alone and unprotected in spider-infested wilds?”

It was a joke. He knew she was only teasing, and she wouldn’t actually leave them, but the thought made him pause, the unease showing, however brief it was.

Satisfied at his discomfort, Morrigan crossed her arms and smirked. “I thought not. You may kneel and beg for forgiveness now.”

He relaxed as the topic eased back into familiar territory, and not one to let an opportunity such as this slip by, Elio dropped to his knees, prostrating himself in a most exaggerated way. “Oh, please do forgive me, my dear Morrigan, for I know not what I say,” Elio begged, fighting hard to hold back his laughter as he brought his face as close to the ground as he could. “Of course, you are by far a superior leader, and I am humbled that you would allow me to guide this group in your stead. I am not but an idiot to dare question your abilities.”

Morrigan had a more challenging time containing her laughter than him as hers came bubbling out. “Enough, enough. Oh, stand up, you adorable fool,” she laughed, tugging at his shoulders to drag him back to his feet. “Cease this scene at once!”

They continued laughing for a short time, long enough for Garahel to perk up and for Sten to look their way. They recovered soon enough, too.

Moments like that felt far and few between, given how haggard and dismal their days often were. Elio couldn’t help but cherish the moments when he made her laugh like that.

Catching her breath, Morrigan stepped back and took a moment to collect herself before speaking again. “Anyway. Allow me a minute to concentrate, and I shall finish these barriers so we can sleep properly.”

Taking his cue, Elio stepped back to give her space to work, watching curiously all the same.

Morrigan caught his eye as she raised her staff to the air. “Now then… a smoke-dispelling spell to start with. We can’t have everyone seeing our fires from miles away, now can we?” she asked him, and seconds later, a soft flood of magic filled the area as she cast her spell. Elio watched the magic, picking out fading particles of stardust in the air before turning his gaze back to the mage, who looked far more focused as she prepared for her next spell. “Another little one so our allies won’t be left stumbling blindly through the woods all night seeking us out.”

There was another gentle flash as her magic worked its way through the air. Morrigan cast an illusionary spell to hide them from the senses and another, subtler one she called it, to dissuade people from getting too close to their camp. Elio watched her cast each one with as much wonder as a child watching his first sunrise.

He was sure he was supposed to feel something different about her magic, that he was supposed to feel uneasy at seeing her work. After all, the Chantry claimed magic was an evil power if wielded by those outside the circles. But for Elio, he just felt a buzzing warmth beneath his skin, and for as sharp as she may come off as, he had a hard time believing Morrigan was any shade of evil.

She must have finished with the last of the protective wards as she lowered her staff back against her pack, looking satisfied with her work.

The others hadn’t returned yet, but the sun hadn’t finished its descent either. Morrigan glanced to the setting sun and then to their still near-empty camp before giving a hum. “Now that I’ve finished and we’ve some time still to ourselves, I would like to take a look at your Gray Warden treaties once more?” she asked and gave a slow, languid shrug. “Had I known of their importance before, I undoubtedly would have paid them closer attention. But, alas, my mother has many more books and tomes that interested me more than mere politics.”

He could understand that. Had he not been thrust into the role he now held, Elio would certainly have never had any interest or drive to read through treaties or other political papers. To be fair, he could hardly make sense of them, either. The alienages did not offer much in terms of education; humans often felt oddly threatened by the idea of an educated elf, and he had only ever learned enough of the written language to get by. His companions—excluding Sten and Morrigan, of course—had been so helpful in helping him to improve.

“Of course,” Elio said, returning to his tent with Morrigan in tow. “You’re always welcome to look over these documents whenever you wish. We wouldn’t have had them if not for you and your mother, after all. Mind if I ask what’s piqued your interest in them so suddenly?”

Reaching his corner of the camp, Elio knelt to rummage through his bag, seeking out the old papers. Garahel barked in greeting, panting happily, but made no move to get up, far too comfortable where he was already lying.

“I fear the wording of these treaties may not be as binding as we may need to convince our targets of the necessity of their assistance,” Morrigan explained as she stood over him. “These are ancient agreements, possibly lost or forgotten by the very people we seek to approach. I wonder, what sway does a tattered parchment signed by a distant ancestor still hold over the people we seek?”

“Hopefully, enough sway to have them send aid. The Blight will affect them too; after all, it's better to unite against it than die in our own secluded corners,” Elio offered as he found the pages in question and handed them off. “Is there a specific one you’re nervous about?” She gave him a sharp look, so Elio quickly amended, “I mean, you’re skeptical of?”

Morrigan hummed as she sat beside him in the shade of his tent. “I am particularly interested in the Dalish we’re already in pursuit of,” she conceded as she began leafing through the documents. “It’ll be enlightening to see if they’ve maintained the knowledge of shapeshifting magic. I’ve yet to encounter another who knows it beyond my Mother.”

Ellio nodded along. He could imagine it wasn’t a kind of magic the circles were keen to teach. “Might just be because it’s you, but it seems so fascinating,” He was rewarded with another light swat from her. His flirting was unappreciated.

“It is more than just ‘fascinating,’” Morrigan responded. “Even if you put aside the fighting utilities you often see, it can be a blessing when you wish to be alone.”

“How so?”

She hummed, her eye briefly skimming over the documents before looking back at him. “Imagine; if I desire some time to think, some space from others, I can simply become one of the forest creatures and slink off into the night,” Morrigan explained, smiling ever so softly yet again. “To run with the wolves or to soar through the night sky like an owl, there is nothing quite like it to unburden one’s mind.”

He tried to imagine it and found himself smiling along with her. “It sounds nice. Freeing, in a way.”

Morrigan watched him for a moment, her expression still that rare bit of warmth, before breaking away with a sigh as she leaned against him ever so slightly in their seated positions. He’d never grow tired of the heat of her body against his own. “Such a shame the Chantry ruled such magics forbidden,” she lamented. “They do so enjoy forbidding any magic that they do not understand.”

Alistair was the first to return to their camp. Under one arm, he carried a bundle of small sticks for kindling and handfuls of what looked like cotton for tinder. The basket on his back was filled with heaver sticks and chopped branches. All in all, it looked like he’d gathered enough wood to keep their fire burning through the night.

As his fellow Warden made his way through camp, Elio caught his eye and raised his hand in greeting with a smile. Immediately, Alistair smiled, looking like he was about to say something. Still, that expression soured when he saw Morrigan beside him, who had pressed herself closer to Elio in response. As expected, his friend made an obscene gesture to their mage, and Morrigan mirrored it right back at him.

Face flushed, Alistair stalked off with a grumble, finding a spot in the center of the camp to get the fire going rather than letting himself get pulled into some argument or verbal fight.

“Such a jealous man,” Morrigan murmured as she rested her head tauntingly on Elio’s shoulder when Alistair glanced their way again and smirked as she continued. “Perhaps later, you should throw him a bone.”

Elio didn’t really get what she was talking about or what Alistair had to be jealous about, so he hummed in response. He had no problem finding Alistair later; he would have regardless of Morrigan’s suggestion. That was his best friend, after all.

“Anyway,” Morrigan said, changing subjects quickly and pushing herself away from him again now that Alistair’s attention was no longer on them. “Tis come to my attention that I’ve spoken far too much of myself. It is only fair you share something of yourself in exchange—don’t look at me like that; I do not actually care about your life; it is simply a matter of principle. You dig out secrets from your companions and give nothing in return about yourself; I intend to change that.”

She shoved him slightly when Elio didn’t wipe his bemused expression off his face, and he laughed in response.

“Okay, okay… something about myself,” Elio grinned, tapping his chin as he considered it. It wasn’t as if he had anything especially fascinating about himself, nothing like his companions. He was just a poor elf living in the slums of Denerim. The most exciting thing that’s ever happened to him before he became a Warden was the wedding day disaster, and that wasn’t a story he really wanted to share with them.

A few seconds went by as he sifted through possible things to share. “Well… I worked as a carpenter's assistant before, well, everything,” Elio offered and rolled his eyes when he saw Morrigan’s expression. “Don’t get any weird ideas in your head. The shem I worked for didn’t let me work on any projects. Most of what I did was run around as a fancy errand boy for them.”

“But you did pick up some carpentry skills, I presume?”

“A few,” Ellio nodded as he scratched at the ground. “I know how to repair a roof and can make and install a door, too. That was one of my favorite things—not the installation, but the making. I got to leave the alienage with little harassment when I went to the shop, and sometimes they let me make and carve things.”

Morrigan stifled a laugh, “I suppose should we ever find ourselves in need of crafting a hut, you will be best suited for it. It’s a wonder your insistent need to help every downtrodden person we come across hasn’t sent you to rooftops to patch up holes.”

He grinned at her, “Don’t tempt fate; I might just start looking for people who need roof repairs in the next village!” he teased and bumped his shoulder into hers. “Should you need a home built, I’d be happy to help, and for free, too.”

“Implying you’d have charged us otherwise?”

“Of course,” Elio chirped back, trying to hide his laughter. “Friends of Elio’s Carpentry get their work done, free of charge.”

She shook her head and looked at him fondly, making him feel all light inside. “I suppose once the Blight is over and you grow tired of being a Grey Warden, you’ve your next career all planned out,” she said, and her gaze flickered away to where Wynne and Leliana were, breaking free from the forest edge with their stock. “Ah, I see they have returned, and Leliana has even brought us our dinner. I suppose we’ll have to continue this conversation for another time.”

As reluctant as Elio was about it, Morrigan was right. Their time for a chat was done; he had to return to his work—it was his turn to cook, after all—and surely she would like to have time to give the treaties her undivided attention while she read. Something she wouldn’t be able to do if Elio hung around bothering her.

He shook his head and rose to his feet, feeling his joints and back pop as he did so. “All right then. You have fun with those; I’ll go get our food cooking.”

Morrigan nodded, looking up at him. He was about to say something when Elio leaned down to steal a quick, chaste kiss. He was then off, jogging towards the other women with a bubbling laughter before she could shove him away. Rejuvenated by his time with Morrigan, his earlier exhaustion was a distant memory.

Elio grinned as he glanced back at Morrigan and saw the faint blush of her cheeks in the setting sunlight.

[thecomorbidlygrey1]

If I had these powers at the age of five I would have killed my siblings, who are now the only people I would ever grieve and hope that I will never have to. I should die before they do, as is the natural order.

If I had these powers at the age of seven I would have beaten my parents and paternal grandparents to death, then proceeded to burn my home city down with myself deliberately screaming to death at the center of the flames.

If I had these powers at the age of eleven I would have murdered many of my teachers and classmates in secret, feeding their meat and bones to stay dogs, as what could be more disrespectful and vengeful than turning someone into beast excrement? They deserved worse, but also less.

If I had these powers at the age of fourteen I would have committed suicide in such a way that it would have led to human extinction as my self-loathing became misanthropy that I projected across all of my kind. How banal. How typical.

If I had these powers at the age of seventeen I wound have brutalized two teachers, murdered one bully and my father, then proceeded to become an aimless and ambitionless wander, a purposeless vagabond.

If I had these powers at the age of nineteen I would have destroyed my nation's military out of selfish spite. I gave my all and was still found lacking. I'm still lacking.

If I had these powers at the age of twenty I would have healed myself. Even if I was whole I would still be empty and lost.

If I had these powers at the age of twenty-five I would have enriched myself and then my family. The drama would be disgusting but my debts would be paid and ties could finally safely severed. I could finally be what I was meant to be, alone.

If I had these powers at the age of twenty-six I would have locked myself in a dark realm and slept forever. I gave up again. I always give up. It's habitual. It's inevitable.

If I had these powers at the age of twenty-seven I would have built for myself something that was simultaneously a palace, hospital, and insane asylum, a place were I may indulge, heal, isolate, and contain myself until I died. No one deserves to deal with the harm I can cause even while impotent.

If I had these powers at the age of twenty-eight I would have built an mansion dominated by a library and gymnasium, a place to study and train, to improve myself in the ways I had failed to do so. Or I would have built a spaceship dominated by the same library and gymnasium because of a YouTube video that got it's hooks in my brain. They likely still wouldn't be used as hope is only a aspirational delusion in my diseased mind.

If I had these powers at the age of thirty I would have devised a convolution to get what I wanted but was always too ashamed to give myself in such a way was to keep me blameless. How disgustingly cowardly.

With that, all of that, laid out and in mind, some of what's happened makes sense, but some still doesn't.

I'm thirty-two now. My soul granted me one power of my choosing which I used to gather nine more. The ninth core power out of ten gave sentience, the most primitive form of cognition, to itself and the rest of my powers, core and connecting. My powers do what I want but not what I choose, not that I can trust either given who I am. I was conceived ill-minded and only got worse by being alive. The fact that other people are born worse and still do better only makes me worse.

Chaos reigns wherever I go, scaring and crippling the land. Each breath I take, every respiration of my cells, every current of my soul, causes a new and unique wound and ailment on my surrounding reality.

I cannot stop.

I cannot be stopped.

But this must end.

No one deserves the harm I cause because I can't reach those that do without causing collateral damage. And my indecisiveness means I keep stopping and restarting my trek without achieving a goal. Only the innocent have suffered my harm.

The world was already burning, and all I did was make the fire worse. Worse and surreal.

I've been tired.

I am tried.

But if I stop...

If I stop...

Stop...

STOP....

S T O P

...

..

.

[dp-marvel94]

Prosthetic Soul AU Snippet

Summary: Based on @lucifer-is-a-bag-of-dicks ‘s Prosthetic Soul au. Danny dies and his parents use ectoplasm to heal his body. They create a poltergeist, which thinks it's Danny, as a prosthetic soul, so their son can live again.

Word Count: 2,062

Also on AO3 and FF.net

This whole idea has been ringing around my head for a while so I finally wrote something. This is based on @lucifer-is-a-bag-of-dicks ‘s Prosthetic Soul au. In the comments, @kreadstornham mentioned Danny coming back as a full ghost and having to watch. And I’m ecstatic! Just imagine the pain, the drama! This is also kinda based on @tachvintlogic ‘s ideas and the snippet they wrote. This story would theoretically happen after that snippet; the new Danny has figured out that there was something wrong with him but hasn’t yet learned what Jack and Maddie actually did to him. So que full ghost Danny meeting his counterpart and both of them having an existential crisis!

The mist parting, Danny stumbled through the portal. He blinked, taking in his surroundings. Concrete floor, metal tables, silver and green devices. It looked like.... was this... his parents’ lab? After how ever long he’d been... dead, had he finally found his way home?

Hope rose in his core. His friends, his sister, his parents. He could... he could finally see them again. He could tell them how much he loved them, how much he missed them. Then... a hint of sadness. Danny had no idea how long he’d been dead. His loved ones... they must have been so broken over losing him. They probably still were, still grieving. But... he wasn’t lost anymore. He was here. He was home. Even if... he looked down at his glowing hands, wincing. He was still here, even if he was a ghost now. Still...

With that, the ghost boy flickered invisible. It wouldn’t do to be seen and potentially scare someone before he was ready. He needed to figure out what he was going to do first. Especially considering his parents’... attitude towards ghosts.

Silently, he floated up through the ceiling and into the living room. The house was quiet, no sign that anyone was home. At least.. His parents weren’t. If they were anywhere nearby, he’d be able to hear them. But then again, maybe that had changed. They had lost their son, to their own portal no less and…

Danny shook the thought away. Focus. He still needed to check upstairs. Still unseen, the ghost floated up the stairs. He paused at the top, in front of… Jazz’s door. His core fluttered, a mixture of nerves and sadness. He phased through and looked around the room. The full bookshelves, the orderly desk, the cleanly made bed. It looked the same as ever, except… Bearbet was missing? Danny shook his head. Anyway… it didn’t matter. The point was, his sister wasn’t there.

His family must be out then. Really, he should have checked the time, figured out what day it was. He turned around, intending to do just that, and phased out of the room. Silently, he floated through the hall. Danny paused in front of his own door. 

His core clinched almost painfully. His own room. The door looked the same as ever, with his name and his stickers of the stars and planets. But inside… had his family boxed up his things? Had they given his possessions away? Or… was it untouched? Again, exactly how much time had passed?

A heavy grief passed over him. He… he needed to know. He needed to see. Taking an unneeded breath, the ghost phased into the room. For a moment, he stared. It…it looked the same, exactly the same, even down to the dirty clothes on his floor. His eyes darted around the scene and…

If Danny still had blood, it would have run cold. There was… there was someone sitting in his chair, at his computer. He floated forward, staring at the back of the black-haired head. Trembling, the ghost boy approached. Dread rose in him, the cold of his core stirring. There was… something familiar about… about… Whoever was in his chair…

The person stiffened, suddenly turning around. Blue eyes met the empty air and…

Danny screamed, losing his invisibility. He dropped out of the air in his fear. That was… those blue eyes… that was.. That was his own face. That was… that looked like him. His mind raced. Was this… was this a dream? A nightmare? Did his parents adopt a kid that looked just like him? Or…

The other being was pale and looked just as terrified as Danny himself was. The mouth opened and closed. “What are… what are you?” 

Danny’s own mouth fell open. Oh god, that was his voice. His voice! It sounded and looked exactly like him. The ghost’s eyes trailed up and down the body. Green eyes met blue. And… something otherworldly flickered behind the seemingly human eyes. So… a ghost? Some kind of ghostly shapeshifter. But…

His eyes fixed on the chest, rising and falling. Breathing. It was breathing. And…. the right hand. The ghost’s eyes somehow widened even more. There was… there was a scar. A starburst, starting at the palm and moving up the arm before disappearing under the sleeve. It was… that was where he’d been electrocuted. That…that was… he’d turned on the portal. And… and it killed him. But… but this being had the scar, his scar. And….

It hit Danny like a bucket of ice water. A feeling of nausea. “F-ck. That’s my… that’s my body.” His body. His corpse. Except… except it wasn’t a corpse. It was breathing and blinking and… and standing. When had it stood up?

“What are you… what are you talking about?” The fearful voice that sounded so like Danny’s asked.

The question stabbed Danny’s mind and he saw red. His body. His body! And… something ghostly green flickered in the eyes. “My body. You’re possessing… you’re possessing my f-cking body.”

“I… no… that’s not…” The being stumbled backwards, hitting the desk.

The ghost barely thought, enraged. He darted off the floor and turned intangible. He was… he was dead. And some f-cking ghost was possessig his body. Some ghost was in his house, his room, his body. And he wanted it back. Danny phased inside his body’s chest.

Suddenly, it was too dark. Too light. Too hot or… too cold. It was too cold. Danny squirmed. No… something squirmed, very near him. A poltergeist, a little wisp of a ghost. Barely… barely even a spirit. It writhed and Danny pushed. He needed it out. Out of his body. Leave! It needed to leave.

The poltergeist screamed, its voice ringing in Danny’s mind. Its thoughts brushed his. No, please. It hurts. Hurts. I didn’t… I didn’t do anything.

Didn’t do anything?! Danny raged, pushing harder. He brushed memories. Memories that felt like his own. His birthday. Cake, presents, games. His parents’ smiling, loving faces. It looked the same. Except… that telescope. He’d… he’d asked for that telescope for years but his parents had never bought it for him but…

You… you tricked my… my family. You stole… you stole my life. You…. took… you took everything.

No! I…I don’t… I don’t know what you’re talking about. The poltergeist argued. 

It pushed back and Danny dug his claws in. He was going to destroy it, tear it apart. He was going to take back what was his and-

Twin cries of pain. The poltergeist pulled. The memory of his death, the electricity frying him, his muscles twitching. Danny grabbed the memory and shoved it down. He yanked and…

Drifting underwater, surrounded by green. On something fluffy and soft. His mother’s voice. “Jack! Jack! He’s breathing. He’s breathing! It’s… it’s working.”

“But…” Dad’s voice, tinted with doubt. “The poltergeist, the prosthetic soul. Do you think… it took?”

“It… it had to. It must…” Mom’s pained voice quieted. “We..we did everything right. It will think it's really… it… it’ll know it's supposed to be Danny.”

Eyes fluttered open. “Ma…Mom? Dad?”

The blurry image of his mom’s face, stained with tears. “Yes, Danny. Danny. It’s… it’s Mommy and Daddy. We’re here. We’re right here, baby. You’re… you’re okay.”

Both ghosts gasped, recoiling. Danny was thrown back, out of the body. He skidded across the floor, hitting his bed. The poltergeist, still inhabiting his body, landed heavily on the floor.

Danny shook, a queasy sense of wrongness overtaking him. Mom and Dad… Mom and Dad did this. They… they did something to his body and they made…they made that thing, that poltergeist and put it inside of his body to…to….  ‘It will think it's really…’ Danny. ‘it… it’ll know it's supposed to be Danny.’ The boy shivered, feeling sick. Think it was him, supposed to be him. That… that thing was supposed to... To replace him. His parents replaced him.

Danny… Danny  wished he could throw up. But he… he couldn’t because he was dead. He died and his parents experimented on his body, shoved this thing inside, and… and replaced him.

