#shoulders literally aren’t real so it doesn’t matter and I’m too tired to fix it

[mouseinamushroomhouse]

For @codywansleepbingo

I have no context and no explanation. Enjoy 😎

[mostlybarnes]

It’s My Party, You’re Not Invited (Part Two)

Summary: The morning after Bucky threw a party, you confront him but it doesn’t go according to plan.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female!Reader

Warnings: more angst, arguing, Bucky is an asshole, language, not proof read, mistakes are my own!

Words: 1,567

Author’s Notes: Wow. I absolutely can not believe the support on part one! I’m so happy you guys liked it, and of course I’m always happy to give people what they want and since so many of you asked for part two, here it is! Really hope you won’t be disappointed, please let me know what you think. And don’t worry, there WILL be a part three. This isn’t the end!!

As you had predicted, you got no sleep. Your night consisted of you tossing and turning and occasionally groaning loudly into your pillow.

Your pillow was your closest friend, it captured your falling tears, and provided you with comfort when you couldn’t rest. The morning sun was pouring through your parted drapes, a new day was beginning and you knew you definitely wouldn’t be getting any sleep now.

Lazily, you threw the blankets off of you and sat on the edge of your bed, your palms on either side of you, digging into the mattress. Bucky not inviting you to his party shouldn’t have bothered you, but for some reason, it did. It was the reason you got no sleep, and you were annoyed by how Nat and your friends treated you last night. They were laughing and you couldn’t help but feel like they were laughing at you, even if they weren’t. Today would be the day you would confront Bucky, no matter what. But first, you needed a hot shower to try and wash away the tension that was rolling off your shoulders.

The shower itself would have taken a good ten minutes on a good day, but you spent almost an hour on the shower floor with your knees tucked under your chin and fresh tears disappearing under the shower head. Pathetic, you told yourself. Crying over something that wasn’t even your fault. How dare he treat you this way and make you feel broken. Speak of the devil, through the sounds of your cries and the water cascading down around you, your thoughts snapped back to reality when you heard his laugh from the hallway again.

Enough was enough with his games, you needed to know why you didn’t get an invite, it was just a simple little question.

Standing up off the shower floor with shaky legs, you turned off the shower and stepped out to grab the towel off the rail and pat yourself dry. In your haste to get dressed, your clothes were mismatched and your sweater was turned inside out. You didn’t care about that though, you needed to speak with Bucky. You needed answers.

You left your room and followed the sounds of the chatter coming from the common room. Your feet quickly carried you there, stopping in the doorway and noticing the room was completely trashed from last night’s shenanigans.

Broken glass was scattered over the marble floors, there were literally hundreds of solo cups all over the tables, there was even a broken window.

What the hell happened here? You wondered, stepping into the room, being careful not to tread on glass.

“Watch your feet!” Bucky warned, holding his hands up to halt your footsteps. “There’s glass everywhere.”

“No shit.” You scoffed, folding your arms across your chest and rolling your eyes. You heard him click his tongue as he worked on sweeping up the glass. “I heard you had a party?”

“Uh yeah, just some close friends and stuff.” He shrugged, and ouch if that didn’t fucking hurt.

“Really? I didn’t know you were– were close friends with people from…. statistics?” Anger was rushing through your veins, his nonchalant attitude wasn’t making this any easier and neither was the lack of sleep. You wondered what had happened to the sweet guy you knew. The shy Bucky who couldn’t even make himself a sandwich because he was afraid of being mocked by the other avengers. Or the Bucky that loved to sip herbal tea at 3 in the morning. Where did that Bucky go? Who is this Bucky? It was like a switch flipped and he changed overnight.

“What is this about, Y/N? You walk in here with some kind of an attitude problem and I’m tired, it’s early and I’m not in the mood.” He snapped and that was it for you. If he was tired, you were something else.

You stepped into the room regardless of the broken glass still all over the floor, not caring if any shards cut your feet as you stand toe to toe with Bucky. You shove him, but not surprised when he doesn’t budge.

“Where was my invite? What did I do to you to make you forget about me? It shouldn’t even be a big deal but–”

“Then stop making it a big deal! Is that what this is really about huh? It was my party and I invited the people I wanted to be there!”

“Wha– but you invited everyone but me!” You cried, your voice breaking at the end.

“Then maybe that tells you something.” He offers no sympathy to your state of distress. At least not to your face, it’s when you turn your back and he hears you cry harder does his own heart break. He didn’t mean for this to happen and the Black Widow’s footsteps behind him is about to remind him of his mistakes.

“You’ve really messed this up Barnes. I’m not sure Y/N will ever forgive you.” Bucky turns to look at Nat. Guilt and anger written all over his face.

“You don’t think I know that?! I did it to protect Y/N!”

“Well, what are you gonna do about it?”

“I don’t know.”

////

The day away from the compound was exactly what you needed. The air was refreshing and cold, biting against your skin. It helped to clear your thoughts that were running in circles since you talked to Bucky. You still didn’t have a clear answer as to why he chose not to invite you, and that bothered you more than anything, but what he did say replayed in your mind. You suppose he had a point, it was his party and up to him who he chose to invite but it confused you because you thought you were on good terms with Bucky. Did you get it wrong? Where did it all go wrong?

Your fingers wrapped around the mug as you sat in the corner of the quiet coffee shop with a friend as they watched you watch the world go by.

“Okay, what’s going on?” They asked, blowing into the hot liquid before taking a quick sip.

A deep sigh fell from between your lips. Your body and mind felt exhausted, it was hard to concentrate.

“I don’t even know. I feel like I’m overreacting.” You shrugged, licking your lips and looking into your coffee as if seeking the answers to your unanswered questions.

“Overreacting? Did something happen on the mission you just got back from?”

“No, no. Something that happened after that. You know Bucky, right?”

“Bucky Barnes?” They asked with a raised eyebrow. You nodded and swallowed the lump in your throat. “What about him?”

“I just– I– would you be honest with me and tell me if I’m overreacting?” You bit your lip nervously and your friend nodded.

“Of course! Tell me everything.”

True to their word, your friend sat and listened to every single word without interruptions or sassy remarks. They didn’t stop to ask you questions, and they didn’t make you feel pathetic like you felt. Talking about it out loud made you feel stupid, maybe it was stupid to get angry over something so small. That maybe deep down Bucky had a good reason not to invite you. Maybe you just weren’t close to him after all.

“I’m so stupid, aren’t I?” You shrugged, the wooden table becoming more of an interest.

“You’re not stupid. He’s stupid but I think he likes you.” Your head snapped up and so did your eyebrows.

“You’re insane! Didn’t you hear what I just said?”

“Of course I did!” They defended with a smirk, “and here’s what we’re gonna try.”

///

Your friend’s idea was so stupid and this dress was far too tight for your liking. You felt like your your body was spilling out at the seams, a complete opposite to what you were used to wearing: comfortable clothing or pajamas.

Walking in heels was another problem for you. Any second now, you were sure you were gonna have to call Dr Cho because you had somehow broken your neck. However, after a few laps around your room, you felt confident enough to walk a few blocks in them. Grabbing a purse and a jacket from your closet, you staggered out of your room and into Bucky’s chest.

“Whoa there, you alright?” He asked, pushing you away from him. He eyed you up and down, making you feel naked under his gaze.

“Why wouldn’t I be? And what are you doing here? Outside my door?” You folded your arms across your chest, big mistake as it pushed your cleavage together and with the height difference, Bucky had a pretty good view. He was a gentleman though and kept (or tried) to keep his eyes glued to your face.

“I came to apologize. Where are you going dressed like that?”

“It’s a bit late for an apology. I got your message loud and clear from this morning.” You scoffed. “And I’m going out with my real friends, not that it’s any of your damn business.”

“A party?” He wondered, his jaw clenching at the thought of you dancing with other people that weren’t him.

“Yes, and you’re not invited.” You smirked, turning on your heels and walking towards the waiting elevator, ignoring his calls of your name.

Bucky watched as the metal doors closed, his hands tugged his hair so hard he was afraid he would rip it out. He’s fucked up, Natasha was right. There was no way of fixing this.

“Fuck!” He yelled, kicking a hole in the wall next to your door.

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[wannabe-fic-writer]

All Over Again - Chapter 9

Summary: What was lost can be found. 

Warning: 18+ Smut, Language, Violence. 

Ch. 8

* * * * * *

Each step against the pavement accompanies a quick exhale. The surrounding trees blur by, one single focus in mind. 

The compound comes back into view after the last turn. A group of agents, led by Steve, jogging by. 

The blonde man nods in passing, then quickly focusing back on the trainee group, and directing them down the path you’d just taken.

You stop just outside the compound doors, the glass giving clear view of the very reason you have been avoiding the compound for the past three days. 

New Years day had hit you hard in more ways than one. Saying goodbye to Lena always sucked, with the turn your relationship took though, it was even worse. While you knew it wasn’t goodbye forever, you still held her in your arms for as long as you could.

That sucky feeling amplified the moment you stepped foot back into the compound.

Spending half your time with Lena and the other half working meant little time to address what happened the night before Christmas Eve. Apparently though Natasha had had enough of your avoidance and waited up for you on New Years. 

Your ex-girlfriend was incredibly adamant on reassuring you that she had no idea that was going to happen and asked a hundred and one questions about how you felt and if you were okay and so on.

At the time you had no answer, then again, you don’t know if you have one now. Not that it matters, since Natasha notices you enter and part of what’s about to come is expected. 

She freezes for a split second and then eases out from her place between Bruce and the wall. The big green man frowns, smile slipping away as he eyes Natasha. Being trained as she is makes it easy for her to pull a mask of contentment and even easier to slip away from him and follow you down the hall with no questions asked.

“Y/n,” She calls. Light but quick footsteps sounding. 

Not looking back, you open your bedroom door and step in, knowing Natasha comes in behind you. A heavy sigh wracks your body,“ I still don’t have any answers for you Romanoff.”

She doesn’t miss a beat, quickly retorting,“ back to last names huh? Just a week ago you called me Tash?”

“Yeah well you weren’t engaged when I did that.” 

The comment is made without thought. Anger forming in an unexpected way. 

Conflicting emotions rise inside Natasha and present themselves as a frown. She’s glad it seems you’ve figured out how you feel. But also anxious beyond belief about this reaction. 

“So you do know how you feel.” 

You sigh, shoulder’s dropping,“ no I don’t and honestly I don’t know why it matters so much.”

She steps further in, green eyes damn near burning your profile,“ because I feel like this is going to make me lose you. . . again.”

“It won’t.”

Your words aren’t as convincing as you’d like them to be. It’s your way of brushing Natasha off and she knows it. 

Her hand falters as she reaches for your shoulder, then she pushes aside that hesitance, and rests it there,“ we both know that’s not true.” She squeezes a bit,“ there was a time when you promised me nothing but honesty.”

She watches as your head rises, gaze fixed outside the window as you gather your thoughts. You then shrug her hand away, and finally turn to face her,“ look Natasha,” her eyebrows raise as e/c meets green,“ I can’t tell you how this makes me feel because quite frankly there are far too many emotions for me to decipher right now. I mean I just- just, came to terms with you and Bruce dating. You can’t expect me to just be fine with this so soon.”

In a split second, a literal slip up, the redhead says something she wishes she hadn’t,“ if that’s the case don’t expect me to be fine with you all of a sudden dating Lena.”

Shocked, you resist the urge to back step, only because that would cause you to fall back on the bed. With a frown you reply,“ what are you talking about all of a sudden?”

Figuring there’s no turning back now, she says,“ I mean exactly that. You go away for like three days to play devil’s advocate for Stark Industries, and when you come back you’re all about Lena who you barely know.”

“For once Natasha you have absolutely no idea what you’re talking about! Need I remind you, seeing as you didn’t know in the first place, I was in National City for two months. All of that time I spent with Lena, not to mention we kept in communication when I came back.” You are trying your damnedest to keep your upset in check but whatever this is she’s pulling, it’s pissing you off.

Her eyes roll and the single step back she takes makes you take a breath in,“ funny. It took you nearly seven years to even consider dating me.”

The look of absolute bewilderment on your face would be laughable under any other circumstance. Wide eyed, your hands raise to press against the sides of your head,“ wh- I- where the hell is all this coming from Natasha?! Genuinely what is the point of any of this! I’m sorry that I don’t have all the answers to your questions. I’m sorry that I can’t exactly come to terms with your engagement just yet but I would never do this to you.”

“Y/n I-”

“No Natasha I told you the first time you asked me that I just needed time and you haven’t given me that. And now you’re taking shots at my relationship.” With a heavy sigh, you push a hand up through your hair,“ I. Need. Time. And if I don’t get that then this friendship or whatever it is, won’t continue.”

Having said that, you brush past the redhead, and leave your own room. 

Thoughts speed through your mind like the goddamn Flash and it gives you the worst headache. 

Out of all the ways that little interaction could’ve gone that wasn’t what you were expecting. Honestly, you hated having to say that but you meant it. There’s only so much pushing you can take from her, especially on this topic. 

The fact that things had seemingly just fallen into place made this all the more sucky and you wish more than anything that you could either fix it all or get away. 

“Y/n! How was your-”

Wanda’s words are cut short when you throw your arms around her in a tight hug. 

The younger woman makes it a point to avoid reading your thoughts, or anyone else’s, without explicit consent. But your thoughts are so loud she hears them without even trying. She feels the waves of emotions crashing over you: confusion, anger, regret, hurt. All of it no doubt the reason you’re seeking comfort from her right now.

Carefully, she takes hold of your waist and turns you so that you’re both in the room, before closing the door, and reciprocating the hug. 

“Everything’s gonna be okay Y/n,” she squeezes you a little,“ even if it may not seem like it right now.”

A shaky breath fans across her neck and she prays to god you don’t start crying cause then she’ll start crying and usually when that starts it takes a minute to stop. 

Somehow, through immense frustration, you manage to withhold your tears. It’s not so subtle, as deep breaths and slight squeeze to Wanda’s shoulders clue her in to your restraint. But she just let’s what you’re doing play out, only moving when her legs start to grow tired. 

The witch eases you both on to the bed, maintaining her hold on you, and sporadically whispering a reassurance. 

Neither of you pay much attention to how long you’re there but being in the woman’s presence and on the receiving end of her comfort helps a lot. When you do move it’s cause you’d rather not be the reason Wanda’s entire left side goes numb. 

Luckily, since she’d heard your thoughts, that clear to you by the feeling of her presence in your mind, you don’t have to say anything about what happened. Nor do you have to express how you feel, but it comes anyway. 

Pushing yourself up, you rest against the headboard and look down at your fingers.

“Sorry for-”

“No.” Wanda’s hand quickly grabs yours and squeezes,“ don’t apologize. I’m always going to be here for you, no questions asked.”

You look at her for a moment, the younger woman smiling softly at you. Then you scoot down a bit to rest your head on her shoulder.“ Natasha won’t stop pressuring me. And then had the audacity, after I told her I needed time to get used to it, she started talking about my relationship with Lena. Like. . . things aren’t all of sudden. Right?” You find yourself frowning, a very miniscule bit of doubt rising in you. 

Wanda sighs,“ come on Y/n. Don’t let this disagreement make you question things. I’ve seen you with Lena, it’s real. Something like that doesn’t depend on time. I wouldn't've been surprised if you came back the first time saying you were dating.”

A soft chuckle falls from your lips at her words. 

Genuinely had your mind and heart not been so caught up on Natasha at the time you could see things between you and Lena happening faster. The woman is so incredible, which you knew from the very start.

Your best friend’s hand rises to your head and fingers run through your hair.“ You gonna be okay?”

“Yeah of course. Just, this sucks. It seemed like everything was perfect.” 

Refraining from scoffing, Wanda just shakes her head,“ well honey I hate to tell you but nothing’s perfect.”

A snort of a laugh leaves your lips at her term of endearment and she smiles brightly at being the cause of your partly lifted spirit. Why it caused you to laugh so hard you don’t know but it felt good to after everything that just happened. 

When you finally settle with a deep breath, Wanda raises her eyebrows,“ what’re you gonna do?”

You shrug.

“If you need a break I’m sure Lena would love to have you again.” She points out, nudging you with her elbow playfully.

With a sigh, you shake your head,“ as much as I would absolutely love to go see her, I can’t. One: she literally just left three hours ago and two: we have a mission to prep for. Cap said it’s priority so I can’t reassign.”

“Right.” She nods along, remembering. 

Silence creeps in and you both take it in. Wanda’s fingers continue to run through your hair and you absentmindedly pick at the fringe of her cardigan. This very position is where you stay for the next hour or two, conversation rising and falling about everything and nothing. Wanda ensures that she doesn’t mention Natasha or the situation at all. Which you’re grateful for. 

While the younger woman hates that you’re having to deal with this, she’s also glad to be spending some time with you. 

It’s not as though you’d neglected your friendship or anything, but with all your back and forth from NYC to NC, the amount of time you spent together was nearly cut in half. So when you end up turning the night into an impromptu sleepover there’s a smile all over her face. And it carried into the next morning where she gets to watch you make crepes for breakfast, the whole time spent joking around and singing Hamilton songs(yes she’s been learning the lyrics, especially to her favorites). 

The day is spent goofing off until you have to go train and then go over mission info. There was still a lot of information to be collected but that was for Bucky and Steve to worry about so after the meeting, alongside avoiding Natasha entirely, you go back to your room. 

Lying back on the bed, you pick up your phone to find the numerous messages from Lena and her friends, mainly Kara and Winn. 

An instant smile plays on your lips at the CEO’s text. In an instant you ask if she’s busy and the moment she says no you’re calling. 

“Hi.”

Just the sound of her voice alone makes you sigh.“ I miss you too much. I’m getting on a plane. I’ll be there tomorrow.” 

Her giggle sounds, racing straight from your ear to your heart, causing it to speed up in an all too familiar way. A way only Lena could make it race. 

“I’ll send the jet immediately.” She says in turn, both of you now laughing. Then ending with sighs, yours slightly heavier, which Lena picks up on. 

She could hear in your voice the second you spoke that something, whatever it was, wasn’t right. So she asks.“ Is everything okay love?” 

Another chuckle comes from you, this time humorless,“ am I that easy to read?” 

“No I just know you enough to tell when somethings the matter.” 

Little does she know her words make a new annoyance rise in you. Annoyance at Natasha for even having said what she did and annoyance at yourself for doubting for even a second. 

Your girlfriend gets more and more worried as the seconds pass. You can’t even see the way her hand rests gently against her desk as if she were resting it over your hand. She wants nothing more than to be there for you, physically. That isn’t an option though.

She settles for saying,“ Y/n you know you can tell me anything.” 

Which you do know is true. It’s why you tell her, at least a summary, of what happened with Natasha. Lena’s calm response is slightly surprising. Then again you have a much deeper reason to be upset at Natasha than you. 

“Well I imagine it must be pretty hard for both of you.”

Your eyebrows raise,“ uh- what?”

Lena chuckles softly,“ Y/n there’s a lot between the two of you, relationship and break up wise, stuff I’m sure you haven’t even told me. And I’m not excusing what she said by any means,” her tone takes just a bit of a hard tone when she says that then softens again,“ but neither of you should be expecting the other to be okay with everything.”

Taking a deep breath, you pause, and release loudly,“ is this what it’s like dating a genius.”

“Of course it is.” Her voice inflates a bit jokingly,“ Infinite wisdom is all I can provide.”

“I’m sure that’s not true. You have much more to offer Miss Luthor.” You’re quick to tell her, meaning it more than she could ever know. 

Quiet passes over for a moment, near silent breaths sounding before Lena speaks. Her words having not been heard since that first time on New Year's Eve. 

“I love you.”

A splitting grin hits your face and you feel overly childlike when you bury your face in the pillow beside you,“ I love you too Lena.”

