#so I’m healing slowly and doing a lot of reading instead of drawing and writing and that’s been really hard but I know it’s good for me ugh

[bazpango]

[WIP] Poor Light Yagami and his pretty eyelashes

I went insane for @quicktimeeventfull’s one shot ‘Touching Myself While You Fall Asleep (🌶️🌶️)’ that is no longer a one-shot, aaaaahhhh! and am slowly making a fan comic of it because it’s just so good and fun and incredible and if you like fun lawlight AUs I highly recommend it!!!

[sabbathbloodysabbeth]

Moon and Sun (soulmate au)

I’ve had this concept in my head for a while but just imagine Steve Harrington, the literal definition of the sun glowing and being the leader of the group. (I’m thinking this might be a fairy or magical au) where everyone has different powers that vary. Where there has been a long tale, a myth almost about how one day the sun and moon would combine. It’s very vague and people just assume that it’s the apocalypse, that the world was going to end. But there was no sign of that happening. There also has been a long myth of soulmates as well, where each soulmate would have a power that fits with their partners. (Example; one can see the future while the other can stop time) though once again that had been proven to be myth.

Though back to Steve Harrington, he was one of the most weakest people out there. Mentally strong but his powers were not what people expected him to have. He was the literal definition of a golden child. Freckles blossoming his cheeks, hair gold, eyes a brown that matched him perfectly, skin tanned and an overall glow around him. It had always been thought he would have the powers of the sun on his side. Being the groups light, but instead he doesnt. He has the power of water, water that is so dark that it could be said to be darker then the midnight sky. The powers were underwhelming compared to the rest of the group.

(Robin could shape shift into animals, Will could make drawings come to life, max could control emotions, Dustin could read peoples minds but also talk to them, Mike just had the power of being a asshole, Nancy had the powers of communication being able to convince anyone to do what she said, and Lucas (who was most definitely the strongest of the group) had healing powers, empathy (not as strong as Max’s but enough to where they understood each other) and superspeed. Thought out of everyone Lucas had been the most fitting of these powers all of them connected to his personality. )

Meanwhile, miles away there was Eddie Munson. A dark soul who lurked during the night. His hair was dark and his complex was pale. His Uncle had assumed that he would have some form of dark magic. But to his surprise the other had fire powers. The complete opposite of what you had expected from him. Fire wasn’t to far off from him but this wasn’t ordinary fire. It was bright, and of course hot but strangely more beautiful then anything than anyone has ever seen. Which was something you wouldn’t have expected from something so dark as Eddie.

Though a lot happens and Steve and Eddie combine. Two different worlds crashing at once as something orbital pulls them together. At first hating each other, they slowly start to realize they are the others missing puzzle piece. Finding themselves outside under the sky, the only time the sun and the moon shared the earth they kiss. Together they are one. Nothing changes at first, not until it clicks.

Steve’s water powers came from the moon, (which Eddie had been known as the moon child) letting him pull water while Eddie’s fire powers came from the sun (of course steve was known as the sun child of course). As events unfold they realize they are the prophecy of the moon and sun meeting and they are soulmates. Though soon they both become one, in sync. Steve discovering he can now control fire as well as water and Eddie can control water as well as water. Though that’s not the only thing, new powers bloom as their bond grows stronger. The power of the wolves join them, and the power of the plants.

Like ahhh idk if I explained this well but god I have so many ideas for this ship

I HAVE SO MANY IDEAS THAT I WANNA WRITE GOD WHY ME

[emotionallyits2009]

deancas fic rec list!

hello everyone! happy christmas to those who celebrate it, my gift to you is my fic rec list that i said i would make like a month ago. the only thing it is organized by is canonverse vs alternate universe. tried to cover a variety of subjects but there are in particular many fics of the genre “postcanon where cas is human and he and dean live together and slowly finally get their shit together” because i know what i’m about, son. HOPE U ENJOY. and if you wanna talk about any of them or rec me other fics please do. :) 

Canonverse:

where the weeds take root by deathbanjo, 30k, explicit “Are you happy? Y’know. Just—being here,” Dean says, gesturing to the yard with his beer bottle. “Being with—I mean, you used to fight in celestial wars and—and save the world. Now you’re growing vegetables and talking about chickens.” There are many fics set in a post-canon universe where Cas is human and he and Dean live together and slowly fall into a relationship. Imo this one is the best of the best of that genre. This was one of the first fics I read back in July when I was getting Back Into Supernatural where I was like oh fuck I’m like in this. Dean builds Cas planters and bookshelves and a chicken coop and they fight and work through it.

Cuckoo And Nest by komodobits, 10k, explicit For a long time, Castiel thought that every earthly possession other than the immediately necessary was excess to requirement. But Dean – Dean who named his car, who keeps a photograph of his mother in his wallet, some thirty-plus years after her death, who still has the crumpled ‘Do Not Disturb’ sign with a sleeping pelican emblazoned on it from the Microtel outside of Roanoke where he first kissed Castiel, clumsy and unsure, under the unsteady fluorescence of an exhausted bathroom bulb – is sentimental. It puzzles Castiel, where Dean draws the line between what is meaningful and what it is worthless. Really Gets the dynamic of Cas doesn’t think Dean wants him to stay/Dean thinks Cas will leave the first chance he gets. Also a nice example of Cas thinking he’s not wanted if he’s not useful/powerful and being told otherwise. Another all-time fave!

lonely hearts by outphastthemoat, 4.5k, gen He thinks he might give up having his own anything just to be able to step foot inside the room next door and sit on the edge of Dean’s bed instead. This one is for the CAS GIRLS who know what LONELINESS feels like.

Helionneiros by aeli_kindara, 24.2k, mature In which Dean visits his mother, and Claire takes Cas on a hunt. I’m always on the lookout for more fic with Claire and Jack. Jack doesn’t show up until the end here but the relationship between Cas and Claire is really nice.

Crawl by aeriallon, 11k, explicit It’s been almost four years since Castiel left Kansas; he'd eventually settled in an island town where he has a job, a house, and a life without the Winchesters. Every winter, Dean drives down to the coast to see him. Another fic where Cas is human but in this one he took some time for himself and got some distance from the Winchesters! He gets to be competent and weird as a human and we love that for him. I must warn you all that this fic contains one use of the phrase “making love” which would normally put me right off but it’s still worth reading. The first of a three-part series.

home where you hold me by microcomets, 1.6k, gen Cas and Dean, in the moments between their battles, ache for quiet spaces. Technically this is a coda to 10x20 but you don’t need the episode for context. Short and very sweet.

Build a Home by domesticadventures, 20.1k, teen After they save the world, Dean expects Cas to come back to the bunker with them. He doesn’t. This one is so cute it’s like what if once they were done saving the world Sam and Dean actually invited other hunters to move into the bunker with them. Obviously Dean wants that to include Cas but doesn’t know how to use his words.

the taste of gravel in the mouth by deathbanjo, 22.4k, explicit This is what Cas gave up Heaven for: greasy diner food, shitty motel rooms with even shittier cable, long car rides spent in complete silence except for the same six tapes playing over and over again, and a burnt-out husk of a man who can barely hold a conversation anymore. Angst fic! They go on a road trip and Dean is severely fucked up post-Mark of Cain.