The sound of sobs stole Danny’s attention. His head whipped up and… it was crying. The thing was crying. An ugly hate crowded his core. It… it took his life, it replaced him, and it was crying.

Danny snarled, rising from the floor. His hand lit green and he raised it, standing over the creature. “What? Upset that you’ve been found out?”

The small, thin body shook, curling in on itself. Watery blue eyes tentatively met his gaze before darting away. The creature forced words out through the sobs. “I…I knew something was wrong with me but not… not this.” 

Danny blinked, his rage wavering. “What?”

“I knew… I knew something was wrong with… with me. But this. They… they couldn’t do… this. How could… could they? How could they?” 

The words poured out and it gave Danny pause. The devastation, the pain, the betrayal, the disgust. It… it sounded too real. And… too like what he himself was feeling.

Tentatively, Danny dissipated the ectoenergy. “You didn’t… know?” He asked.

The being shook its head stiffly, still afraid. “I… They told me I was in an accident. And Jazz… she said I died. But… I thought… I thought they did something to bring me back, some… some weird ghost thing. But… it didn’t go right. So… so that’s why my memories don’t match. But… but…” It gasped through a sob. “I’m… I’m not even me. I’m not real. They made me and… they… they did this.” The creature rambled, near hysterical. Tears mared its face, expression screwed up with revoltion.

Danny’s core clinched. It sounded… this sounded real, authentic. It was telling the truth. The ghost boy knelt down, beside the crying figure. “You didn’t know.” He repeated, the realization washing over him. 

Danny looked down. This was… this was insane but… the being in front of him didn’t know. It hadn’t planned this. It didn’t know what his parents had done. Shakily, Danny placed a hand on a pale, bare arm.

The being below him stiffened. It sucked in a breath, forcing the sobs down. “I…I’m sorry.” The blue eyes met his. “I’m sorry. You… you can have your body back. Just…. Figure out how to get me out. Or… or possess me. I won’t fight you this time. You can… you can have it. Just please… don’t… don’t hurt me.”

Something in Danny cracked. His expression softened. “I’m not going to hurt you. Mom and Dad did this, not you.” He sighed. “And… I’m not going to do anything… yet.” He looked over the being. Oh, it was tempting. Oh so tempting. The body he was touching was warm, a pulse fluttering under his finger. Somehow, miraculously it was alive. If he could push out the other ghost… could he slip right in? Could he pick it back up and keep living his life as if he never left?

The being shakily pulled itself into a sitting position. “You’re… you’re not?”

Danny shook his head. “I need to figure out what exactly Mom and Dad did first.” And that was a whole can of worms. But…

The ghost boy looked from his hand, still around the pale wrist, to the intelligent blue eyes. For a moment, they flickered neon green. And that was another thing, not just his body but… the poltergeist inside, the spirit behind those eyes. Danny’s core churned, reacting to the presence of another ghost. Another ghost, like him. And…he’d seen its mind. Or… No, his. Not its, but his. Not a creature but… a boy. Danny had seen the other boy’s mind, his soul. A soul that wasn’t Danny’s but… just as existent, just as vibrant as his own.

The other boy swallowed. “Yeah. I… I want to know what they did too.”

Danny let his expression relax. “And we’ll go from there. So…” He bit his lip. “I guess we’ll start with names. I’m Danny.” He held out his hand, as if to shake.

His counterpart did the same, awkwardly shaking this hand. “And I’m.. uh… well, my par-... er Mom and D-... I mean everyone calls me Danny too.”

Danny, the full ghost, almost smiled. “So, Danny. What do you remember about coming back from the dead?”

[andreafmn]

I'm Not Afraid - Chapter 1

Word Count: 3,325

Characters: Female Reader Argent Character, Original Male Argent Character, Derek Hale, Allison Argent, Scott McCall, Stiles Stilinski, Isaac Lahey, Lydia Martin, Chris Argent, Jackson Whittemore

Story Description: (Y/N) Argent arrived at Beacon Hills to put to rest her father's sister, Kate Argent. For the first time, her family has decided to settle down and sustain a life in this interesting small town. After 17 years, (Y/N) has the opportunity to establish interpersonal relationships but will she be ready to face the complications that come with relating to her cousin's, Allison, friends; especially, the infamous Derek Hale. She will face the adventure of being associated with the Derek and McCall pack as well as being faced with the discovery of certain aspects of her life she never imagined.

*DISCLAIMER* I do not own in any way Teen Wolf, all credits of the pre-established characters, script, and storyline belong to Jeff Davis and MTV Network. The only thing I own is Argent Reader insert, her immediate family, and her storyline, as well as her effects in the others' storyline.

Chapter: 1/?

Chapter Description: (Y/N) finally arrives at Beacon Hills for the funeral of her aunt and meets a certain wolf to which she feels a special connection.

A/N: Second fandom I'm writing for. I love Teen Wolf so much and the trope of hard Derek but only soft for you makes my heart sing. If you enjoy my writing I’ll also be posting them in AO3 and Wattpad along with other stories (I also hope to start taking requests if ya’ll want) Hope you enjoy and all constructive criticism is encouraged.

Next ->

Chapter 1

I hugged the black coat to my body as hard as I could whilst pushing through the sea of press. Our family's last name became quite known after the reports about my aunt, whose burial we were attending. She had allegedly burned down a house with people in it.  She killed them in cold blood. I hugged my grieving uncle and his less grieving wife, then my cousin who had a painful look on her face. I hugged her the longest. She let herself crumble on my arms, sobbing uncontrollably. Even though she was a horrible person she was still our aunt, family.

I took my seat behind Allison when my father, my mother, uncle Chris, and aunt Victoria stood up. Allison didn't lift her head and neither did I. I just tried to comfort her.

"It's been such a long time I don't expect you to call me grandpa." We both looked up to see a white-haired man who resembled the Argent features. "Don't worry about it, just call me Gerard." He hugged both of us, an overpowering aura emanating from his being. When we were engulfed, I looked to the side and saw two boys squatting behind a gravestone. If they were hiding, they were doing a horrible job at it.

"But I prefer Grandpa," Gerard said walking to his seat. I sat back down and drifted off during the whole ceremony. Once it was over, I joined my parents and we drove to our new house. I have a feeling that life here will be very interesting.

That weekend I decided that I had been putting working out off for too long. I changed into comfortable workout clothes and gave food to my dog, Brody. I headed out the door, put my earbuds on, and started to jog. I really didn't know where I was going since it was a new place for me, all I know is that I kept running until I reached the woods. The bad thing about this, I had no idea how to get back home. Even though I knew of this sidetrack and I knew I would be late to get back home, I kept running, needing a release from the mundane feeling of being new in town and having to reunite from our estranged family in a funeral.

I had gained a lot of momentum. God knows how fast I was running at this point that is until I hit something, it almost felt like a wall. When I looked up, I saw a very handsome guy. Spiked hair, green eyes, and slight stubble. If it weren't for the fact that I was already sweaty I would have started to sweat showers of how nervous I was. That is until he opened his mouth.

"Watch where you're going." He growled at me.

"How about you fucking move and not be a prick?" He looked at me with big eyes, probably in surprise, but quickly changed to his menacing look. Who was he trying to fool?

"Well, this is private property, which means that you're trespassing, meaning you should pay more attention to your surroundings."

"I'm sorry but a burnt-down house with almost no walls or roof is barely a property. So, how about you stop being an idiot and I can be on my way." I started to jog once again but he gained my attention once more.

"You're new here, aren't you?" I turned around to face him.

"What's it to you?" He raised his eyebrow.

"I'll take that as a yes." The cockiness oozed out of his pores.

"And why the hell should that matter?"

"Because no one would dare talk to me that way."

"Who would be afraid of a little sour wolf?" He tensed up. "Dude, chill. I'm just kidding. But I doubt anyone would be afraid of Mr...."

"Hale. Derek Hale." He said extending his hand to me. Gee, after screaming at me he wants us to be acquaintances. I thought about not shaking his hand, but I didn't want to be rude. Well, more than I have been already.

"(Y/N). Argent." I shook his hand. Strong grip. Suddenly I felt a rush of déjà vu; I had met him the day before. "Wait, aren't you that guy I accidentally hit with my grocery cart yesterday?"

"Yeah, that really hurt. You hit my ankle. You could've had me limping."

"But you're not, so be grateful I didn't break your ankle." He laughed. "Damn, if I had known how cocky you really were, I would've hit you harder."

"So, you admit that you hit me?"

"Oh yeah, of course, I hit you. Accidentally that is."

"Yeah, yeah."

I looked around trying to find where the hell I had come from but there wasn't even the slightest trail as to where I was to go.

"So, miss (Y/N). Do you even know your way home?"

"No, but I'm sure I can find my way back." Then, he took keys out of his pocket and pointed to his car.

"Come on, I'll drive you around and you just tell me when something seems familiar."

"And why should I go with the guy that almost ripped out my throat for bumping into him? For all I know you could be driving me to my death." I crossed my arms over my chest, and he let out a loud sigh.

"Look, I'm sorry for snapping. But I'm trying to be nice. That doesn't happen very often."

"Alright, Mr. Hale. I'll let you take me home just because you are being nice now, after being a prick, and I'm exhausted."

"See, no one can resist me." I rolled my eyes at his cockiness. Seriously does he buy cans of it on eBay?

"Don't get cocky with me. I can punch the living daylights out of you." He chuckled and started to drive.

We drove for about 20 minutes until I finally recognized the curb that led to my house. Upon arriving at my driveway, I got out of the car and walked to the driver’s side.

"Give me your hand” For some reason, I felt compelled to do so. He took a pen and wrote down a number. "Call me if you ever need a tour of the town."

Three weeks later, I walked inside the school to meet up with Allison. I moved here with my family since dad had some business taking float. Being the new kid in town is never fun. I would know. I switch schools almost every year. The pro and con about this would be not being attached to anyone. Usually, I'm the one who doesn't talk to anyone and is called a freak. A derogatory term given to people who are way too different from others, but a title I wore proudly.

"Oh my gosh, (Y/N)! How have you been?" Allison wrapped her arms around me and hugged me tightly. It was as if she hadn't seen me just three weeks ago.

"Hi, Allison. I've been good, getting acclimated to the new town. You?" You would think that because we were cousins, I would be more affectionate towards her but honestly, I wouldn't see her again for like three more years, so what's the point?

"I'm good. A little rocky at the start of coming here but good." Then, a boy with a buzz cut and one with great brown hair walked by and smiled at Alli. "Ooh, you should come meet my friends. Stiles, Scott!! Come here." The boys turned around with goofy grins on their faces.

"Hey, Allison. Who's this?" Buzzcut kid said.

"This is my cousin, (Y/N). She just moved here from Virginia."

"Pleasure to meet you. I'm Scott." The one with the great hair said.

"Nice to meet you, I'm Stiles." I shook their hands and smiled.

"Nice to meet you, too, buzzcut." Allison and Scott laughed but Stiles only ran his hand through his hair, suddenly becoming hyperaware of his lack of locks.

"Allison. Who might this sexy lady be?" I rolled my eyes. The last thing I need is a narcissist with a god-complex trying to get close.

"Oh, Jackson, this is my cousin, (Y/N)."

"Hi." He extended his hand and looked me up and down.

"Hi." I smiled sarcastically, and when I didn't extend my hand, he dropped his.

Finally, after standing awkwardly behind Allison whilst her friends talked, the bell rang. Talk about saved by the bell.

"Hey, (Y/N), what's your first class?" I checked my schedule.

"Um, chemistry."

"Oh, good, then you're coming with us to Mr. Harris' class," Scott said pointing towards him and Stiles. I smiled and walked behind them.

Once we got to the classroom everyone turned to me, the ever-present sign of being new in the class evident in the stare of my classmates.

"Um, hi, my name is (Y/N) Argent and I'm new." The teacher, whom I guess is Mr. Harris, turned around to face me.

"Oh, yes, Miss Argent. Welcome. You will be sitting next to Isaac Lahey. Lahey, raise your hand." Once Isaac raised his hand, I noticed he was sat near Stiles and Scott. Two people I was trying to avoid. As I walked past, I accidentally pushed Stiles' book on his lap, startling him, resulting in an awkward descent from his lab stool onto the floor.

"Hi, again. I guess we are gonna see a lot of each other for the rest of the school year." I nodded and he scratched the back of his neck. "So, um, what school did you come from?"

"Lancaster High," I responded whilst writing down what Mr. Harris was writing on the board. Stiles kept trying to talk to me, but I would only give him short, cold answers or just ignore him. That is until Mr. Harris called our attention, that's when he finally got the memo to shut up.

"I'm sorry to bother you, but I just wanted to introduce myself since we're gonna be seated next to each other all year. I'm Isaac."

"I figured." I tried giving him my best smile. The vibe he was giving off seemed like he needed it. "I'm (Y/N)."

"Well, nice to meet you, (Y/N). Now I'll leave you to the class because if I don't I know I'll be failing even more than I am."

"Oh, well, maybe I can tutor you some time. I'm actually really good at science. My mom was a chemist professor once upon a time so I'm bound to understand all this."

"Really?!" His puppy eyes seemed to light up and I nodded. "That would actually be amazing."

"Sure thing. Now let's get back to class."

After Chemistry finished, I put everything in my bag as quickly as possible and sped to my next class, Math. Thankfully, none of Allison's friends shared this class with me but I did share it with Isaac.  I didn't consider him much a friend but more an acquaintance in desperate need of help.

As the day progressed, I noticed the rest of my classes were shared with one or more of Allison's friends. They all tried to strike up a conversation but were quickly discouraged when met with my one-worded or vague answers. Especially, Stiles. He tried especially hard to get answers out of me, only being met with the occasional laugh or stare at his comical occurrences. He seemed like the kind of person you could just open up to. The same could be said about Scott. His shy nature was alluring, and he portrayed himself as a very trustworthy and loyal being.

But I would not allow myself to let them in. My whole being yearned for a real friendship, someone to share nothing and everything; never again.

At lunch, I sat outside and ate my food quietly, a book in front of my face to shield my eyes from the sun the prevalent stares of my peers. After some minutes of appreciated loneliness, the empty table was filled with conversating teenage bodies. I smiled politely but, in my mind, I was cursing them out.

"So, (Y/N), how's your day been?" Allison asked whilst munching on an apple. I swallowed what was left of my bite and answered.

"Fine, thank you." This time no one pressed on after my short answers, finally getting the hint of my disinterest. In the corner of my eye, I saw Isaac sitting under a tree munching on half a sandwich. I excused myself and went to join him, heavily enjoying his tranquil aura.

"Oh, hi, (Y/N)." He smiled sheepishly.

"Hey, Isaac. Is that all you're eating?"

"Yeah. I'm not very hungry." He looked down as if he were ashamed.

"Nonsense! Here," I gave him the other half of my burger and another bag of chips I had in my bag. "You can't tell me you're not hungry. You're a boy in peak development."

"Thanks." He smiled as he continued munching on his food. I put on some music and we continued eating in silence. No conversation required.

The day went on smoother than it started. Classes flew by fairly quickly and the incessant chit-chat seemed to diminish. During last period I was like every other student, anxiously waiting for the bell to signal the end of the school day. When my pleads were answered, I packed the necessary book into my bag and left the rest in my locker, expertly avoiding any more social encounters. Quickly, I made my way to the waiting open car door of my father's car, ignoring Allison's beckoning me t.wards the small group of friends.

"How was your first day, darling?" My father spoke up breaking my attention from the scenery.

"Like any other first day I've had." I smiled. "The towns might change but school is always the same."

Finally at home, we were greeted with the sight of my mother cooking; people were coming over.

"(Y/N), honey, Chris, Victoria, and Allison are coming over tonight. So, go do a quick workout and come back to get ready." I nodded and ran to my room to change into workout clothes.

My routine would normally consist of waking up, working out, go to school for a dreading eight hours, come back home, workout again, do my homework, eat, and go to sleep. I lead a very monotonous life and it had been this way since I could remember. One of my earliest memories was of my father teaching me archery alongside Allison, a great distraction to our always disrupted home life. As I got older, my father started training me in boxing and knife maneuvering. How would these skills help me in life were still a mystery but I felt safe knowing them.

I got changed and decided to take Brody out with me on a quick jog through the woods. "Hey, boy, ready to go?"

He jumped on me which I took as a yes and started for the woods. We ran down the same trail I had been going on for the past three weeks. Mostly, I went down this track in hopes that Derek would make an appearance, and today was not the exception. As the ruins of his house came to view so did his tall figure.

"Trespassing again?"

"It doesn't count if I know the owner." During our greeting, Brody's leash slipped out of my hand and he ran to jump on Derek, leaving slobbering licks on his cheek. "I'm so sorry."

"Don't worry about it." He chuckled and helped me bring him down.

"I guess he likes you, even though he doesn't like anyone but me. Guess you're special."

"Maybe." He grinned.

Out of nowhere, I hit him in the shoulder. "What was that for?!"

"For trying to run me over with your shopping cart two days ago. It was uncalled for."

"No, it was revenge. You hit ME first. In the ankle."

"You're still on with that. Come on, sour wolf. That happened three weeks ago, and it was an accident."

"Whatever. Come on, I'll give you a ride home. It's getting kind of dark." This had also become part of my routine. After "bumping" into Derek he would offer to drop me off at my house, claiming it was for security.

"Okay, we're here. By the way, the offer to show you around town is still up. Just call me whenever." He said as he stopped the car in front of my house.

"Alright, will do, and thanks for the ride, Derek. I'd invite you in, but my family is coming over."

"No worries, maybe another time."

"It's a date. Anyways, thanks again. See you when I see you."

"Okay, goodnight."

"Night." He waited until I entered the house and drove away.

"Munchkin, is that you?" My father screamed from the kitchen.

"Yeah!" I screamed back.

"Okay, well, go take a shower and get ready your uncle will get here soon."

I hurried up the stairs and hopped in the shower letting the hot water stream down my body calming any aching muscle that was palpitating. In my room, I searched through my closet for an acceptable family dinner outfit, deciding a grey sweater and black jeans would be enough. I braided my hair out of my face and went downstairs to help my mother set the table.

After we put the last plate the doorbell rang.

"I'll get it!" I ran to the door and was greeted by my uncle. "Uncle Chris!" I jumped and he hugged me. There was no doubt that he was my favorite family member, his presence was always welcoming. His wife on the other hand was as cold as the winters we spent in New York. She was nice but absolutely scary. "Hi, Aunt Victoria."

"Hello, (Y/N)." I hugged her and said hi to Allison.

"Come in, guys." They walked in and I closed the door behind them.

"So, (Y/N), how have you been?" Uncle Chris asked while stuffing his mouth with mom's famous lasagna.

"I've been good. I mean, moving all the time takes a toll on you at first, but I got used to it. It's easy now to pack it all up once the school year ends."

"Oh, honey, that must be so hard on you," Victoria said. I could not read her tone, her words spoke in sympathetic notes with an underlying melody of sarcasm.  Not knowing what to answer, I bit my lip and nodded.

The whole evening was spent on us catching up and eating, laughing, playing games, but the good times came to an end when the clock hit 9:00 pm. It was stupid to set a curfew, but my mom usually had everyone in bed at this time, 10:30 as of late.

"You better come around the house more often." Uncle Chris demanded and hugged me.

"Yes, sir." I raised my hand to my eyebrow and saluted, as did he.

"Let's go, Chris. And thank you for the lovely dinner, Rebecca," Victoria said linking arms with my uncle and smiling at mom.

"No problem. Come by any time." They talked for a bit more and after they left, I went upstairs to change for bed.

"Momma, I'm gonna go to sleep."

"Okay, honey. Goodnight." I went upstairs, brushed my teeth, and put my hair in a ponytail.

Before bed, I made sure everything I would need for the next day was packed into my bag and made sure my alarm was set. I pulled all the throw pillows from my bed and set them aside, then making my way to the window to draw the curtains. Something caught my attention in the backyard, though. My eyes squinted trying to make out the figure in front of me. Blinking the confusion away, I made a double-take and looked back at an empty yard. I laughed to myself as I crept into bed. Why would Derek be in my backyard?