Sadly your conversation can’t go on, both of you being pulled away, Lena by a meeting and you by Wanda. After two quick, softly spoken goodbyes, you hang up. 

The look on Wanda’s face as you both walk down the Compound’s hallways makes you raise a brow,“ what’s that look for Maximoff?”

She shrugs, looking off nonchalantly,“ I just like seeing how happy she makes you.”

“I-” heat rushes up your face,“ yeah. She does.” With a short chuckle you wrap an arm around her shoulders,“ you make me happy to Wan.”

“Oh I know.” She nods, smiling smugly.

Rolling your eyes, you both head to the common room for the usual team movie night. E/c lands on Bruce and Natasha cuddling and you look away, recalling Lena’s words and what happened earlier. 

This is going to be tough on both of you. How it ends you don’t know but thinking about it is too much, so for the time being you’re going to focus on what’s most important.

* * * * * *

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[unmaskedagain]

Day and Night

Okay I got this prompt and as soon as I saw it, I knew I had to write. I’m a huge Tim Drake fan. Its how I got into reading Batfamily fanfiction. I love Marinette. So I thought I’d give it a shot.

           The café was small, empty, in a little nowhere town that had the unfortunate luck of being built in the middle of nowhere; somewhere in a part of England most people never heard of. The café, and the town, wasn’t the type of place you went searching for. Anyone who ended up there, that didn’t already live there, always happened upon it be accident. Usually because they were lost.

           The two sole customers in café were most definitely lost. A boy and a girl.

           The boy-The young man had dark hair, the iciest blue you could imagine, and a broken look on his handsome face. He sat near the window, on one side of the café, watching the rain poor down. He looked tired, forgotten, and lonely. His name was Tim.

           The girl- A teenage girl, still growing into herself, had blue-ish black hair and the deepest, brightest blue eyes imaginable. She said on the other side of the café. A solemn expression on her lovely face. Her eyes sad, and just a bit red. Exhaustion seemed to have set in her bones, and held herself in way soldier who just came home from war did. She was jumpy, scared, and above all looked absolutely heartbroken. Her name was Marinette.

           He was from Gotham. She was from Paris. And at that moment, there were no two more lost souls in the world.

           The café owner was a kind elderly woman who had taken her tea in back to account inventory; she hadn’t seen any harm in leaving the two kids by themselves for a bit.

           Tim had gotten to the café first, and had known the moment the girl had entered.

           Marinette noticed the boy sitting, alone, in the quiet café as soon as she walk inside.

           Neither had talked to each other. They hadn’t had the energy that day to feign niceties. However, as the rain came down harder, the lights flickered, and Billie Holiday’s Good Morning Heartache played its sweet melody… Something just came over the two.

“Running away,” Marinette asked loud enough so the boy across the café could hear her. He couldn’t have been much older than her, she noticed.

           Tim gave her a small bitter smile, “Is it really running away if you don’t have a home to run from? Or if no one cares or notices you’re gone.” He closed his eyes for a moment as wave of emotion hit him. “When does it stop being running away, and starts just being leaving? What about you?”

“I think I’m doing both,” Marinette answered honestly. Her throat dry, and tears burning in her eyes. “Running away from everything, and still doing the right thing by leaving a bad situation.”

           Tim nodded. He was in the same boat. “Where you coming from?” Though he figured France from her accent.

“Paris. And you?”

“Gotham.”

“No one waiting for you?” Marinette asked. He shook his head. “Me either. Aren’t we a pair?”

           It went quiet. Billie Holiday still filling the silence.

“I lost all my friends to a liar,” Marinette said. “My partner, uh, teammate was five seconds from having sexual harassment charges filed against him. He got… fired. Now I have to do everything by myself.” If Tim noticed her slip, he didn’t say anything. My parents don’t trust me.” She failed to stop Hawkmoth again and again. She failed to keep her friends from falling into Lila’s clutches. She failed her parents with all her lies and excuses of where she was going and where’s been to the point where they couldn’t deal with it. Too scared and weary of what the daughter they no longer recognized had become. They asked her to leave; move out. Then it was Official Marinette had no one. Marinette was lucky her grandma had apartment in the city she never used. Or she’d have been homeless.

           Tim did notice though. “I thought… I thought I belonged somewhere I didn’t. Thought I had found a family; a real family like I always wanted. Turned out I wasn’t wanted. I was a just a placeholder. Not a brother. Or a son.” He had nearly died several times, had lost his spine literally, broke through time, fought aliens and world conquerors, rescued batman from the time stream; dome more than humanly possible. But it hadn’t been enough. Or maybe it hadn’t meant anything to the Bats. A part of him had it all to prove he belonged, that he earned the cowl; that just because Batman hadn’t picked him like had his other Robins, but just let him stay, hadn’t meant anything. But it did. And Tim knew the truth the world had been trying to get him to see. He was just pretending; pretending to belong to and with the Batfamily, pretending he had been a good Robin, pretending they had wanted him.

“I’m a failure,” The bluenette said.

“I’m a pretender,” Tim shrugged. “Name’s Tim though.”

“Marinette.”

           She got up and walked across the café and sat in the seat across from Tim. “My friends tossed me aside from something shiny and new. I’m been thrown away.”

           Time gave her a nod “The people I thought were my family don’t care that I haven’t been to the manor in almost two years. Or didn’t realize. I’ve been forgotten.”

“Been there.”

           Tim leaned forward in his seat, “I make one mistake. And B acts like I tried to end the world. I was rash. I acted out. I made a mistake. I’m human. It doesn’t even matter that I fixed it. He just refused to let it go.” Captain Boomerang killed his father. Tim had wanted to make him pay. It’s not like pointed a gun at villain. He just set the bastard up in a way he couldn’t walk away from. “He never listens to me. I get it, though. I wasn’t what he wanted. He didn’t want another son. He didn’t choose me.” Tim blinked hard, his fist clenching. “No one ever chooses me.”

“Everything I do has to be perfect,” Marinette whispered. “I can’t mess up. I can’t make mistakes. I have to stay in control at all times. Not like everyone else. I don’t get to be human. I have to be more. I have to be better. I have to be an example,” She hissed the word. “The world’s burning but I still have to be perfect. I still have to be strong and righteous and good. I have to take the high road.” She closed her eyes. “When all I want to do is scream. I have defend the world when no one even bothers to defend me.”

           Ilene Woods’ So This Is Love started playing. They listened to the song play, a weight off their shoulders left. Not all of it but some. And at that moment the ridiculousness of their situation hit; they had left their countries, ended up god knows where, stuck in a café to avoid the rain, and were complaining to a perfect stranger about how horrible their lives had been as of late. And they laughed. And laughed until it hurt.

“Why we do put up with it?”  Marinette leaned back in her seat. “I mean, I know why. But really. Why?

           Tim shrugged, a smile still on his face. We know why. We’re doormats.”

           Marinette nodded, “They only want us when they want something. That’s the only time we matter.”’ She looked up, right into his eyes. “But that’s why we’re here, isn’t it? Because we can’t take it anymore.”

“And we know we shouldn’t,” He nodded firmly. “Because we shouldn’t and we’re not.”

“Never again,” Marinette swore. And then stood up. “Pardon, I must use the restroom.”

           Then she left. As soon as she was gone, Tim pulled out his phone and looking up any superhero activity happening in Paris. There was a lot. Mostly about a hero named Ladybug, who loved more than just a bit like his new friend.

           Marinette, on the other hand, left to Speak with Tikki and Plagg who had fighting to get her attention. As soon as she was alone in the bathroom, Plagg stated, “Him! I wanted him. He’s my new Kitty!”

“I like him too,” Marinette said softly.

           They convinced Marinette that Tim would be a good hero; and she needed help.

           When Marinette rejoined the table, neither said a word. They went back to telling each other a bit more about their sorrows and heartaches until a relative peace settled between the two. Feeling freer than they had in months.

           Marinette drank her, now, cold tea. She placed down the cup, “So Tim, any plans on going back to Gotham. Cause if not, I’d like to make you an offer?”

           Tim smirked, the thrill of a potential adventure hitting him, “Is Marinette asking me? Or is Ladybug? For the record, it’s a yes either way.”

           Marinette smiled, glad that her new partner was seemed to have high intelligence. “How do you feel about Paris?”

“Love it,” Tim stood up. “I get to design my own look though. Unlike you, I don’t look good in skintight anything.”

“Oh I don’t know about that…” She teased her blue eyes sparkling. “That might be something we’ll have to find out.”

           The young man held a hand out, “Care to dance?”

“Thought you’d never ask,” The young woman said as took his hand in hers.

           They swayed to the music, laughing and twirling around. An elderly woman watched as once again her café worked its magic like it did for every lost soul that wandered in.

           Louis Armstrong’s What a Wonderful World started to play in the background as icy-blue eyes met bright blue. The rain slowly stopped as two lost souls, alone in the world, found each other.

I see skies of blue and clouds of white

The bright blessed day, the dark sacred night

And I think to myself what a wonderful world…

[meridiansdominoes]

So a few weeks ago @thatfunkyopossum introduced me to his Coruscant Guard OC and I absolutely fell in love with him. His name is Grease. Grease is my favorite. I adore him, HENCE I am adding an additional scene into Dominoes that includes him. He might show up a few times in later chapters too, and I’ll make sure to at least give him brief introductions when he does so that anyone who misses this won’t be confused, but this is his original introduction. ANYWAY, here, this’ll be added to chapter uhhhhh 33! The beginning is the same, but it runs right into the extra scene so here ya go! 

_______________________________________________________

The mess hall is subdued when they arrive. The chatter is quiet, serious. News travels faster than a forest fire in clone barracks. Hevy grabs his tray and sits down next to Flak, whose face is twisted in distaste. 

“I think I’ve lost my appetite,” he mutters, and then jerks when Byte sets his tray down across from them, sliding into the seat. 

“Is it always like that?” Hevy dares to ask. 

“Not usually. There are better places to take captured criminals, it’s a rare occasion when we have to hold someone here although the brig is sizable—”

“No, not that. Those kinds of… comments, I meant,” Hevy corrects with a wince. Byte snaps his mouth shut. 

“Oh,” he says. “That. Yes. It’s true, anyway. He’ll be charged for property damage. Sometimes Thire tries to press manslaughter, but it doesn’t stand legally, so…”

“What!” Hevy hisses, banging his hands on the table and surging to his feet. “You’ve got to be kidding!”

“Hevy, sit down!” Flak demands, grabbing his arm to pull him. Hevy takes a breath. The eyes of every clone in the mess hall are on him, so he lowers himself back to his seat. Byte is looking at him strangely. 

“Don’t tell me that’s not something you’ve ever encountered,” he says, and Hevy has to take another deep breath to suppress his immediate urge to smash something. 

“It—I… on the battlefield, that doesn’t matter,” he manages to get out. “It’s the front lines, it’s war. There aren’t any charges to be pressed.”

“Hm. Lucky. Sounds so much easier,” Byte says wistfully. Hevy grits his teeth.

“We’re going to fix this,” he says determinedly. Byte raises an eyebrow. He opens his mouth to comment when suddenly he catches sight of something over Hevy’s shoulder and raises a hand.

“Hey, Grease!”

A clone in standard Guard armor jumps at the sound of his name, helmet turning to find Byte. He flinches when he notices the irregular splash of 501st blue and immediately tries to head towards a different table, hands clenched tightly around his tray. Byte leaps to his feet. There’s a mischievous glint in his eyes that vaguely reminds Hevy of Cutup and Fives.

“Oh, no you don’t,” he mutters, and goes after him like a shot. Hevy shares a bewildered look with Flak. 

“Alright then. Guess that conversation is over,” Flak says slowly, watching as Byte manages to cut the other Guard off. The new clone tries to duck away again, but his movements are hampered by the tray in his hands. He can’t stave Byte off properly. Byte is unfazed by his protests and practically frog-marches his abductee towards their table. A cheerful chirp accompanies their approach. Hevy glances down and blinks when he sees a tiny mouse droid zipping happily at their heels. 

“Sit,” Byte orders the other Guard in a light tone. The newbie hesitates for a long moment.

“We don’t bite, I promise,” Flak tells him. The Guard’s shoulders slump. He sighs audibly and drops into the seat next to Byte in resignation. 

“I can sense your glare, don’t give me that,” Byte tells him with a grin. “Wanna introduce yourself, kid?”

The Guard heaves another sigh. “Designation CT-3489—”

Byte elbows him in the ribs.

“M’Grease,” the Guard amends, disgruntled. Hevy offers him a smile.

“Nice to meet you, Grease. You a shiny?” Out of the corner of his eyes, he sees Byte’s expression flicker suddenly. 

“He’s… not a shiny. Not exactly,” Byte says under his breath before continuing. “Grease is a good kid. Real talented with droids. A bit shy, but if you ever need someone to fix up a speeder, he’s your man.”

“The droid is yours, then?” Hevy asks him. Grease glances down, presumably at the droid by his feet. It’s under the table, so Hevy can’t see it. 

“Yes ma’am,” Grease answers. 

“Ma’am?” Flak nearly chokes. “Uh—”

“Eh, that’s what he calls everyone,” Byte says with a wave of his hand. “Force of habit. He’s not the only one.”

“You sure he’s not a shiny?” Hevy says jokingly. Byte chuckles. 

“No, he’s just like that. Right, Grease?”

Grease takes off his helmet just in time for Hevy to catch the exasperated but vaguely fond eye roll that Grease shoots at Byte. Hevy only barely manages to stop himself from making a noise of surprise. Grease looks… oddly young. There’s a mole on his right cheek, and his face is just a little rounder than Hevy is used to seeing on brothers. He must have gotten the good genes. No wonder Byte calls him ‘kid’.

“Grease, huh? How’d you pick the name?” Hevy asks him. 

Grease shrugs. “I like working with machines.” The mousedroid chirps in agreement from out of sight. Flak perks up suddenly. 

“Oh yeah, Byte mentioned that. You like speeders too, right?”

Grease’s gaze settles on him, narrowing in on the oxygen box on Flak’s chest—an armor design unique to pilots. His eyebrows shoot up in realization.

“Yes ma’am,” he answers, ducking his head a little. Flak’s grin widens. 

“Yeah? Maybe some time you’ll have to come look at the bird I’ve been flying. She banks a little too far to the left sometimes, and I’m tired of running recalibrations. It’s gotta be something internal, maybe something with the stabilizers, but I’m not entirely sure. I could use a hand when you aren’t busy!”

Grease nods at him mutely, coloring just a little as Byte chuckles.

“There, see? They’re not that bad,” he urges. Grease shoots him a scowl that is far more endearing than it is threatening. He opts not to respond to Byte’s comment and starts to dig into his food instead with a quiet enthusiasm that Hevy hasn’t seen since…

Huh. Strange. 

Hevy hasn’t seen any clone inhale a meal like that since Kamino, when his limbs had ached from unpredictable growth spurts and his stomach had always seemed to be empty no matter how much he ate. Hevy looks at Grease’s face again and feels his blood suddenly run cold.

“Grease… how old are you?”

Byte winces. Grease pauses in-between bites just long enough to tilt his head in Hevy’s direction.

“Eight and a half, ma’am,” he manages. Hevy inhales sharply. Flak hisses out a curse.

Grease is young. Too young. He shouldn’t be out in the field yet. At that age he isn’t even finished growing completely. Byte’s casual address of ‘kid’ is literal. 

“Are you kidding me?” Flak gasps. “How the kriff—”

Hevy jerks his head over to stare at Byte, seeking an explanation. Byte sighs. 

“Coruscant is… safe. Supposedly. Since we’re not on the front lines and all. They started sending them younger a few months ago. We needed the manpower,” he says softly. Grease nods in agreement. 

“But an entire squad was just killed,” Hevy says in horror. “That doesn’t sound very safe to me!” He tips himself back in his seat, reeling in disbelief. The movement makes his legs sprawl out, and his foot taps the mouse droid, knocking it back a few inches. It chitters at him in annoyance.

“Sorry,” Hevy tells it hurriedly. “I just… that’s so young. Forget shiny, that’s… he should still be a kriffing cadet.”

“I’m good at my job,” Grease interjects stubbornly. Hevy clenches his jaw. There’s nothing that can be done to fix this, not right now. Not yet. 

“I don’t doubt that,” he replies honestly, and some of the tension in Grease’s shoulders eases away. 

“Do you work as a mechanic, then?” Flak asks. Grease shakes his head.

“No, ma’am. I work in the Senate.”

“He’s part of Senator Chuchi’s personal detail. Most of the younger ones get low-risk jobs like that,” Byte says. When Grease scowls at him, Byte holds his hands up non-threateningly. “Whoa, don’t give me that look! I said low risk, not low importance!”  

 Flak hums. 

“That would explain the ‘ma’am’,” he says in amusement. Hevy drums his fingers on the table thoughtfully. 

“Senator Chuchi. I’ve heard good things about her, I think. Do you think she could help us with something important, Grease? Is she sympathetic towards us clones?”

Grease frowns at him. 

“Sorry, ma’am. Not my place to say.” The declaration isn’t harsh, but it’s firm. Hevy sighs inwardly.

“That’s alright. You’re just doing your job, kid, I get it. Thanks anyway, though.”

For a moment, Grease looks surprised. Hevy sees a hesitant flash of pride cross his face before the young Guard shrugs nonchalantly and hunches in on himself again. Byte reaches out to ruffle his hair.

“Alright, that’s enough forcing you to be social for now,” he announces fondly. Grease wrinkles his nose at him, but there’s also a subtle hint of gratitude in his eyes that Hevy manages to glimpse as Grease gets back to his food. 

This is just one more thing that needs to be changed. Grease is eight and a half. That’s too young, no matter where you’re stationed. There are too many problems within the Guard, all out of the clone’s control. Hevy shifts anxiously in his seat and quietly hopes that he’ll be able to help with at least one of them before this is all over. 

[barbasbodaciousbeard]

IF You Love Someone, Let Them Go: Part 5

Summary: Since starting with SVU, Sonny hadn’t kept much terribly close to the chest. The squad knew about his family, growing up on Staten Island, the classes at Fordam. What was hidden was why he didn’t date. Sonny Carisi was also separated from his childhood sweetheart, a separation neither ever took to divorce. They had the same haunts. They’d grown up neighbors. Their paths crossed every few months, and divorce talks would turn into reminiscing would turn into a night spent together, sometimes sex sometimes just talking until the early morning. It always ended with one of them waking up alone however. How will that change when the squad finds out?

Pairings: Sonny Carisi x Original Character,

1 - 2 - 3 - 4

March 2015

“You’ll see me two times in three weeks,” Victoria smiled, wine in hand as she settled in the seat beside Sonny. It was Tommy and Bella’s engagement party, which Gianni was treating as a bridal shower. The whole engagement would only have been three months, and it seemed the two younger Carisis had cost her the months of parties and planning Gina and Teresa had given her. At least Sonny and Victoria had gotten married in a church a year after they eloped. Tommy and Bella would be getting married outdoors, while she was pregnant. Everyone pretended not to notice the slightest bit of a bump, easily confused for weight gain if you didn’t know, when Gianna was around before fussing over Bella the minute she left.

“I’m a lucky bastard.”

“I hope you told your squad.”

“We’re all going out the Saturday before. I’m doing it then.”

“Really pushed it off, huh?” she asked, and he didn’t like the hurt she was trying to hide. 

“The cases got heavy during the holidays. And then we busted up a sex ring and I was undercover. That also felt like a weird time. I kinda realized there wasn’t going to be a good one.”

“Yeah. Tommy and Bella inviting them kinda twisted your arm, huh?”

“Yeah. But it’s good. The last step.”

“They all coming?”

“Olivia for sure. I think Rollins and Amaro are coming together, and then honestly? Barba will when he finds out there’s gossip. He’s kind of a dick, but an amazing attorney. I really wanna shadow him sometime, but I’m too green to ask, y’know?”