Unknown Quantities by xylodemon, 8.6k, explicit No one ever tells Dean anything. Another nice getting-together fic.

Creature of Habit by trinityofone, 5.2k, teen The more you love someone, the more you want to kill them. Or: How Cas developed some bad habits, and Dean coped surprisingly well. This one is ancient by destiel standards (written during season 5) but it manages to nail the married couple vibes they give off in later seasons. Cas is a bitch and Dean likes him so much. <3

The (Mostly Accidental) Courtship of Dean Winchester by Tuesday, 11.2k, mature Angelic marriage rites were never intended to go quite like this. Another old one that is a lot of fun! They get Accidental Angel Married and if you don’t enjoy dumb fanfiction tropes like that I don’t know what to say to you.

Vena Amoris and Other Old-Fashioned Bullshit by pyrebi, 4k, teen In which angelic marriage bonds are apparently stupidly easy to trigger, Cas wages multidimensional war in Heaven, Dean can't catch a break like ever, Sam rather enjoys being a dick, love saves the day, and nobody consummates anything. The OTHER accidental angel marriage fic written in 2010. 

Crazy Diamonds by pantheon_of_discord, 24.8k, explicit A week ago, Dean was pulled out of Hell. Now, he’s apparently woken up in 2018, and the angel that a mere twenty-four hours beforehand had threatened to chuck him back into the pit is sleepily pouring himself coffee and wearing Dean’s second-favourite Zeppelin shirt. It all seems like a perfect happy ending, but with Hell’s scars still so fresh, Dean can’t imagine how he could have possibly gotten there. At the same time, the Dean who went to sleep in the bunker, right next to Cas, wakes up on Bobby’s couch in 2008. He’s instantly bombarded with questions by a Lilith-obsessed brother and a man who’s been dead for years, and must decide between keeping his finally-perfect life intact, and the lives he could save by re-writing history. Regardless of these choices, both Deans are trapped in the wrong decade, and their only way back lies with a Castiel still very much under Heaven’s thumb – one who might find the future Dean describes difficult to believe. Time travel is FUN. There’s an excellent part where (minor spoilers) future!Dean is like, “Guess what, asshole? You like me so much you marry me!!!!!!!!!!!” to 2008!Castiel that made me laugh out loud the first time I read it. Also just a good reminder of how most problems in life are temporary and if you could go back in time to talk to your younger self you’d be like, “Hey man. Chill out. You get through it.”

The Path of Fireflies by museaway, 63.7k, mature After his humanity is restored, Dean wakes up in bed with Castiel, a wedding ring, and no memory of the past twelve years. There’s a lot of amnesia fic and djinn fic out there were Dean wakes up ~suddenly together with Cas~ but I like this one in particular because he’s initially very confused and kind of a dick about it until he acknowledges that being with Cas makes him happy.

take the long way home by dothraki_shieldmaiden, 95k, explicit Three months ago, when Dean decided to retire, he thought his life was going to end up differently. He'd thought that he might get to have it all, Sam, Cas, Jack, and nice little place to live. Instead he gets Sam and Jack off on their Summer of Love Tour, radio silence from Cas, and a never-ending road trip consisting of himself. Still reeling from the loss of his grace, Castiel travels the country in search of hunts. Driven by a need to prove his usefulness, he pushes himself beyond all limits of endurance. Together, with the help of a few friends, a crumbling Victorian house, and a stray cat, Dean and Castiel patch themselves back together and create a home together. Do you wanna read almost one hundred thousand words of Dean and Cas having extremely intense feelings but refusing to voice them aloud? Haha of course you do that’s why you’re here. There’s also a lot about Cas adjusting to being human and being depressed about it which might resonate if you’ve ever felt weird about having a body. To be honest the author could stand to use a few more commas but there were also half a dozen moments that made me put my phone down and drag my hand slowly over my face and whisper “oh my god” to myself which is like, the ultimate measure of a good fanfiction so it gets to be on the list.

like moses and batman and james dean by saltyfeathers, 31.6k, explicit dean used to turn tricks. over a decade later, he met cas. Have you seen the fanon (apparently pioneered by Mr. Jackles “Original Deankin” Ackles himself) that Dean used to prostitute himself to feed himself and Sam when they were younger? Are you interested in exploring that concept in fanfiction? Well, this is the only fic you need. Mind the tags on this one! It’s not what I’d call happy but it���s good.

Some Assembly Required by narrow_staircases, 47k, mature It’s September of 2005, and Dean Winchester, in an attempt to outrun old mistakes and painful memories, finds himself in southern Kentucky on a wild goose chase. He’s completely certain this weird religious movement he’s “investigating” is a hoax, despite the miraculous healings people report, and he’ll be back on the road in a day or two. Things are looking up when he meets Cas, an awkward (and gorgeous) graduate student who’s actually doing honest-to-god research into the local tent revival meetings. When that research takes a weird and personal turn, Dean’s left to face two very serious realities: one, this may be a real case after all, and two, he’s fallen way harder for Cas than he should ever have let himself. Stanford-era AU of Dean trying to avoid his father and getting in over his head on a case.

Alternate universe:

And This, Your Living Kiss by opal_bullets, 57k, mature Only a very few people in the world know that the celebrated and reclusive poet Jack Allen is just Kansas mechanic Dean Winchester, a high school dropout with a few bucks to his name. Not that it matters anymore; life has left him so wrung out he never wants to pick up another pen. Until, that is, a string of coincidences leads Dean to auditing a poetry course with one Dr. Castiel Novak. The  professor is wildly intelligent, devastatingly handsome...and just so happens to be academia's foremost expert on the poetry of Jack Allen. Mundane AUs in this fandom have to be really, really good to catch my attention and this one is! It’s exactly what it says in the summary and the characterization is spot-on. 

Out to Drift by deathbanjo, 20.9k, mature Dean drives a black car with a loud engine. He lies too easily. He keeps a gun in the back of his jeans, and Castiel isn’t sure, but he wouldn’t be surprised if Dean has killed someone before. Two people in fucked-up unstable situations meeting and forming a connection. Honestly guys I really just love deathbanjo.

[damn-stark]

Devil of the Scout Regiment

Erwin Smith x reader

Requested by @persephoonne “Can you write an Erwin x reader one shot where the reader is a nurse ? Maybe she became a nurse the same year Erwin joined the survey cops (or during his scout time) and they meet each other because she heals his wounds ect... :)”

A/N- I loved how it came out and I hope you guys like it too :)

Warning- mentions of a wound, fluff

———-

“Y/N, you’re being assigned outside the hospital today.”

You sigh, “okay, who will it be?”

The doctor turns around to hand you a small file, not showing any sign of an expression that could give away who it might be. Instead they just offer you a simple answer as they tap on the file. “You’ll see.”

How reassuring.

You open the file and read the name and can’t help but let out a surprised gasp. “Erwin Smith.”

When you look up to the doctor, you find that they’re gone and you have no chance to argue against your assignment. You have no option but go attend this intimidating man. After all the stuff you’ve heard about him from different people, it felt like you were visiting some legend, or some devil, it all depended on which stories you were trying to base him off.