Next ->

[river-bottom-nightmare]

Nightwing #80 Review

woot woot i’ve kept it up for three issues lets gooo. i liked this issue more than the last one. there’s a lot of fanon dick characterization peppered in, but not so much that it puts me off entirely. also, i’m getting increasingly concerned about bitewing. but i did like tim in this one, very nice

look at all the blue and purple and pink. honestly at this point, i’m a broken record but come on come on come onnnnnnn. the blue and pink is very pretty though. this cover’s a bit offputting at first, and a bit spiraly, which i’m sure was the intended effect.

this is a genuine concern of mine. dick’s a vigilante, and he doesn’t have the same sprawling network and resources that bruce does. (even if he is a billionaire now, he hasn’t amassed the same collection of crime-fighting equipment that bruce has.) 

i’m not sure if he’ll be able to take care of bitewing. damian’s got plenty of pets, but alfred used to take care of them, and now bruce plus the rest of the batfam is taking care of them. as far as we know, babs only drops by occasionally, and the same goes for dick’s family and friends. will dick be able to give bitewing the love and time and affection that a traumatized puppy like her needs? i really hope so.

she does look adorable in this panel tho.

dick. richard. richie. baby. why are you shirtless.

you have scars upon scars. probably chemical burns. bullet wounds. weird fucking squiggly lines from knives that only psychos with blade fetishes use. no normal person has the body that you do. and you don’t think that showing up shirtless in front of the police is going to raise suspicion? you don’t think that the people accusing you of murder are going to look at someone who looks like they’re a fucking mob enforcer and go hmm that’s a bit suspicious?

put on a SHIRT jesus CHRIST it’s like you’re not even trying to hide your identity.

look at this pompous little princess demanding only the highest quality head pets i’d burn down latvia for her. (no offense latvians it was the first country that popped into my head.)

pretty boy pretty boy pretty boy pretty boy-

no seriously kudos to the artist here. his expression is so human i wanna cry. dick, right now, is sheepishly asking a question. he knows he’s not going to get into any real trouble, he knows that he’ll be able to talk his way out of or somehow maneuver his way off this mess. but he’ll play nice for the police, so he’s asking a friend for a favour, part self-condescendingly and part oh-well-what-can-you-do.

and his expression reflects that. rather than a stoic expressionless face most male comic characters have when asking someone for something (or all the time really), rather than the weird desperate supposedly “seductive” face that most female comic characters plus dick grayson have when asking someone for something (or all the time really), he’s making a face that i pulled like yesterday. or the day before that. it’s kind of silly, kind of casual, very much human. i like it.

thank god. proper (in character) acknowledgement for officer grayson. yea, fuck cops in general, but i like that they included this line.

obviously, he’s not talking about the actual criminals, he’s talking about the police force itself. the bpd was too corrupt, and dick realized that he wasn’t helping. not only does one clean cop not make a dent in an overall dirty force, but dick was putting his allies in danger too. not only that, but it wasn’t good for dick’s mental health either. he was spreading himself too thin, and surrounding himself with some of the worst of crime 24/7 did a number on him. dick’s got a history of self-sacrificing tendencies, and i’m just glad he’s not a cop anymore.

dick has a gotham rogues mug. they make gotham rogue mugs, and dick has one.

what kinda city looks at it’s frankly horrible crime history and long list of certifiably insane serial killers who are all still alive and actively committing war crimes and goes “oooooh yea imma put that on a coffee mug!” gotham, that’s who.

this isn’t important i just like how all of bitewing’s barks are blue

back straight, hand on his hip, cheerful smile on his face as he says he’s being accused for murder. love that for him.

they couldn’t have said “yea it’s complicated” in a better way even if they put the words “yea it’s complicated” right there on the page in bold red letters. literally all the love to the artists.

dick please. you’re KILLING ME what the actual fuck IS THAT???? WHY DO YOU HAVE A MUG OF THAT???

anyway nightwing collects novelty mugs confirmed.

this paneling is so beautiful. 

tim’s the focus, but he’s not the first thing you see. he’s placed in a way that forces the reader to drag their eyes all the way up the page in order to reach him. it us know just how high up tim is carelessly crouching, especially close to the ledge of the building too. i cannot think of a single better way to introduce a character, and this character in particular: you instantly know this is a version of tim with plenty of experience and training, is comfortable in his body and knows his limits, but still hangs onto that civilian awe of being in a high place and overlooking a brightly lit city.

absolute classic robin. i love it. 

this isn’t even that important but it made me happy. this is how you train surf.

you don’t crouch or bend over when you get to a tunnel, which is oddly enough what most people think (at least from my experience). you bend backward. that not only 100% ensures that you’ll make sure you’re low enough to make it through the tunnel (because you can see the top of the tunnel, unlike when you crouch or bend), but it also makes it easier to get up: all you have to do is push up with your arms into a bent stance, and you’ll be in a ready, moving position. from a bend or a crouch, getting up is more awkward and more slow.

on a meta level, i like that this creative team knows what they’re doing when it comes to the small, almost unimportant stuff like that, because it makes the action more real. (as real as you can get with a guy running around stealing hearts.)

on a in-universe level, it once again drives home both dick and tim’s experience and professional level skill.

regardless of who you side with in the “should tim drake be robin again?” debate, you gotta admit that tim’s rebirth robin suit is r a d as fuck. if i’m not mistaken, this is the same one he was wearing in 2019 young justice for a little bit? it’s cute and hella cool i like it.

remember what i said about human expressions? doesn’t happen as often to tim bc he’s a Child, but it’s still nice to note when someone humanizes him, too. (that’s why i love the duckboy panel so much lol.)

me, at first: that’s not a “good call” dick that’s just common sense

me, now: sprinkled throughout the entire comic we can see dick bending to tim’s instructions if only briefly, joking with him to keep the mood light while still maintaining a serious mood and retaining control over this particular outing. this implies that dick’s doing it intentionally, purposefully leaving places in his sentences blank and offering affirmations, in order to encourage tim and train him in things bruce might not necessarily touch on, such as social chameleoning and misdirection techniques and love/affirmation from a family member. dick is not only a loving and supportive big brother, but he never stops training his younger brother in better vigilante tecnhiques because he wants tim to be better than him. in this essay i will-

d o g g o

also bitewing is getting so many head pats today i’m living for it

look at him, standing on a telephone wire with ease. nice flex, dick.

also look at how he’s silhouetted. the moon’s full bright, bright enough that the sky around dick is light, too. (at least. i’m like 99% sure that’s the moon.) not like most batman comics, where it’s sometimes hard to distinguish bruce from the background, which is entirely on purpose.

gotham is a dark gritty city, and so is bruce. the two of them are one. bludhaven may be a bit of a mess, but it’s being portrayed in all these different shades of blue and purple and pink, that are all light enough that dick stands out from the background. he hasn’t been swallowed up by the city, and chances are that he won’t ever be. also, the colouring helps establish bludhaven as a city too. there’s still hope for it. the light colouring means that it’s not going to sink into a pit as deep as the one bruce wove gotham into. the whole point of this nightwing arc in particular is to turn bludhaven into a better place, and it’s (most likely) letting us know early on that dick is going to accomplish that. he’ll struggle, but he’ll do it.

so dick??? dick designed his escrima sticks with a situation like this in mind? he created his signature and most iconic weapon (other than his chatty mouth), with a built in feature that turns his escrima sticks into tim’s signature and most iconic weapon???? just so that if he and tim ever got into a situation where tim didn’t have his staff, dick could make sure tim had the thing that would give him an edge over anyone he was fighting??? he’s such a big brother oh my goddd.

also tim’s smirk in this is just *chef kiss.* a staff is something he can work with, a staff is something he wields like an extension of his arm, a staff is means that someone’s about to get their ass kicked because tim’s about to beat the shit outta them.

this is my new phone background.

they really made sure we remembered that hey, those first few months when bruce was grieving too much to be any sort of a mentor to tim and was still unwilling to properly train him to be robin out of fear that he would end up like jason, dick was the one who stepped up (once he got over himself and his own fears and hangups with bruce) and trained tim to be robin, trained him how to fight and flip and fuckin fly out there, all while changing his own style a bit to be the more experienced one in the partnership while still trusting said partner to hold their own, so dick and tim have a very unique and cohesive fighting style that makes it hell for anyone who fights them together, didn’t they?

[capsgrl]

Personal Angel

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Word Count: 7,903

Summary: Bucky Barnes joins the Avengers and finds himself drawn to the teams healer, but she’s keeping a secret. Will she finally heal him of the pain he experienced at the hands of Hydra.

Warnings: angst, blood, mentions of injury (only light detail), a couple of bad language words, let me know if I should add more.

Authors note: Please find 7k+ words of Bucky needing a hug and being the soft soldier he is. Reader is a healer and younger sibling of the Maximoff twins. Set after the events of Civil War except everyone loves each other and lives in harmony, nobody goes on the run. *breaks indicate change of POV*

Also posted on ao3

Growing up in Sokovia in a time of war was no picnic, but no matter how hard things were at times your parents gave you and your older twin siblings, Wanda and Pietro, the happiest childhood they possibly could. Until they couldn’t. Until tragedy struck and they were taken away from their three young children by a man named Stark.

Being the youngest, you looked up to the twins to guide you. They were your only family now and you’d follow them anywhere. So you did, you followed straight to Hydra and experiments in a science lab. There was never any doubt in your mind, wherever your family were, that’s where you belonged.

You were given the power of healing. With the help of the mind stone you were able to heal wounds and take the pain away from the injured. The first time you demonstrated your new powers to your handlers, the whole lab rejoiced. With your help, they now had an infallible army. The whole thing didn’t sit right with you, but your siblings assured you that it was a means to an end. Stark needed to pay for what he had taken from you.

It took a lot of practice for you to hone your skills. At first you couldn’t control them, and any time you touched someone, even accidentally, you would heal. The trouble with this was in order to heal them you absorbed their pain. It was only for a brief moment, but it was concentrated like a short, sharp burst. It was intense and it drained you, but eventually you learned to control it, and only use it when you chose to.

When Wanda and Pietro took off to begin their revenge plan they took you with them, but kept you hidden, kept you safe. It was only when they realised the true nature of the man, no robot, they were working for and switched to the side of good that they brought you out of the shadows and finally introduced you to the avengers. 

You went to Sokovia, helping to evacuate people and heal the injured. It was exhausting but these people were innocent and they deserved your help. You were so busy you didn’t have time for fear, but when Wanda stepped onto the bus, the look on her face scared you more than anything ever had. Something bad had happened it was clear as day. Your fears were confirmed when you looked behind her to Clint, a lifeless Pietro in his arms.

Your world had suddenly got a little smaller, three had become two and it hurt. But you knew that whatever you were feeling was nothing compared to the pain of your sister, losing her twin, a connection that you could never understand now severed, and you did the only thing you could do in that moment. You threw your arms around her and absorbed it all, the pain, the grief, everything. It was the last thing you remembered before collapsing to the floor.

The next time you opened your eyes you were staring at the ceiling of the Avengers compound. Your new home. Wanda had assured you that it was the best place for you both and you couldn’t deny you felt more peaceful here than anywhere you’d been since you lost your parents. 

You begged your sister not to reveal how your powers worked. Steve Rogers was a good man and wouldn’t want you to put yourself out for the team, but you wanted to help. She reluctantly agreed, on the condition that you promised not to reveal that you could heal emotional pain too. It always worried her that people would come to depend on you for their emotional needs, and the kind of affect it could have on your mental state. You readily agreed, and became an official Avenger, their resident healer, but your big sister also insisted you join her training with Steve and Natasha so you could learn to defend yourself.

The team continued to grow, until one day Steve introduced you to his latest recruit and best friend, Bucky Barnes. On the outside the man looked just like he did in the old photos you’d seen, just with slightly longer hair and a few more creases around his eyes. It was looking into his eyes that really gave away the changes. You could see a lifetime of pain and suffering in them, so much so that you knew no matter how similar he looked on the outside, he couldn’t be that same man on the inside.

You couldn’t imagine what it must be like for him to carry that pain around with him, and that thought alone spurred you on to do something that you’d not done since the day you comforted your grieving sister in Sokovia. You reached out your hand to shake his, and took just a little bit of that pain away.

B—-B

When Steve had asked him to come and stay with the team at the Avengers compound, Bucky was reluctant. After everything that happened in Berlin and with Tony he felt guilty. The Stark man had assured Steve that he understood that what happened to his parents was an act of The Winter Soldier and not Bucky, but he wasn’t ready to forgive yet.  He assured Steve that it was fine for the new team to take residence in the compound, and headed back to the home he shared with Pepper, vowing to return when the time was right.

Bucky was nervous when his pal had taken him to the common room to properly introduce him to the team members he’d fought beside and against at the airport, but they all seemed really understanding. Going round shaking hands with everyone, his eyes finally landed on you. Steve introduced you as Y/N, and as you took his hand and spoke a soft ‘nice to meet you’ he felt overcome with a warm, calm feeling. A feeling he’d not felt since he was a young man before the war. It was almost like peace. Being around you made him feel lighter.

He came to learn that you were a healer, coming down to the med bag whenever Dr Cho needed your help. He found he wasn’t surprised by that at all, there seemed to be an air of calm about you that was soothing, at least to him anyway, not that he would tell anyone that. He’d barely spoken to you since he’d arrived at the compound. That first time he met you, you excused yourself quickly after shaking his hand and scurried off to your room. He couldn’t really blame you, you were probably afraid of him and wouldn’t be the first person to feel that way. There was something about you that made Bucky want to get to know you, but he was still too fragile to try to forge new relationships, relying heavily on Steve when he needed company, but spending the majority of his time alone.

The first time Bucky saw you use your powers, he was mesmerised. Steve always insisted that the team headed straight to med bat after missions for a once over even if they felt fine, which is where he found himself after returning from a trickier than expected mission with Steve and Natasha. The sound of the door behind him opening caught his attention. 

“Hey Doc, what have we got today?”, you asked as you entered the room.

“Well, Miss Romanoff here took a bullet to the arm, no major damage has been done, and the bullet has been removed, but we could use some healing here if you don’t mind,” the Doctor said barely looking up from her clipboard.

“Of course. Hold still Nat,” you warned as you gently laid your hands over the injury site causing the Black Widow to wince. When you moved your hand away a moment later, Natasha’s arm looked as good as new. It was like witnessing a miracle.

The man was shaken out of his thoughts by your voice. “Want me to fix up that shiner you got there?”, you asked, pointing to the eye that was currently swollen to the point that it wasn’t fully open.

“Uh, no it’s OK, thank you though,” he uttered quietly “the serum will have this healed up in no time.” It was the truth, the serum healed him quickly just as it did Steve, although the throbbing in his head almost made him reconsider. But someone like him didn’t deserve to be on the receiving end of such magic, he felt that he deserved to feel ever ounce of pain, no matter how many times his best friend tried to assure him that he didn’t.

“Well you know where I am if you change your mind.” She offered, reaching out to gently touch his forearm, and once again he felt a feeling of tranquility wash over him. It was like the warmth was spreading from the point that their skin touched, all through his body. He couldn’t stop staring at her hand, that is until she pulled it away and all but sprinted out of the door.

B—-B

You jolted awake, taking a minute to examine your surroundings before realising you were definitely still in your bed, in your room at the compound. It was the middle of the night and the sound of someone screaming had woken you. You strained to listen, and you couldn’t be sure but the screams sounded awfully like they were coming from Bucky. It was probably a nightmare you reasoned, but you decided to go check anyway, just in case. You crept down the hallway towards the sound which was indeed coming from the room belonging to the man in question. Deciding you needed to see with your own eyes that it was just a dream and not something more sinister, you gently pushed the door open and peeked in.

The sight you were met with almost broke your heart. Bucky was thrashing around, tangled in the sheets, and even in the dark you could see the wrinkled set of his brow. The dim light creeping in from the hallway illuminated the sweat covering his face, neck and the part of his chest that was peeking out from the covers. It was amazing that he hadn’t woken himself up yet you mused, but another loud wail shook you out of your thoughts. Spurring into action before you could second guess yourself, you ran lightly to his side and reached out to brush the hair from his damp forehead, and resting your fingers there as gently as you could, you began to absorb the pain. 

He visibly started to calm, the sounds stopping almost immediately and limbs slowly relaxing. You were starting to feel weak and knew that you needed to leave soon before you passed out on the floor next to his bed. You weren’t sure how you’d explain that away in the morning. When you felt like you couldn’t take anymore you pulled your hand back and stumbled back to your room, flopping onto your bed and crying yourself to sleep. The relaxed look on his face the next morning only cemented your plan in your mind. You would do everything you could to ease the nightmares for this tortured solider. A brief moment of pain was nothing compared to a whole night of reliving the worst moments of your life.

After the first few nights of creeping into the former assassins room you had managed to detect some sort of a pattern, and adjusted your sleep schedule accordingly. You didn’t dare tell Wanda what you were doing. You knew she didn’t approve of you using your power to emotionally heal people, further supported by the lecture you got when you’d tried to take her grief after Pietro died. The red head would be absolutely furious with you. 

You were exhausted from the late night healing sessions and were worried people would start noticing the bags under your eyes. You’d not done this much emotional healing before but it was worth it to see how much more relaxed Bucky was looking, and you weren’t the only one to notice, judging by the conversation you were listening in on in the kitchen that morning.

“Hey bud, you’re looking really well rested lately, have the nightmares finally stopped?”, Steve asked as he grabbed a water from the fridge, cooling off from his morning work out. 

“No, I don’t think they ever will to be honest. But they feel different now, duller if that makes sense? I dunno, I can’t explain it, but they don’t seem to wake me up anymore. I’ve not slept this well in decades.” He chuckled in response, following the man out of the kitchen.

You hid your smile behind your coffee cup before taking a sip and turning back to your breakfast but you could feel your sister's eyes on you, staring a hole into the side of your head. 

“Can I help you?”, you asked with exaggerated sweetness like only an annoying little sister could. You didn’t dare look at her though.

“I know what you’re doing.” She stated matter of factly.

“Hey, we had a deal, no looking in my mind without my permission”, you hissed at her angrily.

“I didn’t. I’ve seen you go into his room at night. You’re either healing his pain or fucking him,” she said with a raised eyebrow before smirking and adding “although both can have the same relaxing affect”. 

“I am not fucking him and please keep your voice down”, you whisper shouted. You thought you were being careful and suddenly panicked that someone else might have seen. 

“Why Y/N? You don’t even really know him so why are you risking your own health to fix his?”, your sister asked gently. She didn’t seem angry, just confused. 

“I don’t know. I just couldn’t bear the amount of pain I saw in his eyes the first time we met. Everything that happened to him, a lifetime of pain. I wanted to take it away, he doesn’t deserve it. And I know it’s exhausting and it’s not good for me blah blah blah but I can’t help it. I can’t stop myself.” You finished your rant by slumping back in your chair in defeat, your eyes staring at the ceiling. 

Of all things you expected Wanda to say, or possibly even yell, the last thing you expected was a quiet “Does he know?”. You shook your head and she sat silent for a moment, contemplating before adding “maybe you should get to know him. You know, make friends. You might find you can help him without using your powers.”

B—-B

Bucky sat on the quinjet waiting to take off for the next mission and couldn’t help feeling nervous. He’d been sleeping so well at the compound lately, but this mission would mean staying away for a few days and he was worried about his nightmares coming back when he was possibly sharing a room with his team mates. The only thing giving him comfort this time was that Y/N was joining the team. Steve had asked you to accompany them as the mission was expected to last a few days, and Bucky couldn't stop himself from smiling when he heard the news. Despite the fact that he’d hardly got to know you yet, your presence relaxed him more than he could explain. 

He must have been staring at you this whole time because the sounds of Steve clearing his throat broke him out of his reverie. Bucky turned to look at his friend and was met with a knowing look. “Go talk to her,” he encouraged. But he wasn’t feeling brave enough for that, and he didn’t even know what he’d say, so he just rolled his eyes and got to work sharpening his knives.

The mission had been a hard one, they were going to infiltrate three suspected Hydra bases and take them down, and it affected Bucky much more than he would care to admit. It didn’t help that he'd slept so poorly in the little basic rooms they’d stopped at in between. He thought logically that he’d sleep better sharing a room with his best friend, having the comfort of another person there, not being alone, but he didn’t. The nightmares plagued him again, worse than they’d been in a long time. 

He was agitated, he just wanted to get back to the only place he seemed to be able to sleep, and maybe sleep for a week. He sat leaning forward, elbows leaning on his knees, leg bouncing up and down, and was surprised when you sat down next to him. 

“Wanna talk about it?”, you whispered. His head whipped around to you so fast he's surprised his neck didn’t break. You must have noticed the stunned look on his face, because you quickly added “sorry, I didn’t mean to overstep. I just uh, I figured that this particular mission might have been harder for you than usual. I’m sorry again.” You looked away then, and Bucky was worried you were going to leave. He liked it when you were nearby, so he blurted out the first thing that came into his head “It was”. You looked at him again, this time with sadder eyes. It felt like you were reading his mind, but he was sure you didn’t have that power. “I’m not ready to talk about it, I’m sorry, but thank you. For asking I mean. I appreciate it.”

“I understand. But if you do ever want to talk, about anything, I’m a great listener.” You reached out then, placing your hand in his bouncing knee to stop the movement and he felt it, that familiar warmth spreading from where you touched him, through his whole body, relaxing him. He couldn’t help the smile that stretched across his cheeks, it was like it was involuntary. He turned to look at you then, and you were smiling right back, a soft warm smile. You were so close that he could smell your shampoo and it was intoxicating. Your eyes fluttered slightly and he looked down at your lips. He didn’t even know you but he was suddenly overcome with the urge to kiss you. 

Unfortunately, the moment was broken by a voice that never failed to irritate the super soldier. “Quit making eyes with Y/N man. We need you up front.” 