“Yeah. I’m sure it’ll be nice when the time comes. And I think it’ll make Bella and Tommy happy. If it weren’t for them, it coulda been bad.”

“I got brother brain instead of cop brain, so yeah. I still can’t believe she’s having a baby.”

“It’s wild. And I know you don’t like Tommy, but he’s got a good heart.”

“And got locked up.”

“Everyone has their own problems.” 

“Yeah,” he muttered. “Same deal as Gina’s wedding? No marriage problems talk. Just have fun and be sentimental.”

“Deal. Though if your squad asks, I’m not ignoring it.”

“Fair. But also tell the cute stories.”

“I’ll bring the photo albums.” He laughed, arm settled around her shoulders. When they’d moved out, she’d taken to collecting all the pictures of them and adding them to a photo album. She’d gotten copies of dozens of pictures from his mom, who had always kept them organized by year in boxes. When she left, Victoria took them, and he missed being able to thumb through the pages. There were multiple volumes at this point. The pages got harder to find. She didn’t scrapbook. Instead, she used the pages with four slots each, keeping them up as time went on. He wouldn’t be surprised if there were pictures from Gina’s wedding in the most recent. Maybe there were even pictures of them separate from each other to bridge the gap. 

“Please don’t give Rollins and Barba that ammo. They’ll steal the really bad ones.”

“I like the ones from prom the best. Could we look any more 2004?”

“We looked damn good.”

“Doesn’t mean it’s not super dated.”

“True. It’s okay. We got the pictures from Gina’s wedding. We don’t look like we’re separated in them.”

“True. You got the dimples on full display.”

“I seen the dresses Bella picked. I know you hate it. You won’t like this one so much.”

“I love it.” He raised a brow at the feigned enthusiasm. “Dom, that pink is gonna be so bad on a pale red head.”

“I like you in pink.”

“You like me in anything.”

“Because you look good in anything. Dark green’s my favorite though.”

“Mine too. Thank God for Gina. I’ll wear that dress again.”

“I’m sure I’ll have to go to some fundraising thing…”

“You asking me to be your date before you even know?”

“You’re always who I ask to be my date.”

“I better be. We’re married.”

“Gettin’ awful territorial, Mrs. Carisi.”

“You put your ring on your hand today.”

“And you put them both on the right finger.”

“It’s almost like we’re making progress.”

“I want to tell you. I’m ready. But not until after the wedding.”

“Why then?”

“In case you don’t look at me all happy anymore.”

“Literally nothing you could tell me could make me not want to work on it. Unless you cheated on me.”

“You’re the first, last, and only.”

“You are too.”

“We oughta stop being sappy. People are coming and we got put with people we don’t know.”

“Gross. It’s like ma is mad at me.”

“I’m just glad she knew better than to try and make us sit apart. I’m sittin’ with my wife.”

“You two aren’t even pretending to be awkward,” Bella teased, leaning to hug Victoria and then her brother. “This nonsense almost over?”

“Butt out,” Sonny warned, but he was still smiling. “Strictly married talk.” 

“Two weeks and ya can’t use that excuse.”

“Then it’ll be strictly talks with my wife.”

“Stop, Dom,” Victoria laughed. “You look beautiful, Bella. How you feeling?”

“Kid’s making me tired as hell. I’m excited though. Tommy talks to her every night. It’s been hard, after what that bitch did. But he’s doing so good.”

“I can tell. I’m just glad you’re so happy.”

“I really am, T.” 

“You look beautiful. I like this dress a lot.”

“Thanks. I like feeling all bridal.” Sonny was content to watch Bella and Victoria catch up. Over the last year, he’d come to realize every time they talked came around to when Victoria was taking him back. He probably hadn’t helped that any, constantly acting like he didn’t know why she’d gone. Thanksgiving had changed that. He stood up to his mom more, told her he was in therapy, and openly defended Victoria. The last part wasn’t new, but this time it was specific to her decision to leave. He’d told his family in no uncertain terms that, while he thought she should’ve told him earlier instead of letting the hurt fester, he had done something wrong and he was trying to fix that so they could start over. His mom and dad didn’t like that. Generationally, bottling up feelings was more acceptable to them. His sisters, on the other hand, hugged him tight and told him they were proud of him. 

Their table filled up quickly as guests arrived, and Sonny was happy to help Victoria keep conversation moving until his parents spoke. That was the plan for tonight. Appetizers, speeches from the bride and groom’s parents, dinner, dessert, and finally dancing and cocktails. It was quickly apparent all the family’s required-but-barely-liked invites went to the table they’d put Victoria and Sonny at, a sure sign Gianna was over dealing with their drama. He was thankful his sister wouldn’t be having assigned seating at the reception for anyone, the bridal party included, though the thought of having Victoria joining his squad at a table made him nervous.

“I thought they’d never go dance,” she said softly against his ear, and Sonny smiled more from the closeness than the sentiment. Damn, it felt good to have her on his team. She wasn’t there day in and out, so these events felt more valuable to him now.

“Right? He’s from dad’s work. Known each other forever. I don’t know why the hell they invited him.” Her hair tickled his cheek as they gossiped, watching the people around the room and nursing their drinks. He decided they didn’t have a heavy case, so he’d tell the squad the next day, that way the giddiness of the evening would still be fresh. When they’d both finished their drinks, he took her hand, pulling her towards the floor. 

“I was comfy,” she protested half heartedly before she realized he’d pulled her up for Sinatra. One hand on his shoulder and the other in his, she let him lead the few moves they’d learned in a ballroom class they’d taken. It had only been a couple years into their marriage, and they took it because it made them feel older and less like imposters. Now, all either could really remember was a boxstep, and their frame was terrible. That didn’t matter though. What did matter was Sonny resting his temple against hers to sing softly against her ear. When one swing tune melted into another, she was grateful Gianna had picked the music for this wedding event. 

“Looks like we get to dance all slow again,” he teased, giving her a spin before holding her close.

“For someone getting mad when we get along, your ma worked real hard for us to get along.”

“She’s just mad it isn’t like when we were kids. If we fought in middle school, she’d give us a pizza, and we’d be over it.”

“Very true,” she grinned, looking up at him. He looked handsome, and after what came out to two years of seeing him deteriorate, she was grateful he was actually getting back to himself. She wasn’t sure if therapy, the job, or the slow progress they were making was the reason, but he was her Sonny again. He kept his hair cropped, face shaved, and smile present.

“You’re staring,” he teased before tightening his grip to dip her. 

“You look good. Like not just handsome. Happy.”

“Thanks,” he smiled softly when he pulled her up again. “I’m learning to process stuff better.”

“That’s good.”

“It sounds messed up, but thank you for leaving. It made me go to therapy. I really wasn’t being good to you, Tor. And I’m sorry for that.”

“I forgive you, Dom. I wasn’t doing a good job talking to you about it. I’m sorry for not pressing until we hit the point of no return.”

“It’s okay,” he said, forehead resting on hers. “I think we’re gonna be okay.”

“Me too.”

“Can we get somebody to take pictures of us?” 

“Bella got a photographer, and he has definitely taken several.”

“This camera shy Sonny or detective Sonny noticing?”

“It’s Sonny seeing Gina tell him to.”

“You ever feel like the kids are trying to get us back together?”

“All the time, doll. You know how often Gina or Teresa go after me? Then Bella meddles. But Mia? She’s 17 and bound and determined she’s going to be the one to talk sense into me. And she kind of is. She actually talked to me about therapy.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. She doesn’t know why but knows my brain shuts down when I try to open up. Heard me tellin Teresa. Said it’s toxic masculinity makin’ me feel like talking about feelings is girly and I gotta get over that if I wanna stay married and making you happy.”

“I ever tell you Mia’s my favorite?”

“She’s got a good head on her shoulders.”

“How long until we can run away and go to a bar?”

“Anybody else left yet?”

“Your cousin Lauren and some of Bella’s friends.”

“What bar you thinking? Because you look too pretty to not take to some classy wine bar.”

“That works for me.”

“Then let’s go tell Bella and Tommy bye.”

“What about Gianna?”

“It’s not her engagement.” Victoria almost felt like they were back in high school and cutting class as they said their goodbyes and got their coats. Why the hell his sister was getting married outdoors in winter was beyond Victoria, but she was grateful for the fact they’d probably end up rained out and inside for the ceremony. Sonny hailed a cab, waving when he saw his mother watching them from a window. 

“She’s pissed, Dom.”

“Too bad. Taking you to a nice wine bar. Ordering a cheese board.”

“You’re making it sound like a date.”

“I been shit and ain’t taken you on one in two years. Can it be?”

“I’d like that.” She was nervous, but it had become apparent he was trying. From what he said, in a couple weeks he’d be willing to open up. He was also communicating with her as it was. Maybe treating the next two weeks as a trial run could be good. Ease into the heavy discussion. He’d mentioned being afraid how she’d react. Maybe if she was always there again, he’d realize she wasn’t leaving. 

“C’mon, whatcha thinking Tor?”

“Just that I’m happy we’re making progress,” she fibbed, lacing their fingers. He looked to their hands and smiled, squeezing her fingers gently. 

“Me too.” Soon enough they were settled at the bar, and Sonny, true to his word, had ordered a bottle of wine and a cheese board. She was turned to face him, legs carefully crossed. He had the leg towards the room on the footrest around the base of her stool. She was boxed in, but it felt reassuring when paired with his hand on her leg. 

“So what’s this new squad like?” Sonny had never quite settled in anywhere since he’d become a detective, and he seemed smitten with his spot in Manhattan. 

“So Barba is the ADA. Covered him. Liv is Lieutenant. Nobody ever really gave me a shot before. Apparently I can be abrasive.” He threw the hand not on her leg up in mock affront, and she laughed. 

“You? Never.”

“I know,” he said, ignoring her sarcasm. “Rollins is cool. She’s been through a lot. She’s from Georgia though. I know you mostly grew up here, but you get that same Southern catty as her. Means it doesn’t get to me, because I know the secret. That she doesn't really mean it. Amaro is cool too. Had some problems too. Come to think of it, I don’t know why I’m acting like they won’t understand or accept our marriage. Fin’s been there longest, other than Lieu.”

“They treating you well?”

“They are. I think I’m finally not just a newbie. Barba gets mean. He’s not southern snarky though, so I think he means it.”

“I’ll fight him.”

“You’d win. He’s got a big mouth, but I don’t think he’d be scrappy.”

“I’m just real proud of you.”

“That means a lot to me, Tor.”

“You worked real hard. I watched that. And you’re going to be an amazing attorney.”

“I think I wanna try for the DA’s office if I pass the bar next year.”

“You’ll pass the bar.”

He rolled his eyes, pouring her another glass of wine as he topped off his own. When the night was over, he walked her to her door, kissing her goodnight and going to his own apartment. Sonny had decided that if it was going to be a date, he’d be a gentleman. Things were still delicate, and he had to leave early when she had a day off. He did text her the next morning to say he’d enjoyed their date, not wanting to have the wedding be the next time they talked. When he arrived at the precinct, he went to Olivia’s door, knocking. 

“What’s going on, Carisi?”

“Since the squad’s coming to my sister’s weddin’ now, I felt like I gotta tell everybody I’m married and it’s really confusing.”

“Since you hadn’t mentioned it, I assumed you were getting a divorce.”

“You knew?”

“I did get sent your file when you started here. You know, I do read those.”

“I messed up bad, y’know? She’s a baker, right? And I’ve known her since I was five. Got married when we were eighteen. It was all good until I got to homicide.” Oliva gave him a sympathetic, knowing smile. “What I told you guys? How the women got to me? I was scared if I told her, I’d, like, tarnish her. Make her see all the bad stuff we see. It’s amazing talking to her, Lieu. She never stopped seeing the best in people. And I stopped acting like her husband because I thought just being close to me would transfer all of it. She left me, but we’re in a weird limbo. She’s in the wedding, and we act married when we see each other. This’ll only be the sixth time in a year and a half. But I don’t want her to meet everyone and they’re all like who the hell are you.”

“This job can make that part of life incredibly difficult, Carisi. I feel the same way sometimes about Noah. What if they take him? What if I’m so paranoid he grows up paranoid? Or god forbid he sees pictures? I try to refocus it. I think about how he can make light in those bad times. I don’t know much about her, but I’m guessing she does too?”

“She does.”

“Tell her, Carisi. If she knows something is wrong, she’ll be able to get through it.”

“I’m telling her after the wedding. My therapist said it might make it less stressful. I’ve been afraid she’ll change her mind when I tell her.”

“It’ll work out. It is a smart idea to make sure everyone knows. Barba’s coming with me, so I’ll make sure he knows and keep him in line.”

“Thanks Lieu. For this whole talk, but also giving me a shot.”

Tag List: @cycat4077 @fear-less-write-more

[keyboard-cowgirl]

Host, Interrupted - beta request

hey so, I'd like to a find a beta reader for my westworld, dolores/reader, wlw fic. It's been a million years since I've had a beta, but I really want one for this massive project. Let's see... you definitely need to be familiar with all three seasons of the show and comfortable reading heavyTM shit. I don't need much (if any) help with the plot. I need error fixes. I'm real chill to work with and I will happily assist you with any project of yours in return. My story is FINISHED. It's 170k words and the first work in a two-part series. Just to give you an idea of what my writing level is and what the story is about, here's the summary. The first chapter and trigger warnings for the entire story are under the cut. (Yes, my fic title is a play on the movie Girl, Interrupted. Yes, that is very much on purpose)

Non-con, suicide, death, murder, violence, gore, holy shit gore, depression, PTSD, self-harm, eating disorder, alcohol abuse, the works, it’s dark guys but *points at source material* *points at self*

Part I: The Devil is in the Details

 “Do you wake up as I do, having forgotten what it is that hurts or where, until you move? There is a second of consciousness that is clean again. A second that is you, without memory or experience, the animal warm and waking into a brand new world.” ― Jeanette Winterson

 Chapter 1:

 You have the whole train car to yourself. The magnet rail moves at amazing speeds with the kind of grace that feels like you aren’t going anywhere at all, but you are. You’re going to Westworld, the crowning achievement of the tech colossus: Delos Incorporated. The park put them on the map, quite literally after they bought an island in the South China Sea. Some 500 square miles of it is reserved for Westworld alone, the rest is divided between the other parks. You forget how big they are, but none of them are as large as Westworld. No matter how large it is and easy to get lost in, you aren’t going to up and forget why you’re here. You can’t. If you could, you’d have no reason to be on this monorail at all, relaxed into the pristine white seats, sighing at the darkened window.

Minutes pass, and your consciousness has gone somewhere you don’t have to think. A place where there’s no boredom and no worry. You snap to attention when the window lights up to show the interior of the train station. A melody of notes plays from the speaker above your chair. The voice is soft, feminine.

“Welcome to Westworld. Live without limits.”

When the doors slide open, you curl your toes and try to wake them from their fuzzy sleep. Your first steps are tired, unbalanced, and you cover your mouth to hide a yawn. As you walk off the monorail, you glance around the station. It’s just as bright as the train, and you pity the janitors for all the black scuffmarks they have to buff off the tile before you remember that the most tedious labor goes to the hosts.

The hosts – there are a dozen of them, evenly spaced out and waiting to help the guests. But there’s no one else coming off the train, just you. Dressed up and impossibly still, the hosts don’t even acknowledge you. It’s like they’re sleeping with their eyes open. They’re not here for you, but it’s weird that they’re here at all. You scour the area for a safe space when you find your welcoming committee near an escalator.

The two men stay put, but the woman gives you an excited wave.

“Harper!” Your name echoes through the station and you wish she hadn’t said it so loud. Still, you force a smile because this is a friend, and you are happy to see her. You’re happy. You’re happy…

“Hey, Elsie. How are you?” you ask as she crosses the floor to meet you. You barely have time to react before she wraps her arms around you. You can’t get your arms to hug her back, and you tell yourself it’s because she’s squeezing you too tight.

“I’m good, I’m good! How are you? I feel like it’s been so long- but it hasn’t. You lose track of time down here.”

Elsie is rambling, and you find it odd. Elsie isn’t the wordy type. She’s crass, direct, and extremely insightful, but this Elsie is stumbling over herself to make small talk. In a rare display of assuredness, you pat her on the shoulder.

“I’m alright,” you lie. “I didn’t think I’d see you today, but I’m glad you’re here.”

Elsie smiles bashfully, then turns as the others arrive. You recognize the pair she’s with – Bernard Lowe and Robert Ford. One is Elsie’s boss, the other is family.

Bernard adjusts where his glasses sit on his nose before he welcomes you. “Hello, Harper. I hope the ride wasn’t unpleasant.” You shrug. It was nice to be alone after your parents insisted on dropping you off. You can understand their concerns, but you’re not a child. Haven’t been one of those in a long time.

“I wish I could stay,” Robert suddenly interjects. Until this point, you’ve avoided looking at him. He’s an old man now, soon to face the trials of time that a mortal body can’t win. You wonder why he hasn’t died yet. A heart attack could do him in at any moment. Lucky bastard. “But there’s a project that requires my attention.” Go figure he’d leave at the first opportunity. He shouldn’t have come at all, but you let him speak. “I merely want to impart upon you how wonderful it is that you’re here, Harper. Don’t think of this place as a park or a game. It doesn’t have to be that. Westworld,” he raises his arms, displaying the pearly gates to the kingdom behind him, “can be whatever you need it to be. Here, you are awake in a dream.”

You manage a nod, and then his back is turned. His brown leather shoes clop across the floor as he disappears into a service exit between escalators. Seriously, why did he come at all if he was going to leave thirty seconds after seeing you? Maybe some things can’t be mended despite what your mom said.

You, Elsie, and Bernard stew in the silence left by one of the original founders of the park. Dr. Ford is an enigmatic man at the best of times. At the worst, he’s driven by a singular focus to achieve ever loftier goals. His ambition cost him his family once. Really, it’s a miracle you’re here at all, but other, more important people in your life have forgiven him.

“Come on,” Elsie finally says. “Let’s get you ready for your stay.”

As you weave between the sentinel hosts, the three of you leave the train station behind. Bernard takes the time to remind you the rules of the park. He doesn’t have to, you remember them.

“Now, the hosts can’t hurt you. In fact, they’ll do everything they can to keep you from true physical harm.” It isn’t the physical harm that concerns you about your stay here. “The guns are coded to differentiate between human and host. It’s going to hurt if you get shot-”

You clear your throat. “I remember, Mr. Lowe. The internship didn’t end that long ago.”

“Right, right,” he confirms. He plucks his glasses from his face and cleans his lenses as you guys walk into a large closet. Closet isn’t the right word. The place is more like a small storefront. Racks of clothes line the walls and accessories lay in display cases spread throughout. Everything is tailored to be exactly your size, but the collection isn’t fine-tuned to your taste. If it was, the vibrant, lowcut saloon style dresses wouldn’t be here. As you browse, aware Elsie is watching you choose, your mind travels back to the last time you were a part of Delos Destinations.

The internship…

The internship was a means to an end. Just this year, you worked with Behavior, you learned about host coding, and you met Elsie – who mentored you. For three months, you lived underground with the rest of the onsite staff. Everyday was a chore, but at the end of it your grandfather agreed to pay for your master’s degree. Now, you’re back three months later. You aren’t here to work, and you can’t leave until your stay is over.

You select a pair of grey breeches and find a muddy red, button up shirt to go with it. For shoes, you pick the comfiest looking boots you see. Most of your internship was spent in the workshops, but for the next few weeks you’ll be above ground, kicking around in the dust of the “Old West” as imagined by Delos. To hell with looks, you want to be comfortable. You imagine yourself not to care about your appearance, but you still pick out a belt with a holster that matches, and a leather jacket.