Not like it really mattered, regardless of how you were trying to paint him in your mind, the man was still intimidating. And how can the Commander of the Scout Regiment not be.

When you stop at the outside of the room where he was supposed to be in, you lift your fist and hesitate on knocking and letting yourself be known. Instead you give yourself one last encouraging push, drawing in a deep breath and slowly releasing it as you knock lightly and wait. It takes a minute but you then hear it, a deep voice that knotted your stomach tighter. “Come in.”

You continue to wrap your hand around the doorknob and slowly twist to open it slowly, getting welcomed by the blinding light that casted through the open window; you cover your eyes and step inside before clearing your voice and announcing your intention and excuse for your interruption. “Hello, I’m sorry to interrupt. I’m y/n, the nurse assigned to you for today. I’m just here for a quick check up on your arm.”

You take another step inside and in that moment before his voice broke the silence that had built after your introduction, your eyes are relieved by his tall figure standing from his seat and blocking the sun.

“Please come on in.”

You lift your eyes to meet his gaze and you freeze the moment you make eye contact. Your breath hitches and you feel as if your stomach was knotting tighter, you feel like all the breath was knocked out of your lungs and feel like your face was burning. In that exact moment you saw his eyes, saw the blue color of his eyes something flipped in your brain. Something strange you couldn’t identify.

You hardly had the mind to really read his reaction, but basing off the fact that he kept his eyes locked on you and had his lips parted as if in shock, it could be either bad or good. Hopefully good.

You couldn’t dare ask though.

Instead you break from your stupor and grip onto your bag tighter to close the door behind you and take one last step further inside, proceeding to break the silence that was now so tensifying. “Do you mind if you could sit on the bed for a moment. It’s much easier to work without a desk being in the way.”

The commander blinks and nods, “of course.” He moves and does as you say, averting your gaze as you move to stand before him.

“You know I would’ve thought that being forced to take a break would mean that you would take that as an advantage to step away from work for a while.” You dare to comment, taking out your needed equipment and meeting his gaze for a brief moment, noticing in that exact moment, after your comment, a faint smile on his lips.

“Being put on bed rest actually gives me a chance to work harder.”

You let out a small amused huff and feel your lips twitch; you continue to unwrap his gauze around his nub and continue. “Well I suppose the wary never rest. Your reputation does uphold then.”

“My reputation?”

You hum and nod, getting the alcohol to dab some on a cloth and then dab his wound. “Mhm, people talk, a lot. I’ve heard that you're a hard working and daring man. Just like I hear you’re intimidating and very serious, and...too daring.”

The Commander shifts in his seat and you feel his eyes on you. “What do you think of me?”

You stiffen for a moment and look up to see his blue eyes glued on you, you notice a thick, dark eyebrow slightly quirked as he waited. It takes you a moment but you decided to answer. “Does it matter what I think? I’m nothing but a simple, ordinary person trying to make their way through life.”

“It does.”

“Well,” you sigh as you begin to wrap his nub again, “on my way here, I thought I was going to meet the intimidating, terrifying man they call the devil of the scouts,” you swallow thickly and step back once you’re done to nervously meet his gaze. “But as I see you now, through the small interaction we just had, I see an intimidating man. But I also see a hard working man just trying to save humanity and not destroy it like many say. You lost your arm to prove that. You’re doing much more than what others are too scared to do.”

The Commander gives no reaction for a moment, he just looks at you and makes you feel your heart do hundreds of flips inside your chest, and the butterflies inside your stomach to increase. It’s not until he tilts his head down to tug his lips into a warm and kind smile do you feel some type of relieved. “Thank you for your honesty, y/n.” He looks back up and shows you that same smile, one that makes his eyes almost twinkle. “I appreciate it. It’s good to hear that you see what I try to do when many others can’t.”

“They’re just scared.” You assure him whilst you pack your stuff up.

“Hopefully not much longer.”

You offer him a kind smile and nod in agreement, “hopefully.” You keep your gazes lingering on each other before you clear your throat and take a step towards the door. “Well that was all I needed to do. Seems your wound is healing well, you have no fever, no sign of infection.”

“Will I see you tomorrow?” He interjections, making you blink in slight disbelief. “One last check up?”

You drop your gaze to the ground and smile wider, feeling the heat on your cheeks burn hotter before you nod. “Yes of course Commandar.”

“Erwin. Please call me, Erwin.”

You at look at him with the same warm smile and nod. “Of course, Erwin.”

[thegeminisage]

top 5 moments in broken road?

i literally waited until now to answer these ask meme questions so i could do this w/o spoilers. anyway time to do an ask meme i got questions for THREE ENTIRE WEEKS ago

#5 - "my girl" john/mary reunion

Mary rushes forward into John's waiting arms. He gathers her up and holds her close, pressing kiss after kiss into her hair, tears running down his face. "My girl," he says, in aching disbelief, drawing back to cup her face in his hands. "My girl." She laughs through her own tears, and when he smooths one gun-calloused thumb under her eye she turns her face into his hand, and then he draws her close and kisses her, like they're the only two people left in the whole wide world.

look. am i valid? no. but they compel me. to them their story is just as real and longlasting as dean/cas is to us. so i added a little gutpunch to that reunion because it’s my fic and i get to do what i want >:) actually, even though i made a point of calling john “dad” and mary “mom” in dean’s pov, in this moment, i deliberately used their names - it’s more than just mom and dad, it’s theee john and mary winchester back together after all these years. no, they don’t stay that way, but after a 22-year quest in her name, it still deserves to be like a Reunion. 

(other four are below the cut to spare ur dashes. there are major spoilers for the whole fic, just warning u)

#4 - john getting punched by [SPOILER]

Dean's shoves his father with all his might, yelling, "Let go of me!" Partially because even though just moments ago the dungeon was exactly where he wanted to be, he absolutely doesn't want Dad to be the one to put him there, partially because he's afraid that Michael is about to break free from that cage in his head and vaporize everybody in firing range, and partially because he's afraid that if Dad doesn't let go, Cas will kill him.

But Dean's only got one hand free, and Dad's grip is too strong. Michael and sleep deprivation have made Dean weak; he can't get away from Dad on his own.

Then, when Cas is still just out of arm's reach, Sam lays into Dad with the fiercest right hook Dean's ever seen.

Dean knows that right hook well. That's one of the first moves Dad taught him, one Dad forced him to practice a thousand miserable times—how to stand, when to turn, where to throw his weight—until he honed it to absolute unthinking perfection. And it is perfect: Sam nails Dad right on the jaw with all six feet and change of muscle, sending him staggering back, his grip on Dean slipping free.

Dad slumps against the wall for a moment like he's literally seeing stars, like it's all he can do not to pass out. His nose looks like it might be broken. Dean rounds on his brother; if he was expecting Dean to thank him for that, he's going to be disappointed. "What the hell, Sam?"

But Sam's looking at Dad, not at Dean. "He said," Sam pants, "to let go of him."

i’m normally very anti-punching john, but i feel like if anybody has the right to do it, it’s sam. he’s spent his whole life being protected from john by dean and he finally gets to return the favor! all his problems are solved because he’s literally the bigger man now in every way! i doubt sam would ever punch john on his own behalf, but it is UTTERLY in character for him to do it in defense of someone else, but i bet it was pretty fucking cathartic too. picking sam moments in this fic is like picking children but this...you know, it wasn’t even in my outline. it happened organically as i wrote. and it just. feels right.