“Coming Wilson,” he sighed as he turned and watched you all but run away. You slept the rest of the flight home. 

Once the jet landed, Bucky went straight to his room to shower and nap. Feeling much more human now, he ventured to the kitchen for food where he once again saw Sam.

“So you and Y/N huh,” he smirked, folding his arms and leaning back against the counter next to where Bucky was working on a sandwich. “Sorry if I interrupted a moment there. She’s a sweet girl though, I think she’d be good for you.”

Despite his usual irritation with the man, Bucky found that he was actually a really good person to talk to, his experience with social work meaning he often had useful advice. “I like her,” he admitted. “I can’t explain it, I just feel better when she’s around, but I don’t know how to talk to her. One minute I think she wants to talk and then she runs away from me. I don’t know what I’m doing wrong.”

“Well, you are an intense dude”, Sam laughed. “Seriously though, don’t put too much pressure on yourself. Just talk to her, keep it light, ‘hey how’s it going”, you know that sort of thing.” 

Bucky was about to respond when he heard someone call his name. He turned to see Wanda in the doorway, and he could feel his cheeks heat up at being caught talking about her sister. “We need to talk” she stated, in a tone that caused Sam to grab his food and scarper with a quiet good luck on his way out.

“Wanda, I’m not sure how much you heard but…” Bucky started, but was quickly cut off by the red heads raised hand. 

“There’s something you don’t know about Y/N. Healing physical injuries isn’t the only power she has, she can also take away emotional pain.”

Bucky was stunned and couldn’t seem to form a more comprehensive response than “wow, I didn’t know”.

“Nobody knows except me, so I’d appreciate it if you didn’t tell anyone. When she takes the emotional pain away, she absorbs it, and I don’t want her to become an emotional crutch for anyone, I’m afraid that it will affect her mental state negatively. I know the team would never intentionally hurt her, but I can’t risk it. You understand right?”

“Of course, I won’t tell a soul. But why are you telling me this, aren’t you worried I’ll do just that?” Bucky questioned.

“You already are, you just don’t know it”, Wanda quipped. “She’s been healing you. At night when she hears you having nightmares she comes in and takes the pain away. All it takes is a touch, and I suspect she might be doing it at other times too, although I couldn’t be sure”.

Suddenly everything makes sense now. Why he always felt better in your presence. He thought you were just a tactile person but all those gentle touches that warmed his heart were times you were healing him. You were the reason he was sleeping so soundly at night. 

“I swear I had no idea Wanda, you gotta believe me”, he pleaded. 

“I do, I think. But I just wanted you to know, because everytime she takes your pain away, she feels it. Only for a moment, but the worse the pain for the person, the more intensely she feels it. It’s really draining her, and I don’t want to begrudge you the comfort but she’s my sister and I’m worried”.

Bucky felt absolutely awful. He’d never want to inflict his pain on anyone else, even for a moment, especially not someone as good as you. Someone who helped him so selflessly. It was his cross to bear, he made his bed and he intended to lie in it. Cold and alone. “I won’t let her do it anymore”, he swore to Wanda before leaving her alone in the kitchen with his sandwich. He’d suddenly lost his appetite. 

B—-B

Things had been weird since your first mission, you could feel it. Bucky had been avoiding you like the plague, and you felt terrible. You’d wanted to get to know him, to try to be friends like Wanda suggested, but you’d gone about it the wrong way and clearly upset him. He’d even taken to locking his bedroom door at night preventing you from soothing his nightmares. You were sure he wasn’t sleeping again, but you’d not seen so much as a glimpse of him in weeks so couldn’t verify that. 

Why would he lock his door at night? The bedrooms were in a secure floor so there was no danger of intruders and FRIDAY would alert you all anyway. Then it struck you. Did he know? Had he found out that you’d be coming in his room at night to heal him? There’s no way he could know surely, unless someone had told him. Just then Wanda came into the common room and plopped herself down on the couch next to you, and you remembered how protective your big sister could be.

“I’ve not seen Bucky around recently, have you spoken to him at all?”, you asked nonchalantly. “Nope,” was all the answer you got. 

“You sure about that?”, you pressed, giving her your best sister stare down. The look on her face told you everything you needed to know. “Wanda! How could you? Jesus he must be so mad at me, no wonder he’s not speaking to me”, you shouted incredulously. 

“I’m sorry, but I was worried about what you were doing to yourself. You're my baby sister and I love you. If you wouldn’t listen to me I thought you might listen to him.”

“We’ll he’s not even speaking to me now so that was a big fail sis, well done,” you seethed. At that moment Steve and Sam walked in.

“Oh I wondered why tin man’s been so mopey lately, lovers quarrel?” Sam questioned teasingly. Steve elbowed him in the side lightly and pointed down the corridor. “He’s in the gym,” the soldier added by way of explanation. 

As soon as you reached the gym you could see how tired Bucky looked through the glass door. His eyes were dark and heavy, his eyebrows turned down and his hits weren’t landing on the punch bag with their usual impact. 

You stepped in quietly, then thought better of sneaking up on a super soldier and cleared your throat. “Hi Bucky, can we talk a minute?”

The man looked up and then tiredly gestured to the bench at the side of the room where his bag was sat. He sat down and started unwrapping his flesh hand. He was obviously waiting for you to speak first so you took a deep breath to steady yourself and started.

“Firstly, I just wanted to apologise. I know that Wanda told you about me, uh, you know…” you trailed off. God this was embarrassing. “I’m so sorry. I realise that was a total violation of your privacy and also really creepy, but I promise you it was coming from a good place. I was trying to help not, you know, be a peeping Tom or anything.” You blushed at that, remembered the times you’d seen his beautiful chiselled pecs, and those gorgeous biceps and powerful thighs whenever they poked out of the covers. He didn’t need to know about those thoughts.

He chuckled at that and you felt yourself relax slightly. “Trust me, that is one of the least creepy things that’s happened to me in my 100 odd years, doll. Apology accepted”.  You couldn’t help but chuckle back.

“Well thank you. I assume that's the reason you’ve been avoiding me?” You questioned nervously. When he shook his head your heart sank. Did you do something else? Then it hit you. “Of course me healing you without your consent is equally as weird, so again I apologise. I just wanted to help but I can see that I probably went about it all wrong.”

Bucky shook his head vehemently then. “God no, you think I’m mad at you? How could I be mad at you, you’ve got a heart of gold and you have helped me so much since Steve brought me here. Honestly, I don’t think I’d have felt so comfortable here if it hadn’t been for you. I could never understand why I always felt so at peace around a near stranger, but as soon as Wanda explained your powers to me it all made sense. But I would never want to hurt you Y/N, and the thought of you taking on just a fraction of this pain made me feel awful. You don’t deserve that and me avoiding you was just me trying to protect you.”

You were relieved at his confession. He wasn’t mad. You sighed and relaxed fully leaning back against the wall. “I promise you it’s not that bad.  Most of the time. It only lasts for a moment, and sometimes if it’s only mild pain I barely even feel it. Like when I heeled Steve’s bruised ribs on that overnight because he couldn’t sleep. I hardly even flinched,” you said bumping your shoulder with his. “But if you don’t want me to do it anymore, I promise I won’t.” 

“Don’t get me wrong, I appreciate what you’ve been doing for me. More than you could know. But I think it’s about time I tried to overcome these demons on my own.” You nodded at that. He had a point, you had become a crutch without him even knowing. You got up to leave when he grabbed your hand to stop you. “If I’m doing this, I think I’m gonna need a friend. What do ya say?” He asked, looking up at you with a hopeful grin. 

“I’d love to be your friend”, you replied. If you couldn’t help him with your power, offering moral support would be the next best thing. 

B—-B

The months after your talk in the gym had been the best in Bucky’s long life. You’d really started to relax around him, the conversations came easy, both when you were all with the team and if you were hanging out alone.

It was the times that you hung out alone he enjoyed the most. He could really be himself then, without worrying about knowing looks from Steve and Sam, or worrying whether Wanda was going to try and read his mind to find out his intentions with her sister. He wasn’t even sure he was ready to confront those feelings himself. He told himself that he just wanted to get to know you, but deep in his heart he knew that he was falling for you. 

You laughed together, he told you stories about life in the 30s and 40s, his family, a young pre-serum Steve, and anything else you wanted to know. In turn you taught him all about modern technology, helped him pick out some more modern day clothes and even took him to get a haircut. He couldn’t help but notice the way you stared for a little too long when he came out with his hair cropped shorter, before nodding that you liked it. 

The nightmares were back and almost as aggressive as before, but when he walked out into the kitchen one night to make himself a tea and found Y/N sat there waiting for him with one already made, he found himself opening up to you. He’d never tell you all the gory details that plagued his mind at night, but even revealing just a little bit of those late night visions and the feelings that followed, made him feel better. You never judged, just listened, and not even the thought that Sam was right about how he should talk about his feelings more could diminish that safe feeling he had with you. 

You’d even started touching him again, completely innocent touches like leaning your head on his shoulder, linking your hand through his arm when you were walking around town, but still sending a warmth through his body like you were healing him. And maybe you were healing him, he thought, just without using your powers. 

Steve and Sam had been bugging him for a while to ask you out properly, but for some reason today when they started their usual post run chorus of ‘when are you going to ask Y/N out’, he was feeling bold and said he’d do it today.

So that’s where he found himself an hour later, after showering, changing and pacing circles in his room to try and gain back some of the quickly waning courage. He knocked on your door and waited nervously. You answered and invited him in, and he mentally chastised himself for not bringing flowers. He was nervous, but decided to just suck it up and power through. 

“Hey doll, uh I just wanted to ask, see I’ve enjoyed hanging out with you these last few months, more than I’ve enjoyed anything in a really long time.” He was messing this up he knew it, and you were just stood there staring at him and not speaking. The young Bucky from the 40s who was charming and good with the ladies mentally kicked him to get on with it. He could do this. So he continued. “So I just wanted to know if you wanted to go to dinner with some time.” He finally let out a breath and tried to relax whilst he waited for your response.

“Like a date?”, you asked and you looked shocked and he panicked, thinking he’d got all the signs wrong and wondering how he could back track when you smiled and said “I’d love to go out for dinner with you, definitely as a date. I honestly thought you’d never ask, like ever.”

Bucky finally relaxed at that. You said yes, you wanted to go out with him. He didn’t think he could be any happier right now. “Good. Great! I’m going on a mission with Steve and Sam tomorrow so how’s Friday night?”

“Perfect”, you smiled and he honestly didn’t think he’d ever get over seeing you smile at him like that. He was head over heels.

“I wasn’t sure if you’d agree, so I didn’t actually come up with a plan. I’ll text you OK?” He assured you as he backed out the door, wanting to keep looking at you as long as he could. When he got through the doorway he stopped, still smiling like an idiot. You walked up to the door, stood up on your tip toes and kissed him on the cheek. “I can’t wait Buck”, you whispered as you stepped back and shut the door. 

B—-B

The short 2 day mission turned out to be the next big bad, and the three men had ended up having to radio in for back up. It was going to be all hands on deck, which meant that when the second quinjet arrived you were on it. Wanda had asked you to stay behind but you wanted to help, and especially wanted to be there in case a certain someone needed you. 

You were out in the field helping get innocent bystanders to safety and healing up the Avengers so they could get back into the fight. You could feel it taking a toll on your body, your steps becoming more slow and sluggish as time went on. After getting a young family to safety you turned to head back to the next victim needing help when you saw what appeared to be an axe flung in your direction. You froze, your brain tired from all the healing you’d done and not thinking fast enough. 

What you weren’t prepared for was the shove you felt at your side, sending you toppling to the ground. You scrambled up to see the sight of Bucky, laying on the ground at your feet, the weapon in question lodged firmly in his stomach. 

“No no no, Bucky what did you do?!” You screamed as you dropped to your knees to assess the damage. Steve and Wanda were at your side in an instant, the rest of the team continuing the fight around you. You felt panicked, terrified of the sight in front of you as the blood flowed out of the wound and over your hands at a steady rate. You knew exactly what you needed to do, and you needed to do it now before it was too late and the blood loss became too much.

Taking in a big breath you steeled yourself and started giving out orders. “Steve, I need you to remove the axe, and Wanda, you need to put up a shield to protect us from further damage while I heal him. Ok, on three guys, one…” but before you could count any further the man in question croaked out your name. “Doll please, it’s OK, just let me go. I’m old, it’s my time.” 

The fact that he would even suggest such a thing made you livid. “Bucky, how could you say that? You saved me, so now I’m going to save you and we don’t have time to argue this,” you shouted as your knees started to become damp with his blood. 

“C’mon Buck, let her do it. She does it all the time, no big deal right,” Steve encouraged, clapping you in the shoulder whilst you nodded your head in agreement.

Wanda rested her hand gently on your shoulder then, an action that you were sure was meant to soothe, but only irritated you as you knew exactly what was coming. “You’ve never healed a wound this severe before, you don’t know what it will do to you.” 

At Steve’s confused look your sister began a quick explanation on how your powers truly worked but you drowned the conversation out as Bucky weakly reached a hand up to your face. “Please Y/N,” he begged, “I don’t wanna hurt you, I love you. Just let me go.” But hearing those three words, from the man you loved, a man who was fading in front of you, just further cemented your decision in your mind. Looking at the Captain beside you, you whispered “Steve, please” and you knew you had him. He nodded grimly and on the count of three he lifted the axe, and you replaced it with your hands.

As you placed your hands over the oozing wound, you tried to concentrate everything you had into the prone man’s body, every ounce of love and every morsel of strength you had left in you. You sent a silent prayer up to heaven that you’d get to tell this man you loved him too and share your first kiss. You could feel your body weakening, and were vaguely aware that the steady flow over your hands seemed to be slowing, but you couldn’t hold it much longer, and you hoped it would be enough. Suddenly the overwhelming urge to sleep invaded your senses and you collapsed right there on top of Bucky’s chest.

You awoke to the sound of beeping. Your eyelids felt heavy and it took a few moments for you to blink them fully open, but when you finally did you were greeted by the sight of your older sister.

“Oh god, I’m so relieved you’re awake!” She cried brushing your hair off of your forehead in a motherly gesture. 

“Bucky,” you managed to croak out through your dry mouth. Wanda handed you a sip of water before answering. “He’s fine. He’s currently receiving blood to replace what he lost but you did it, you healed him. Dr Cho called it a miracle.” 

“Oh thank god,” you sighed “and the battle?” 

“We won,” your sister informed you “and you young lady are going to be fine. The doc ran extensive tests and seems to think that you just kind of passed out from the pain, and then went into a deep sleep from the shock. But it could have been much worse, you need to be more careful.”

“In this line of work?” You joked, causing her to roll eyes. “When can I get out of here?” 

At that moment, your Captain stepped into the room. “The doctor will be in to give you a once over in a moment, then you’re good to go,” he informed you. “I was just wondering if I could have a moment?” He asked tentatively. Your sister excused herself and left the two of you alone. 

Steve sat down in the now empty chair. He looked tired, and you guessed he must have been sat by Bucky’s side for a good while. You were glad he had someone there. 

“I wanted to thank you Y/N,” he started. “If you hadn’t been there, I would have lost my best friend all over again. The fact that it caused you so much hurt to heal him, well that is something I can never repay. I feel terrible for letting you do it, it was selfish of me.” He looked so guilty that it made you sad. 

“I was going to do it anyway Steve, whether you agreed or not. There’s just no way I could have sat there and let him go.” You could feel the tears welling in your eyes at the thought of things ending before they’d even really started.

You knew Steve understood, after everything he’d been through to get his friend back he knew exactly how you felt. “Well I’m extremely grateful for that stubborn streak of yours, but now that Wanda’s filled me in on all the facts surrounding your gift we’re going to have to have a conversation about some new work protocols,” the man scolded, his captain's voice firmly back. Clearly reading the sense of dread in your face he added, “but now we have more pressing matters. There’s someone down the hall that’s desperate to see you.”

B—-B

Bucky was fed up. He hated hospitals, he’d spent far too many years of his life being poked and prodded and he was done with it. He’d laid in this bed for 2 days waiting for you to wake up and he couldn’t help but replay the last time he saw you in his mind.

He was laying on the ground, a pain searing through his stomach, when suddenly he felt a familiar warmth. A warmth he hadn’t felt in a long time, spreading from the wound throughout his whole body. This time though, the feeling was different, it was more somehow. He’d never really believed in god, or any kind of divine being, not after everything that happened to him in the past. But that feeling, he could only imagine it was how it would feel to be touched by an angel. Suddenly the pain was gone but he could still feel a heavy weight on his chest. He looked down to discover the weight he was feeling was you.

Bile had risen in this throat when he realised what had happened. Y/N had healed him, hurting yourself in the process. Wanda was shaking you, trying to wake you. Steve was checking your pulse, assuring the redhead that it was still very much there. He lifted you off Bucky’s chest, and carried you quickly to the quinjet. Wanda helped the injured soldier up and to the jet too, where he sat next to you holding your hand until Steve landed back at the compound, the medics ready to greet you all straight from the ramp. 

Bucky hadn’t seen you since they’d whisked you away for testing. They’d taken him to a separate room where he was given blood to make up for what he’d lost on the battlefield. He kept asking if you were OK and if he could see you, but was told to stay put until they knew more. 

As he laid there with his eyes closed his thoughts were interrupted by footsteps, followed by Steve’s voice. “You have a visitor,” he announced simply. 

Bucky sighed, not feeling up for visitors at the moment. “If it’s bird brain again tell him I’m dead” he grouched. Not hearing the comeback he was expecting from his sharp tongued friend, he opened his eyes, and almost pinched himself to check if he was dreaming. 

“You’re awake, oh god doll are you ok?” He asked, trying to get out of bed and go to you, forgetting about his IV and the other wires connected to him. 

“Stay put,” you said rushing towards him, gently pushing him back into the bed. “I’m fine, just had a nice long sleep.”

“You scared the shit outta me. I told you to let me go. My life is not worth more than yours.” Suddenly aware that his fear could be mistaken for anger he softened his voice. “But thank you. I owe you everything.”

You just smiled back at him that beautiful smile he worried he’d never see again. “Actually, you just owe me a date.” You reached out your hand to hold his and he couldn’t resist placing a kiss in your knuckles. “As soon as I’m all fixed up and out of here, I’m all yours.” And he was. He knew now that he would only ever be yours for as long as you’d have him. 

You stayed and chatted with him a while longer, never letting go of his hand, but after a while he could see your eyes falling. “Go home doll, you need your rest,” he tried to encourage.

“I am tired but I just don’t want to go,” you pouted.

“Well, you could hop up here and take a nap next to me. It’s a small bed though we might have to snuggle real close”, he suggested with his most charming smile.

“Sounds perfect,” you smiled sleepily. You took off your shoes and climbed up in the bed next to him. He lifted the blanket for you to slip under, and you immediately rested your head on his shoulder, his arm wrapping around to hold you close. He thought you’d fallen asleep, and he laid there watching your steady breaths until you spoke again. “When I was healing you, all I could think about was the fact that I’d never told you I loved you and I’d never kissed you, and I knew that if I never saw you again it would be my biggest regret. So I’m telling you now. I love you.”

“I love you too,” he whispered before leaning down and capturing your lips in a kiss that he’d been dying for since he met you. Your lips were so soft, and your body felt so warm and so right pressed against him. The kiss started out slow and loving, Bucky pouring all the love he felt into it, but when you slipped your hand up to gently tug on the hair at the nape of his neck and deepening the kiss, things got a bit more heated. The sound you made when your tongues finally met was almost enough to make him lose control and he slid his hand down from where it was stroking your lower back over your hip and down to your thigh. He was just about to pull your leg up and over his so he could show you just how much you were affecting him when you were interrupted by an alarm. You pulled back, panic on your face and he couldn’t help but laugh. “You just got my heart racing,” he teased, nodding at the heart rate monitor that was slowly calming back down.

You laughed then and gently shoved his shoulder. You were now both lying on your sides facing each other. “Well, that’s one item ticked off the bucket list,” you quipped, before leaning forward and pressing a gentle kiss to the corner of his mouth. “To be continued,” you joked as you wiggled your eyebrows, “now let’s sleep.”

As you both snuggled back down in the tiny hospital bed, Bucky kissed the top of your hair and whispered quietly “goodnight angel.” He would never admit it to anyone but he’d missed the feeling of you healing him, the warm feeling that engulfed him when your power flowed through him was like nothing he’d ever felt before, he could understand why Wanda was concerned that people would come to rely on it too much.

But as you laid there asleep in his arms a different kind of warmth enveloped him, and as he slipped off into a restful sleep he realised that he didn’t need your powers to heal him, your love was enough, his personal angel. 

[giveemhales]

Moodboards for Sterek AUs: 22/?

For @sterekvalentineweek Day 3

Secret Crush

4 times Stiles gave Derek a valentine, and 1 time Derek decided to return the favor.

The story can be read under the cut or on AO3!

1st grade

Derek was new, and that’s what causes the whole fiasco.