When you come upon a case full of guns, you hesitate. The selection of pistols is immaculate, like everything else you’ve seen so far. Everything is so damn clean, and it irks you. The more Delos tries to sell itself as perfect, the more you want to make a mess of everything. You lift the glass cover and grab a silver revolver. It’s heavier than you thought it would be, but it fits in your hand so well. That’s the thing about guns that’s always bothered you. You shouldn’t want to hurt people, and you don’t – for the most part – but every gun you’ve ever held feels like it was made for you.

Elsie and Bernard step out so you can change. When they return, Bernard is back on his tangent of explaining how this trip works. “Now, you’ll start in the center of the park. Sweetwater. Things are tamer there, but there will be plenty to see and do.”

The behavior tech raises her hand to cut Bernard off. “I got it from here, Bernard. I’ll make sure she’s good to go.” Bernard nods and wishes you well before he leaves. With that, Elsie takes a deep breath and adjusts your collar a little bit. “Finally, we’re alone.” You face warms, remembering your past with her. “I know how much you hate this place,” she states. “But I really hope you find some peace here, Harper. You’re gonna have the whole park basically to yourself, take advantage of it.”

You huff and take a step away from your friend. “The perks of being Ford’s granddaughter,” you muse.

Elsie folds her arms over her chest. “Yeah, and if our places were reversed, I’d be taking that old man for everything he’s got.”

You let that statement hang, untouched. “How is it I have the whole park to myself anyway?”

“Brass is going through their yearly audit, and they oh-so-graciously decided to give everyone a three-week vacation this time,” she mocks. “We’re running on a skeleton crew right now, but then the rest of us get to take our vacation whenever we want. I’m thinking Christmas or something else equally inconvenient for management. Maybe every Tuesday for the next 15 weeks. What do you think?”

“Hm, one week for Christmas and ten weeks of Tuesdays.”

Elsie laughs. “Oh, that’s devious, Harper. Love the way you think.”

She’s always been a bit of a flirt with you, but under all her jokes and bravado, you know there’s a brilliant but lonely woman beneath. Unfortunately for her, all you can be is a friend, and probably not even a good one at that. Like right now, how you’re not responding to her. What kind of friend just stands here in awkward silence like this? Where the hell is your mind today?

“I don’t know what all you’re going through,” Elsie muses a moment later, “but you’re not alone, okay? I made Bernard give me this assignment. He and Dr. Ford picked out a lot of the narratives and hosts you’ll come across, but they’re going to be too busy to watch you. I’ll be checking on you from time to time.”

Her sympathy doesn’t feel fake, and that almost hurts. This is the time to push a smile, but you can’t do it. “What hosts? What narratives?”

“I shouldn’t be telling you, but it’s gonna start with a bounty hunter. He’ll take you out to hunt down some bandits. From there, you’ll get the choice to side with the bandits and- and are you sure you want to know this? I feel like I’m spoiling the biggest Hollywood blockbuster of the century.”

You huff out a laugh. You don’t care about spoilers. “Stay away from the bounty hunters and bandits,” you list. “Got it. I’m just not interested in my grandfather’s games.”

Elsie straightens her blazer. “Yeah, but still try to enjoy some of it. Okay,” she tries to psyche you up. “You ready?”

“I hope you’re getting a bonus for this.”

Her hand rests on your back as she guides you forward. “The bonus is knowing I’m helping a friend.”

Your stomach drops. This definitely hurts.

--

You’re on another train. This time, the steel cage rocks beneath your feet and it’s not empty. Hosts are spread throughout the car, planted in their seats, or taking a drink at the bar. You don’t talk to them; you don’t even look at them. You know how real they seem, and despite what your grandfather has planned for you – you’re not interested in what Westworld can offer you. You’ve already got plans, big plans. You’re going to hole up in the nearest tavern and self-medicate until your three weeks are up. You don’t need Westworld to cure you of your ailments. Not that you aren’t sick, you just don’t think it can. Since a young age, the doctors said you had depression. Now that you’re older, 23, they’re not satisfied with the easiest explanation. Now you have another disease.

In a world surrounded by screens and pixels, the experts needed a new term for the bleak existence suffered by the modern man. They call it ‘Tech Fatigue’ but you’re pretty sure it was invented by the Delos marketing team. Medical professionals like to slap that diagnosis on anyone with a designer smart watch and dark rings under their eyes. Rich people – circling their second divorce and an equal number of midlife crises – seek out therapy inside one of the parks. Delos gives the doctors a fat kickback, and bam, the cycle is born. Tech companies like Delos make the problem, the solution, and profit off both. You don’t know that’s what’s happening, but it wouldn’t surprise you.

It’s ironic, really. In order to get away from a world of tech, internet, and social media, you’re taking the first train to the most manufactured place on the planet. In the mile of dirt below you, there’s a whole structure full of tablet-carrying technicians making sure the machines around you work flawlessly. Just because you can’t see the wires, doesn’t mean they don’t exist.

You wish you didn’t exist.

Suddenly, the train whistle screams. You’ve pulled up to the station in Sweetwater. As the locomotive comes to a halt, you get to your feet and grab your leather messenger bag. Nothing in that sack is yours. Except for the odd prescription, guests aren’t allowed to bring personal items into the park. You don’t have any medications because you quit all of those a while ago. Still, you need more than the clothes on your back.

You walk off the train between a flurry of host bodies. For the most part, none of them pay attention to you. They go about their loops, avoid you when you step into their path – all except for a man in a grey tweed frock. He tips his hat as he approaches you.

“Miss Harper? I’m Teddy Flood. Your grandfather paid me to keep an eye on you.”

So it begins. You look him up and down more carefully. He looks like he was plucked right off the cover of an old-timey, cringe-laden romance novel set in the Wild West with his chiseled features. But his eyes are kind, and you’re not sure how to ditch him yet so you play along as best you can.

“That’s me.”

“Can I take you somewhere? A hotel to find a room? I’ve got horses saddled for us if you-”

You hold up a hand. “Okay, I thought I could do this, but I can’t. Just… go away. Or whatever it is you do when you’re not with a guest.”

He tilts his head. “I’m afraid I can’t abide by that request, ma’am. I was paid to keep you safe, and I’m a man of my word.”

“Of course you are.” Your shoulders sag, weighed down by more than your luggage. “Fine, but we’re not doing any of your… narratives.” You should’ve asked Elsie for more details on what your grandfather and Bernard have planned for you so you could avoid it. During your internship, you worked in a different park. Park seven, the newest addition to six others. You don’t know the storylines of Westworld past what you know about old American history. Admittedly, it’s not much.

With a sigh, you press forward and walk right into another cowboy. The stranger grunts and turns, hand hovering over the pistol on his hip. Teddy steps between you two. When the guy sees that his assailant is a woman with someone to defend her, his hostility fades.

“Pardon me, ma’am.”

Though everyone so far has a very natural Southern drawl, the ‘ma’am’ thing is weird. You try to smile in acceptance of his apology, but you know your lips aren’t upturned. You used to be so much better at controlling your expression, your emotions, too. What happened to you?

Confrontation avoided, you continue into town. You almost ask Teddy where the hotel is, but as you become more aware of your surroundings, your question fades. The buildings on either of the dusty road aren’t chic. They aren’t glass and concrete monoliths reaching for the sky. In fact, most of them aren’t even two-stories tall despite the false facade that rises up from the roof like an ornate parapet. Here, everything is made of wood and clay. It’s painted in muted, earthy tones by hand, and it’s like stepping back in time. Horses of every color are hitched on posts outside, and now you kind of wonder where Teddy was going to take you on horseback. You’ve never ridden a horse before.

They’re not real horses, you remind yourself. Teddy isn’t a real man. And nothing in Sweetwater is natural, except maybe for the flies buzzing around a pile of horse dung. Surely, your grandfather isn’t crazy enough to have manufactured insects. Then again, the robotic horses are producing waste that truly, and disgustingly, smells like shit… so anything is possible.

You tell yourself that this whole experience is too much, and you’re going to find the nearest place you can have a drink before you have a panic attack. That place is the Mariposa Saloon. You push through the batwing doors, and Teddy catches them when they spring backwards as he follows you. You told yourself to be ready for the sensory overload you’d face inside, but you’re still slightly overwhelmed. Cigarette smoke wafts under your nose, people are muttering about their card game, glasses are clinking on the bar, and a piano is chiming away in the corner of the room without anyone sitting at the keys. It’s a lot. You can understand how some people would feel alive in a place like this, but it’s not for you.

Still, you push yourself to the bar. Bottles of tawny brown, gold, and clear liquor are calling you forward. You set your hands on the black counter, but the man with the twisted handlebar moustache is serving someone else first. You don’t know why you’re waiting. You’re the only person here who thinks for themselves. You can be as rude as you want to be, and no one would remember it once they were reset. You wait anyway, and one of the brothel girls see it as an opening to take a chance.

The woman’s dress is a deep ocean blue, cut so high you can see the tops of her thighs and the intricate stockings she wears to cover the rest of her legs. You hope she’s going for Teddy, but she stops beside you and grins.

“You’re new.” She reaches up and slowly caresses your face. Between the lace of her fingerless gloves and the warmth of her hand, you’re surprised at how real it feels. “Not much of a rind on you. I’ll give you a discount.”

Turning away from her hand, you clear your throat. “Thanks, but I’m just here for a drink.”

The young woman doesn’t seem too upset by your refusal. “What do you want to drink, darling?” She snaps her finger at the bartender. Throwing a towel over his shoulder, the man finally notices you.

You order a whiskey. When he asks you what kind, you fumble. Did they have different kinds of whiskey in the past? How are you supposed to know?

Teddy chuckles under his breath and answers for you. “Rye. None of that corn homebrew you try to pass off as liquor.”

The saloon girl looks past you and at your tall, handsome company. “Wise choice, Mr. Flood.”

He tips his hat, before glancing at you again. “Nothing but the best for my friend.”

You scowl. “Teddy, we aren’t friends. You don’t even know me.” This is too strange. The bartender sets out two small glasses and fills both halfway. You can’t pretend like this is normal when your normal is leaps and bounds different from the here and now. A drink at home meant serving yourself, and you poured your chilled, name brand whiskey to the top of your glass, then you drank it alone.

Teddy throws his shot back and swallows it all in one go. “I know you better than you think, and I’d like to get to you know more than that.”

You shudder. Oh god, did your grandfather put him for you to… For you two to… You can’t finish the thought. The idea of your grandfather interfering with your sex life is way more than you can handle. Before you even take your first sip, you smack your finger down on the counter – showing the bartender where he can put the whiskey when you demand it.

“Leave the bottle.”

The young woman beside you places a hand on your shoulder and you tense up as she whispers in your ear. “I’m here if you change your mind, beautiful. If I’m not your type, and neither is he, look around. Find something that strikes your fancy.”

You grab the neck of the bottle and pour another shot. Westworld is not for you, you’ve decided. It’s only three weeks you remind yourself. The hat you picked out is making your forehead itch, so you take it off and set it on the bar. Then you hear a loud pop. An older cowboy pushes through the batwing doors, a wash of red blooms across his vest as he stumbles into the saloon.

“They’re here,” he coughs out. “Hector… Escaton and his posse.”

More gunshots sound, and it’s like some miscreant lit firecrackers in the street. The saloon explodes with activity. Working girls scramble to hide behind tables. The bartender grabs a sawed-off shotgun. Teddy puts his hand on your shoulder and you jerk before he tells you to get somewhere safe or be prepared to use your weapon.

It’s only three weeks.

[justatiredghost]

Living for the Moment Ch18 A series of glimpses at Klaus’ life if he’d met Dave in his mid 20s. His life isn’t magically transformed, love can’t fix either of them when they’re both homeless and in a bad place. They’re not even really ready for a relationship yet. But maybe a supportive friendship can set them on a better path, the two of them inspiring each other to take care of themselves. It’s going to be a long and bumpy ride, and the question is, when will they actually admit to themselves that they have feelings for each other? Read More AO3

"You've got to be kidding me. I thought I told you to leave me alone," Klaus groaned, turning away so he wouldn't have to watch him go.

But he didn't.

"If you're mad at me," Dave said instead, hands out pleadingly, "Fine, yell all you want, but you're my friend and I'm not just gonna drop this and leave. And you're right, it's been a while since we've properly spent any time together, and I'm sorry for that, but I know you well enough to know when you're trying to push me away. So what's this really about?"

"Why do I do anything?" Klaus said bitterly, because this was the answer everyone else had always given for him. "It's all for the attention! I just want to have a good time, forget all my worries and fuck the consequences. Sometimes literally."

"Right, because we both know this life is nothing but a never ending party," Dave said, rolling his eyes, because they both knew the bad trips, the mornings after, the misery and the hangovers. Whatever problems they were trying to forget were always right there when they woke up again, sometimes worse than before. There was no escape, not really, and that included Klaus' ghosts.

"This isn't a cry for help," Klaus snapped, because he didn't know why Dave wouldn't just let it go. "I'm a selfish asshole, you should know that by now."

"You really expect me to believe that?" Dave said, and he'd looked frustrated and upset, like he'd been steeling himself for this very argument, but now his features softened. "Even after you've saved my life a dozen times over?"

"Don't forget all the people whose lives I've ruined," Klaus said. "It all evens out."

"Right, okay, you're a selfish asshole," Dave conceded, and Klaus wasn't sure if he was supposed to feel crushed or relieved.

"Good," he snapped. "Glad you get it."

"But that doesn't make you cruel or heartless," Dave interrupted. "You care so much, and I've seen it shine through in a thousand different ways. You're funny and you're clever, and I know this isn't easy, you've been through hell your whole life, but I have so much respect for the man you've become."

Honestly, it would have been unsettling to have anyone else see him like this, past the defenses he'd hoped he was loud and obnoxious enough to disguise, even to himself. But this was Dave, and somehow he didn't feel found out so much as he did seen.

He'd felt invisible his entire life. Well, maybe not completely. He liked being the center of attention, it was only the parts that mattered that he hid, the hurt and the fear, leaning into the assumptions everyone else made about him because it was easier than trying to prove them wrong. He'd given up on that a long time ago. And here Dave was, thinking the best of him despite it allt, and it was terrifying. He'd tried so hard to avoid this, because he didn't want to inevitably let anyone down. But, somehow, he didn't want this to stop.

"The fuck, Dave," Klaus said, hoping his voice wouldn't break, because what else was he supposed to say? He was too raw and exhausted and he didn't know what to do.

"I've wanted to give up so many times, but you make me want to keep trying to be kinder despite it all. And if you really want me to go, I will, I just need you to know that I care about you, and you don't have to do this alone."

He thought about the last couple days, how the drugs had completely wrecked him, leaving him to wake up in a gutter or a stranger's bed, in pain inside and out in a way that only more drugs could fix, only for him to then start the process over again. And then he looked at Dave, and what his very presence represented. Suddenly, all of the noise wasn't enough to hide behind anymore.

"I'm scared," he admitted, feeling his false bravado collapse around him.

"I know," Dave said with a heavy sigh. "I am too. You don't have to talk about it if you don't want to, just don't push me away. I don't want to leave things like this."

Klaus was good with words. He could turn just about any situation to his advantage so long as he could talk. But now, suddenly he was at a loss, feeling things quickly slipping out of his control because Dave was just like that. Somehow, he'd become the only constant in his life, at least living, because he was just so good at taking him by surprise.

"Fine, you win," Klaus said. He hadn't realized how close Dave had moved, but now that he was here, all Klaus could do was slump against him, forehead resting against his shoulder. "Why did you have to come along again and ruin everything?"

"Sorry," Dave said with a chuckle.

"No, you're not, asshole," Klaus said.

"You're right, I'm not. Sorry."

"I don't even know what I'm supposed to do now," Klaus said. "I don't know if I'll even change, or if I even can, you know? I just hope your expectations aren't too high."

"I'm not asking you to change," Dave said. "Just don't shut me out, okay? We can figure out the rest together."

It was a naive hope. Klaus just couldn't see where they could go from here. "What's that saying? 'You can't have your cake and eat it too?'"

"What the fuck else are you supposed to do with cake?" Dave asked incredulously.

"I dunno, man, don't look at me," Klaus couldn't help but smile at that. "I'm just not really sure our lives are compatible anymore."

"Then we'll figure that out together, too," Dave said.

"I don't want to make you relapse."

"You're not making me do anything. This is my choice, too, you know."

"It's just a shitty one, is all," Klaus said. He wasn't sure when, but they'd made their way to his little cardboard shelter, settling down together, Dave's arm still around him.

"Rude, but I see your point," Dave said, bumping his forehead against Klaus'.

"If I'm starting to make sense, we might be in real trouble."

"Just get some sleep, okay? We can figure it out later. Just know we have options. And I have ideas."

"Well, that's the most suspicious thing I've ever heard," Klaus chuckled.

But he was too tired to object, so he just let his eyes close, trying not to think about the future. He was just so exhausted, and everything was too hard, and he couldn't see anything but tragedy in their future.

[starlocked01]

Seldom All They Seem

AO3  First- Previous- Next

Content Warning: Swearing, Innuendo, Body Shaming, Mention of Insect, Descriptions of Physical Injury

Chapter 4 Curiosity-  It's You I Like, Every Part of You

"Well, can you pull them out?" Janus hovered behind Roman as they watched the two sides sleeping. It hadn't been very long yet, maybe an hour since they'd sent Logan in but Janus didn't want to think of the consequences of Thomas being without two of his core sides for much longer.

"Logan I could wake up- I'm just not sure about Remus," Roman bit his lip and the tone in his voice gave Janus pause.

"You're lying," it was neither a question nor an accusation, simply a fact.

"No, that's your job, Two-face," Roman brushed him off with a wave but suspiciously glanced at him out of the corner of his eye in a way that killed any doubt in the deceitful side's mind.

"You can wake them both up at any time. Why did you send Logan in?" Janus' smile was a mixture of confusion and pride at Roman's successful deception.

Roman rolled his eyes, "look, it's spotty. Sometimes I can feel both of them and other times Remus slips away. Right now they seem pretty tethered together so I'm not worried," Roman sighed with a small shrug, "Remus won't admit his crush on Logan because he's convinced we all don't want him. I know for a fact that Logan doesn't see him as the evil twin despite my warnings so I gave them a chance to talk it out. I don't make dangerous daydreams like Remus does; I make romance happen. And if you and Patton are anything to judge by, I'm pretty damn good at it."

Janus flushed at the mention of what he thought were secret rendezvous. He was almost disturbed how subtly Roman must have manipulated the situation for him to not notice, "well, aren't you just so devious. Luckily for you, Remus' affections are mutual otherwise this meddling could have hurt your friendship with Logan even further."

"I had a feeling they were mutual, but how did you know?" Roman asked, turning back towards Janus.

"Well…" ---- Logan knelt beside Remus in the stillness of the forest floor. The wounds looked fairly superficial but Logan wasn't sure how hard Remus had fallen from his back when they'd tumbled in their escape from the gigantic stick bug.

Remus groaned and arched his back to stretch it out, "you didn't warn me that you like it that rough, nerd daddy."

"Does anything feel broken?" Logan's eyes scanned over the various cuts and abrasions. Remus looked down at himself, at the torn clothes and small beads of blood, and crossed a protective arm over his stomach. Logan’s close attention both thrilled and humiliated him. He wouldn't be hurt like this if he could just run and keep pace with the nerd. Like Roman said, too many cookies lately.

"No, I'm not broken. Why would you think I'm broken? I'm fine," Remus huffed, painfully pushing himself up to sitting.

"I didn't say you were broken," Logan replied softly, "I merely asked if anything felt broken, like bones. I don't see you as defective, Remus."

"The only thing broken here are your glasses," Remus winced as he took a deep breath, "and maybe a rib. Thank hell this isn't permanent."

"Unless we can't wake up and are stuck here," Logan reminded him.

"Or we could just try and heal things by dream logic. C'mere," Remus reached up to Logan’s shoulder and pulled him down to his level. The gash on Logan's forehead was no longer bleeding, but it looked pretty nasty. Remus leaned forward and kissed the injury, smiling as the flesh stitched itself back together.