#3 - sam telling john to clean up his mess

"Seriously, Dad—we've had enough of your lip service. You're sorry? You want to help? Clean up your mess."

What? John frowns. Does he mean Dean?

But, no—Sam twists and picks up an actual mop and bucket from the corner behind him. The bucket is full of red-tinted water. "Go in the kitchen," he says, "and if Dean says you can use the sink, run some clean water with bleach. We gotta get the blood off the floor, because the longer it stays there, the worse it'll stain—especially on the hardwood."

"Uh," says John.

Then Sam gives him a severe, no-nonsense look that nearly punches the breath from John's lungs—because for the very first time, he sees his Mary in that stubbornly unimpressed face. "Do you understand? This isn't a motel. You can't expect someone else to do it for you. Don't go in the kitchen," Sam says slowly, enunciating every word, "unless you're going. To clean up. Your mess. You want room service—there's the fucking door."

THERE’S THE FUCKING DOOR. i love this bc firstly i believe in man of the house sam and secondly it falls into the same thing of like...sam is finally big and strong enough to protect dean and by god he will make himself an impassable 6′4 between this man and his brother. i think especially since finding out about flagstaff, DOUBLY since becoming a parent, sam is like...so less than impressed with john’s bullshit, and even more impatient than he already was of john’s stupid excuses. 

there’s also this motif of cleaning throughout the fic - in john and sam’s very first scene alone together, they are washing dishes. at first this was a nod to sam and dean doing it in lebanon - dean washing, sam drying - but washing is the “hard” part of doing the dishes; when my mom taught me how to do them i began learning by drying first. so of course dean has been washing and letting sam dry all their lives - almost literally, because john talks pretty early on about dean being a neat freak too, because john simply wouldn’t pick up after himself but still hated the mess. there’s a few mentions of it in the fic, how john liked being able to leave a mess behind in their motel rooms, how he’d prop his feet on the table - but in season 10, it’s sam on his knees scrubbing the bloodstained floors after dean’s murder spree, and in broken road sam makes john wash the dishes, and at the end, sam makes him mop. @maulthots put it best:

like that’s it. that's literally it. and then, finally, john offers to clean up on his own without being asked. that’s Growth™, at least in whatever way he’s capable of it. at any rate, he’s too afraid of getting hit again to NOT clean up after himself lol

#2 - dean/cas car scene [content warning for nsfw and discussion of past sexual violence - scroll down to #1 if you’d like to skip it!]

Cas lets go of Dean, but it's to reposition his hands on Dean's knees, slide those huge palms up Dean's thighs. Dean feels the heat of them bleeding through his jeans. Then, holy shit, Cas rests his thumbs on Dean's belt buckle, and makes eye contact.

Dean wets his lips, a little uncertain. He has no idea what Cas is going to do. "Yeah, okay," he croaks.

Cas leans in and kisses him again while he undoes Dean's belt. Like—fuck, like he knew Dean wouldn't want to watch. Dean hears the zipper on his fly, and all at once it clocks that, yeah, okay, this is really happening. Heart thudding in his ears, Dean reflexively lifts his hips so Cas can pull his jeans off. But Cas only slides them down a little. Then he reaches into Dean's boxers and gets a hand around his dick.

Oh. A small, quiet noise drops out of Dean into Cas's mouth, and he turns out of the kiss, panting as Cas pulls him out of his clothes. He's not sure what he was expecting, but this is okay. Just a handjob—he can handle that. It's good, actually. A little dry, but Cas has a light touch, and Dean has decided that he likes Cas's hands. He knows the shape of them very well.

i really enjoyed writing this whole scene, but this was my favorite part. cas technically does get dean’s consent, which was important to cas and a little bit of a big deal for dean too, but dean didn’t ask what cas was going to do before giving that consent, because he almost...doesn’t care? like, dean’s previous experiences with men were all lousy at best, and violent and traumatizing at worst, and arguably none of them were 100% consensual. so part of him is figuring that whatever happens will be within that spectrum, and he’ll just deal with it being awful no matter what it is because he almost literally can’t picture it not being awful. he's not doing it because he likes fucking men or expects he’ll like fucking cas, he’s doing because he wants to be close to cas, he wants to be away from michael and his dad, and because if he and cas are together now that’s part of the package and he’s just done the full “for keeps” commitment bit, so he’s not gonna pussy out now, right? he trusts cas not to actually harm him, and be closer to “lousy” than “violent,” but he is, in his mind, basically giving cas consent to hurt him, because to him that’s what sex with men IS. and he’s understandably pretty nervous because he doesn’t know what’s going to happen - all he’s sure of is that he won’t like it. 

but then he does like it! he likes it a lot! trusting cas turns out to be the correct choice! because if cas had turned him down in that moment, trying to baby him or second guess him, i think dean would have felt really hurt and angry and embarrassed, he would have felt like he was broken or untouchable. which is why cas took him at his word, but ALSO did pretty much the most tame thing you can do and still count it as having sex. so cas managed to thread the needle perfectly because he knows dean so well and he’s literally been inside his mind and witnessed that trauma and knew everything to avoid doing. so for dean it wound up being TRULY consensual instead of the sort of fake consent he’s used to handing out to johns. if that makes any sense. idk i just really enjoyed doing it. i think a valid reading is that dean has this physical fear of men that is just...not explored very much in fic. and it was nice to write something where cas was sort of able to undo or heal a little of that damage. 

#1 - michael

No, no, no—we can't die—we can't die, we are eternal, we are our Father's most beloved, His favorite son—

No no no no no no no no no—I can't die—I can't die—

Light fills the room, reflecting in Dean's eyes making them look as though they glow. And for the very first time, John sees him. John sees him, John sees him, John sees him—

Where is my Father? Is He watching? Can He see me?

Father, help me, I beg You—please, I don't want to die—

I don't want to die—

i could honestly paste the entire michael scene here, there’s not a thing about it i don’t love, but this was probably my favorite part. and look, i waited NINE YEARS to see michael!dean, i deserved to go apeshit!!! i think the fun thing about michael is that he’s a great foil to both john and dean, the literal connecting tissue, especially when he’s hopping bodies like that. he’s dean’s aggressor but he’s also dean’s twisted reflection, nearly broken by his father’s absence. it was impossible for john to see dean as he really is until michael let him see it through dean’s own eyes.

and then “i” at the end - i knew going in that i wanted a “we” pronoun (though i almost chickened out of it), because michael’s in charge but he’s also making his vessel do things with him, like laugh or scream or hurt people. but when michael dies, he’s alone figuratively and literally, because john’s not dying with him, and his own father has forsaken him too - and that’s the way dean so often felt, and FEELING that was probably the only thing that could possibly give john the motivation to be even slightly less self-centered and shitty. 

michael was my whole reason for writing this fic - because i was livid they didn’t use him to tie dean and john together in canon, because the burden of being his vessel is just one more thing dean had to take...this whole chapter, this whole fic, hinged entirety on the batshit insane dynamic between michael and dean and john. and like there are parts of this fic i was insecure about and wished i could have done better, but this? i think i nailed it. definitely the part i had the most fun writing. 

but like, honorable mention?