Well, not exactly new. He had been at the school since the school year had started back in August, and it was now February. But he was new in that it’s the first year anyone in his family has ever attended public school. Born into a powerful pack of werewolves with a history spanning back centuries, he had been raised surrounded only by werewolves and humans who knew about the supernatural. None of his relatives had ever gone to public school, as the risk was deemed too great to send children out in public where they may accidentally reveal their true nature. Derek and his siblings were supposed to be home-schooled, as was tradition.

However, times were changing, and their emissary had suggested the children should start attending public school. Not only was it to help the children learn how to handle being around humans and in public, but also the hunters were becoming more aggressive, and it was advised that they act as much like normal humans as possible so as not to raise suspicion.

So Derek and his older sister, Laura, were the first werewolves in the Hale pack history to go to public school. It was their first year for both of them, Derek in first grade and Laura in second. They had spent the years before learning how to control their shift under the guise of home-schooling, and the family was confident they would blend right in. 

They did blend in, for the most part, never letting their eyes change color and holding back growls no matter how angry they became. But apparently, there was more to being human than just looking the part. There were all these rules and customs that everyone seemed to know except them. Derek rarely minded his family’s social faux pas, honestly never really noticing them. But on this one occasion, everyone noticed, and he was particularly upset.

It was Valentine’s Day, a holiday which his family never celebrated (why did humans need a holiday to show their adoration for their mates? How strange). The lack of experience with the holiday is why nobody in the family realized it was customary to bring “valentines” to school to share with classmates, and that’s why he arrived empty-handed. 

When all the other students set up their boxes in which to receive treats, he watched in confusion, which morphed into dawning horror when he realized everyone had gifts to hand out except for him.

Derek had hoped he could slip under the radar, receive the gifts like everyone else and then maybe bring double the treats next year to make up for it. 

The teacher had a different idea. The teacher scolded him in front of the whole class for being irresponsible and inconsiderate, and told him that if he had nothing to share, then nobody could share with him. He had to sit in the corner by himself and think about what he had done wrong (he was 6 years old, he didn’t have money or a calendar, this hardly seemed like his fault).

So Derek sat in the corner by himself, not only having to hear all of the other kids laugh and have a great time, but also smell the delicious treats thanks to his werewolf nose. He was used to being on his own at school, not having made any real friends, but it hurt so much more knowing he was being purposefully excluded. He had to fight hard to hold back his claws, and even harder to fight back tears. He hated this stupid school and the stupid humans in it and their stupid rules and traditions and just wanted to go home. 

When the school day was finally, blessedly over, Derek shuffled out of the room with his head bowed and shoulders hunched, not wanting to see the smiles on all of the other kids’ faces and not wanting them to see the frown on his, unable to help feeling like they were mocking him.

He made it out the front doors of the school, and thought he was finally free, but stopped when he felt a hand on his shoulder.

He turned with a scowl. It was a student in his class named Stiles. Derek wasn’t really friends with him. They had played together at recess a couple of times and he seemed funny and nice, but it wasn’t like they had ever spoken outside of school.

Derek began to wonder if he was wrong in his categorization of Stiles as nice, because he could think of no reason for any of his classmates to stop him except to gloat. Before Stiles had even said anything, Derek was already seething, thinking about the treat Stiles had brought that everyone had gotten to try except for him. While most of the students had just brought candy, Stiles had brought clearly homemade sugar cookies, and the scent had had Derek salivating in his isolation. 

Before he could snap at Stiles in anger, however, Stiles thrust his hands forward in an offering. Derek looked down and was surprised to see he was holding two cookies, each partially covered by a napkin.

“Sorry Mrs. Johnson was so mean to you today. She said that we weren’t allowed to give you any valentines but I think that’s mean and dumb and I don’t follow mean and dumb rules. So I saved you a cookie. Actually, I saved you two cookies, one of them is for your sister because I figure if you didn’t bring any valentines then she probably didn’t either and might have also not been allowed any treats, which would be so sad because what’s the point of Valentine’s day besides the treats. If you eat them both, though, that’s okay because you didn’t get any candy or anything so I think you probably deserve two cookies. I would give you even more cookies but I only had the one that was already for you, and then the extra one my mom packed in my lunch box. I wanted to eat that one and then I also wanted to eat yours but I realized I shouldn’t because my mom already gave me a cookie last night so I really don’t need another and also my mom bakes all the time and most people don’t get to try the greatness of her cookies and so I have a respons- responsabl- responsibit- it’s my job to share the cookies.” 

Stiles finally quit his rambling to stare expectantly at Derek, who was staring back in shock. He shoved his hands forward again, until Derek finally took the offered cookies.

Derek didn’t even get the chance to say thank you before Stiles was talking again, telling some story about a time he forgot his shoes at home and how that was way worse than forgetting some valentines. He kept talking before he noticed the bus was beginning to leave, and sprinted off without so much as a goodbye. 

Derek looked down once again at the cookies, and saw there was a note included. Written on a sticky note in first-grader scrawl, it said Sorry the teacher is so mean. You can be my BVF (best valentine forever). Valentine was written three different times, the first two times crossed out as he clearly wasn’t positive how the word was spelled.

Derek did end up giving the second cookie to Laura, and he found he didn’t mind because he knew the note was all his.  

4th grade

Derek still didn’t particularly care for Valentine’s Day, his introduction to the holiday forever tainting his opinion, but he had still come to find himself excited about the impending sugar. 

There was a storm cloud over this Valentine’s Day, though, at least for Derek and definitely for Stiles. Ever since first grade, Derek had looked forward to the homemade treats Stiles would bring, baked with love by his mother.

Derek knew that wouldn’t be the case on this day, though, because Stiles’ mother had passed away a couple of months before.

Everyone in the small town knew about it, rumors constantly spreading about the sheriff’s new drinking habits. Nobody seemed to notice the effect it had on the young boy. But Derek did.

Stiles had become more withdrawn in the months leading up to his mother’s death, presumably having to deal with her illness, but it was like he shut down once she was gone. The boy who once talked a mile a minute now was silent, except for the occasional whispers to his best friend. His absences became more frequent, and he stopped bringing a lunch to school, instead having to buy cafeteria food he would rarely eat. The worst part though was the scent of grief that constantly clung to him.

Derek saw how badly he was affected and could only hope that he would heal with time. Derek wished he knew how to help, but he still hadn’t even figured out how to make friends, let alone how to help someone cope with the loss of a parent.

So Derek knew he wouldn’t be getting any baked goods on this day, that he probably wouldn’t be receiving anything from Stiles. He just hoped that the teacher wasn’t as rude about it as his first-grade teacher had been.

Derek was proven wrong though. Stiles hadn’t brought cookies or anything of the like, but he had brought valentines. For every classmate, he had a red piece of paper which he had folded into a heart and marked with their names. They weren’t perfect, but they were definitely better than most nine-year-olds could do. 

Derek was so touched at the small gift, and seethed when he saw none of the other students saw it for what it was. He even saw one student throw their heart in the trash (which Derek made a point to dig out and keep for himself because that heart was something Stiles had spent time on and deserved to be cherished). None of the students realized how kind Stiles was. That while dealing with grief, which was probably made even worse with the holiday bringing on a reminder of a tradition he could no longer partake in, and a father who himself was probably still grieving and didn’t remember he was supposed to get valentines for his son, Stiles had still made sure he had something to give to his classmates. This gift was far more valuable than anything any other student had brought. 

Derek was even more touched when he realized that there was a note written inside of the heart, too. He carefully unfolded it, making sure to keep track of how he did it so he would be able to refold it, and read what was inside.

Don’t tell Scott, but you’re still my favorite Valentine.

It was made even better when he realized the other heart he had, the one from the trash, had no note, meaning Stiles had written a note especially for Derek. 

Derek gave Stiles the warmest smile he could from across the room and vowed to keep that note forever. 

6th grade

Derek was quick to realize Valentine’s Day was not the same in middle school as in elementary. For one, there was no making mailboxes or handing out valentines. If you wanted to celebrate the holiday, you had to do it on your own time. 

The second major difference was that “like-liking” someone was a thing, and lots of girls “like-liked” Derek. Derek was apparently one of the cutest guys in the grade, and that helped immensely with his popularity. He had finally been able to make some friends, which was nice. 

Derek wasn’t really a fan of all of the attention he got at school, though. He would have preferred to just spend time with the couple of best friends he had made, and ignore all of the people who wanted to be his friend solely for his status.

He knew Valentine’s Day would give some girls the perfect opportunity to confess their “feelings” for him (they didn’t even know him!) and Derek was not looking forward to it.

Derek had been correct in his assumption, and by the end of the day, three different girls had asked to be his Valentine, and he had to kindly reject them all. It was far too much for him, and he was exhausted by the end of the day. 

Before he could go home, though, he had to stop at his locker to grab a textbook he needed for class.

He was surprised, and a little bit disturbed, to find a box of chocolates in his locker. It was definitely too big for someone to just slip through the slots, so someone would have had to break into his locker to get it there. 

Derek immediately felt all of his annoyance of the day growing. Why could these girls not leave him alone?

However, when he leaned in to grab the box, he caught a whiff of a scent that had him calming down.

Stiles.

Suddenly, Derek found he wasn’t too upset. It wasn’t at all surprising that the boy knew how to break into lockers, and Derek found himself inexplicably preening at the thought that the boy still wanted to be his Valentine.

Taped to the bottom of the box was a typed note with no signature, clearly meant to anonymous. Derek likely never would have known who it was if it wasn’t for his werewolf senses.

The note simply read “Why don’t they let us hand out candy anymore? Middle school is lame. Don’t worry, I won’t let them ruin the holiday for you (everyone knows the sweets are the whole point). Hope you enjoy the chocolates, valentine.”

On second thought, Derek realized he probably would have been able to figure out it was Stiles, just based on the note. He could practically hear the words in Stiles’ voice. He would still let him think he got away with being anonymous, though.    

Maybe middle school Valentine’s Days weren’t so bad, after all. 

10th grade

Derek just knew this was going to be the worst Valentine’s Day ever, and he wished that he could just skip the whole day. He would totally pretend to be sick so he could stay home except that werewolves can’t get sick so he doubted that would fly with his parents.

Derek had broken up with his girlfriend, Paige, just a couple of weeks before. He knew that in the grand scheme of things they weren’t that serious, they hadn’t even been together for a whole year, but he had felt like he was madly in love with her. 

He was healing, of course, and, for the most part, had moved on. But Valentine’s Day would just be a reminder of what he was missing (it stung every time he remembered he never got the chance to celebrate Valentine’s Day with her, he had been secretly excited to finally have a real significant other to be romantic with). That, and due to his popular status, the day would either bring on pitying looks from all of the students who thought his relationship was somehow their business, or flirting from girls who thought they now had a chance. Knowing his luck, probably a combination of both. 

Derek groaned when he walked into his first-period history class and saw a heart-shaped balloon tied to the back of the desk he usually sat at. This was absolutely the last thing he wanted to deal with. He thought about just sitting at a different desk but figured it was better to go ahead and throw away the balloon before class started so as to avoid drawing any attention. 

When he got to his desk, he saw a note tied to the string of the balloon. He opened it and a smile bloomed on his face when he was met with typed words.

Of course! He had been so focused on Paige that he forgot about the annual tradition Stiles had begun in the sixth grade of leaving secret gifts with notes for Derek. 

Stiles wasn’t even in the class so Derek didn’t even know how he had known which desk was his, but at this point, nothing Stiles did could really surprise him. 

I know they may not be the usual sweets, but I figure with this, you can tell anyone who bothers you that you already have a valentine. You know I’ve always got your back, Valentine.

The note just reconfirmed for Derek that it was from Stiles.