Logan’s eyes went wide as he reached up to touch his forehead, astounded by the lack of blood or scar.

"Oh come on, you do the same thing in the mind palace. I just do it with style," Remus grinned, shaking the scrapes off of his arms.

"I- you're right. But- oh I don't know. I don't work here, remember?" Logan said sourly.

"Awww that's a shame, 'cause you could work it if you tried," Remus giggled, smacking his side and sitting up in less pain. Logan really couldn't understand how aggravating an injury would fix it but Remus seemed confident in what he was doing.

"Are you good to walk?" Logan asked, standing and brushing himself off. He flexed his left hand a few times, thankful they were no longer stuck.

"Yeah, but I'm tired. Can we just chill?" Remus looked up at him with what were apparently puppy dog pleading eyes. Logan chuckled and sat down next to Remus.

"You're never chill. Are you sure this dream hasn't gotten to you?"

"Eh probably has but this isn't so bad is it?"

"No, it's not bad," Logan sighed and leaned back against a log, leg crossed over his knee.

"So why'd you come after me, Specs?" Remus scooted a bit closer to Logan.

"I told you. You've been in here for a week and Roman said he couldn't wake you up," Logan explained matter-of-factly.

Remus gave him a pointed look, "yes but why did you come? Roman could have sent anyone in here, so why did you agree?"

Logan contemplated in silence for a moment, looking out at the trees as Remus watched him curiously, waiting for his answer, "honestly, Janus blackmailed me because he knew I'd be concerned about your absence."

Remus sat back, unhappy with that answer, "oh. I should have guessed…"

Logan turned to look at him, "emphasis on the concern. I-" he looked away again, embarrassed "-care that you wanted to leave permanently."

Remus bounced his foot on the ground, smooshing a mushroom and humming to himself. Logan had to admit, he'd never seen Remus so calm. Perhaps his rampage here had been helpful.

"Why didn't you want to wake up?" Logan asked softly. Remus' foot stilled and he looked back up at Logan, blinking back tears.

"No one wants me around. I'm just your least favorite intrusive, annoying thot. I hurt Thomas with ideas I can't help thinking. Nothing I contribute is redeemable in anyone's eyes. All of those are the reasons I tried to convince myself it would be better this way, but honestly, I was running."

"Running from what?"

"From you."

"Me?"

"Yeah…"

"Oh," Logan watched Remus very carefully, attuned to his defensive body language. If he acknowledged he had a heart, it would have been breaking to see Remus this terrified- especially of him. He cleared his throat, "what did I do to scare or hurt you?"

Remus looked up and shook his head, "no no no. Not scary or hurtful…" he took a deep breath as though he was trying to brace himself before blurting out, "you are the hottest side, aside from me." Logan snorted back a laugh, "oh come on! I have a mustache- it sets me apart."

"Did I disagree?" Logan asked with a smirk.

Remus turned several shades of pink and ran his fingers through his hair, "uh you weren't supposed to agree with me."

"But you're right," Logan's cheeks flushed and he stretched out his arm to wrap around Remus' shoulders. Remus leaned into his side, almost as if he were trying to disappear into the hug.

"You're also good at rationalizing and compartmentalizing me," Remus hesitated as he reached out to grab Logan’s hand that was resting on his own ankle.

"I don't compartmentalize you. I help Thomas examine your contributions. Sometimes the more hurtful suggestions need ignored. I do the same thing with some of Roman's more fanciful dreams and Virgil’s inaccurate outbursts," Logan smiled and offered his hand and Remus quickly accepted, hoping they'd get stuck again.

"Dressing me down, figuratively and literally," Remus winked, "really does help a lot. I guess I'm just used to being the bad guy so Roman can be the hero."

"I think we all can start to move past that simplistic idea of you," Logan pulled Remus in tighter. Focusing on the conversation was like following a single thread through a knot while trying to untangle the whole thing. Figuring out exactly where Remus was coming from was vital to getting them both out of the dream, together, but also perhaps, unlocking a different level of relationship. He stroked the back of Remus' hand with his thumb and continued, "I do appreciate what you contribute, Remus. Thomas is a good person and you are a part of him. You are not evil. I quite enjoy your spontaneity."

"I like messing with you."

"Perhaps I enjoy organizing the mess."

"I like you," Remus let go of Logan’s hand and traced one of the rips in the logical side's shirt, "more than any of the others. Like romantically."

Logan’s breath caught in his chest at the unexpected confession and the brush of Remus' fingers on his abdomen. It had been hard enough for him to admit his own thoughts about Remus to himself, and on accident when they had been vocalized to Janus. But Remus liked him?

"This has to be a dream because I never had hope of hearing you say that," the admission left Logan feeling weak and nauseous.

"Lo, do you… like me too?" Logan simply nodded and Remus wrapped him in a hug. He could have never dreamed Logan, the real Logan, would ever like him the same way.

"Remus, please get off," Logan's voice was tense and Remus immediately panicked.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I know I need to lose weight- I was just so happy-"

"This isn't about your weight. I just wasn't expecting that and need to stand up," Logan cut him off and gently pushed him aside while he stood, offering both hands for Remus to pull himself up on, "believe me, you're not in an unhealthy weight range at all. I can easily lift you. There's no reason for you to be worried," Logan watched a tear slip down Remus' cheek as he smiled gratefully back at him. Logan smirked and picked Remus up, twirling him in a hug to prove his point.

"Thanks, Lo," Remus smiled and grabbed his hand. Without another word they both continued on, Remus leading Logan towards where the beacon had been.

Tag List: @fandersides1234567 @sirprplsnail @bisexualdisaster106 @theiwatobiicepic @nerd-in-space @lost-mentally @intrulogicalweek2020

[a-simple-imagine]

Team Cap

Requested by Anonymous: “Civil war imagine with fem!reader and natasha where they're on opposing teams and there's some delicious angst where the reader says "the next person to ask me about Natasha is gonna lose their legs." A bit of established relationship.”

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x fem!reader

Words: 1.9k+

Trigger Warning - Swearing

A/N - I want to make it clear i was and always will be team iron man. 

Headcanon that Tony buys you iron man merch for every birthday, Christmas, etc.

"If we sign these accords I'll never be able to use my powers again," You groan loudly as you pushed yourself up on the couch. Steve heading in your direction with two colourful mugs in hand. He sits in the armchair to the right of you, passing over the mug with Iron Man's face on. Tony had bought you it for your last birthday; God only knows why. Why would you possibly want a mug that had Iron Man's face on? In all fairness, though you did use it a lot.

"Then don't," Steve insists, his shoulders rising in a casual little shrug. You rolled your eyes completely dismissing his words.

"That wouldn't be an option,"

"They can't force you to sign. Do whatever you think is right," Steve replies. You blow softly on the top of your tea before taking a small sip. He was right, even if the accords came into play they couldn't make you sign it but then there would be a penalty. You'd be working outside the law. A criminal but a just one at that.

"I wish Nat could see it as clearly as you, I can't just sign my life away."

"Maybe if you explain it to her she'll listen." he suggests. You watch him as he takes a long swig from his mug, waiting until he's finished.

"Doubt it, my girl is stubborn as an ox. A real pain in the ass."

"You're right about that," there was a light-hearted chuckle from Steve. "But if there is anyone who can convince her it's you, Y/N. Natasha may not change her mind but you can at least try to get her to understand yours."

You take a long sip of your tea, a smile settling on your lips. "You're a very wise man, Mr. Rogers. Where ever do you get it?"

"When you live as long as I have, you learn a couple of things." He nods a little, a soft smile on his lips.

"Ah to be old and wise," you comment as you finish off your tea. Placing the iron man mug on the coffee table you rush off to find Natasha. You check all the usual spots starting with the shooting range but you eventually find her hidden away in a conference room alongside Tony. She's lounging on one of the chairs near the front with her feet up on the table. Tony is sat on the table next to her as they seemingly stare at the wall. You push the door open quietly coming to a halt when you hear what they're discussing. Luckily, they hadn't noticed you yet.

"-on Cap, that's not on me."

"I don't think I've ever seen the others so angry," Natasha replies almost absentmindedly. "This could really mess with the team."

"Don't be silly, little red. The rest of them will come to their senses and realize this is what needs to be done. It's for the best."

Natasha's head shakes a little. "Don't call me little red."

Tony laughs. "They may not see it now but they will. I still can't believe you're on my side."

"And so so close to deferring." Natasha leans down on the table with her elbow. Head resting in her hand. "It's not even about sides, it's about protecting people. At the rate we're going, we're probably doing more harm than good."

"...What about Y/N?" Tony asks cautiously.

"What about her?"

"I just... you two have been acting very weird lately and she's not gonna be happy about this. You heard the other day."

A sigh follows Tony's words and you assume it came from Natasha. You shift your weight uncomfortably, you had lingered too long at the door and now it's awkward. You could pretend you hadn't been spying but now you weren't too sure she'd listen anyway. "That doesn't matter now. Y/N is.... special to me but she's also dangerous. I can't risk everyone's life just for her and she's on the wrong side of this."

Dangerous. You're dangerous. You're on the wrong side. You quietly close the door, not wanting to draw attention before heading back down the corridor. You were never quite sure where you stood with Natasha but now it was pretty clear. Do the others think the same thing? That you're dangerous?

You didn't even try to convince her. You didn't let the others try and persuade you. Instead, you pushed everyone away. If they all thought you were such a monster, this was for the best. You needed a distraction from the avengers; from your own head so you threw yourself into training. Standing in the gym at the break of dawn, you jab the punching bag with your wrapped hands, pausing briefly when you hear the door open. You hesitated for verbal communication but when there wasn't one you just continue punching. That was until you saw Natasha out of the corner of your eye. Things had become tense between the two of you; overly so. Packing up your things, you leave. You don't want to deal with her right now. Every conversation always became about the accords and you hadn't scheduled in an argument today. With Natasha in the gym, you decide the next best thing is to go for a jog outside. You've never liked jogging. You only ever do it when something is wrong; like you're running from your problems. Literally running from your problems. Steve joins you not too long after. He's faster than you are. You think nothing of it until he tries talking to you. He asks about Natasha. Guess it's time to grab some breakfast.

After a quick shower and a change of clothes, you head for the kitchen. It's surprisingly empty. The only other person being Clint. You're grateful when the first word out of his mouth is "Good Morning" and not Natasha related.

"What are you doing up?" You ask, as you stroll to get a bowl out of one of the hanging cupboards.

"Couldn't sleep." He replies you take a moment to look at him. The tired eyes and messy hair were an interesting look. You place the iron man ceramic bowl on the counter; another gift from Tony. He gave you it for your 1st year anniversary of joining the team.

"I feel you," You comment as you collect a box of cereal and the milk. You'd make something more but you frankly couldn't be bothered. "You gonna be okay?"

He nods, as he takes a bite of the toast sat beside him and you take him at his word. Pouring Rice Krispies into the bowl before adding some milk, you grab your empty mug and sit beside him. "You want coffee?"

You give him a firm nod as you shove a spoonful of cereal into your mouth. He pours you some and slides the mug back over. "Thanks."

"What you up to today?"

You shrug a little. "Don't know yet. You?"

"Gotta help Cap out with a few things, you can come if you want?"

"No thanks."

You continue to chat with Clint as you enjoy your breakfast. And the rest of the day goes by smoothly, you even manage to talk to Natasha a little. Although it still ended the same way and you had to remove yourself from the situation. None of the others so much as tried to interfere, they were probably just used to it by now.

The entire situation escalated so quickly, you didn't have time to figure out what was going on. Everyone seemed to just divide right down the middle creating such a rift that you were now stood at an airport fighting the avengers. Bucky, Wanda, Cap, Sam and some guy you hardly knew names Scott all lined up alongside you. Directly opposite stood Natasha, Tony, Rhodey, Vision and a guy in a cat costume? A hand brushed against yours, and you look down as Wanda takes your hand.

"You gonna be okay?"

You look back to the others, nodding your head a little. "Why wouldn't I be?"

She gives your hand a reassuring squeeze before letting go. "Well... Nat-"

"Don't." You state firmly. "We're fine. Everything is fine and I swear to god, the next person to ask me about Natasha is gonna lose their legs."

"I'm just making sure-"

"Stay out of my head, Wanda." You growl.

"What do we do, Cap?" Sam asks bringing you back from your anger. You take a deep breath.

"We fight,"

"Yay," you mumble sarcastically as you step alongside the team. The others start walking towards you as well. "This is a bad idea."

"There's no other way,"

The airport erupts into a war zone as you charge at each other. Your eyes fixed in on Natasha. Her punch collided with the palm of your hand. "Nice catch." You just roll your eyes at her comment, closing your hand around her fist, twisting her arm and dragging her to the floor. "Maybe we can work this out."

"Talk is cheap." You growl.

"Suit yourself." Her leg sweeps into your ankles, sending you falling to the ground before jumping to her feet. "I just don't want you to be mad at me over this."

You stand up, brushing yourself off. "It's not about the accords." It kind of was but not entirely. Taking a deep breath your fight becomes a series of equal parts action and reaction. You punch, She dodges. She grabs you and flips you onto the floor, you kick her legs to bring her down. You're equally skilled and aren't doing anything to cause any real damage. Pinned against the floor, Natasha holds you down.

"Then what?"

You struggle under her grip. "You think I'm a monster. You think the accords will protect people from me."

For a split second her stoic mask breaks. It takes a little help from Wanda for you to be set free. Natasha thrown against a metal container, she groans loudly. "At least, try to beat her."

You smile at Wanda. With her palms, Nat pushes off the ground with enough force that when her feet collide with your chest, you stumble backward. "I don't think you're a monster," As you punch, she twists and throws her legs around your neck, pulling you both to the ground. "You can manipulate reality that makes you dangerous. We all are. The accords will keep us in line but I understand why you went against it."

Trapped, you decide to use a different tactic. You sink your teeth into her leg which loosens her grip enough for you to pull away. "I'm not signing my powers away."

"You fucking bit me," she chuckles, running her hand over her leg. "I normally wouldn't object but damn, Y/N."

You give her a small smile. "You deserves it."

"Maybe I do,"

The fight seems to be never-ending. You're getting sore and out of breath, sweat dripping down your forehead. This was stupid and definitely getting out of hand. You throw Natasha over your shoulder, foot resting against her chest in an attempt to keep her down. "Friends again?"

"I think we're a little more than friends, don't you?" You let up and she sits up, leaning back on the palm of her hands. You sit down beside her.

"You wanna grab some ice cream after this?" You ask, falling backwards against the ground. She lays down beside you.

"Sounds like a plan."

[syntheticsoulmates]

Day 6-Everyday

Hello everyone! Extra thanks to @duplicitywrites for coming up with the idea of a Groundhog Day! 

***

The worst part is that Harry never remembers him.

***

Tom is holding Harry's guts in.  Harry's in so much pain his eyes aren't tracking, and a bubble of blood forms at his lips. It pops and droplets flick onto Tom’s face. It doesn't matter. What's a little more blood?

“Go,” Harry wheezes, and Tom's genuinely impressed he made actual sound, with the state his diaphragm isn’t in. He lackadaisically waves one hand, before he realizes that it's missing and just. Stops. “We both know this doesn't matter.”

Tom nods.  It doesn't matter, not really. But it also does, to Tom, so Tom stops applying pressure with his hands and waits for that glow in Harry's eyes to die before he moves on.

***

Tom used to be terrified of dying. He's not anymore. He's done it so many times, so many different ways. How can you be afraid of something that happens every day?

***

“How did you get it to stop?” Tom asks, desperate, the first time he meets Harry.

Harry takes a deep breath, caps an Inferi over Tom’s shoulder. The way he moves is unreal. His voice is casual. “I got injured, real bad, but not enough to die right away. I passed out and the field medics got me. They bled me out, until it was red again.” Another burst of fire, another dropped horde of Inferi. Tom isn’t sure if he’s full of envy or dread.

“It hurt so bad I thought I died for real,” Harry laughs, cheerfully, and shoots another one.  

***

“We should fuck,” Tom states. He’s staring at the nape of Harry's neck, at the line of clean-looking skin at Harry's hairline where his sweat has pushed away the grime. He wants to lick it. Or bite it. He's not picky.

Harry glares at him out of the corner of his eye, still maintaining good coverage with his gun. It's pointless. There aren't any Inferi until they hit the second outbuilding, and Tom will kill those three.

“I’m going to go with no, Riddle. And I'm not even flattered.” Harry's voice is dry, but Tom knows him so well he can tell he's amused despite himself.

Tom shrugs, like he doesn't want this almost as bad as he wants the morrow. “We have before,” he lies.

Harry shakes his head, obviously exasperated. There's a smile on the corners of his lips. Tom loves that smile. “I don't believe you.”

Tom shouldn't be surprised. Tom is new to Harry every day, but he still hasn't managed to successfully lie to him even once. Every day, Harry just looks up from where Tom blows the Inferi off of him, says a small, ‘Oh, you too?’, and follows him off the battlefield. Just like that. Still, Tom’s offended, more than he should be.

“What, you don't think you would ever condescend to bed me? You're straight?” Tom snarls. “I'm not ‘your type’?”

“No.” Harry's smiling outright now, and it takes the edge of Tom's anger, just like that. “I think I've been waiting. I’ll keep waiting. I'll wait until it will motivate you the most,” he says, sly, eyes gleaming.

***

“Good luck today, Tom,” Harry wishes him, voice soft. Tom can't feel his body, can't move his legs. The Inferi are screaming for flesh, and Tom can hear it getting closer. They have one bullet. Harry puts the barrel of his service pistol to Tom’s forehead and pulls the trigger.

***

Dumbledore twinkles at him, the rat bastard, and tells him he’s needed on the front lines, to boost morale. Tom declines. That's not what he does. He's handsome and he knows it. His father had abandoned him, left him only a face, but it's a damn good one, and he's used it to stay invaluable and thus invulnerable, in the war. Tom does recruitment and public relations and social media relations. He does not fight.

Dumbledore twinkles and twinkles until he stops. Tom ends up in the front lines anyway.

***

Tom vomits after he kills his first Inferi. It's not because it looks almost human, despite being over pale with a strange triangle circle amalgamation on its brow. He's killed humans before—father. grandfather. grandmother—and he didn't puke then. He'd felt high, as close to believing in God that he'd ever been. It had felt addictive and heady and right and he'd decided right then he’d never do it again because otherwise he'd never stop.

No, Tom vomits because the creature explodes into viscous black sludge, splattering his nose and mouth, squirting on his tongue. The fluid tastes like anise and motor oil and Tom knows the instant he tastes it everything is wrong. He dies for the first time, fifteen minutes later, teeth still stained black.

***

He and Harry are in a tiny cabin. Tom plucks a shotgun from inside the pantry and some buckshot from a drawer in the bathroom. He hands both to Harry.

Harry smiles at him, wan. He’s tired, and Tom knows he’s in pain all up his side from being thrown by the Inferi. “Thanks, Tom.”

Tom kisses him, brief, his mouth scorching hot against his own. He's been cold, so very cold, ever since he started dying. He's not sure if it's psychological or because there is black sludge to replace the blood in his chest.

Harry’s smile brightens, his cheeks the tiniest bit red. “Thanks for that too.”

***

Dumbledore doesn't believe them about the Deathly Hallows. He calls Harry his boy and fixes Tom tea and listens as Tom drags up his whole life history from Gellert and his baby Aryan group to his poor sister and the hospice incidents.

He doesn't and doesn't and doesn't and doesn't, until Tom presses a kiss to Harry’s brow and pushes Harry's gun down and asks him not to shoot, that doesn’t work, please love. He’s not sure if he even means it. He's so sick of Dumbledore’s twinkle.

Dumbledore hands over the Deathstick Harry had confiscated from the Inferi. After that Tom remembers the goddamned combination.