"Dude," Dean says, flipping on his blinker so he can pull up beside the local grocery, "can we not do any touchy-feely shit, please? That's—"

"Gay?" Sam suggests.

"Get out of my car."

>:)

[ziracona]

So I've been a long time fan of your DBD universe, especially how you write Meg and Adiris and I thought of how FTEONR would have been if it was Meg that got taken by Adiris instead of one of the boys? The poor priestess would be so overwhelmed by Meg's exuberance and instant acceptance once the runner figures out Adiris has been conned by the Entity.

Would Adiris even have had the same fate in FTEONR if Meg was there? The whole situation escalated because Quentin healed her, and Dwight had the idea to draw out their stories to show the priestess.

Well, even with no Meg that fic is my most favorite of your works and I love to read it again and again. Thank you for the fantastic stories 💙💙💙

Interesting question! I think it would depend on if she got taken alone, or with one of the boys, if so which one, or with someone else.

Part of why things worked how they did, probably a big part, was Dwight specifically—not just because he thought to draw /and/ had like, a notebook on hand (fulfillable only by like, Zarina & Tapp otherwise), but because he reminded Adiris a lot of herself. Her struggle is with her sense of self-worth, and her faith, and desperation, vs her compassion and innate personality. Dwight being someone she frustratingly sees herself in, both as team leader, and as someone innately fairly weak, who fought to become something that was far beyond them, and who approaches that responsibility with a very similar fervor, made it really hard for her not to feel conflicted. Quentin initiated both her immediate interest, by praying, and her misinterpretation of that as guilt, & then also initiated conflict accidentally by healing her. Him doing that ended up working eventually in their favor though, because it brought things rapidly to a head, and was kind of Weight on their side of the scale, so to speak. What was really critical was how fast they accomplished this. They made it full circle before the Entity had time to influence Adiris.

If it had been Meg, let’s say alone for speculation, I think she would have had a very different approach. She would have probably agreed to pray, because she’d be like “who gives a fuck—not like I mean it, so it won’t count, duh,” — I think that’s just her personality. So she would have survived, and probably slowly ingratiated herself to Adiris out of curiosity, trying to figure out why things were different, and what was going on with the Plague. She’s smart, so I’m sure she’d have found a way to communicate /some/ stuff—probably more charades esque, and not as effective, but something. It’s very possible though, that she would not have figured out/Adiris wouldn’t, before the Entity was contacted, and something bad would have happened to one or both of them. Probably Meg. I think whatever happened, Adiris would still have enough conflictedness that eventually, she’d be reached out to again, and hopefully find a common understanding like in FtEoNR.

I bet it would be cute and sad and sweet as hell though, and depressing. Meg would definitely keep trying. And I think in canon FtEoNR, Meg absolutely gets tight with Adiris pretty quick. She would think she’s really cool, and also Meg just isn’t easily phased, so she’d get over a lot of stuff including awkwardness way faster than most can, and be good at making her feel welcome & a part of things. She’s a very vital part of the survivor’s success because of her focus on emotional well-being, and that you really can’t ignore like, the will to live, or feelings of belonging, being a necessary part of teamups and humanity and thus escape plans.

If Meg went /with/ one of the boys, it’s possible things would be similar. Quentin was pretty vital in things happening speedily though, and Dwight was key for communication, so I need to ponder that. 🤔 I think at the least, Adiris would survive & be headed in some way towards an alliance, even if a ways off, either way.

Also!! Thank you! : D I’m really glad you like From the Earth of No Return! It was so wild to research, and I really loved it myself. And that you love Meg; she truly is a babe. Thanks for the ask! It was really sweet TuT. 💙

[versegm]

The first thing you’re aware of is fire.

The fever rakes your body like boiling oil in your veins. The ground feels freezing cold beneath you compared to the summer locked in your lungs. You exhale, and your breath almost burns your lips.

You open your eyes.

“... Ah. I got lost again, didn’t I?”

The night sky greets you, pitch black pierced by a thousand stars. None of the constellations you see are familiar. Striking by its size and color, a blue planet stands among them.

You’re back on the Moon. Where all lost and forgotten things lay.

You sit up. Your limbs are trembling. It doesn’t hurt, though. You suspect that you might be dreaming- as much as servants dream, obviously. It’s harder to feel pain when one doesn’t have a body.

Your chest burns. Your everything burns. It’s a familiar fire, something you know you’ve encountered in the past. But when you blink, all you can picture is smoke, with no additional context. You cannot remember.

“Okay, so.” There’s no one here for you to talk to, of course. But talking out loud helps you keep track of your thoughts. Better track than when you keep quiet, if anything. “What’s the last thing I was doing?”

You look down. You’re wearing your usual armor. You flex your hands. They’re empty.

“I think I was hanging a light string. I was up a ladder. Siegfried was telling me to be careful.” You tilt your head. “So I was in Chaldea. And we had a reason to celebrate. Perhaps a birthday?” … No, you don’t think that was it. “A holiday, then?”

Ah! There! You clap your hands. “Christmas! It was for Christmas!” You love Christmas! Much lights! Much noise! It’s great! It’s like the world aligns with the inside of your head for a week.

“So I was hanging light strings for Christmas with Siegfried, and then I…” You pause. Frown. “I…”

…

You draw a blank there.

Huh. Well, no need to cry over it. You’ll remember in time. You usually do. In the meantime, you should probably get going. You’ve never shaken your memory up by sitting around.

You get up and start walking. Your legs are trembling. You feel weak. You feel hot. You walk past the prayers and wishes sent by sinners to God, past the ancient glory of the Assyrians, past the favors princes gift their subjects. You are so small, among these mountains of unrecorded history and unsated desires. They’ve only grown bigger since the last time you’ve come.

You reach the river. It’s unchanged. It is, after all, one of the few things even magic can’t alter easily.

The antelope, though, is new.

“Hi there!” You wave. Small. Short fur. Brown body, a black stripe on the flanks. White belly. White face. Two black stripes down its eyes like tears. It’s a springbok. (Or rather, it appears to be a springbok. On the Moon, more literally than on Earth, nothing is as it looks like. You wonder if you look like a human to others, here. Maybe you’re actually a bird, or a gust of wind. Reckless and free.)

The animal startles, turning her head towards you with fright- but she does not back away. She stares. You stare.

Slowly, she bows her head.

You do the same. It’s only polite. “So, are you lost too? I don’t remember how I got there. I think the underworld sickness sent me here, but honestly, I’m kinda guessing randomly here.”

Oh! The underworld! That’s right! That was the last time you felt this heat, when you wandered into Hell. You didn’t need a coat for the next few winters after that.

The springbok, being a springbok, doesn’t answer. She does, however, lowers her head, and tries to push something with her nose. Square. Thick. A clay tablet.

You get closer and pick it up. It’s a lot heavier than it looks. Perhaps your illness is making you weaker, but you have an inkling as to what that tablet is. If you’re right, that’d explain why it weights so much.