The gift cheered him up immensely, and he felt his qualms about the day beginning to melt away.

~~~

The day dragged on until lunch, made better by the balloon Derek carted around, which actually did help keep people away.

Derek was sitting at his usual spot with his friends when he hears a commotion from the other side of the cafeteria, and turned to see what was going on.

It seemed everyone turned to look, although he’s not sure if they can all hear. It was easy enough with his enhanced senses, though.

Derek could make out Stiles standing up on a table, looking down at a girl with strawberry blonde hair. The rest of the people at the table had faces ranging from shock to embarrassment, except for one guy who looked like he was fuming. Derek honestly didn’t know if that table was where Stiles usually sat, or if he had just decided to crash.

“Lydia, today, on the most romantic day of the year, I must make my feelings known. I know you are a goddess and I am a mere mortal, but my heart sings for you and I can no longer hide it. Reject your other suitors, for none see how brightly you shine like I do. Please accept this token of my affection, and be my Valentine.” Stiles opened up a thin box he had been holding to reveal a heart-shaped cookie cake.

Derek cringed in second-hand embarrassment, especially when he saw people giggling and filming the whole thing.

“I’ll think about it,” the girl responded in an airy voice. She was too far away that Derek couldn’t tell if she was being mocking or serious.

Stiles’ grin didn’t leave his face as he stepped down from the table. Derek saw him offer Lydia the cookie cake, but she held her hand up in rejection. Stiles shrugged and held the box closer, then grabbed his friend, who Derek recognized as his best friend Scott, by the shoulder and rushed out of the cafeteria.

Derek found himself fuming. At first, he thought it was at the way everyone was laughing at Stiles after he put himself out there, and the way the girl didn’t even appreciate what he had done. But he realized that wasn’t what it was, not really.

It was jealousy.

Derek had always cherished the tradition he had going on with Stiles (although he supposed it was mostly one-sided and it was secret), and it had made him feel special. Now he felt like it meant nothing. It was nothing more than Stiles feeling bad for the kid who once had a bad Valentine’s Day.

Derek abruptly shoved away from his table and stood up. He grumbled an excuse about having to be somewhere and stomped out of the cafeteria, annoyed he had to drag the balloon from Stiles with him. All he wanted was to pop the dumb balloon and shove it in a trash can, but knew he would regret it if he decided to do that in front of a cafeteria full of people.

As Derek stormed down the, thankfully empty, hallway, he heard a voice. He froze when he recognized that it was Stiles’ voice. He immediately hid himself against the wall, then rolled his eyes when he realized Stiles wasn’t even coming toward him, but seemed to be having a conversation in the hallway perpendicular to the one Derek was in. Derek knew there was no reason to, but he couldn’t help but eavesdrop.

“I just don’t understand why you did that! You know Lydia would never go for you!” That was Scott’s voice, and Derek couldn’t help but feel offended on Stiles’ behalf. 

“Thank you for your vote of confidence, Scott. I feel like the more pressing issue that you could have mentioned is the fact that I don’t even swing that way, which would have been a much less hurtful thing to say.” 

Derek froze. Had he heard that correctly? He felt guilty realizing he had listened to Stiles out himself, but felt frozen in his spot.

Scott sighed explosively. “Okay, so then why did you do it?”

Stiles gave an equally dramatic sigh. “Because Lydia asked me to, duh. Besides the fact I’m too afraid of her to say no, she gave a compelling argument. She’s currently fighting with Jackson and wanted to piss him off and make him jealous, and you know I’m always down to piss Jackson off. Plus, she said she would get a cookie cake and let me keep it, which, as you can see, she did. Plus, it’s not like I have a reputation to uphold. This isn’t even the most embarrassing thing I’ve done this year.”

Scott laughed. “Oh yeah, you mean like wooing the same person for years but not even telling them it’s you? Or talking to them?”

Stiles hissed out a “shut up” in anger, but Derek tuned out the rest of the conversation, feeling like he was on cloud nine. 

Scott must have been talking about all of the gifts Stiles had been giving to Derek. Which meant it did mean something, and that Stiles actually had feelings for Derek. Not for Lydia, who didn’t even appreciate Stiles.

Derek spent the rest of the day feeling like he was floating, proudly holding his balloon through the hallways. It wasn’t until the end of the day that Derek that the way he was reacting was a bit over the top unless…

Did Derek also have feelings for Stiles?

12th grade

Derek felt like his heart was about to pound out of his chest, and he was certain he had already sweat through his shirt. He couldn’t remember the last time he had felt this nervous. 

It was Valentine’s Day, his last one before he went to college. He knew if he didn’t do anything, it would be fine. Stiles would probably give him an anonymous gift like every year, and it would be a nice thing to reminisce about one day. It would be the same as always.

But Derek decided he couldn’t let things stay the same, and he was about to throw a wrench in Stiles’ plans. 

He wasn’t sure at what point he had begun to develop feelings for Stiles, but he had realized in tenth grade after he heard about Stiles’ feelings that they were definitely there, and at this point they had become too deep to ignore. He wanted to be Stiles’ valentine but he wanted it to be for real this time, and the only way to make that happen was by telling him. And desperately hoping that he hadn’t completely misinterpreted everything.

Derek had arrived to school over half an hour early, parking right next to Stiles’ usual spot to make sure he didn’t miss him. He wanted to catch him in the parking lot, to hopefully stay out of the way of prying eyes. 

It had seemed like a good idea, but now he was left stewing in his own anxiety, thinking about everything that could go wrong and wondering if he should back out now before it was too late. He even wondered if he shouldn’t have made his younger sister hitch a ride with someone else so that at the very least he would have company, but he knew she would only make him more stressed. Sisters were evil like that.

Fifteen minutes before school began and Stiles finally arrived.

It was now or never. 

Derek got out of his car just as Stiles did, and called his name. Stiles jumped in shock and turned to face Derek. Derek caught a whiff of nerves off of him, but he didn’t run, so at least that was a good start.

“Can I talk to you real quick?”

Stiles looked surprised, but he nodded and approached Derek. “Uh, sure. Did you want to go inside, or…”

“No, we can talk out here. Actually, it’s better out here, because I have some stuff. In my car, I mean. So it’s easier if it’s here and I don’t have to carry it and we can just talk here now.” Derek realized none of what he was saying was making sense, and felt dread pool in his stomach when he saw the confusion growing on Stiles’ face. God, why was this so hard?

“I just wanted to say- uh- Happy Valentine’s Day. Well, that wasn’t all I wanted to say, but- One sec.” Derek ducked into the back of his car, glad he had an excuse to collect himself for a moment.

When he reemerged, it was with a box which he placed on top of his trunk. He was grateful to see that Stiles hadn’t fled.

Derek looked down at the box, avoiding eye contact with Stiles to the best of his ability, and began pulling out items one by one. “In second grade, you brought me a brownie, one that had heart-shaped sprinkles that your mother had baked. In third grade, it was an equally delicious cupcake.” He pulled out a brownie and cupcake (both store-bought and certainly not as good as Stiles’ mother’s baked goods, but baking was not his strong suit) and shoved both into Stiles’ hands, continuing on before Stiles could interrupt him. “In fourth grade, it was a folded heart, which I now realize was very impressive, since I’m about double the age you were when you made ones for the whole class and just this one took me about 20 tries.” He gave out a self-deprecating laugh, and once again handed the item to Stiles. “In fifth grade, it was a heart-shaped lollipop. In sixth, a box of chocolates. Seventh, conversation hearts.” He realized Stiles’ hands were too full to hold anything else, and began placing the items onto the trunk next to the box instead. “In eighth grade, it was a teddy bear. Freshman year, it was chocolate covered strawberries. Sophomore year, you gave me a heart-shaped balloon, which was actually quite useful.” He had to lean back into his car to grab the balloon, since it had been too big for the box. “Last year, it was roses. And all of it began in first grade, when you decided the nobody kid in the class with no friends deserved to have something nice, no matter what the teacher said, when you gave me the best cookie I have, to this day, ever had. You told me then, and for years to come, that I was your valentine. And as much as I loved that, I want something more. Will you be my real valentine? Will you be mine?” Finally, he pulled out a heart-shaped cookie, covered with pink icing and the words Be Mine written on top.

Derek finally looked up at Stiles, who had his mouth open in shock. He smelled like a myriad of emotions, and Derek was having difficulty getting a read on him. As the seconds passed, he began to get the sinking feeling he had royally fucked up.

“Are you kidding me?” Stiles finally burst out, and barrelled on before Derek could even figure out what part he was reacting to. “You’ve ruined my ten-year plan! I have been secretly wooing you- or at least I thought it was secret- for years, and today was going to be the grand finale! I was going to confess that it was me all along and then I was going to offer you a kiss and if it was weird and you weren’t interested I had some chocolate kisses to give you so I could play it off all cool, but then if you were interested we were going to have a great, romantic first kiss. But you have out-romanced me in one fell swoop! How dare you!”

Derek stared back in shock. He felt.. actually he had no idea how he felt and wasn’t even sure what part of that he was supposed to react to first.

“Well, what do you have to say for yourself?” Stiles demanded, although Derek could see the smile hidden on his face.

“Uh… is a kiss still on the table?”

“Chocolate or real?”

“What do you think?”

Stiles pretended to think about it for a moment. “Well, after that grand romantic gesture, I would say a real kiss. But I do know you have a sweet tooth, so it’s hard to say for sure…”

“How about this? You kiss me now, and then after school we go on a date and finish that whole bag of kisses together. And all this store-bought shit I got you. Sound like a good compromise to you?”

Stiles smirked. “Sounds perfect, Valentine.”

After that, Derek helped Stiles put all of the gifts into his Jeep, and then they walked hand and hand to the school, not even caring they were probably late at this point.

Suddenly, a thought hit Derek, and he froze, causing Stiles to stumble and then turn to him with an expectant eyebrow raised.

“Wait, you said ten-year plan. Have you actually been wooing me this whole time?”

Stiles blushed, and it was the prettiest thing Derek had ever seen. “Well, not exactly. But after I gave you that cookie in first grade, I saw the way your eyes lit up, and when you smiled at me, well, my little 6-year-old heart knew you were going to be the only Valentine I’d ever need.”

[lorcaswhisky]

Star Trek: Discovery 4.2 - Anomaly

Before this season started, I was not immune to 'how many universe-threatening, once-in-a-lifetime dangers does Discovery really have to face before they finally get a day off?' thinking. Ugh, another season-long Big Bad that's so big I'll keep losing sight of it and occasionally have to be reminded that it's there! But after Anomaly, I've softened my stance a bit. A lot, actually.

(Grief, loss, personal stuff, and spoilers for episode 4.2 of Star Trek: Discovery under the cut)

At the end of episode 1, Book's home planet of Kwejian is destroyed, and in episode 2 we see him start, slowly, painfully, to process that loss. Book has lost a whole planet - and the stakes are somehow even higher than that - but this time the huge season-long Big Bad somehow feels accessible and painful in a way that other Discovery storylines haven't necessarily managed (to me). And I realised that it's because we were allowed to zoom in on Book's grief. And the thing about grief is that it can feel like the end of the world even when it's 'just' the loss of one person.

Unlike season 3, which was an accidental pandemic analogy - this season, the writers seem to be going for a direct pandemic analogy. A deadly event that could sweep everywhere, unseen and almost impossible to predict, with devastating consequences. I think it's a powerful, if not massively subtle analogy. It's the kind of grief and fear we've all been dealing with, to a greater or lesser extent, over the last 20 months. But the pandemic wasn't the reason episode 2 made me cry.

A few weeks ago, my father in law died. It wasn't Covid-related, but it was sudden, it was traumatic, it was witnessed by family members, and it has left a deep and painful hole in the lives of the people left behind. It also came just as my husband, who had spent 20 months being not seeing his dad in person (because of the risk of giving him Covid) was starting to feel safe enough to start making up for lost time and seeing him again. My family only lost one person, but to them it might as well have been the entire world.

Culber tells Stamets (I think - I can't watch the episode again to verify my memory thanks to the Paramount fuck up) that everyone deals with grief in their own way, and that you should let yourself be led by what they need. And that was exactly what this episode did. Characters in episode two were dealing with different kinds of grief and going through exactly the kinds of reaction I've seen in family members these last few weeks: guilt, obsessing over details, wondering what they could have done differently, lashing out, being uncertain how to talk about it, apologising for 'ruining' happy occasions with their sadness.

I don't have anything particularly clever or meaningful to say about any of this that the episode didn't already touch on. Except that it was beautiful, and painful, it all hit very, very close to home. And it was cathartic. I guess I just hope that those who have also gone through recent (or even not so recent) losses find something in this season too.

(On a side note - it's also refreshing to watch a man grieve in fiction without that grief being used as a vehicle for a revenge vendetta - in this case, Book's initial (understandable, justifiable) rage about what has happened is shown to be futile. He has a moment where he seems to be determined to fly into the anomaly as if he can destroy it - or himself - in the process. But the death of his home and family was the result of a (seemingly) natural, random process. There's no revenge to be had. He's going to have to find a different way to achieve closure, and on Discovery, surrounded by people who love and care about him, he stands a chance. And that is a far more interesting story.)

TL;DR: I continue to love Book, and David Ajala's acting is going to break my heart this season.

[alicemitch09writes]

lame

09.

new beginnings are always the hardest part

Despite everything you said – being happy to see your two childhood friends finally acknowledging each other, coming to better terms with their relationship, you didn’t talk to the two for a week though, slightly pissed that they let their damn egos get the best of them.

Really, boys were stupid. So stupid. How stupid? Fucking stupid!

Yet, at the same time, you merely used it as an excuse to really re-evaluate your stance on things.

Honestly, it was nice to have them work through their feelings and finally see each other on equal footing, despite the fact that they had to use their goddamn fists and talk civilly- nope. Childhood friends with serious issues that were slathered by insecurities and bullying could only be mended by fists and screaming. Still, despite having the two finally coming to terms with each other, they still felt so far and out of reach. You had to wonder, where were you in all of that?

Exhaling through your nose, you rested your head against the mop handle, running your forehead through the wood to ground you. “Stupid,” you say to no one in particular. Well, maybe it was more to yourself.

Tiredly making your way through your home, sluggishly pulling the door open, you announced your presence, voice slurring. “I’m home.”

All you wanted to do was bury yourself in bed, take a short nap, or drown in bath- 

Something was off.

Immediately, your senses were on high.

First, you caught a familiar scent – two of them, actually. One smelled like sweat and body wash, the other was of burnt sugar. Then, there were the familiar gentle beats. Rushing towards your living room, you all but slammed the door wide open, yellow eyes opening just as wide.

Green and carmine eyes widened at your presence. Staring. You blink. They blinked. You blink again. Izuku raised a tentative hand, smiling weakly. Bakugou just stared with his hands in his pockets.

…

…

…

“OLD MAN! What are they doing here!?”

At your outburst, your grandfather comes running towards you whacking you in the head, hard.

The boys winced at that.

Your grandfather eyes you sternly. “Don’t be rude to our guests, foolish girl!”

The two guests just eye you – one worried, with his hands out, the other in awed concern, feeling the pain from the whack.

"You didn't answer my question," you growled, the back of your head still hurting. "WHAT THE FUCK ARE THEY DOING HERE!?"

"Simple: they came to visit."

"AND YOU JUST LET THEM!?"

"They were standing outside the house, it's rude to just leave them there."

"THEN YOU SHOULD'VE! THEY'RE NOT FUCKING STRAYS!"

"They're our guests, foolish girl."

"You should've left them out, then asked for my opinion!"

Beside you, the two boys shifted their eyes going back and forth at your heated exchange with your grandfather.

"Why should I? It's my house."

"Don't I get a say?"

"Do you want me to hit you again?" he raised a hand threateningly, causing you (and the two boys) to wince and take a step back, the back of your head still throbbing. "Ha, thought so." You gave him a sneer, he smirked smugly.

“I’m going to cook now, keep them company!” turning his back, he casually waves off at you three, walking to the kitchen. “Have them greet your parents.”

Sighing, taking a few calming breaths, you glared at the two boys, gesturing then with your head. Without a word, they were on their feet and followed after you.

It’s been a while since Bakugou’s ever been to your house. Izuku comes over a lot, has been over the years. He can't help but feel jealous of how close the two of you are, he felt so left out.

There was an altar by the corner of the living room, where he found you kneeling in front of, lips pressed tightly staring hard at the wooden cabinet long and hard. Eventually, you took hold of the doors and opened, expression softening as you saw the smiling photos of your deceased parents.

“Hi Ma, Pa, looked who came over to visit.”

Quickly getting to his knees behind you, Izuku gestured for Bakugou to do the same, hands pressed together in front of his chest. “Auntie, Uncle, it’s been a while!”

“A-Ah, yeah…” Bakugou says, awkwardly, you had to roll your eyes at that.

“These idiots finally got their act together,” you reported, almost smugly. “still, doesn’t change the fact that they’re the worst knuckleheads in this day and age.”

Some would think that it was a little odd to have your guests come and greet the dead, but this was quite the tradition in your home. Most of your family’s close friends were used to it, Izuku included.

Knowing this, Bakugou felt left out than ever.

For he remembered the day after that day, how his parents spoke in hushed tones when he came home after nearly dying by the hands of a sludge villain and saved by Deku – of all people, the solemn look in their faces after a quick inquiry on the bruise on his jaw, tears alarmingly threatening to spill from his mother’s eyes, his father’s careful expression – “(Name)-chan’s parents, they’re dead.”

It was all too surreal.

You missed out on school for a whole week, grieving. Classmates were murmuring amongst themselves at your absence, having heard of your little altercation and the death of your parents on the same day. Also, students fawned over him for the Sludge Incident, for managing to hold back the villain (when in actuality he was barely breathing had Deku not jumped in) which was honestly the last thing on his mind.

Deku, who was surprisingly left alone, would stare at your chair worriedly, thumbs quick to send a quick text in between classes. He had wanted to ask him about you but held himself back. Pride and guilt held him back. Also, it felt like it wasn’t his place anymore, neither was it his right.

During the funeral, he finally saw you dressed in an all-black kimono his heart clenching at the bags under your eyes, the redness surrounding it, your puffy tear-stained cheeks, the dullness in those once bright (e/c) eyes.

When they arrived, immediately both his parents gave you a big hug, you barely hugged them back, much to their concern. Auntie Inko gave you a hug, as well, when she and Deku arrived. As for him? He kept himself back, hidden, knowing how his presence would only make things worse. And yet, he still came because he was worried about you, so, so, so fucking worried.

You were barely there, receptive or alive. Bakugou hated it, it wasn’t you – you were never much of a crier, always wearing your heart on your sleeve and brimming with life. Now though, it looked as though you were half-alive. He couldn’t blame you really, he can’t imagine losing his parents, of having a part of you die.

While your grandfather attended to guests, receiving condolence money and sympathies, he ensured a distance was kept, knowing you needed time to mourn. Judging from the redness in your eyes, the blankness in your gaze, it would probably take a while.

Looking at you now, seeing the color back in your face, your eyes, the lively (if not, careful hostile) aura emanating off you sets him at ease. Well, almost.

He tried not to linger on the fact that he had a part in utterly destroying a part of you the same way he did Deku, but it bled through as the months went by. All he could do was stare at your parent’s faces, silently offering his heartfelt apologies for all those years he wasted.

"GRANDDAUGHTER! WHILE YOU’RE AT IT, BRING THEM TO THE DOJO!" A yell came from the kitchen, disrupting the peace.

His eyes fell to your form, shoulders slacking. He may not see your face, but he could tell there was a sour expression written all over your face.

Then you sighed, twisting in place to look at the two.

"How about it, boys? Wanna let off some steam?"

The dojo was adjoined to your house - a small traditional dojo that's about ages old, you're not sure but you know but it's been there forever - or so you're told.

A wide space greeted you, polished wooden floors and tatami mats on the ground, calligraphy of 'fortitude', and your family name done by your grandmother hung from the walls along with some ornaments and nondescript paintings that were as old as you (maybe) – everything was in place.

With your grandfather as the head of the family, duly seeing that he lived the family legacy and upheld tradition, he saw fit that the dojo was well-taken care for, that his students weren’t weaklings – family or not, and that the Yoruichi family lived up to its potential and filled with honor (this part, he drilled hard on you when you were younger). In addition, he was the current coach of your school's martial arts club and you were his star pupil, which spelled big favouritism, but nobody complained after sweeping the floor with them on the first day.

Growing up, this place was your safe haven, you could always find peace here, it also held so many good memories that smelled pleasantly of bamboo, faintly of wood, and the faint sounds of a wind chime resounding.

Unable to help yourself, you threw yourself to the ground sideways – an act catching the boys by surprise, Izuku to shrieked, and Bakugou to start - hands planted firmly on the ground, cartwheeling away before doing it again except doing it forward, then sideways, and then your body twisted in mid-air, before landing gracefully on your feet arms raised on both sides.

"(Nickname)!" Izuku called after you, causing you to giggle, especially because your hair was a complete mess now.

"Sorry, couldn't help myself." Patting your hands to the sides, the feel of your skirt made you realize why both boys seemed red in the face. Thankfully, you wore shorts underneath.

With Shinsou busy and final exams in the way, your sparring sessions had been put to a hold. You missed sparring, training – even if it were against Aizawa-san or your grandfather, you loved the thrill of fighting. It was in your blood, after all.

“Really, you shouldn’t be so reckless!” berates your green-haired friend, marching towards you, the blond following close behind.

Looking around, the blond teen took in his surroundings - the aged wooden beams overhead, the cubbies, your grandmother's calligraphy set neatly set in one of the fine cabinets, until his eyes stopped on some pictures. It was the three of you, during your younger days when your grandfather wanted to train all three of you.

Unaware of the way his eyes softened at the picture, he continually looked over and relived the memories – he could almost hear Deku’s crying as he tried to punch hard, him hollering in mad glee, and then you lording over the two because the dojo was ‘your turf’. Carmine eyes traced the smile on your 8-year old face, pulling away to find that you were wearing the same smile. Except, unlike the photo – where the smile was directed at him, Deku was crying in it – your smile was directed towards your green-haired friend who marvelled at the trophies you and some fellow students of the dojo won.

Jealousy was an ugly emotion, but it was always there. He hated it.

As a child, since discovering his quirk, he’d been showered by praise and was the center of everyone’s attention. But for him, the only praise and attention he wanted was from you. However, because he was a shitty kid with an overgrown pride, you barely batted his way and spared him even an ounce of acknowledgment. Honestly, he’s been starved for your attention for so long now.

Only when you had shoved his kindness away in middle school did he realize how badly he’d hurt you, how little of an effort he did to truly reach out to you. He had a handful of ‘friends’, but not really, and you had Izuku – a friendship built on trust and love, he wanted that. But he was too selfish and prideful to do shit about it.

Before he knew it, Bakugou acted on his feelings.

“(Name),” you looked up, (e/c) eyes blinking in question. “let’s spar.”

“Ka-Kacchan-?”

“Sure.” You said with a shrug.

Green eyes blinked at you, then at the blond-haired teen, darting back and forth at the two of you. Were you really doing this now?

“W-Wait a minute! Are we really doing this now?” Izuku tried to reason, seeing at the two of you began to circle each other, him in the middle. “We should just talk, recall the good times! L-Like…Like…um…” the tension between you two, it was unpalpable, raw, and intense. “(N-Nickname)! Remember the first time you showed us a kick split and Kacchan tried to mimic?”

As funny as that memory was, his two friends were too busy circling each other, resembling animals in the wild. Their expressions were blank, but their eyes spoke too much.

(E/c) met carmine. Both unwavering, unyielding, and both hungry.

“(Nickname)? Kacchan? Are you listening to me?”

Readying into a stance, you closed your eyes as you took a deep inhale, opening them when exhaling slowly out your mouth. Bakugou’s fingers were tingling, smoke emitting.

“(Nickname), Kacchan, please there’s no need to-!”

Without a moment of hesitation, Bakugou was lunging forward, the explosion – which was half-powered, Izuku noticed – leaving a cloud of smoke behind that momentarily filled the area.