***

The Resurrection Stone Tom knows by now to pry out of the forehead of that first Inferi he killed, and still kills. He has to be quick about it, because every day Harry's nearly half the field away, every day Harry's got an Inferi poised over his neck for Tom to punt off of him.

He gets very fast.

***

“I just don't know where the Cloak is,” Tom whispers. He and Harry are playing hooky today, pretending the lights in the sky are fireworks instead of mortar and heavy artillery fire.

Harry's head is heavy on Tom’s shoulder. He's crying, silent with it, eyes so swollen Tom can only see slits of green. It's so painful for him to sit here, Tom doesn't think he'll ever ask Harry to do this again, no matter how many more years this stretches.

He folds his arm around Harry, squeezes him tight. He presses a kiss to Harry's hair. It smells good for once, from their selfish shower. His brain doesn’t quite know how to reconcile it as Harry.  

***

The Cloak is in the Inferi’s Spawn Maw. Tom and Harry scope it out over the course of three days, and his stomach flips when he sees the pattern, or lack of one.

The few Inferi he and Harry kill at the Maw don't recycle. For the first time, since this never ending day began, something different is happening.

It’s only at the Maw, but that's enough. Time doesn't reset there. A fear he thought long dead—ha! rekindles in his belly.  

Harry gets it a good while after he does, when they retreat, after Tom zips him into a shared sleeping bag and curls up beside him, breathing in the scent of his filthy hair. He’s exhausted, bone deep, but he fights the urge to sleep, choosing instead to savor these last moments with Harry, before Tom goes to shoot himself and they cycle back around. His mind has honed and honed and honed itself, but his body is still the same as that first day, fit but not hardened with it.

Harry goes perfectly still. He takes Tom’s hand in between his, grip tight. Tom knows if he looked, he'd see Harry's fingers dimpling hard enough to blanch Tom's skin even paler white. “Promise me, Tom. Promise me you won't do it alone.”

Tom nuzzles deep into Harry's hair. It smells awful, like blood and burnt gunpowder and Harry’s drying fear sweat. He breathes in deeper and doesn't reply.

Harry always knows when he's lying, after all.

***

They’re back at the cabin. Tom leaves the shotgun and the buckshot where they are. He takes a step towards Harry instead.

“Please,” Tom whispers. He gently pulls the gun from Harry’s hands, then hooks his fingers into the curls of Harry’s belt loops.  He pulls Harry to him, gentle. “Please,” he repeats. In another time, another life, he'd have never said that word, never could have meant it. But this one day has become a new lifetime, and he means it now.

Harry melts to him, body going soft, pliant. He holds Tom’s face in his hands. They're gritty and acrid-smelling from gunpowder. Tom rubs his cheeks against them, presses kisses against the calluses on the inside of his palms.  

“Please, Harry, let me have you.” He whispers into Harry's skin. “Let me remember this for the both of us,” he pleads. He pulls Harry closer, grinds his hips, slow. “Let me.”

“Okay,” Harry nods. “Okay.” He kisses Tom back.

***

In the end, the Spawn Maw’s is just as horrific as he never could have imagined.

He does end up taking Harry, if only because he can’t fucking shake him after punting that Inferi off his almost-corpse, and he refuses to fix a future where Harry dies. He can’t shake Harry, so he also ends up taking a ragtag bunch of deserters he quite literally stumbled across about five years in todays ago instead of just stealing their Semtex. They’re crazy, and it takes less than fifteen minutes of convincing before they’re game.

“Groundhog Day!” The crazy curly haired woman who runs the group gleefully crows. She shot and killed him the first time, and Tom literally just saw her put a blasting cap in her mouth and bite down, so he thinks it’s understandable he misses her name. Stranger, maybe?

There are more Inferi in this maw than Tom could ever imagined, and half of the deserters are gone before they even get inside.

Inside holds a huge pool of black liquid, like the sludge Tom holds in his veins. It’s still, still, until one of the deserters trips as one of the Inferi tries to rip off his arms falls in. Then Inferi come pouring out, more bodies than that slick black morass could possibly hold.

The Cloak doesn’t turn out to be an object in quite the way the Stone and the Deathstick are, but more like a thick fur-like thing grown into a giant Inferi’s skin. It’s marked with the same bastardized circle triangle as that very first Inferi he killed and kills. He and Harry end up kneeling on the shrieking Inferi’s too many jointed limbs as Stranger-maybe laughs madly and flays it.

She’s barely ripped the last stretch of the Cloak free in a burst of anise and motor oil when even more Inferi pour in. She’s still laughing and holding it triumphantly aloft as she dies. Harry pulls the Cloak from her hands, and there’s no time.

“Riddle,” Harry stares at him with wide eyes. Tom hasn’t kissed his lips once today and he feels the lack like a split in his soul. Harry passes him the Cloak. “There’s no time.”

There are neatly packed blocks of Semtex in the backpack Stranger-maybe was carrying. Tom has the Stone and the Deathstick in his own, and the thick morass of the Cloak dripping in his hands.

Tom ignores the startled look in Harry’s eyes when he takes Harry’s hand for the boom.

***

Tom wakes up. His body is not sore and the sun is shining. It’s not today. Tom looks around, and some distant dim recognition supposes it might be yesterday. He’s not certain if this is better or worse, until he notices the people sort of milling about, stunned and aimless.

“The Inferi just keeled over and stopped moving,” one woman tells him, somewhat stunned. Tom lets her go, stunned himself.

His hand bleeds red when he cuts it. Tom could laugh in sheer joy.

It takes an interminable three hours to find him.

“Harry Potter.” Tom calls out, knowing better than to startle Harry. He can’t stop smiling and it feels unnatural on his face.

Harry jerks up from where he’s polishing his gun, looks Tom up and down. He smiles back. “Oh, you too?”

[izzy-b-hands]

Ink

Consider this like a future snapshot in the Get Down timeline, all the way up into current times. The reader (our same trans reader from You Send Me) has kept up the poly monogamous relationship with the band, as well as working as part of the road crew in addition to various freelance work in the downtime between tours. In this particular captured moment, it’s Roger to the rescue to give the reader a few moments of relaxation.

Also, written a bit because I’m in love with his tattoos, and would die to have a chance to talk ink and the stories behind them with him. 

My love to all who read/like/reblog!

The agreement was fairly simple; Roger split his time as he wanted and as he was able between yourself and Sarina, more often with Sarina. It worked out well though, since you spent a great deal of your time on various tasks for your own career, writing for yourself and others and for the various freelance assignments you took on whenever Queen didn’t need you for tours.  

But on occasion, nights like tonight were good. 

Sarina had texted you to let you know he was on the way, but it was still faster than you expected that your doorbell rang. 

“You need a break,” he said as he walked inside, and took stock of your less-than-clean flat. “Have you done anything aside from work in the last few days?” 

You tried to casually tuck away the pile of first, second, third, and onwards handwritten drafts that were stacked messily on the floor near the couch. “Of course I have!” 

He gestured to the basket of clean laundry in the hall. “You do know laundry doesn’t count, right? That’s just different work.” 

“It’s necessary work, like the writing,” you protested weakly. 

“Right,” he said. “But have you sat down and done...nothing? Watched a show, taken a breath, relaxed?” 

You shrugged. “How important is that answer, really? How about I get us something to drink, and you sit down?” 

“With that, you made it even more important,” Roger replied. “What about food?” 

“No,” you muttered weakly, but he was already at the fridge. “In my defense, I have a lot of rice, and it has to be eaten up eventually...” 

“Dinner, a movie, and relaxing,” he said, shutting the fridge door, shaking his head at the lack of contents in it. “Those are your only goals for tonight, alright? No arguing with me.”

“I don’t argue,” you said. 

He smirked. “Really?” 

You opened your mouth, then paused. Any rebuttal was just that-arguing. And you truly didn’t want to argue with him. It wasn’t that relaxing sounded bad, but all the same, you had work to do, and the flat could seemingly never be clean enough-

His hands slipped to your waist and interrupted your train of thought. “You aren’t saying anything, but you’re doing it now, that thing. Where you want to argue, but you don’t, and there’s one hundred other ‘buts’ in your head, running at a million miles a minute. Let yourself stop for the night, take things one minute at a time.” 

You nodded, but he laughed. “Your laptop is still on, isn’t it?” 

“In my room. I’ve got I don’t know how many things open right now, for work, and then just for myself, and a coworker needed help on something and I couldn’t say no, you know how it is-” 

“Go turn it off,” he interrupted, and gave you the gentlest push towards your bedroom. “Go on. Then you come back out here, and we’re figuring out dinner. Actual dinner, real food, not rice and whatever sauce you’ve had in the cupboard for the last year.” 

“It was only six months old!” you shouted down the hall. “And I froze the left overs, so it lasts that long!” 

“You’re lucky you aren’t sick!” came his reply, and you knew he was at least slightly right. In theory, most things kept decently when frozen, but leftover sauces like alfredo maybe weren’t meant to be in that category. Or used with rice, for that matter. 

You saved your various drafts as quickly as you could, your laptop fans whining and hot to the touch, and attempted to spruce up your bedroom before heading back out to him. 

He had laid himself on your couch, the stack of drafts retrieved from where you had shoved them almost underneath it, a few pages of them in his hands. “These are good. Just because, or for something else?” 

“Someone else,” you said. “A commission that I’m behind on, actually. It needs work.” 

“I think maybe you need to take your eyes off of it for a few days,” he said. “Because to me, who has literally never seen it before, it’s good. And you know I don’t toss that out for everything.” 

You shrugged. “It’s getting there.” 

He sighed. “Come lay down. Come on, look at you. Tense as can be, tired. The world won’t end if you lay with me for the next ten minutes.” 

You settled down beside him on the couch, and tried to relax, to stop the constant running tally of things you needed to start, needed to finish, needed to fix so that they could be considered finished. 

“I can feel your heart speeding when you’re overthinking things,” he whispered. “Just a few seconds, for me. Think of nothing.” 

“I don’t think I can do that,” you admitted. 

“Then think of something other than work,” he said. “What about the last time all of us went to Japan, hm?” 

“That was nice,” you hummed. “Busy, but what tour isn’t?” 

He nodded. “In particular, I’m thinking of the afternoon you fell asleep in the garden of that house we rented. Do you remember that?” 

“Vaguely,” you smiled. “I was so out of it the rest of that night though. But it was a really good nap. Not too warm or too cold, and the rain...” 

“I won a decent amount off of Adam with that,” he chuckled. “He was so sure the rain would be the thing to wake you up. I told him that was a bad bet to make; he was so confident though...ah well. He’s learned now, hasn’t he?” 

“That I can sleep anywhere if I’m tired enough?” you asked, fighting to keep your eyes open. 

“Yeah,” Roger smiled as your fingers traced the lines of the tattoo on his arm. “Speaking of...what’s a round estimate of the hours you’ve slept in the last week? Fully slept, I mean, not interrupted by work or anything else.” 

You held up a hand.

“Five?” 

“Give or take a few,” you mumbled. 

“Jesus,” he sighed. “You know, you can sleep now. Dinner can wait.” 

“But you’re probably hungry, and if you give me a minute-” 

He shushed you, and his other hand dropped over your eyes. “Rest, old man.” 

“I’m not old,” you protested. “I’m younger than you by a bit, and you aren’t old.” 

“I’m not old?” he laughed. “I’m certainly not young.” 

“You’re always young to me,” you murmured. “All of you. Freddie and Jim too, if they were still here. Young and ready to get into trouble. Just because your hair has gone white or gray, doesn’t matter. All I see are those young men, somehow made of boundless energy and talent and intelligence, who I could keep up with on a good day if I made an effort.” 

“That makes you young then too,” Roger said decisively after a moment. “Family might argue with us some on this-” 

“Young people that haven’t gotten old enough to understand this yet,” you interrupted. “They’ll learn.” 

“You say that,” Roger said, and you felt him slip his arm from under your neck as he got off the couch. “And yet you still don’t eat enough, or sleep enough, or take enough breaks.” 

“I’ll learn eventually too,” you muttered, eyes still shut, aching back curled against the couch to fill the open space he left. “Are you coming back? I won’t be able to sleep if you don’t come back.” 

“I think you’ll be able to,” Roger said. “But yes, I will.” 

---

He didn’t keep his promise, but the scent of warm food made you forgive him. 

“I thought this might be a decent alarm clock,” he said, helping you up off the couch despite your protests. “Pizza, because then I know you’ll have leftovers to eat for the next few days.” 

“If you send Sarina over here with food-” 

“I don’t send her, she sends herself,” he said. “You know that. Like it or not, everyone keeps their eye on you when they can. Hell, if I sent a group message out to everyone now, you’d probably end up with food for weeks.” 

“Oh lord, please don’t,” you said. “It would be very sweet, don’t get me wrong-” 

“I know, I know,” he interrupted. “But then they’d worry over you and you don’t like it when people worry over you. I won’t, but you might get another pizza sent to you randomly next week.” 

“Randomly? And anonymously too, I’m sure?” 

“Well I don’t know if Brian would tell you or not that he was doing it, but he might, if only to tell you that I told him to send you one,” Roger grinned. 

You shook your head. “You’re all ridiculous, you know that?” 

“Ridiculous out of care for you,” he replied. “And there’s nothing you can do about it!” 

The to do list that had been wracking your brain slowly melted away as you ate, and if he had asked, you would have had to admit that you did need this. To have someone dear to you there, with good food and time to rest. 

After, when the food had been put away and a random show turned on your TV for background noise, you lay again with him. 

This time, in your room on your bed, your head on his shoulder, one hand tracing the lines of his tattoos again. 

“Never told you much about these, have I?” Roger mused. 

“No. But I’ve never sat down and told you all about any of mine,” you replied. “I mean, I told you all when I was getting them or what it might look like. But I don’t think we’ve ever had any sort of intensive meeting about the stories behind them, or any of yours.” 

“We ought to,” he said. “I know I’m not normally one for it.” 

“I have to admit, I didn’t think I’d ever hear you wish for something like that.” 

“But...I don’t know. Would be nice. I mean, some of those you got before you met up with us, so we really have no idea the story behind them. Though I’m starting to think you just like toying with mine!” 

“I can stop,” you said, your finger stilled where it was on his hand. 

He shook his head. “I like it. But I’ve never seen you do that with anyone else, not any of the boys you met up with after you and Freddie cooled down that had tattoos.” 

“None of those boys were all that good,” you tutted as you resumed your tracing. “Or worthy of something that intimate. Freddie always told me I had a habit of getting carried away with the first cute thing I saw, then being frustrated when they weren’t interested in anything more stable. He was right, and he knew it, but I should have told him so more.” 

“He knew, even if you didn’t say it,” Roger said. “Or you wouldn’t have been in his circle of friends, or kept on as road crew. You know that just as well as I do. He didn’t suffer a fool, and he knew you were up to the work of being his friend, and friends with all of us.” 

“Do you think he’d have any?” you wondered. “By now? Maybe of the cats, if anything...” 

“I don’t know for sure,” Roger said. “He didn’t much like things like that, doctors and dentists and all of that, unless it was necessary for his health. But then again, you don’t much like those things either, and you’ve got some. Maybe you would have convinced him, or I could have gotten him to my artist.” 

“Just a bunch of old ladies, covered in ink,” you sighed. 

“Excepting Brian and Deaky,” Roger said. “Now that would be the real test for you. Could you convince them to get something done?” 

“Make it a band and crew bonding thing,” you replied. “We could all get one, something to symbolize touring so long. So many years, so much hard work. I don’t know exactly what, but I figure if we could make Freddie feel comfortable with it, he could help us convince the others. Adam as well; I think he could easily talk us all into something like that.” 

“Maybe we’ll have to do that anyway,” Roger said. “We have time to think on it, at least. Figure out a design, offer it up to anyone on the crew who wants to get it with us.” 

“Brian might just agree to it then,” you said. “But Deaky? I wouldn’t want to bother him, but I’d feel bad not offering it to him as well.” 

“He’s never gotten mad at us for messaging him about sillier, lighter things,” Roger said. “At worst, he would ignore it and not answer, and that would be answer enough. Who knows? He might surprise and reply back with a picture of the design done. After all, what have we all got to lose at this point?” 

You let his arm wrap around you and pull you close, and tried not to think about that, about the fears that occasionally raced through your mind as to what exactly you had to lose, what they all did, what everyone did, with the state of the world. 

“Nothing except some blank canvas,” you replied. “And I don’t know about you, but I think I’d like to die absolutely covered. Not a square bit of free skin.” 

“You’ll have to learn to take breaks then, so we can keep you going long enough for that,” Roger said. “Now, I’m simply too tired to go back home, and I daresay I might be too tired for the next few days...” 

“Sarina told me you were spending the next week with me, to keep an eye on me and make sure I eat and sleep or whatever,” you smiled. “You can be tired with me.” 

“And you’ll actually rest, and relax?” 

“For you? I could manage it,” you replied. “Thank you, Roger. For everything.” 

“You don’t have to thank me, you know that,” he smiled. “It’ll be thanks enough to hear you snoring.” 

“I do not snore!” 

“Arguing that since 1978,” Roger tutted. “There’s no shame in it, it’s very cute.” 

You groaned and pressed your face into his chest. “I’m snoring extra loud, just for that.” 

“And you’ll make me all the happier,” Roger laughed. 

You couldn’t be sure if you actually did snore or not, but you were confident it was the best sleep you had gotten in weeks. 

The food helped, and the break, but more than anything, you knew it was Roger’s presence that let you finally rest. 

And that was why your next tattoo would be something for him, and you were going to be sure to let him know. 

[spaceskam]

consume my wine, consume my mind

kyle valenti appreciation day 3: finding someone

ao3

.1.

“What are you doing?”

“Trying to get you to take your shirt off.”

Kyle rolled his eyes with a laugh before taking a sip from his wine glass. Isobel was sprawled out on the couch in a silky little slip, channeling her inner old Hollywood widow. They'd all been taking turns to make sure she didn't do anything rash, but it'd been three months and she hadn't really done anything other than seem to enjoy the company. So Kyle kept coming.

"You are way too drunk for all that."

Isobel hummed low in her throat, turning her head in such a way that caused the strap of her slip to fall off her shoulder. It was becoming increasingly difficult not to stare. He managed it.

"Are you saying you would if I weren't drunk?" she asked, stretching her long leg out to rest her foot in his lap. Her head was on a pillow with her hair around her like a halo and the slip had ridden up to reveal just a bit of similarly silky underwear–or perhaps it had always been that length. He didn't look, rather just rested his hand on her ankle. 

"This is not a conversation we're going to have right now," he insisted, squeezing her foot gently. 

“Okay, but, when I’m not drunk,” Isobel said, her arms stretching above her head and her back arching as she let out the tiniest little noise she’d ever made. Kyle’s thoughts swam and he almost got lost in them. But she was drunk, so he kept his eyes either on his drink, her foot, or her face. Sometimes her face even seemed to obscene, though. “I would like to have that conversation.”

“Huh?” he asked dumbly. She giggled. In his defense, that moment he accidentally saw her slip riding up to reveal her midriff during her stretch had been mind-altering.

“I want to talk about your shirt and why I would like it on my bedroom floor, please,” she said, “Sober.”

“Sober,” he agreed, though he partially hoped that she would forget about this. As much as he oh so desperately wanted that, he also knew that two very angry and macho alien cowboys that would kill him for even thinking about it.

“For now, can you take me to bed, clothes in tact?” she asked, reaching her arms up with a pout on her face. 

He stared at her for a moment, just a short moment to take it all in. She was so effortlessly beautiful and he wondered how he hadn’t noticed before recently. He was dumbfounded that he hadn’t noticed in high school, hadn’t noticed in all the years they lived in the same town, hadn’t noticed whenever she was laying in a hospital bed. He had wasted so much time not taking in her beauty which should be a fucking crime. He didn’t want to go back to a time when he didn’t notice.