You flip the tablet. There is something carved on the other side. The alphabet is too old for you to know it. You can’t read it, but you know what it is.

“You know, last time, I met an old man here.” You say. You wonder if the springbok can actually understand you. “He was carrying stone tablets like these. The names of the recently deceased. Their name, and history, and identity, and everything. He carried them here, and threw them in the river. And then he went to pick up more tablets, and do it again.”

The antelope pokes your leg with her snout. You think she wants her tablet back. You ignore her and turn towards the water.

“Do you know what this is? It's the flow of time. The literal flow of time. When a name falls in there, it erodes. Becomes smoother. Until it’s not readable anymore. Until no one remembers that person anymore.” You smile. “That’s what I was told, anyway. I’m afraid my guide is long dead, too.”

The springbok makes a noise you could almost interpret as frustrated. You run your fingers over the writing on the tablet. “Is this your name?” Quite a life she must have led! For it to be so heavy. Did she burn bright, or did she burn long? You wish you could have a proper conversation with her, now. That sounds so interesting!

The gazelle is growing even more agitated now. She’s biting at your pant legs, pulling. She’s surprisingly strong. Still, you stand your ground. “If you’re not lost. Did you come here on purpose? Did you come here to be forgotten?”

The springbok lets go of you. For a few seconds, she doesn’t move. Your heart sinks.

Then she kicks you.

You stumble forward. You manage to catch yourself on your hands before your face hits the ground. But the tablet slips out of your grasp. It slips, and it rolls, and-

“No!”

You throw yourself on the river bank and plunge your arms into the water up to the elbow,                               tablet.                 deep                                  catch   .                                                      water                                                 pull         .

           ground         back,                                               .       springbok              ,      instead of                                as you feared,                with concern.

“Hold on. My thoughts are. All over the place.”                 .  “I’m missing. Bits. I need to talk. I can keep it straight if I keep talking.”

The springbok           concerned noise       pokes your       with its soft        . You would            her, but        arms feel like      .

You peer down.

Oh.

Your arms are missing      . It’s. Not          good to look at. Raw         exposed without        to protect it. It’s a good thing        is a dream. This would be        to heal in real       , not to mention         painful.

“Sorry. Sorry. Couldn’t let you do that.” The tablet      heavy in your arms. “Someone still remembers you, right? It’s not fair of you to force the wheels of time to speed up just for you. They should get to mourn you properly! You can’t just take it away from them. That’s rude. And painful. And, honestly, this wouldn’t even work well. Take it from an expert at forgetting things! One may not always remember people or names, but feelings are forever. If there’s still someone out there preventing you from being forgotten, removing your name from history won’t take away their grief.”

You wonder        expression the gazelle is making. Your sight is getting blurry. Note to self, don’t play          with time! It messes you up real bad! Real bad! Don’t do it.

“Anyway. No more of that. Let yourself get forgotten normally, like the rest of us. No cheating.” You close your eyes. “Or get remembered, and live with it. Whichever is your lot.”

You feel sleepy. You feel tired.

You feel a little less hot.

“Sorry. I guess that’s what I was brought there to do? Or maybe time’s just up for this particular dream.” You chuckle. “I mean it, though. No more of that, alright? Else I’ll have to come back again! I’ll get lost as many times as it takes to lend you a hand.”

You feel soft fur on your cheek.

You fall asleep.

You wake up in Chaldea.

You feel restless and warm. A plague struck Chaldea, you’re told. But it’s okay. The master dealt with it already. We can go back to Christmas. We can go back to celebrating.

Your forearms itch.There’s moondust all over your skin.

You can’t remember what you did.

You shrug. Hopefully, it was something good. Most likely, you were the sole witness of your actions, so you suppose it doesn’t really matter.

You head towards the cafeteria. You heard the master brought a couple more servants back from this whole adventure. You wonder who is this year’s Santa! Oh, maybe Cu Alter? He seems to be the only alter who didn’t-

You freeze in the doorway.

Blonde hair. Humanoid. Very obviously divine. Nothing about this stranger is even remotely reminiscent of antelopes. Yet, for a second, barely a blink- you see a springbok standing there.

Her skin is glistening with moondust, too.

Oh, my.

[august-anon]

On Love’s Light Wings

Alright if you’ve look at my blog the past three days you’d know that I’ve been obsessively rereading Carry On/finally reading Wayward Son lol. 

I wrote this inbetween finishing Carry On and starting Wayward Son yesterday, so it’s not really canon compliant with how we learn their relationship has been fairing in the interim, but who cares because that’s all pain and I’m here to write about fluff lol.

----

Fandom: Carry On/Simon Snow

Ship(s): SnowBaz

Characters (lee/ler): Lee!Simon/Ler!Baz

Word Count: 2887 words

Summary: Simon and Baz are having a quiet moment together under the stars, and Baz discovers something interesting about Simon's wings.

[ao3 link]

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

                               Baz

Things became a right mess, after the whole ordeal with the Mage and the goatherd (Ebb, Snow would tell me. Her name was Ebb.) and the Humdrum.

We were questioned and carted around, barely getting a chance to breathe. Everyone wanted to know what happened, and once they knew, it was time to get the kids out of the way so the adults could handle it. 

I went home to my family. Snow went home with Bunce.

It was hard for a while, getting a chance to see each other. Simon and I would steal moments, when we were called to meetings together. We would sneak away, hold hands. Sometimes we would kiss.

But Simon had drawn back. I wasn’t surprised, with everything that had happened, I would’ve been more surprised if he hadn’t. But he drew into himself and wouldn’t come back, and I didn’t know how to help. Kisses were chaste and brief, hand-holding was tight and desperate, and most everything else was off the table.

He’d flinch away from my touch anywhere else.

It had hurt, but I had spent nearly half my lifetime hurting for Snow. I could do it a little while longer. And my patience paid off. Snow healed, albeit slowly. He started letting us -- me and Bunce, he had even shut her out after everything -- back in. I was able to see him more often, sneaking away from Watford for the weekends. I was allowed to place my hand in the middle of his back, on his neck, his stomach, his sides, his legs.

But there were two things I could never touch (or maybe it was three, if you counted them as separate limbs), that no one could ever touch, and frankly, I couldn’t find it in myself to blame Snow for that. His wings and his tail were a delicate matter. A harsh reminder. I teased him about them once and he didn’t speak to me for three weeks. I’ve learned my lesson now, I won’t tease him about them until he’s ready.

We’re curled up on the hood of my car, now, the echoing heat of the previously-running engine keeping us warm in the chilly early-spring night. Well, keeping Snow warm. Vampires don’t need to keep warm like humans do. We’re already so cold. 

I’ve got my arms wrapped around him -- in the middle of his back, carefully placed in the space between where the bases of his wings end and where his tail sprouts from his tailbone -- and he’s got his head on my chest and we’re staring up at the sky. I don’t think either of us has said anything since we got situated on the hood, but I don’t mind, and I doubt Simon does either.

Instead I sigh -- it ruffles his curls, makes them tickle my nose, but I don’t mind -- and pull him even closer.