You didn’t seem the slightest bit bothered by the smoke, one arm quickly raised to guard against his fist, and the other readily grabbing hold of his knee that followed soon after. With all your might, you pushed him off. (In a fit of panic, Izuku cleared the smoke clouds away with a fling of his fingers at 2% power.)

Bakugou threw his fists, to which you easily deflected or swatted aside, keeping the blows away from you. Tossing his hand away, you planted your hands on the ground and swung your legs to hit him low, Bakugou quickly moved out of the way, rather clumsily. For a moment, he swore he saw you smirk, swinging your legs around with ease to swing at him again.

He had realized then that he had no idea how you fought; he was going into this blind. You both (three, counting Deku) may have trained together under the same dojo when you were younger, but that had been years ago! Plus, being a Yoruichi meant that you were proficient in other forms of martial arts. But again, emotions got the best of him. For some reason, despite being caught at a disadvantage, he found himself gleaming.

You were fast – much faster than he had anticipated, and extremely agile. He took note of the fact that your eyes were its usual (e/c) color, despite the fact that it was dark out. All the punches and hits received were all raw strength, honed from years of training under your grandfather. He always knew you were a capable fighter, despite having not used your quirk just yet. Fuck, were you mocking him?!

Seeing the frustration in his eyes, you smirked, grabbing hold of his incoming fist, catching him off guard, to toss him aside. So answer: yes, you were mocking him.

He had no idea how much you had studied his fighting style over the years, becoming familiar with his straightforward tactic – it was so predictable. And after seeing the Sports Festival and the fight with Izuku from yesterday, you easily caught up on how adaptable he was given the situation and had quick reflexes. It made you sick.

Yet at the same time, despite knowing this, both of you seemed rather in tune fighting each other.

Izuku, who had long given up trying to be the peacekeeper, could only watch in awe at the two. The mood between you two was…something, to say the least. And watching you two fight? It felt as though it were a dialogue if that even made sense – a mad disarray of Kacchan lashing out on you, you easily avoiding all his punches and explosion, you were able to catch Kacchan off-guard a lot whenever you changed fighting styles to which he’d manage to counter in his own reckless way. It was a nail biter to watch, yet it was fascinating at the same time. The two of you were in perfect synchronization with each other.

A cloud of smoke filled the air, your eyes narrowed to see through just as a palm cut through, nearly punching your cheek clean. Ducking a swipe of Bakugou's smoking fists, you took hold of his wrists and twisted them inward, Bakugou barely had time to react and the explosions went off his skin.

Angered, he used your closeness in an attempt to headbutt you, but you easily evaded, losing balance in the process. Seeing this, he grabbed hold of your hand, tugging hard to twirl against him, back to his chest. Instantly, he caught hold of your other hand. The position looked as though you were dancing, it was rather intimate.

"What's the matter? Not gonna use your quirk on me?" he taunted in your ear, making you shiver.

"As a matter of fact," throwing your head forward and back, smacking your hair to his face, he releases you - just barely - but it was enough to free you, sweeping him off his feet to pin him to the ground – an elbow to his back and one arm stretched out painfully behind him. "I don't need my quirk to beat you. I'm plenty strong on my own." Releasing your hold, you tilt your head to the side, unable to help the smug look on your face, faint lines of yellow lining your eyes. "Not bad for one 'seemingly quirkless', huh?"

Quirkless. Something in him roiled, especially with the way you said it.

Pushing himself off, making you lose balance, he grabbed hold of your collar and nearly slammed you to the ground, switching positions. “What the fuck is your problem?”

(E/c) eyes gave him a cold hard stare, the corner of your lip slightly twitching. It made his tenuous temper flare.

Tightening his hold, he asked again. “What is your fucking problem?!”

“My fucking problem is you!”

Okay, that threw him off.

Bakugou pulls back, blinking at your response, completely dumbfounded “I thought you were ‘working on being a better friend’? Was that all for show?” His voice was soft, hoarse. It hurt that after all this time, he was still a stranger to you. Yet at the same time, he's rather confused with how lightly you've been handling this.

Unable to look at him any longer, you look away. Those carmine eyes were full of hurt; you didn't like it.

"Let go of me," you tell him, his hand had slackened, allowing you to push him off. And he lets you, feeling defeated as he watches you pick yourself up.

His eyes turn to Deku for help, assurance, assistance, never would he have thought that he'd come to Deku - of all people - for such. Deku just stared, weakly at you, then at him – at a loss.

Before you could walk away, Bakugou grabbed your arm, his grip hard. "No, you're not walking away that easy, (Name)."

Your name sounds so foreign when he says it, you gulp, refusing to look his way. "What the fuck do you want from me?"

He glowers, tugging you back to face him, staring you down. "What I want is for you to stop being so fucking difficult and talk to me!"

You couldn't help scoffing, harshly tugging your arm free. "You? Talk? Wow."

Bakugou had always known you were a petty person, but to be this difficult at the same time? It was really grating his nerves.

"(Nickname)..." Izuku berates in the background, which was silenced by Bakugou.

"CAN YOU FOR ONCE JUST LISTEN TO ME!?"

"K-Kacchan..."

"WHAT DO YOU CALL THIS THEN?"

“I’M FUCKING TRYING TO BE CIVIL, BUT YOU’RE BEING SO FUCKING DIFFICULT!”

“YOU? CIVIL? IF THAT ISN’T THE JOKE OF THE CENTURY!”

(Somewhere in the kitchen, Shihan casually cooks dinner, knowingly oblivious to the explosion, yelling, screaming, going on in his beloved dojo. Casually checks the spice intake on one of his dishes, adding a bit more.)

Bakugou opens his mouth, about to berate on one of your bullshit of an excuse to give him the time to speak only to stop. He realized how much you’d instigate and rile him up, and how much he’d fall for it. This was never-ending, the ceaseless anger between you two, it had to stop. “Why won’t you give me the chance, (Name)?” his voice was brittle, so brittle and soft, from yelling and of hurt.

Vulnerability was something you never expected of him, but you were too proud to even recognize it from him of all people. “Your life is fucking perfect, why the hell do you want to make a mess outta mine!?”

“Perfec- “he nearly spat out the word, hating it. “you think my life is perfect?”

Rolling your eyes, hard, Bakugou swore it was enough to see the insides of your head. “Come on, do I need to list it down? You and your perfect family, your perfect little cozy home, your perfect academic performance, your perfect quirk,” that part just had to be overly emphasized, dramatized, much to his disgust “life just hands you everything perfectly in a neat little bow-“

“My life is anything but perfect! I'm anything but fucking perfect! My life’s not fucking perfect because I don’t have you in it, (Name)!” he angrily yells.

That made you stop. Izuku, too.

And after a few seconds of saying it, as did Bakugou. "Fuck," he muttered, ducking his head, to hide his reddening face, he was reeling at his confession – pent up after being so long overdue.

“…what…?”

Izuku’s hands slapped over his mouth, a small noise coming threatening to come out as he watched the two of you in keen interest. “…K-Kacchan…(N-Nickname)…”

(Now would probably be the worst time to gush, squeal, or scream over this, as though he were watching a rom-com movie, but he couldn’t help it! Izuku had always been the biggest supporter of you two, wanting you both to end up together since you were children.)

After all this time, he liked you, too?

When he looked up, he was surprised to see how red you were – you were, like him, blushing hard. Like that one time you visited to give your ochugen gifts.

Wait.

“Wait.”

“I’m outta here!”

The door slammed shut behind you.

Dinner was an awkward occasion, an extremely awkward one especially because your grandfather had Bakugou sit right next to you. 

Your grandfather, painfully knowing that he is, acted oblivious to the tension and casually chatted up the boys - Izuku mostly doing the talking, whilst Bakugou mumbled here and there, you kept your head low avoiding the gaze of anyone in the table.

Just after dinner, you made a beeline for your room, uncaring for your grandfather's wrath - you could deal with that later, you just wanted a moment to yourself after Bakugou's confession.

“My life is anything but perfect! I'm anything but fucking perfect! My life’s not fucking perfect because I don’t have you in it, (Name)!”

Fuck.

His words rang in your ear, all the blood rushing the instant his voice rang in your head.

Fuck.

Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuck.

"Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck," you wailed into your pillow.

With special permission from Aizawa-san, and Izuku's insistency, you found yourself at the prestigious UA once again in time for its culture festival.

To say the place was huge would be an understatement, and that’s saying because you’ve been here a lot whenever Izuku was injured, more than just three USJs, it felt like its own continent! This time though, it was colorful and vibrant than usual.

The school went all out, I see. You thought to yourself, after all the bad shit that happened to them.

You still held Izuku with careful regard, it was always easy to forgive him, but appreciated the gesture that he extended his invitation to you. He wanted you to be there, to experience the joy of a high school culture festival even if you two weren’t school mates anymore. (Also, it was his way of saying sorry.) All things considered; things immediately went back to normal between you two.

(Save for one)

Meeting up with your best friend at the front gate, you were surprised to find him covered in dirt and grass. But before you could even ask, he hurriedly brought you backstage to meet up with his classmates before the show started.

“Everyone this is my childhood friend, Yoruichi (Name)!”

Giggling at his stutter, you shouldered him playfully before bowing at his classmates. “Hi everyone! It’s nice to meet the lot of you!”

A series of ‘oh’ and ‘ah’ came afterwards, soon after, the two of you were bombarded with questions. Tiredly, you turn to your best friend, sharing a look. Man, I miss the days when we were invincible.

“Ah, it was that girl who yelled at him at the hospital!” a tall plain-looking guy pointed at you, to which Iida yelled that it was rude to point. You could only offer an apologetic smile, nudging at your best friend’s shoulder again.

“Eh? I didn’t know Midoriya had another childhood friend!” some guy with flaming red hair and shark teeth said, kindly and in shock.

“More than that, Midoriya’s been keeping this beauty from us!” a small purple-haired boy screeched, angrily turning to your best friend. On instinct, you stepped in front of your friend protectively.

“Wow, I’m offended you don’t talk much about me, Izuku.” You teased, elbowing the green-haired teen. He laughed, scratching his cheek.

“This is so radical, a female childhood friend. Must be nice~” a boy, with a streak of black over his hair that could only remind you of Pikachu, gushed. “But wait, haven’t I seen you at that one café- “

“Dunce face, shut your mouth.” Bakugou suddenly appeared in your line of sight, you immediately turned away before he met your gaze, fighting the blush creeping its way to your cheeks.

“Ne, ne, ne,” a pink-skinned and pink-haired girl gushed, nearly shoving her face into yours. “So, like, is Midoriya your boyfriend?”

In unison, you two stared at each other before bursting into laughter, used to the question for so many years.

“No way,” Izuku says, trying to calm down. “(Nickname)’s like a sister to me!”

“I second that! Izuku’s such a whiny big brother with a big brain.”

“(Nickname), you didn’t have to put it like that…”

Grinning toothily, you playfully ruffled his curly locks, discreetly eyeing a brunette who seemed to sigh in relief.

“Wait a minute, since Yoruichi’s your childhood friend, does that mean that Bakugou’s your childhood friend, too?” a short-haired punk-looking girl asked, a few heads turning to the blond. Said blond stilled, expression a careful blank.

“Yeah, he is.” The reply came easy, nonchalantly. Playfully. “Is. Was. Somewhere in between.” You wiggled your hand in the air for emphasis.

It was a cold response, almost as cold as Todoroki’s ice.

“But that’s enough about me, I heard you guys were putting on a live performance?” the mood easily shifted, two kinds of excitement stirring from the class. “And Izuku, you’re dancing? Since when!?”

“Sadly, we kicked him out.” The pink-haired girl says, arms crossed.

“Deku-kun worked his best!” Ochako defended, cheeks puffing.

“That’s right! That’s right!”

“Ah, Midoriya-chan looks mad?”

“More than that, he’s blushing too.”

Several eyes turned to the green-haired teen, cheeks puffed and an angry flush dusting his cheeks, glaring your way.

“I-I mean, dancing sounds fun. Plus, I’ll have you know that we’ve danced together before, (Nickname)!”

(e/c) eyes narrowed playfully, finger poking at freckled cheeks. “Dance Revolution, Just Dance, and Dance Master don’t count, dumdum. Plus, you suck at those!”

“She’s so brutal!”

“Almost like a female Bakugou.”

“Uwa, it’s kinda rare to see Midoriya like this. He seems more comfortable and less grounded.”

“I see what you’re saying! And he usually shies away from girls!”

“Yoruichi’s got spunk, doesn’t she?”

“Oi, we got to prepare! Come on, now!”

Realizing this, you stepped away from Izuku, wishing him luck. He had told you that he wanted you to meet someone after the show, you could only nod at that.

Meeting carmine eyes, you faltered, body shifting to move, but stopped. Braving a look his way – much to his shock, you offered a small smile. “Break a leg.”

Their show was amazing, spectacular, a showstopper, and you made sure to relay your praises to the class afterwards.

Shortly after the show (and sharing your thoughts about their presentation), you were introduced to Eri, the sweet little girl Izuku told you about during his work-study. The moment you saw her, she immediately won your heart. Oh, and you were introduced to Mirio, a goofy senior who was super friendly and an amazing presence to behold.

Without even knowing, you somehow wounded up with the rest of 1-A joining whatever sorts of fun the cultural festival has to offer. Most of the time, you stuck close with Eri, who'd grown fond of you after your first meeting, sometimes, sticking with the girls (even though your nose would crinkle at girlish topics), or even hung with Bakugou's ragtag of friends (of which, you were surprised to find that he had a clique of his own!).

It was a rather eventful day, and your legs were all tired out from constantly moving around. Still, it was a fun day. Sitting against a railing, you watched as Izuku ran off towards the gate, a paper bag in hand. Smiling at his retreating frame, you leaned back and watched around, eyeing the festivities - or what's left of it, feeling suddenly lonely about it all. This was where Izuku and Bakugou went to school, this was their cultural festival, and you were just an outsider.

“Here,” you blinked as a churro appeared out of nowhere, offered to you. Retracting your hands from your sides, you carefully took the treat in your hands and looked up, meeting carmine - Bakugou.

“Thanks,” you reply, dumbly.

Sitting next to you, Bakugou was strangely quiet, hands buried in his pocket. “What did you think of our performance?” he asked, rather quietly.

“Pretty kickass,” you say honestly, still staring at your treat. "I forgot how well you could play the drums."

The corners of his mouth twitched, but his expression remained a careful, almost wistful blank. His eyes though, they were another story. “I’m glad you came, (Name).”

Scoffing, a smile found its way to your lips, you bump his shoulder with yours. Surprised, he looks up, eyes finding yours, (e/c) warm. “Yeah, me too.”

Something inside him stirs, strangely, comfortingly. He could feel his throat drying just looking at you, just as you bit on your churro - a big crunch, followed by sugar falling off.

“You should consider transferring.”

“Pass, I’ll just take the supplementary lessons Aizawa-san offers.”

"Like they'll do you good."

"Hm,” you swallow, using the back of your hand to wipe the cinnamon sugar off your mouth. “lest you forget I have my shitty old man, and he teaches me plenty."

He mulls at your words as you chew on your churro, enjoying the youthful vibe of the cultural festival. Truth be told, being here actually made you jealous. You never enjoyed the cultural festival at your middle school because everyone did such a mediocre job and could care less about having fun. But this? This was nice. Relaxing, fun even.

"What happened to you?"

Stopping midchew, you let the words sink in - word by word, before finishing the last piece of your churro. Mulling over his question, you leaned your head back to watch the cotton candy-colored skies. "I gave up." You said simply, decidedly, honestly. "You seem to disregard people who care about you."

He swallowed thickly at your words. There were a million things he wanted to say while you were right there, no animosity between the both of you for once, however, he found himself choked up. All the words, questions, they held up in his throat. It felt pretty fucking lame of him.

However, if anything, there was one thing he's been meaning to say to you for a very long time. "(Name)," he starts, he liked the way your name comes out of his mouth, always liked how it's comparably lighter to say compared to a million words that made up language.  "I'm sorry."

Startled, you turned to him, really stare at him. Two words, yet they carried so much weight. So much history addressed. So many years of fighting, crying, yelling, and stubbornness. All it took were just two words.

Surrendering, you leaned against his form - feeling his body flinch at the contact, but doesn't move away, eyes falling shut. "I'm sorry, too."

That made him scoff, offended at your apology. "Shut up," As far as history has shown, you have nothing to apologize for.

"No, really listen." you continue, eyes dropping to your fingers. "I'm much to blame for our history. I've been so incredibly petty, cynical even whenever it came to you. Izuku was always so forgiving and he'd try to pass it on to me, but I just tossed it aside, never realizing that in the process I was hurting both of my dearest friends. By neglecting Izuku's wishes, I was neglecting you in the process. I was so selfish."

"I've been selfish, too."

"I know."

"And prideful."

"Oh, I know."

The makings of a smile creep its way to his lips. "And shitty."

You snort. "Oh, believe me, I know." Unknowingly, you laughed easily.

Bakugou watches as you laugh - eyes crinkling, cheeks brightened (with a few specks of cinnamon sugar sticking), your teeth were exposing, a light-hearted laugh escaping your mouth, you looked so pretty like that. He rather liked hearing your laugh.

Finding his elbow, you wrapped your arm around his, leaning ever so closer. Bakugou might've jumped at that, but you couldn't tell, too contented at that moment. "I missed you, fucker."

At your admission, he felt his chest stilling, calming. Before realizing it, the expression on his face lightened, softened, carmine eyes taking in your form against it – had you seen it, it would have done you over.

It was the softest expression he could ever muster.

"I missed you, too-"

"Oi, Bakugou!"

"There you are! We've been looking all over for-"

Kaminari and Kirishima both stopped at the sight of two teens, relishing in each other's presence - quite comfortably, too - which was ruined by their arrival.

Curious, you peeked a look at the two teens.

And then there was Bakugou, who was absolutely furious.

masterlist • ten

[wntrsnat]

࿐Another Autumn Night

✧ Pairing: BuckyNat/Winterwidow

✧ Warnings: Depressive thoughts, low self-esteem and lots of self-blame, basically Spoiler-free.

✧ Word count: 1.5k words

✧ A/n: following one-shot takes place somewhere around Ed Brubaker’s Captain America comics, where Bucky took the that mantle. It was originally published a few months ago by me on Marvel Amino, so this is basically a late repost!

The night sky was full of stars but no moon. Skyscrapers shone bright, spilling the color upon dark night. The city came alive when noises had filled the streets. The lights and sounds of the big city have always delighted Bucky. Although the lifetime passed since his youth, he still heard the gunshots; bombs dropping everywhere; the desperate, angry screams; the lifeless bodies falling down, staining the earth with the blood – sounds of the war. The lively, loud streets reminded him that people were living their normal life without the war, without deaths and tortures.

Well, at least most of them lived it that way, normal way. For others, the war had never stopped. Instead, it mutated. There was no black and white anymore. The spectrum was all grey. And people? People just played along with it all. They were puppets who’s master always changed. Bucky knew it better than anyone.

It felt like he had been a puppet his whole life. Yet, he still blamed himself for everything. After all, blood was on his hands. He was the one victims remembered and hated. He destroyed their lives. They were deep down in the ground, dead. Their families grieved and cried, burying the dreams of happy life while he stood here as national hero, symbol of the country. He didn’t deserve to be here, walking down the street with his girlfriend, cherished by people.

“You need to stop thinking so much” Natasha remarked, wrapping her slender fingers around his waist. She hated when James brooded over his thoughts. It was easy to guess what they were. It felt like it was only thing on his mind ever since he took up the mantle of Captain America.

She was concerned about him. She couldn’t recall last time James properly slept. She always found him awake in the middle of the night, absent from their bed. Winter Soldier, murders, survival and Captain America- They always had same conversation each night. Tonight was no different. Except that Natalia convinced him to go for the walk. New York was quite a sight at night, especially during autumn. She hoped that it’d help him to get out of his head for a while.

Bucky sighed out, turning his head to her. He said nothing. Instead, his gaze lingered on Natalia, noticing the worry in her emerald eyes. At moments like this, he couldn’t help but wonder what did he do be loved by a woman like her. He had her right next to himself, walking down a park painted with orange, red and yellow leaves. Her fiery red hair sprawled on her shoulders, cold breeze brushed past her brown coat as street’s warm lights fell on her face, cooling down her dark red lipstick – she matched the autumn, looking better than mother nature herself. And Bucky, a complete idiot, phased out in his thoughts instead of enjoying their moment.

He didn’t deserve her either but here she was, unconditionally loving him. He didn’t understand what she saw in him. Natalia deserved the best and he certainly wasn’t it. Nevertheless, he was grateful for her. She made it all little easier for him. She was the reason James lived and fought. If not her, he would have put bullet through his brain to quiet the ghosts.

“It’s just” Bucky mumbled under his breath. He moved away his gaze, unable to look into her eyes. He didn’t want her to be worried about him. Natalia already had enough on her plate, he didn’t want to add on. Still, he knew that it was impossible to avoid “There’s too much rattling around in my head, lately” he said and rubbed nape of his neck.

“I know” Natasha faintly nodded, pressing her lips together. She knew it wasn’t just lately. At one point or another, there was always rattling around in his head. She could relate to that feeling. She wouldn’t even be worried if it wasn’t James who would beat up himself for his past, put himself in danger and damage his health all because he thought he deserved it. “That’s why you should stop thinking, милый мой (my dear)” she said, referring to what she had told him earlier.

“Well, you do have a point there” Bucky quietly commented. He for sure couldn’t say she was wrong; thinking so much, in such state of the mind, wouldn’t bring any good to him. Yet, how could any of his thoughts do him good. They just kept dragging him back to old, torn pages which he couldn’t fix. Bucky’s eyes moved back to Natalia, trying to hold on the moment. He caught himself almost zoning back out. Stop thinking, stop thinking – he told himself, breathing in cold air.

“Don’t I always?” She said with a small smile. She saw how James looked at her; she knew that he tried hard for her. She knew he tried hard to put away all negativity when he was with her. But that’s not what she wanted. She wanted him to try hard for himself. She wanted him to ignore negative thoughts for *himself*.

“Hmm… do you?” James hummed out, a faint chuckle left his lips. God, he loved that smile of hers – confident and self-assured in the best way possible. There was nothing arrogant about it, about her. Natalia knew herself, her skills and abilities; he adored it about her. He thought that it was what made her as strong as she was. That was quite important trait for agent or assassin; Exaggerating or underestimating your competence could lead to fatal outcome. And that is not what anyone wanted “you *can’t* be always right” He jokingly said, truth present in his words.

“I have never said I am always right” Natasha defended herself, throwing hands in the air as the sign of innocence. Indeed, no one could always be right, even Captain America himself. No matter who you were, you’d anyway manage to make a mistake “I meant that I always have a *point*. There’s big difference” she said and raised eyebrows, giving him a small look. More than often there was a bit of truth in everything; more or less, at least. Even villains themselves had some truth in their motivation, but it still didn’t make them right. That was difference between being right and having a point; you had truth in your words yet you were wrong in many ways as well.

“What’s the difference exactly?” Bucky asked and got closer. His flesh arm had been wrapped around Natalia. He hid the other one in the pocket of his jacket; the streets were filled with lights; he didn’t want metal to reflect them. It would cause unnecessary attention. Tonight, all he wanted was to relax with his girlfriend. Everything was rather beautiful and he didn’t want to miss out on that anymore. He didn’t know if it was only him or the autumn really did make everything so mesmerizing; except for Natalia, she always looked stunning.

Autumn reminded him of her in the way. It was odd enough to compare season and person but they really did match quite well. He thought they had similar temperament; one minute it could have been like this – calm and soothing, just a faint, cold breeze brushing past them and another minute, you could find yourself in home-wrecking storm or incredible rainfall; you never knew what you’d wake up to. You only knew one thing for sure, no matter what it’d be, it would still be amazing.

“I mean I can explain it on lots examples” Natasha exclaimed and got on her tip toes. She let silence fall between them as she thought what to say. She had lots of examples on her mind, for instance his thoughts: James thought it was his fault that people died – it was impossible to deny that there was bit of truth in that, he had a *point* but at the same time, he was very wrong. Or second example of this phenomenon was Tony Stark, the man was walking definition of ‘having a point’ himself. “But I’m too tired for that” She whispered against his lips, softly locking them together. Natasha decided to stay quiet. She didn’t want to remind him about either of those things. She didn’t want him to start thinking about it all and again lose himself in the thoughts. She’d rather appear defeated in James’ eyes than make him upset him.