Kyle tried to help her stand up, but she was too drunk to find her footing. So Kyle picked her up, one arm behind her back and the other beneath her knees. Her head rested firmly against his chest and her arms went around his neck. 

She breathed him in.

He breathed her in.

He carried her to bed, pulling back her sheets and laying her down. He covered her up and tucked her in which earned playful little laughter that he reveled in.

“Thank you,” Isobel told him in a voice that wasn’t quite the one he was used to. Kyle smiled even if he wasn’t sure why exactly he was being thanked.

“No problem.”

.2.

Kyle felt his shirt start sliding up his back on its own.

“You know, I’m pretty sure this qualifies as sexual harassment,” Kyle teased and the shirt dropped immediately, “Kidding, I don’t mind.”

“If I thought you would mind even a little, I wouldn’t have done it,” Isobel said. He turned around to face her and she had a faux innocent look on her face. It melted into straight devious as she reached over to steal one of the grapes he’d just washed. “I was just practicing.”

“Mhm, sure,” he said, raising an eyebrow. She seemed very smug. “You are getting better though.”

“I agree.”

Kyle rolled his eyes and put the grapes between them before leaning on the counter. It was the first day in awhile he’d seen her actually go all out to dress up. Her hair fixed, her makeup was perfect, she had all sorts of jewelry, and a three-piece skirt suit with elegant heels. It was her first day back at work with a new client and she was thriving. Kyle was proud.

“You could take your shirt off around me whenever, though,” she hummed, smirking just a little.

“How are you even interested in that? Aren’t you tired?” he laughed. She narrowed her eyes at him a truly Isobel way. It used to make him nervous before, now it just made his day.

“Who said I wanted to do anything? Maybe I just want a topless doctor to feed me grapes and fan me. Don’t assume,” she scoffed. He smiled at her.

He plucked a grape from its stem and held it out to her. Isobel’s eyebrow raised, but she leaned forward. Her lips gently grazed his thumb as she took it. He tried not to think too hard about that.

“Now was that so hard?” Isobel asked teasingly. He almost said yes.

It seemed the more they spent time together and the more they delved into a flirtatious friendship, the more Kyle seemed to be blurring the lines in his mind. He knew on all levels that she was joking, that this was just how she was, but sometimes it felt real. Sometimes he desperately wanted it to be.

It was proof to him that she didn’t mean it whenever she never brought up the idea of them hooking up again. Then he felt shitty for thinking about it when she had a ton of trauma involving men and he shouldn’t have even considered taking her seriously. However, every time she smiled, it felt like it was just for him and he fell down the same spiral.

“Sorry, couldn’t find a fan in time,” he said instead of something stupid. She let out a little laugh and shook her head.

“I’ll accept a foot rub instead,” she suggested playfully. But he made his way over to sit in the stool beside her, pulling her foot into his lap without question and carefully letting the heel she had on drop to the floor. She raised an eyebrow at him. “I was joking.”

“I can stop,” he said, digging his thumb into the arch of her foot. Her tongue pressed to her teeth in a smile he couldn’t read. For a moment, he thought this must be what love was.

“I didn’t say that.”

.3.

“Jesus Christ, can I lick you?”

“Ew, what the fuck, Izzy?”

Kyle smiled as he listened to Michael and Isobel bicker back and forth while Alex groaned. He had very graciously offered to teach Isobel self-defense and it was apparently going nicely. Today, though, Kyle and Michael tagged along to work out a bit. Kyle was admittedly covered in sweat and breathing heavy‒and hearing that Isobel liked it made him want to do it more.

“It’s not my fault! You’re into dudes, look at him!” she exclaimed, throwing her arm in Kyle’s direction. Michael just glared at her in disgust. “You know, it’s that kind of attitude that is the reason he won’t take his shirt off.”

“That is absolutely not the reason I won’t take my shirt off,” Kyle chuckled, “There are ladies present.”

“Oh, please,” she scoffed, but she gave him that smile. That special little smile that held so much adoration that made his heart pound. He wanted her to never stop staring at him like that. He craved it, he strived for it.

“Will you all just stop it? I don’t have the patience for this,” Alex sighed. Kyle gave him an apologetic look and tried to look away so he wouldn’t be contributing.

It wasn’t until their session was over that Isobel strolled over to him, casually draping her arms over his shoulders. Kyle turned and saw her face not too far from his. Her thumb dragged over his jaw while the other hand pressed between his pecs.

“Come over. A new episode of Long Island Medium is coming on,” she said. Kyle licked his lips. She watched.

“That lady is a terrible person and you said, like, a million times that she’s fake,” Kyle pointed out. Isobel shrugged and put the thumb that had touched his sweaty face between her teeth. For the months he’d been able to look away when she did something as overwhelming as that. This was not one of those times. He stared at her mouth and her thumb until she smirked.

“Yeah, so? Come over,” she urged. Kyle nodded dumbly, his eyes unable to look away even as she let go and they followed her until she was completely out of sight outside of the gym.

“What’s going on between you two?”

Kyle snapped his mind back to focus as he looked over to Michael. He didn’t seem angry as much as he seemed confused. His eyebrows were furrowed and he was just staring like he didn’t get it.

“Nothing,” he answered with a shrug, “We’re just friends.”

“No, she doesn’t even like when me or Max touch her,” Michael said, “Like, she doesn’t freak out like she does when it’s random dudes, but doesn’t really like being touched since everything with Noah happened. Only guy I’ve seen her be comfortable when it comes to touching is Alex and I think that has a lot to do with him being the one teaching her how to fight. She was just fine touching you though.” Kyle licked his lips.

“I don’t know, man, we just hang out a lot,” Kyle said. Michael nodded, but it was clear he didn’t really buy it.

“Okay. Just… be careful, please.” It was the most sincere Michael Guerin had literally ever sounded. Kyle nodded.

“Absolutely.”

.4.

“I think you’re the only guy left on this planet that I would let touch me like that.”

Kyle turned away from the sex scene that was displayed on the TV in front of them. Isobel just tipped back her wine glass like she hadn’t just said something like that so matter-of-factly.

“Okay,” Kyle said slowly. She scoffed.

“I just told you you’re the only one I’d fuck and you say okay?”

“I just… I guess I don’t really get why. I’m not special. I’m just me,” he said. She shook her head and smiled at him.

“That’s apart of why. Most guys would just be like ‘yeah, that’s right’,” she said and he smiled at her bad imitation of a manly voice. And maybe he smiled for a couple of other reasons. “You’re nice and genuine and you… You always seem to strive to be a better person. I think you’re the only person in the world I’ve ever met that is constantly trying to improve. Every day you wake up wanting to be better than you were the day before and that’s just… That’s really refreshing and assuring.”

“So that makes me your only exception to celibacy?” he asked. She gave him a sneaky little grin and reached out to squeeze his cheeks.

“I said the only guy, Kyle, stop being so closed-minded.”

“I’m not,” he laughed, though neither of them moved. They were so close and he really, really just wanted to take this opportunity.

But he didn’t and she just rested her head on his shoulder. He tugged her close.

“I’m glad you trust me, Isobel,” he said, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. She snuggled in closer.

They stayed close for a while, watching the movie play even though Kyle couldn't focus on it. He liked to focus on the way she seemed to breathe in time with him. It wasn't until the male lead took his shirt off for some pointless reason.

“One day, I am going to see you shirtless.” She sounded so determined that he couldn’t even jokingly tell her no.

“One day.”

+1

“Is this too fast? Tell me if it’s too fast.”

“Kyle, I have wanted this for months, there is nothing fast about this.”

Kyle couldn’t help the sigh of relief that left his system at her words. The confirmation of just how long those feelings had been mutual felt like learning how to breathe again. They’d been dancing around each other for nearly two years at this point, spending time together and growing and becoming something. It took him too long, but Kyle had finally asked her out on a date. They had barely made it through the meal before they were itching to touch which led to them making out in the car like teenagers because it had been so goddamn long for both of them. Kyle wondered if it felt like longer for Isobel considering the last guy was just using her. That made him feel sick, so he tried not to think of it.

“You’ve only liked me for months or you’ve only wanted to have sex with me for months?” he clarified. She rolled her eyes and leaned across the center console that had officially been the worst creation ever and kissed him long and slow. They were the best kisses he’d ever felt.

“I’ve liked you for two years, I’ve only wanted you in my bed for a few months,” she admitted. It made sense to Kyle. While her sexual jokes and suggestions had started far before then, he understood that they probably weren’t legitimate offers. At least, not at the time. Now they were. “Drive.”

The entire drive back to her place involved her hand on his thigh and her eyes burning holes into his face. Logically, he knew she was keeping it tame because she didn’t want to distract him from the road. Illogically, he was still very much distracted.

When they got there, she all but dragged him from the car. He laughed as she unlocked the door with her mind, still kissing him all the way. Her kisses were something heavenly. He was obsessed with them already.

“Are you sure it’s not too fast?” he wondered as they separated for a small second. She gave him a very pointed look.

“It’s not too fast,” she said, “But if I change my mind, I’ll let you know.”

“Just make sure you let me know like as soon as you have doubts, okay? Promise?” he said. Isobel’s eyes softened and she nodded, moving forward to kiss him again.

Everything lightened up a bit whenever her hands reached beneath his shirt. With a laugh, he pulled away just long enough to remove it. He went to go back for more kisses, but Isobel held him out at arm's length and just took in his bare chest. He found it endlessly fascinating to feel her drag her hands slowly over his chest and stomach and rest at the hem of his jeans.

“God bless,” she said wistfully. He snorted.

“You got what you wanted,” he teased.

“Finally,” she said sarcastically.

“Finally,” he repeated seriously.

Finally.

[cynicalrainbows]

Writers Block Pt 4

Shameless fluff. Utterly self indulgent. Possibly some self projection onto Cathy. Hopefully still readable. If anyone isn’t clear, the incident I refer to in the fic in which Henry nearly has Cathy beheaded is true.

Her own voice sounds quiet and flat compared to Anne’s more energetic efforts- pathetic, just like she is- but Anne is beaming at her as if she’s actually done something and that’s encouraging.

‘Sometimes, I hate research too. I hate all of it.’

It’s slightly louder but there’s still not much energy behind it. Even so… having said it out loud feels oddly pleasing. She’s said it- and Anne doesn’t look horrified. The roof hasn’t fallen in. no one has swept in to take away her credentials for her ingratitude.

‘I hate how it takes forever and I hate that I’m so tired all the time. I like writing but…. Sometimes I just want to rest, you know? We do the show and it’s like ‘Oh obviously Cathy’s going to work’ but sometimes I just want to chill out with you guys! But then I feel like I’m letting everyone down-’

Anne’s nodding at her frantically- ‘Keep going, keep going!’- so she does.

‘I can’t write anything else. I’ve been trying and trying and…. I’m just done. I don’t even care anymore, I don’t care if I finish the book or if I lose readers… I just want to not have to be working for a change because it’s too much, it’s too much to do as well as the show and I just, I can’t anymore- I dont have any ideas, I don’t have any plans, I don’t even know what I want to say anymore and nothing sounds good and…..’

With every word, it gets easier- it’s traitorous, it’s true.

‘-and I hate that I’m the only one to have to do all this, and I know I chose to and I know I like it…. but sometimes I don’t and now everyone expects things from me and it’s so hard because I’m letting everyone down, I’ve made Catalina hate me, and I’m meant to be the writer and I can’t even do that anymore-’

She can feel herself starting to cry- she tries to brush the tears away with her wrists but it doesn’t help, it just makes everything blur. She feels pathetic, she feels like a child. They’ve all seen Kitty cry, she’s even seen Jane give in to tears a couple of times….but she’s meant to be beyond this. 

She’s calm, she’s rational. (Except she isn’t.) Anne will surely be uncomfortable, and who can blame her, since Cathy is essentially just bewailing something that she brought entirely on herself. Perhaps if she doesn’t look at the other girl, Anne will be able to leave the room without it being too awkward-

And then arms- Anne’s arms- are wrapping around her, pulling her close. Her face ends up buried into the soft worn cotton of Anne’s green hoody and despite her best efforts, she hears herself let out a sob of pent up exhaustion and fear.

Anne doesn’t pull away- she just holds her more tightly and it’s a surprise, how strong her arms feel. For a smallish person, she feels reassuringly sturdy, stable. Safe.

(Or perhaps it’s just that it’s been a while since anyone touched her.)

‘It’s alright.’ Anne’s breath tickles her ear. ‘It’s all going to be ok.’ 

She’s grateful for the hug but platitudes have always irritated her- she wants to tell Anne that of course it isn’t alright- nothing is alright- but the thing is, she can’t really talk properly yet and her words are jumbled, blurry with tears. Anne seems to understand though.

‘We’ll fix this.’ Her voice is serious- it sounds like she actually means it. ‘We’ll sort something out, I promise. I know it feels awful right now and I don’t even blame you babes, but I promise, it’s all solvable. You just really need a break, huh?’

Cathy nods pathetically into Anne’s chest and Anne’s hand starts to rub across her tight shoulders.

‘Fuck your fans… I mean…. Not like literally or anything. Unless you want to. I guess.’ (It must be the muddled feeling brought on by the shouting and crying because why on earth would Anne sound almost jealous when talking about…..that? It’s surely proof Cathy is more sleep deprived than she thought)

‘Anyway….. What I mean is, you don’t owe them anything. You’ve given them two books and now you need to take care of yourself, ok?’

‘They’ll be….so disappointed….’ She knows it sounds a bit conceited to say it…..but it’s true (she wonders if Anne thinks she’s terribly egocentric…but she’s just shrugging, as if Cathy is right but that it doesn’t really matter. It’s the same way that she shrugs when Catalina warns her that her clothes will be creased if she throws them straight from the dryer onto her bedroom floor, or when Jane warns her that a bag of skittles does not a healthy breakfast make.)

‘I mean, probably? You’re an amazing writer.’ 

It’s a minor shock to Cathy to hear that Anne has actually read her work. She knows that the other queens have but Anne has never mentioned doing so, and Cathy isn’t exactly going to demand it of her- she hadn’t even expected the other queens to be interested, really. Not that Anne isn’t a reader- she must be, to have had such a reputation for learning in her first life- but….Cathy just assumed she wasn’t interested.

(She isn’t sure why the thought of Anne reading her work gives her butterflies- she’s sure she never felt them when she learnt that the others had read it…)

‘But books get delayed all the time. It’s just one of those things- people might whinge a bit but everyone who matters knows that you can’t force creativity. And you’ve already built up a good reputation- it’s not like you’re trying to get noticed, people know you can write already.’

Anne’s reassurance is welcome- but she also can’t suppress the flood of weariness that courses through her.

Having to justify herself, having to explain, having to find out the protocol for this… it has to be done, of course but….she’s tired. She’s just….so tired.

Then she realises she’s said it out loud. She expects Anne to be annoyed at her ingratitude- but when she risks a quick peep at the other queen’s face, there’s nothing there but sympathy.

‘I know babes. You won’t have to do it alone though, ok? I’ll talk to Jane and Aragon- I bet they’ll know more than I do, or they’ll know who to talk to anyway. Whatever. Just don’t worry about it- we’ll sort it all out for you ok?’

It sounds so reassuringly real when Anne says it like that- like she has people on her side, people to do her fighting for her when she’s not able to fight for herself. Funny that it has never occurred to her before that she could just...ask for help.

‘Thank you- I don’t know if it’ll be that easy… but thank you.’

‘We’ll make it work out.’ Anne repeats it stubbornly. ‘I’ll fight anyone you need me to.’

Cathy doesn’t want to ask if she means it literally or figuratively.

‘You can even-’

Anne draws back a bit and looks at her, serious now. ‘You can say it’s me if you need to.’

‘What?’

If you need like an excuse or something. If you don’t want to have to just say you’re tired. You can say it’s me. That I’m going through something, that you need to support me and you don’t have time to write. If you don’t want to ask for yourself.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Oh I don’t know- say I’m having post traumatic stress, say I’m having some intense therapy and you’re my support person. Say I’ve had a pregnancy scare- anything, I don’t care really. Just- if you need to make up a reason, I’ll back you up in anything you say. Just warn me first, ok?’

Anne really seems like she means it and her ernest expression makes Cathy’s throat tight all over again- the way she offers without hesitation, as if it doesn't even matter. She likes to think she’d do a lot for the other queens but she can’t imagine promising to fake a pregnancy scare for any of them- at least, not without seriously thinking it through first.

(It’s not as if she’d actually ask Anne to do that for her either… but the fact that she offered…. It makes her feel lighter, lighter than she has in weeks.

She wants to tell Anne how grateful she is…. But it turns out that all she can manage is a mumbled thank-you before she’s crying again. This time, they’re tears of relief. She feels so much better…..although being so emotional really isn’t her normal state.

Anne doesn’t seem phased though- she just draws her in again with one arm and digs in her pocket for tissues with her free hand.

‘There was something else you said-’ She passes the tissues over to Cathy who wipes her eyes gratefully. ‘You know Aragon definitely doesn’t hate you right?’

She really doesn’t want to think of that right now- she definitely doesn’t want to talk about it- but she thinks Anne probably deserves an explanation. She’s taking up enough of her time (and her tissues. And Anne’s definitely going to have to wash her hoody now.)

‘I…. got a bit cross with her earlier.’

‘Ooh!’ Anne looks interested. ‘What did you say?’

‘I shouted. Told her to go away. Stop nagging, leave me alone….’

She wants to bite out her tongue for saying it at all… but Anne, when she looks up at her expecting to see her looking disgusted with Cathy’s ingratitude to the person who loves her most…..she’s laughing.

‘Is that ALL?’

‘….yes?’ (Isn’t it enough?)

‘Oh my god, of course she won’t hate you for that!’ Anne tries to bite back another giggle and fails. ‘God, I know you’re always working but you’ve got ears- haven’t you heard us screaming at each other before?’

‘Well-’

(Now Anne mentions it-)

‘It’s...what half past two?’ Anne checks the time by just full-on rotating Cathy’s wrist to see her watch. ‘I’ve already called her a bitch twice this week and it’s only Tuesday. And she threatened to strangle me with my scarf if I left my stuff on the bannister rather than hanging it up. And don’t even get me started on last week when i used her conditioner-’

It’s true, Cathy supposes. Shouting matches aren’t exactly uncommon in the house. But somehow it’s different when it’s between Anne and Aragon- or even Anna and Anne. 

It’s loud but it doesn’t mean anything really- its just how they communicate. That Anne calls Aragon a bitch for using up the last of the hot water does not prevent her from offering to drive her to church when Aragon’s car won’t start. Aragon threatening to kill Anne in ever more inventive ways for leaving her belongings scattered around the house does not prevent her from making the younger queen a cup of tea after she’s done shouting.

That’s…..not her though. She and Kitty and Jane dont really go in for shouting or threats and so it feels different. More serious.

She tries to explain it to Anne.

‘- and then she just left’

‘Did she say anything?’

‘No. She just… went.’

Cathy presses her hands over her stinging eyes. ‘What if she was really hurt?’

‘Probably wanted to give you some space babes.’

‘But-’

‘That’s what she said to me anyway.’

Cathy’s head snaps up.

‘What? When?’

‘Well I was coming up to check on you anyway but then she was coming down the stairs when I was going up and she asked if I’d look in on you because she was worried…’

‘Did she look upset?’

Her heart lifts a bit anyway. Catalina did still care, at least a bit….

‘Mmm…..concerned, I’d say, more than upset. She really cares about you.’ Anne squeezes her hand. ‘Honestly, I think she just didn’t want to make things worse by staying because you seemed so stressed out. But she’s not cross, honestly.

‘Are you sure?’