                              Simon

I don’t think Baz knows he’s doing it. He’s got his hands between my wings and my tail -- and that’s something I’ve really appreciated these past months, Baz doesn’t push like Penny does, he doesn’t even ask when I’m going to let him touch them -- but they’re brushing up and down. I think it's a subconscious movement, because his fingers keep bumping against the base of my wings and he isn’t even reacting. Normally, he gives them a much wider berth.

I’m trying to hold still. I don’t want to break the moment, it’s peaceful and calm and quiet and everything we haven’t been able to have in a very long time, but it feels weird and it’s hard not to squirm. If I squirm, though, Baz will pull back. And he’ll ask questions. And maybe he won’t want to hold me again because he’ll be afraid of touching my wings -- not that Baz is afraid of much of anything.

But the thing is, maybe Baz isn’t afraid. Maybe he thinks my wings and tail are as weird and inconvenient as I do. Maybe he’s disgusted by them, and that’s why he’s never pushed to touch them like Penny has. Maybe he’s just being nice by staying with me as I mope around with these mutations sprouting from me.

No, that doesn’t make sense. Baz isn’t nice.

But what does make sense about our relationship?

                              Baz

Snow’s been slowly tensing up for minutes now. I can’t tell if he’s upset about something or just uncomfortable, and it’s infinitely harder to tell without being able to see his face. I wish I could sweep my hands up and down his back to let him know that it’s okay, but I’m not allowed to touch his wings and I’m not going to push.

Not like Bunce. I saw him shout at her the other week. Her curiosity is going to get her in trouble someday -- as if it already hasn’t.

But the thought does draw my attention to my hands, and I realize that they’re already moving. I don’t know how long they’ve been moving for. And I freeze when my fingertips brush against the base of Snow’s wings.

That’s why Simon’s been so tense.

Simon flinches when I freeze, and I try to calculate how big of a mistake I just made. I pull my hands away like I’ve been burned and Simon flinches again, this time pulling back from me.

I never apologize -- Pitches don’t apologize -- but for Simon I just might.

For Simon, I just might do a lot of things.

Simon’s bottom lip is drawn between his teeth when I’m able to finally get a glimpse of his face. He looks nervous and upset and confused, and I’m not sure what to do with that combination. Before all of this, I might’ve pushed. Tried to make him cry, upset him in every way possible because it was the only thing I knew how to do aside from love him.

I’m trying to learn how to do new things now, though.

“Simon,” I start, and he meets my eyes at the use of his first name. “I--”

But he doesn’t let me finish. He squeezes his eyes shut tight and blurts out his words like they’re vomit. Simon’s never been good with words, and that hadn’t changed in the months that they’d been dating.

“You-can-touch-them-if-you-want-to,” he says, and his words run and slur together like alphabet soup. I can barely understand him.

I stare at him, to make sure he really means it. To make sure he doesn’t feel like me or Bunce have pressured him into it, that he’s really giving me permission. Once upon a time, I wouldn’t have cared. But once upon a time, Simon didn’t love me back, and I wouldn’t go back to that time for anything.

“Unless--unless you don’t want to,” Simon tacks on, and I know what I have to do.

Instead of answering him, I slowly raise up a hand. Simon’s wings twitch and fan out, but they’re trembling like they want nothing more to squeeze back shut against his back. I move a little faster so they don’t do that before I get there.

His wings feel exactly like I expected them to. Warm and leathery. They don’t hum with magic like I expected them to, but that makes sense, because Simon’s magic is gone now. He’s never going to hum again, and I’m okay with that.

I still don’t know if he is.

Either way, he’s still my Simon.

His wings twitch more at my touch, my fingertips dragging across them. Simon makes an odd face in response, all scrunchy and kind of confused.

“All right, Simon?” I say, and it comes out softer than I meant it to.

Simon doesn’t acknowledge that. He nods. “It feels weird.”

I tilt my head. “Weird how? Weird bad?”

Simon shakes his head. “Just weird.”

I roll my eyes and make my touch a little firmer. As I continue to trail my hand across the wing, the angle gets awkward, and my touch becomes more fingernails than fingertips. Simon’s eyes bulge wide out of his head and he squeals. For the second time that night, I rip my hand away as though I’ve been burned.

“Simon?” I ask.

But Simon’s not listening to me. His eyes are locked on the wing I was touching, wide and nervous. I can’t tell if I hurt him. It’s frustrating. I don’t want to hurt him, anymore. 

                              Simon

This is absolutely unfair. I’d managed to hide it from Baz all these years. Penelope knew -- then again, Penny knew everything, it seemed -- and Agatha suspected, but Baz never knew.

His former mortal enemy, Simon Snow, is horribly, unbearably, stupidly ticklish. (And he maybe didn’t mind it as much as he would pretend to).

And of all the things to reveal that secret, it had to be my wings. Because it wasn’t enough that the rest of me was ticklish enough that a stray poke would send me rocketing into the ceiling, my magical wings were ticklish enough that Baz’s fingertips almost sent me flying away.

“Simon,” Baz says, and something tells me it isn’t the first time he’s said it. “Are you all right?”

And I want to deflect. I want to say it felt weird, or it hurt, or literally anything but the truth, but I can’t. Because Baz’s eyes are filled with guilt -- and I’ve gotten better at that lately, reading Baz’s emotions in his eyes when he refuses to show what he’s feeling on his face -- and I know he’s beating himself up over it. He probably thinks he actually hurt me.

“Fine,” I say, then I start stammering. I finally manage to force out, “Just tickled s’all.” I immediately regret it.

Baz looks like the cat who caught the canary.

                              Baz

Ticklish.

Simon Snow is fucking ticklish, and I never had any clue.

It makes sense why I didn’t, we were enemies after all, and that wasn’t exactly the kind of weakness you want your enemy to know. I don’t know if I would’ve used it against Snow if I had known, though. It was a rather intimate thing to do, and I had been in the business of touching him as little as possible unless it was a punch. Touching him could be quite painful, back when I was hopelessly in love with him.

It’s not quite so hopeless anymore.

I can hardly move fast enough in my excitement to know more. My hand instinctively goes for his wing, seeing as that’s what I’d been touching when I found out, but I stop just short of touching it. I’m not sure if touching it is still allowed.

Simon’s wing twitches into my touch. Based on the way Snow’s eyes go wide, I’d say that action wasn’t entirely under his control. Seems the wings have a bit of a mind of their own, or maybe they acted off of Snow’s subconscious impulses.

But I don’t care either way. Bunce could solve that mystery, she’s the one who likes to do that sort of thing.

All I care about is exploring this new world Snow’s opened up to me.

I trail my nails across Simon’s wing again and it twitches violently as he squeals again. I wiggle my nails with a little more purpose against the leathery skin and Simon breaks into actual giggles. A hand flies up to cover his mouth and I reach out and grab it with my free one, interlacing our fingers.

“None of that,” I say. “I want to hear you.”

“Baz!” Simon squeals, but I ignore him.

I decide that wiggling my fingers around aimlessly is going to get me nowhere. No, I need to seek out the real sensitive spots. I try to pull back the hand I’m holding Simon’s with, but he squeezes it tight in his grip. He’s probably realized what I plan to do with it. He always was good at sensing when I was plotting (though I suppose it’s not that hard when the answer is all the time).