“I bet you are” he ironically replied right before they kissed. A flush crept up his face, cheeks redder than leaves that hung on the trees. Bucky had been with lots of girls but none of them were quite like Natalia. She was only one who he could open up to. She was only one who would understand. There was something about her that touch his soul, his humanity. Neither of them made him feel the way she did.

They stood like this for quite a time, kissing under the weak, lamp lights - the only thing that lit up an empty park, showing them path to unknown. It felt like time had stopped around them. Nothing seemed to matter anymore; not even his worries, the cold breeze or the beautiful surroundings that autumn itself had painted. He didn’t deserve this happiness, not after everything he had done but damn, he was thankful to have her with him.

[futurewriter2000]

Heartless - pt. 10

A/N: You guys are going to hate me so much hahahahhaahahahha. 

XX

::::

No dirt. No pain. Only silk and warmth. 

Your fingertips only felt the smoothness of the silk and the sheets. The cushions were so soft beneath you that you almost sunk into it. This bed definitely wasn’t your bed. It wasn’t bumpy old mattress with hard pillows and harsh blankets. It felt most comfortable you had in years. 

Opening your eyes to the beautiful morning sunlight, you saw a shadowy figure at the foot of your bed. He sat there, reading a book and you knew who this was. Most definitely, you would remember your life-long bully. 

“Mooorning, (y/n).” he glanced up with his bright green eyes, one more blue than green. 

You tried not to show how fear quickly overtook you. You felt sweaty, more than sweaty. You felt you had died and ended up in hell with him by your side. Keeping your eyes steady, cold, you answered in the same voice. “Mulciber.” you nodded and he plastered an amused smile on, still reading his thick book. 

“Wait... Let me just finish this.” he said, lifting his index finger at you as his other hand trailed down the page. 

And you waited, just as he said. You waited for him to finish reading because you didn’t know where to even start questioning about your surroundings. 

His finger stopped and slowly, he closed the book and put it on the desk next to the bed. He pulled his leg up on the bed and stared into your eyes with his blazing green colour. 

“I’m just keeping an eye on you, Potter.” he smiled widely, chuckling and shaking his head. “You, (y/n) Potter. Who knew...” he continued to chuckle.

“Quit the games, Mulciber. Tell me where I am. Why are you here?” 

“I’m your baby sitter, darling.” he leaned back on the foot of the bed and crossed his arms in front of your chest. “You and me are now bonded forever.” 

Your heart sunk. It was as if you swallowed it whole down your throat. 

“Oh, it’s not that bad, (y/n). I just know how stubborn you are.” he scooted off the bed and walked to you, his hand trailing up your leg and up to your bare left hand. “And also... you can throw a punch.” he smiled and sat down, taking a hold of your hand. 

You wanted to tear it away from him but he wouldn’t let it go. “Do you want to test this theory, right now?” you seethed at him as he chuckled.

“We are going to have so much fun together.” he kept caressing your hand and as much as you hated to admit it... it felt good. Your eyes travelled to your hand that he held and watched how beautifully, tenderly his hand brushed against your own. “You have beautiful hands, (y/n) Potter.” he charmed, his eyes glinting with a wonderful shimmer. 

“Is that it, Mulciber?” you let out a scoff. “Flirting with me?” 

“You’re in debt to the Dark Lord, Toots.” he grinned maliciously and you jumped, wanting to pull your hand away from him but he gripped it extremely tight. 

“I’d never-”

“You did though, can’t you remember?” he asked, pulling your hand to his lips and brushed it against your knuckles. “He saved you, now you owe him-”

“Owe him what?” you asked, heaving and feeling your heart beat. 

“Loyalty.” he continued to smile. 

“I will never bow to him!” you started to lose control with your temper but Mulciber only laughed and pulled himself closer, turning your hand around and caressing your forearm. 

When you looked down at your forearm, you quickly looked away, taking a deep breath in. “Oh, my God.” you let out a shaky breath, squeezing your eyes shut as tears fell down your cheeks. 

“It doesn’t look bad on your pretty little arm.” he continued to speak, trying to look up at you but you kept your head turned away from him. 

He came over to you, up until the two of you were face to face. He put his hands on your cheeks and made you face him. Your eyes, despite the fear, were fierce and strong. He brushed away the fallen tears and smiled- softly, something you hadn’t expected from him. “I’m doing this for one person only, (y/n) Potter.” he spoke seriously, observing your forehead, your eyebrows, your eyes that he found appealing the most- then your nose and your lips, soft and plush. “You never know when you’ll end up dead here so you should consider yourself lucky being stuck with me than any other of us.” his eyes now focused on you, looking into you as if he was drilling into your soul. “You stick with me, you do as I say and you’re alive.”

“I’d rather die-”

He pressed his thumb on your lips and looked even deeper, which you hadn’t thought was possible but he looked so deeply into you, that you thought you were standing bare naked in front of him. He touched every corner of your soul with his eyes and there was something you never knew you could see in his eyes; empathy. 

“You live. Your family lives.” he finished, this time removing himself from your soul and giving you the look of respect before he removed himself away from you. 

He stood up and started backing away from you, further and faster. 

“Brush away the tears, (y/n). We both know that’s not you.” he plastered his perpetual smirk. “Pull yourself together, do whatever he says.” he continued as he turned you his back and started walking to the door.

“For who are you doing this?” you blurted out, trying to reach out for him.

He looked over his shoulder and mumbled something before taking a firmer look at you and smiled. “Just do as I say.” 

And just like that he was out of the door and standing in front of his leader.

“Well?” the Dark Lord hissed in his usual cold tone.

“She’s awake.�� 

“And?”

“She’s expecting you.” Mulciber said, not even looking him in the eyes. 

“Brilliant.”

:::

You jolted awake, eyes widening as your fingers beneath you gripped the marbles of dirt and pushed your whole body weight off the ground. 

You were facing him, him, the Dark Lord- the one you have dreamt about and you were staring at him- at his large red eyes that had a slit instead of a pupil. 

He stared at you with fascination. “Interesting.” he hissed, pointing his wand at you. “Very interesting.”

“I take it back!” you scrambled on your feet, swaying left and right and holding yourself against the trunk. You felt sickness wash over you from pain- so much pain that it almost burst outside of you. 

“You’d do me a fair good.” he continued calmly, trying to approach you but you only stepped back.

“STAY AWAY FROM ME!” you shouted, looking around to find your wand before remembering that your wand was half-broken. The thought of no wand made you want to cry so badly- sob even. God, you were so exhausted, so much in pain. Your bumpy bed never sounded more like a dream than it did right now. 

He was in front of you- in front of you... (y/n). He is in front of you. Do something. 

“Why can’t I get inside your mind?” 

(y/n).... Do something before he kills you.

He took a hold of your head, holding it firmly between his hands as you felt a sudden pressure inside your head- as if you skull was about to burst. 

It hurt, your head hurt, your vision... your vision??- Your vision burst into the stars...

---

It was after midnight when James sat in the living room. His head was in his hands and he couldn’t stop himself from crying. He did it every day. Every night at the same time because it was the only way he could without anybody knowing.

And with every night it came a realisation what happened to you. You cried... every night just like he did and nobody knew. He thought other’s would notice but nobody ever did and that pushed him into more tears.

He was supposed to protect you! He was your brother and everybody noticed that he stopped being your brother a long time ago. Everybody except him.

“I’m sorry, (y/n).” he sobbed into his hands, feeling nothing but tears that soaked his palms. He rubbed his eyes and tried to look up but by now his eyes really hurt. They were puffy, bloody red and broken.

And he didn’t know why he felt as if he was grieving after you but hope- hope that you’re coming back now, today, this moment, this minute, this second. He just wanted you back. He wanted you here. Too many days passed without you in it. A week- a week too much. Seven days without you were spent like seven years in Azkaban for him- especially where he was the guilty one. He was the one that shoved you away and now you weren’t here. You weren’t here with him to console him. You were the only person who ever saw him cry. You were the person who made him feel strong when he was weak. You were the only one who held him when he needed to be held but what happens when the only person who you needed wasn’t there anymore?

If it wasn’t for the sudden rumble in the hall, James would have wailed out loud from pain of losing you. He felt something was wrong. He felt it inside of him like your bones were his bones. It wasn’t physical pain- it was a strong tingle and it was so strong that it hurt. He knew something wasn’t right and by the sound that just appeared in the hall... that made him-

“James?” a sudden woman’s voice came from the hall and he shot his head to the figure, brushing away his tears.

He thought it was his mother, standing and catching him so weak and vulnerable but it wasn’t James. It was you- you in a black turtle neck and jeans.

“(Y/N)?!” his eyes widened, looking at the bag you dropped on the floor. “Oh thank God!” he ran into your arms, almost knocking you on the floor when his arms wrapped themselves around you and lifted you off your feet. “I’m so sorry, (y/n)! I’m a bloody idiot to have ever thought my life would be better without you! Merlin,-” he pulled away, cupping your face. “- I’m never leaving you again. I’m so sorry for ever telling you all the things that I said. They aren’t true. They were never true. I was being a gromless pillock, like you always call me but blimey, have I missed you- I thought you were dead somewhere and it was my fault but I love you, (y/n)-” he continued to blubber non-stop.

“James, calm down-”

“MUM! DAD!” he shouted at the stairs. “SHE��S HOME! SHE’S HOME!” he said turning back to you.

“Have you been crying, James?” you asked, cupping his wet cheeks and brushing your thumbs across it.

“You cut your hair?!” he looked at your short hair that fell down your shoulders. “And- what happened to your chee-” he stopped to observe the scratches on your skin; one specifically that stretched over your right eye, down your eyebrow and to your cheek.

“Ah, it’ll heal.” you smiled at him, slapping his hand away as he pulled you into another hug.

Then you heard tumbling over the stairs, your parents and Sirius all looking at you. Your mother ran to you first, giving you a tight hug and so on until everybody made his turn. Well, mostly everybody.

Sirius was still there standing at the stairs, looking lost and guilty. His eye has gotten better since the last time.

You smiled softly at him, opening your arms and hugging him. As soon as you did, his arms wrapped around you like he had never thought you’d come back to him.

“I’m so sorry, (y/n).” he mumbled into your neck, taking a long deep breath of you and not finding a single fragmance of coconut on your skin. But you still had your own scent, the one that made his mind go into clouds. It was never the coconut. It was you. You was all he needed.

And it was not any different for you. The way he smelled was more than wonderful. No cologne, no shampoo but him. His smell, the one you fall in love with. The one that’s warm and safe, the one that brings you home.

You pulled away, cupping his cheeks and looking at him as you did James before. “Reset button?”

He let out a laugh. “Reset button.”

But if only it was that easy.

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

the “ ::: “ in the beginning implies as the reader was dreaming/having a flash in their head. 

[47crayons]

LOST, annotated

[anyone who has experienced loss knows that after a tragedy, a person has only one wish: to gain back what was lost, but in this poem, i touch on what happens when a void is caused not by the disappearance of something, but by the absence of something that never existed. because after all, absence is not a one-dimensional word. original text.]

there exists a secret that only my bare feet and the twinkling sky still know, one that they will store in a musty file cabinet, waiting to be discovered. it is of the campfire that roared and of we who roared louder [realistically, even the slightest chatter will be louder than any fire, but this speaks to the life that our stories bring to the world. the campfire can exist on it's own, but it's the people who bring it to life]. you see, when we tell stories, it is humanity’s bare bones that listen. but how do we speak of something that doesn’t exist? how do we talk around aching gaps? what i mean to say is: how do we tell a story of absence? [this is the central idea of this piece, the mantra, if you will, and it's a nod to the fact that our experience with loss almost always comes with something that is lost. the word absence highlights something that isn't there and perhaps never was]

this is a story about my home. [though this poem is really about absence, it's told through this two-fold idea of home—both my family and my experience being asian-american]

and since a story must start somewhere, this one starts here. let me paint the scene for you. this is the distance of twenty-one hours, two plane flights, three airports, and one taxi. this is the distance between three bittersweet goodbyes and two overdue hellos. the difference is seven thousand miles and one language barrier. [this is intentionally kept vague in terms of where i am leaving and where i am arriving] i do not belong here, but i am no more lost than i ever was. [and the reason i kept it vague was to make this point: it doesn't matter where i mean because i'm too asian to be american and too american to be chinese. where is my home, and how can i get there?]

there’s something tender about the word home. it has an innate comfort, a feeling of sleeping in on saturday mornings and corners that only you can peel back. [you'll notice that it feels like i spliced two pieces together (the part about arriving and running and not being able to sleep AND the part about home in general); in fact, you could read two different pieces if you skip the opposite parts. that's intentional. i wanted to create a feeling of giving this off the top of my head, a thought vomit of sorts, because really, when have the concepts of absence and home ever been straightforward?]

one day, i am running, and a voice too far above my head whispers, “go home,” to which i respond, “where?” they ask me where i am from, but i don’t know, i don’t know. [and now that i've pointed out that this is about me being asian-american, that interpretation seems obvious, but when i wrote this line, i was actually thinking about my home home—or rather, my house] i tell them that i am from blooming buds in rib cages and from new springs [i have never been a fan of fresh starts, only of picking up where i left off in a new location], but as the sunlight dwindles and dips below the horizon, i have nowhere else to run, nowhere to return to. and as much as a part of me is afraid, another part of me is relieved to know that i can’t lose something not worth saving. [this is the darkest part of the poem, but also one of the more optimistic. it's simultaneously about wishing i was anywhere but here and about defying boundaries that i don't fit into.]

if you remember nothing else, remember this: a home is safe. what i cannot guarantee you is that you will have one. [this goes back to the idea of not belonging, of being lost, but instead of talking about how i don't belong, i recognize that you might not either. this can be a shared experience] but if you are searching, i will scour the ends of the earth until you have a place to call home. [sometimes when i use the second person in my writing, i have an intended audience. this time i don't. i don't care who you are—everyone deserves a feeling of being at home]

another day, i cannot sleep. the air sticks to my hands and to my face, it lodges itself in my throat. [speaking is a power as much as writing and art are, which i think that too many creators overlook, and here, it's being taken away] and it’s in this very moment that i come to a profound realization: i want to break something. maybe it’s because a mosquito will not stop buzzing or because the kettle will not stop whistling. or maybe it’s because i am in constant pursuit of something i may not find. or maybe, just maybe, it’s because my whole life i have been taught to keep things together. [enter stage left: model minority myth and chronic eldest daughter syndrome]

but maybe some of us were made to be wanderers. [returning to the concept of not belonging, but this time, i leave out the part about feeling lost. who said we had to belong to be found?] maybe the thing we are searching for doesn’t exist, has never existed. how do we grieve something that was never lost? [except despite the lack of necessity to belong, there's still an inherent loneliness to it. after all, pride and grief are not mutually exclusive]

so, we’ll wander until our bare feet [so now you might think, "why bare feet?" and to that i say: i don't like wearing shoes] reach this very campfire. but when all that surrounds a campfire is silence, what do we have left? when the fire burns to ash and scattered memories, what do we have left? and if that should occur, we will finally know how to tell a story of night skies without stars, a story of absence.

[hintofcolor]

If I’m in pain you are gonna feel it (I never got to tell him I loved him and it’s your fault)

Tim yells at Clark because he’s sad and misses his best friend

It was quiet. Cassie and Tim stayed back, while everyone else went up to the house, sitting under the tree that gave shade to fresh turned dirt and concrete slab. The trunk of the tree wide enough that they could sit side by side and still lean back against it. 

“Conner Kent,” Cassie read aloud the name on the tombstone, “the fact that that’s the name they went with makes me want to break the ugly thing.” 

“Go for it,” Tim responded as he leaned his head back and closed his eyes, willing the tears back in. He’s cried enough in front of people. “Maybe he’ll be offended enough that he comes back to tell you how rude it is to vandalize his grave.” 

Cassie chuckled, “If anyone would come back from the dead because of a hurt ego, it’d be Kon.” A small, soft smile settled on both of their faces.

They sat in comfortable silence just being in each other’s presence. They were the only two left. It hurt, but at least they had each other. It was nice, comforting, to just see the other. To watch each other’s chest rise and fall, to see their eyes flutter, tired and sad, glazed over with tears, but full of life. The sun turned a warm red and the sky lit up in vibrant colors. It was beautiful. It reminded Tim that Kon would never be able to keep the promise of showing Tim the sunsets in Hawaii

“You wouldn’t believe it man!” Kon beamed, “the sunsets and sunrises are unreal. It’s like they are fake. Like some one, I don’t know, painted them. I don’t know how to describe it.” Kon sat next to Tim on the water tower in smallville. Kon had flown up there, the whole ‘not being able to be himself’ thing weighing heavy. So they sat on the tower and Kon talked and Tim listened. When the sun started to set Tim smiled and made a remark about how beautiful it was and how he doesn’t see sunsets a lot because Gotham and pollution and such. Which in turn, made Kon start gushing about Hawaii. Tim turned to give Kon his full attention, while Kon sat with his arms resting on the barricade, his legs hanging over the edge, and his eyes glued to the sky. “You gotta see it I swear.”

“I believe you.”

“No I’m serious. I want you to see it for yourself. One day I’m going to take you to see a sunset in Hawaii. That’s a promise.”

 “I’ve got to head home.” Cassie’s voice breaking through the memories. “It’s been a long day, and it’s almost dark, I don’t want my mom to worry. Will you be okay? You can stay over at my place if you think your family will be to much.”

“Thanks Cass, but I’m okay.” Tim responded. A smile that didn’t reach his eyes settled in place. Like it belonged there. “I don’t think I’m through saying goodbye yet.”

Cassie simply smiled sympathetically. The look of his smile made her nauseous. She hurts too, so bad, but Tim has lost so many people already, she would give anything if she could just take his pain away. Seeing some one she loves in so much pain, knowing she can’t do anything about it, leaves her uneasy. As if she’s in pain for them. She wants to stay a little longer. Sit next to him, holding his hand, or resting her head on his shoulder, something to remind her that he’s still there, to remind him that she’s not going anywhere. She almost caved, sitting back down, staying with him till he was ready to go home. She even thought about going with him then too. Curling up in his too big bed, like how they all used to after a particularly difficult mission, leaving them feeling powerless and hopeless. All settled in one of their bedrooms, which ever was closest, just for the comfort of having other people around. They never talked, they just all silently got ready for bed and claimed a spot wherever was comfortable. However, she needed to get home to her mom, because as much as she loves Tim and wants to stick by his side, she really, really needs a hug from her mom right about now. To have her kiss Cassie’s head and tell her it’s okay, and that the pain just means that she cares.  

She flies off, refusing to go up to the old house. To many memories of the four of them are stored in that rickety barn and yellow home. She doesn’t want them tainted by grief. 

Tim watches her go. He leans his head back against the tree again. He was about to close his eyes when he heard footsteps approaching. He stood, perfectly ready to give whoever it was some privacy with Kon. Until Clark comes into view. An anger Tim didn’t even know he was harboring for the Kryptonian came bubbling to surface. Fast and Hot.  He pushed against the tree to stand up right and tall. 

“Are you proud yet?” He asked, venom dripping from every word. Clark turned to look at the boy briefly. Tim could see the guilt hanging heavy in his eyes. “He saved the world. Died a hero. That enough to convince you that he isn’t Lex? That he could be more than his DNA?” 

“Tim-” 

“No. I talk, you listen.” Tim spit. Clark recoiled, but stayed quiet. “You did nothing but push him away for absolutely no valid reason. What makes you think you have a right to stand here and grieve? When you were the one who made his life hell. For years, years Clark, I had to sit and listen as he doubted himself, doubted who he was, whether or not he was good, whether he was his own person. I watched him drive himself insane over his stupid DNA. Because of you, Clark! Because you couldn’t for three seconds consider that maybe, just maybe Kon is his own person. He had a mind, a beating heart, a soul, Clark, and you reduced him to a science experiment. You don’t get to stand here and act like this isn’t exactly what you wanted. Not when that stupid shield drug him down more than you could ever imagine” 

“I tried-” 

“YOU TRIED!? God Clark you can’t be this dense. The Kon you knew wasn’t even Kon! GOD! He changed everything about himself so that maybe, just maybe you would accept him! He died being a person he didn’t even recognize in the mirror. The clothes, that stupid t shirt and jeans, the hair cut, the glasses, his obviously dialed down personality. I can’t count how many times I listened to the same thing over and over, about how much he hated everything he had become, how didn’t feel like himself, how it was driving him insane. And every time I would tell him that there was nothing wrong with who he used to be and every time, every single time, he would respond with ‘Clark would disagree.’ All you did was change him into another version of you. Your opinion meant so much to him and you hardly even spared him a second thought. You wanna know how I know you didn’t try, because if you spent even five minutes talking to Kon like he was more than a clone bred to fight, you would know how much he hated Smallville. LOOK WHERE WE ARE STANDING! He couldn’t wait to get out of this place, and because you didn’t want to go through the, what, hassle? Of coming up with a story as to why he would be buried in someplace he liked. Buried in Hawaii? He is the in the one place that him feel even less of a person forever. God, Clark do you know how pathetic that is? How so royally fucked up that is? Do you know how angry he would be if he knew he had to spend eternity here? And yet you have the audacity to stand here and actually mourn him?.”

“I-” 

“I’m not done talking. You don’t get to mourn some one you wished wasn’t alive in the first place. We both know the only reason it hurts you so much is because this perfectly crafted ‘knight on a white horse’ person you created just took a hit. God, I wish in everything that some one would knock you off of that damn high horse. I am so sorry your hero complex took a hit. I am so sorry that you have to be the villain for once. That you couldn’t save Kon, whether it was from prime or himself. I am so sorry that you worked so hard to make Kon into Clark 2.0 only to have him die. I am so, so sorry that you regret not getting to know him. But that’s on you and only you. And that guilt you’re feeling, the guilt of not being fast enough. Of not getting there in time. Of letting some one die. Of some one dying thinking that you hate them. I get it. Trust me, I get it. A hundred scenarios running through your mind about how it could have been different, how you could have saved him. How you could have done better. How you should have kept them closer. When you are laying there at night, your stomach curled in on itself, your blood ice cold. The hot tears pouring down your face as some cruel reminder that you can’t escape from this. The type of guilt that has you hunched over the toilet, choking on your vomit because you can’t stop sobbing long enough and you’re body won’t let you do both. You don’t panic, you think if I go I deserve it right? You put on the cape and become sloppy and reckless because if you make it out, if you are able to go home and take them off, the pain will set back in. That guilt that is all encompassing, that drags with you all day and all night. Cause no matter what, you can’t wake up. That guilt? I can tell you with a doubt is the worse feeling you will ever feel. And I truly mean it when I say that I hope you choke on it. I hope you scream for help and no one listens. I want you to know what it feels like to be in so much pain while surrounded by people who make a living helping people. I hope people you consider family ignore your suffering. I hope that pain seeps into your skin. I hope the sound of Kon hitting the ground rings in your ears. I hope the sound of his heart stopping replays on repeat.” Tim’s voice breaks, tears are flooding down his face he can’t see anything, but he doesn’t care. He is so angry that nothing else matters. His voice drops to barely a whisper “I wish Kon were here. I wish he could tell you this himself. I wish he could tell you himself how much it hurt to know that you would never love him.”

Tim walked off, up the dirt road that lead to Kent’s long driveway. He paused at the old worn mailbox, before deciding to just keep going. He trekked down the long dirt road, with no clue where he was going. He knew Bruce would come looking eventually. He found himself lying on the cold metal walkway of the old water tower. He just stared up at the stars, like he was waiting for Kon to appear out of  the sky. He closed his eyes, tears still streaming down steadily and whispered the same thing over and over again. Maybe if he said it enough Kon would hear it. 

I love you. I love you. I love you.