‘Of course! In fact, if you’re that worried, just come and talk to her- you can even say sorry if you really want-’ Anne sits up. Cathy is dislodged and it feels suddenly colder, now she’s not nestled against Anne’s chest. ‘-but I bet she won’t let you.’

Anne makes it sound so easy but…. Cathy knows she won’t be able to make anyone else really understand. That’s not how it works, not for her.

They had all been clear that talking to Henry wouldn’t work- it was beyond that. She hadn’t been aware at the time that she’d pushed too far but she knew she had- the warrant in her hand was proof of that. It was terrifying really- how you could so carelessly talk your way out of someone’s favour without even realising, without even knowing you were doing it… or perhaps it was just her. In fact, it probably was her, there must be something wrong with her, that meant she couldn't read people, that she didn’t know when she was going too far. Even now, it scared her sometimes when she let herself think about it.

‘Hey-’ Anne’s hand touches her hair, brushing aside a wayward curl. ‘She’s not him you know.’

‘How did you-’

‘Because I was married to him too, remember?’ Anne smiles gently at her. ‘He screwed us all up a bit, in his own way.’

And Cathy supposes she’s right.

[shawnpetermuffins]

Pictured with You (xi.)

A/n: I literally hate this chapter with everything I have but like okay. It had potential and then my depressed ass wrote this.

Summary: and suddenly Brian has become your middle man.

Warning: just trash writing and it's told in both POVs

Word count: 1.7k (it's really short I'm sorry!!!!)

***

"Dude, you literally suck at this game!" Brian exclaims as I throw the controller on the small table in front of us. "That's the fourth one in a row."

I roll my eyes, "Yeah, I know."

"Another round?" He asks, shrugging his shoulders.

I just shake my head, "I don't think I'm feeling it anymore, bud."

Brian nods and turns the TV off. "Well what are you in the mood for? You want to go to the gym? Or we could go around town and try to find different coffee shops."

I'm scrolling through my Twitter feed while he talks, not really interested in any of the suggestions that he's putting out there.

"Or we could ignore our best friend who is trying to get your mind off whatever's still going on. That's cool too." He claps my shoulder and I sigh, locking my phone.

"I'm sorry, Bri. I just can't stop thinking about that night."

"Dude, what happened there anyway? By the time I got to the dressing room, she was already yelling at you. Nobody's really talked about it after that. We're probably all just scared she'll snap at us the way she did at Andrew. So we don't ask."

I furrow my brows. She did what? "It's too long a story. I really don't want to get into all the details of it. It was bad and I fucked up immensely. It just wasn't at all what I planned."

"Well give me the gist of it. What was this thing about six months?"

I groan and hold my head in my hands, trying to figure out how much I can tell him, how much I can leave out. "Okay, so you already know that we had sex, what, two months ago now." I wait for confirmation even though I don't need to. "And I mean, things were weird for a few weeks after that. Even though they shouldn't have been. We could have been fine, but she left that morning and just stopped talking to me and I don't know - I mean, she told me why she did it, but I still don't understand. I don't understand what would be so wrong if we just started dating now. But she's adamant about not doing this on tour." I run my fingers through my hair. "But anyway, after the Boston show, I texted her and I just said that we should probably talk. So we did."

"Right, which is why you guys were finally able to sit at the same table again. Which, I'll be honest, made me happy. I missed hanging out with that girl."

"Yeah," I mumble. "Me too."

"But you guys were good for a few days. What happened?"

"Well, that night that we talked... she wasn't feeling well. So, we walked to the drugstore. Someone, somehow, caught us out and they took a picture. I don't know, I was kissing her forehead or something and it reached Andrew. He made it a big thing and told me how I can't have a girlfriend right now. Y/n tried to stand up for me, I realize that, by saying she wasn't my girlfriend. But I guess hearing her say it like that to someone other than me just flipped a switch. And I said something I shouldn't have."

"Which was?"

I grunt in frustration, throwing my head back in frustration. "She told Andrew she wasn't my girlfriend. I didn't mean for her to hear it, nor did I mean to say it. But I said something like 'yeah, you've really made sure of that, right?' And… well you caught it from there. She asked me to wait until tour was over and then we said we would try dating. But I've fucked up exceptionally. I wouldn't blame her if she never wanted to date me now."

"Shawn," he shakes his head and bites the inside of his cheek, no doubt searching for the right words. "You're right. What you did was messed up. But I don't think she's over you."

"She said she wouldn't be anything more than my photographer. She doesn't want me, Brian."

"Right now. She doesn't want the relationship right now. Give her time, man. Girls need that."

Yeah, because that's all she's asked of me and I didn't give it to her. "I hate not knowing how to fix this."

He sighs, "look, I know that these feelings have been brewing for a while, but are you sure it's not just a crush? I mean, you're a songwriter, man. You feel things intensely; this could just be a fling."

I shake my head vigorously. "No. No, it's not. I can't- Brian, I've never felt this before." I laugh despite myself. "I know it's gonna sound so crazy stupid, but she's the biggest paradox I've ever known. She's insecure about everything, but loves herself for everything she does. She's warm and comforting and there one minute, and the next acts like she doesn't care what I do. Some days we can spend hours talking about everything, and others I can't even get her to look my way. She confuses me in every goddamn possible way. But I do know this: no matter how fucked we both might be, I am incredibly, undeniably, incoherently, unfathomably in love with her. And… I don't know what the fuck I'm supposed to do about it now."

My best friend just sits there in silence, trying like hell to find something to say. But no words come out. Because there are no words left. Because there is nothing you can say to a person who is wholeheartedly in love with someone they can't have. You just have to let them be, and let their heart break when the time ultimately comes.

---

I've just finished putting all Shawn's photos onto a flash drive so I could clear my memory card when there's a knock at my door. I furrow my brows because Connor just left about twenty minutes ago, so it shouldn't be him. I just hope and pray that it isn't Shawn or Andrew while I walk to the door. The first thing I see when I look through the peep hole is red hair and I'm relieved.

"Brian, hi."

"Hey," he smiles sheepishly at me. "Can we talk for a second?"

I nod, "Sure. Come on in." I move to the side and he walks into the room, hands in his front pockets, making him appear much shorter than usual. "So, what's up?"

He clears his throat, "It's about you and Shawn."

I freeze. "Umm… o-okay."

I take a seat on the edge of the couch and Brian sits on the coffee table, hands clasped in front of him as he leans forward, elbows resting in his knees.

"I just, I want to know what's going on there. You two obviously have chemistry, it's almost laughable how good together you guys are together."

I feel my cheeks grow hot. "Thanks, I guess."

"What's keeping you away? Is it the fans? Because yeah, I know they're crazy, but you get used to it after a while. The shock of it all doesn't last that long."

"No," I shake my head, "it's not the fans. And its not Andrew, either." Even though it partially is.

"Well if it's not that then… Why aren't you with him?"

"I'd destroy him."

"He'd be into that."

I laugh, not believing that this is actually what Brian and I are talking about right now. "Brian, I'm not right for him. It doesn't matter how much I like him, We're too different."

"Are you?" He clears his throat, "Because I swear I have never seen any two people more perfect for each other. Your souls mesh together like nothing I've ever seen. You need to go for it, if it's what you want."

I shake my head, "It's too hard, Bri."

"Relationships are. But you're literally his photographer. You're always here to spend time with him. You're with him like twenty-four/seven, eight months out of the year."

"For now," I remind him.

It takes him a while, but I see it finally register on his face. "That's why you want to wait for tour to end."

I nod, crossing my arms over my chest. "Yeah."

"He's not going anywhere, you know."

"That's what he says," I look down at my feet. "But what does that matter? He can't stay in one place for long and… I can't ask him to do it, either. He'll eventually grow tired of doing the same old thing, being with the same person for so long. He needs excitement and movement, and I can't give that to him."

"Y/n, he's crazy about you. I've never in my life seen him so smitten with a girl. He would give up anything if it meant he could be with you."

"But I don't want him to give anything up. And I can't handle being in the spotlight. I take the pictures, Brian, I'm not in them. And if I start dating him, I'll see myself plastered everywhere. That's not what I want." I play with the hem of my shirt. "I want people to know my work. Not my relationship status."

"Okay, that's fair. But close your eyes, I want to try something."

I do as told and let out a deep breath through my nose.

"You and Shawn are walking down the street, you have your camera with you and he's got his arm around you. How do you feel?"

I smile at the image in my head, his large hand holding mine over my shoulder, lips against my forehead. My arm is draped around his torso and the sun is basking us in that golden hour light. It doesn't get better than that. "I'm… happy… I feel loved."

When he doesn't say anything for a while, I open my eyes to find him smiling at me. "And if you feel it from him in just your imagination, then how do you feel about him in real life?"

"God," I shake my head. "Do you really want to hear me say that I'm in love with him?"

"Yeah," he nods. "I did."

"Well, now you've heard it, but it doesn't change anything."

"It does," he starts walking toward the door.

"What?" I follow him. "How does it change -"

"Because he loves you too." And he disappears into the hallway, leaving me there staring blankly at the dark wood separating me and reality.

***

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[maggiemaybe160]

Forget Me Not

So someone on the @profoundnet discord thought up this angsty prompt and let me loose on it.  This is also on my Ao3! 

WARNING FOR MAJOR CHARACTER DEATH. THIS IS A 100% ANGST FIC

“What have you done?” Castiel demanded as he marched into Heaven. His voice boomed and could be heard all over Heaven. Inside personal rooms, souls stopped at the sound of heartbreak and rage and wondered where this unwelcome interruption had come from. Outside, Castiel stormed.

“Castiel,” Naomi smiled behind her desk, her hands clasped together.

“What did you do to him?” he snarled, fuming. Two other angels grabbed his arms. Three sets of eyes glowed blue as they fought, punches thrown, blades summoned and dropped. Castiel was wrestled into a familiar chair, shackled to it, and held down by the two grunts. “You won’t get away with this,” he threatened through clenched teeth.

“The decent thing to do would be to tell you everything,” Naomi said calmly as she got up from her seat and walked around the desk slowly. “I’ve already won.

“It started with a dream. Do you remember that night, two months ago, when you were… cuddling?” Naomi spits the word, her eyes darkening. “Dean had grown tired and you… You were too busy watching the end of his movie to protect him. Weren’t you? He fell asleep without you that night.”

Castiel struggled against his restraints. He had known that his relationship with Dean Winchester was frowned upon in Heaven. He had known that angels weren’t programmed or allowed to fall in love and yet…

“We visited him while you sat in the next room. We stepped into his dreams and whispered a single word and then we left, undetected by him and especially you .” Her lips curled up as she spoke, taking her slow steps toward him. “What happened next, dear Castiel?”

Dean had forgotten. What had happened next was the spell that had been uttered in Dean’s dream  tore into his mind.

“He forgot you, didn’t he?” Naomi mock pouted before grinning.

. . . . . . . . . 

At first, it hadn’t seemed like anything at all. Not to Cas. Dean’s lapse in memory only happened when Cas wasn’t in the room. He had been in the hallway when he’d heard Sam and Dean talking.

“Where’s Cas?” Sam had asked. “Dean?” “Who are you talking about?” Dean had answered, but it had to have been a joke.

“Very funny,” Sam scoffed. After a moment of dead silence, Cas froze in the hallway, waiting to hear Dean end the joke. “Cas… your boyfriend… wears a trench coat… backwards tie… very literal?” Sam tried.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about and I’m leaving,” Dean announced.

“You can’t be serious! What happened? Did you get into a fight?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Sam! I don’t date. Period. I don’t socialize with anyone who even owns a trenchcoat. When have those ever been in style? Never? I’ll go get you some coffee.”

Once Dean had left through the other exit, Cas stepped into the library.

“Are you two fighting?” Sam asked, looking up at Cas with mild worry.

“No.”

“Morning, sunshine,” Dean grinned, passing Cas a coffee as he reentered the library. They shared a quick kiss and Dean leaned into it just long enough to soak up the sun before going back to his seat across from Sam.

“Uh. Hello?” Sam looked between Dean and Cas incredulously.

“Yes?” Dean asked as he opened his laptop to find a new case.

“What the fuck just happened?”

Dean looked over at his boyfriend of nearly seven years and exchanged a confused look. “Are you feeling okay, Sammy?” When Sam doesn’t answer, Dean fills in the blanks. “Okay, Sam, this is my boyfriend, Cas. Didn’t know I’d have to come out to you twice.”

“You said you didn’t know who Cas was five minutes ago.”

“What?” Dean had sputtered, looking hurt. Cas waited, having heard the same thing from the hallway. All eyes were on Dean. “I would never forget you, Cas,” Dean said seriously to Cas.

“I love you too, Dean,” Cas whispered, hiding his smile in his mug of coffee. . . . . . . . . .

It hadn’t been obvious to Cas that Dean forgot him while they weren’t in the same room because… well… They weren’t in the same room when Dean forgot him. Sam’s worry grew and still, Cas remained oblivious. He was blissfully ignorant, choosing not to bite into Sam’s concern. Until it got worse.

Cas had been pressed up against the wall, Dean’s hands in his hair and their tongues in each other’s mouths. Their lips crashed together as they pulled and pressed, aching to be closer and closer and—

Sam cleared his throat and Dean took a step back, a blush rising high in his cheeks.

“You said you were going to the store,” Dean said without turning around, his eyes still on Cas.

“You forgot to give me the keys,” Sam answered with an awkward smile.

Dean sighed and turned to face his brother as he dug in his pocket for the keys to the Impala. “Where are we going?” Dean’s hand came up with the keys and he spun them around his finger.

“You said you wanted to stay here with Cas while I just grabbed a few things at the store…” Sam said slowly, his eyes finding Cas’ over Dean’s shoulder.

“What? Stay here with who?”

Cas’ heart slammed to a halt in his chest, all of Sam’s claims of Dean’s memory loss screaming through him at once.

“Dean?” Cas asked behind him, but Dean didn’t respond.

“Hello? Sam? Who the fuck is Cas?” Sam took Dean by the shoulders and turned him around. “What’s wrong?” Dean reached out and stroked Cas’ cheek. “Cas, what happened?” . . . . . . . . . 

“Dean, something’s wrong with your memory.” Sam had said, watching as Cas and Dean held tight to each other’s hands.

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

“You’ve been forgetting Cas.” The look of shattering heartbreak in Dean’s eyes in that moment would have been enough to kill him if he was human.

“No.” Dean shook his head adamantly, tears forming in his eyes. “No, that’s not… That’s… You’re lying.”

“It’s true,” Cas said softly, his thumb wiping Dean’s tears from his cheeks. Dean turned his face to press a kiss into Cas’ palm as he continued to cry. “We can fix this if we know what’s happening.”

“Can I have a minute?” Dean asked, covering his face with his hands and taking a few deep breaths. That was the last time Dean had looked into Cas’ eyes. When Cas and Sam had walked back into the room, Dean was gone.

“Where the fuck am I?” Dean called loudly from another room.

Sam and Cas exchanged the same worried glance and ran to find Dean. “Sam?!” Dean threw his arms around Sam and hugged him tight. “Sam. I… Wait. Are you real?”

“What are you talking about?”

“Am I still in Hell or did I get out?” Dean patted himself down, lifting his shirt to check for the claw marks from the hell hounds. “I should look like a Thriller video reject.”

“Dean?”

“What?”

“You don’t remember getting out of Hell?”

Dean swallowed hard, paling slightly as all of his memories of Hell flooded him. He shook his head and clamped his mouth shut.

“You’ve been out of Hell since September 2008,” Cas tried. Dean didn’t respond or look in his direction. “I rescued you. I’m the one who gripped you tight and raised you from perdition, ” Cas sobbed. “Dean, please!”

“Cas…” Sam faltered and looked from Cas to Dean. “An angel named Cas brought you out of Hell years ago…”

“Angels aren’t real.” Dean rolled his eyes.

“An angel named Cas,” Sam tried again. Dean blinked a few times as if returning to the present moment.

“Sorry, I zoned out. I must be tired. What’d you say?”

“Castiel. Cas. Angel. Best friend. Cas. Boyfriend. Cas,” Sam rattled off.

“Fine. Don’t talk to me.” Dean shook his head. “I think I need to go to bed. Good to see you, Sammy.”

So Sam had called Rowena and Cas had stormed into Heaven. . . . . . . . . .

“You and I both know how unnatural your fling is. It needs to end , Castiel,” Naomi said, picking up her favorite drill. Castiel squirmed and was immediately reminded of his restraints.

“It doesn’t matter what you do to me, Dean loves me,” Castiel fought. “He’s going to be cured of this.”

“It’s much too late for that to matter, poor dear Castiel,” Naomi smiled. “You walked right into your trap. Dean was just the bait.”

“No!” Castiel’s scream was drowned out by the whirr of the drill as it made contact with his vessel’s skull. The last word on his lips as he wailed in pain: “Dean!” . . . . . . . . .

“Cas,” Dean groaned as he resurfaced from his sleep. Rowena hovered at his bedside and Sam stood behind her. Relief filled the room as Dean sat up. “Where’s Cas? I just had the worst fucking dream.”

“I don’t think it was a dream,” Sam said softly.

“No. Too crazy to be real. I forgot him, Sam. God, I was so scared. I forgot the love of my life.” When Dean was met with Sam’s slow nodding, his eyes grew and his stomach turned. “No! Cas!” Dean whipped the blankets off of him and stumbled out of bed.

“I pray to thee, Castiel, please hear me! I need you! I need you! I remember you! I know you! Cas!” Dean screamed as he ran through the bunker.

The flutter of wings behind him made him spin, his relief swimming through him as his eyes land on his angel. Dean ran to Cas, closing the small distance. They were immediately wrapped in each other’s arms, lips landing on jaws, cheeks, noses, lips, anywhere and everywhere to just be connected. When the rapid fire kisses slowed, their lips found each other and settled. Dean’s hand tightened in Cas’ hair as he clutched his angel to him.

“Cas,” Dean breathed into Cas’ mouth.

Cas opened his mouth and a head-splitting screech came out. Dean didn’t have time to react. There was no time to untangle himself and cover his ears. There was no time to take a step away. The high-pitched scream tore through him.

Dean’s eyes rolled back in his head and he sagged in Cas’ arms. Blood dripped from his ears onto Cas’ coat. Cas lifted Dean bridal style, letting Dean’s head rest against his chest. With Dean in his arms, Cas finally noticed the bunker. The war room had exploded. Glass littered the tables and floor. Every alarm was going off, but the lights were all broken. The table was cracked in half, the chairs on their sides and tossed to the far side of the room.

“Nejsdpqd pvcns jbdutab? Cas! Nejsdpqd aijbfehapfndj fopc Dean?” Sam asked, all of his words muddled.

“Dean’s not okay. I hurt him. I hurt Dean. Help,” Cas begged. Sam covered his ears protectively.

“Owdjk iofe euofnoiwspc emds?” Sam tried again. Cas shook his head and held Dean closer to him. He bent his head so their foreheads touched. He tried healing, but it wasn’t working. Why wasn’t it working?

“P’jec soinc tifos hescvuis!” Sam said before leaving the room in a hurry.

Cas tried to summon all of his powers. Heaven hadn’t taken them. Human languages had been removed from his vocabulary. He couldn’t understand them and the bunker was breaking, Dean’s ears bleeding because of the Enochian. His powers were fine. He was summoning too much to try to fix Dean. It was too late by the time Cas realized what was happening.

Summoning his power to heal his boyfriend had been the wrong thing to do. His true form filled Dean’s vision, between their connected faces. Cas withdrew immediately, but it was too late.

Dean’s eyes were gone, his jaw slack, ears bleeding, heart… stopped.

Cas fell to his knees, pulling Dean tight against him. Tears streams silently while he tried to breathe. Once he finally pulled air into his lungs, a scream louder than anything the human ear could register filled and exploded the bunker. Doorways cracked, every light went out, the entrance burst outward. Cas shook as he held Dean, his tears falling onto the quickly cooling skin.

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