It doesn’t matter though, because I can do what I want just as well with one hand. Simon doesn’t seem to realize he has a second hand fully capable of stopping me. It’s flailing around uselessly, and it’s disgustingly adorable.

Simon’s giggling gets louder and more frantic as I spider my nails up his wing, moving towards the base of it at his back. I can’t help the grin that comes to my lips, I just hope it doesn’t look as soppy and lovesick as I feel. Not that Simon would notice, his eyes are too scrunched up with laughter. His nose, too.

Once again: disgustingly adorable. It makes me sick.

Simon’s laughing deep from his belly, now, not just giggling anymore. It’s still getting worse the higher I go, so I don’t change directions. He actually wails in laughter when I get to the inside curve of his wing (it’s almost like an armpit, but for wings. Wingpit?), squirming so frantically that he collapses back into my chest. I can’t help but laugh with him.

I’ve heard Simon laugh before, but it’s gotten rarer and rarer as the years have passed. I haven’t heard it at all since the incident with the Mage and Ebb and the Humdrum, and it’s a refreshing sound. It’s like when you’re parched and you’re finally given a cold glass of water. I didn’t realize how thirsty I was until hearing it again.

                              Simon

Baz’s fingers are driving me mad. The touch is so light and teasing, it’s making my skin crawl. There are goosebumps all up and down my arms, and they’re not from the cold. I wish he would move to a different spot, or make his touch firmer, or something. It’s torture. The best kind 

I can barely breathe through my laughter, with the new sweet spot he’s found, and my stomach aches with the force of it. It’s invigorating. I didn’t realize how long it had been since I laughed until Baz forced it out of me. Not that I really minded.

I feel like I’m flying.

He’s laughing with me now, too, and it only makes me laugh harder. It’s not his usual sneering, cocky laugh that he always used to give me back in school, back before our truce. It’s more like the laugh he gave me when he was drunk -- or drunk on my magic -- light and bubbly and a little bit rough, like it’s out of practice.

Maybe I should tickle him back sometime. Get it back into practice.

But that’s the last coherent thought that I’m able to have before Baz’s fingers find a sweet spot inside the sweet spot. I’m lost to my cackling, the only thing on my mind being Baz’s tickling fingers. I wonder if it’ll drive me mad.

                              Baz

Snow’s laugh used to make me want to throttle him. Or at least punch him. It was just another reminder of what I couldn’t have, what I would never be able to have. Because Snow was my enemy and he was dating Wellbelove and we were going to kill each other someday.

Now, his laugh just makes me want to kiss him. It did that before, too, but I always buried it beneath the urge to beat on him. I’m allowed to kiss, now, though, and so the urge to punch him is gone. 

I feel like I’m floating.

And I really want to kiss him.

But he’s probably bound to run out of air, and I think it might be a little difficult to kiss his open, laughing mouth (even as much as the idea of swallowing his laughter into my own lungs is enticing), so I pull away. Simon goes boneless against me, panting and giggling, his wing still twitching from my lingering phantom touch. They furl up protectively against his back, and I get the urge to kiss them, too.

Maybe later.

For the time being, I satisfy myself with pressing my lips against Simon’s own, now that his breath has somewhat returned. Simon wastes no time in kissing me back, still with far more finesse than I can manage. I’m learning, though, and I’m clearly making progress based on the heady little noises he makes into my mouth.

I don’t need alcohol to feel drunk, or even Simon’s former magic coursing through me. I could get intoxicated on Simon alone. Not that I’d ever let him know that, he’d use it against me every chance he’d get. And I’d let him.

We spend the rest of our evening kissing under the stars, long after the hood of the car has gone cold under us. Simon’s wings wrap around us like a blanket, warm and smooth, and we keep kissing. The stars twinkle above them, painting beautiful shadows across Simon’s face. I trace them with my lips.

I have to be back at Watford in the morning. Simon has to be back at the Bunce’s before they notice he snuck out with me (though I imagine Penelope herself likely already knows). The world outside the little bubble we’ve created here continues to turn round, but we don’t have to rejoin it just yet.

For now, it can just be Simon and me, and everything can be all right.

[imaginesupply]

Homecoming - Chapter Six

(I know it's Henry and not Sy in the photo, but it just fit too well with this chapter.)

Summary: The day has arrived, Captain Syverson is going home. For good, this time. He is going home to a civilian life he can hardly remember and a wife he barely knows, with memories of the war still fresh on his mind. Love might not be able to heal everything on its own, but it’s a good start.

Genres: Romance, drama.

Story warnings: Smut (always fully consensual), mentions of PTSD and nightmares and mental health, angst, hurt and comfort, fluff, mentions of war (minor), mentions of cheating (minor), mentions of pregnancy (very minor), police appearance (very minor), violence (very minor).

Notes:

It’s my first time writing for one of Henry’s characters and I’m unsure I did Sy’s character any justice.

This is a Capt. Syverson x OFC (Ada) story, written in 3rd person POV but OFC’s physical description is very limited so it could also be read as Capt. Syverson x Reader, I think.

English is not my first language, so there might be some mistakes. Proofread, but not beta’ed. We die like men and all that.

Timeline is a little wacky: The movie takes place in 2003 and the U.S. forces were withdrawn from Iraq in 2011, but I never set a precise date because I don’t think it’s essential for this story. However, some elements might not be realistic because if we set this story in 2003: Phone cameras quality was not as good as it’s now, but for the purpose of the chapters, I will need you to imagine you could film great videos with your flip phone haha. Plus, it says Sy is coming back after being deployed for more than three years which makes no sense unless we set this in 2006 or later. I am asking you disregard any time inconsistencies.

Also: I am not American. I only lived in the US for six months and it was in the Midwest, not Texas so please bear with me if I write something stupid.

Finally: This will be a Christmas fic and I intend to post the last chapter (there will be seven in total) on or before Christmas. However, religion is never mentioned in this story and the Christmas-sy elements of this story are limited to family gathering, gift giving and tree decorating.

Chapter Six starts after the cut. (Chapter Five can be found here.) Let me know if you wish to be tagged in the last chapter or if you wish to be removed from the tag list.

I will post a master list soon and put the link in the comments to make it easier to navigate.

Chapter 6

Chapter warnings: Smut, Christmas themes, mentions of therapy, embarrassing moments.

Ada didn't mind being woken up with soft fluttering kisses on her neck. She definitely didn't mind starting the day with the tantalizing rub of his beard on her sensitive skin and the hard press of his torso against her back, their legs entwined and his morning erection nuzzled against her butt.

What she did mind, however, was when any of this happened at the butt crack of dawn. Ada opened her eyes just enough to read 6:50am on the alarm clock.

"Sy," she groaned, stopping his wandering hands with hers, trying to trap them beneath her breasts. "Hold that thought for later, okay?"

She heard him chuckle behind her, his chest vibrating against her body as he freed his hands from her weak grip. "Later is for putting up the Christmas tree and the decorations," he teased, his right hand now drawing circles low on her stomach.

Ada groaned again, wanting to fight his tempting touch but unwilling to move away from his body heat. "I'll get up at 7:30." Those were the last words out of her mouth before she had drifted off again.

When she woke up once more, forty minutes later with the blast of her alarm clock, her back was cold and the smell of breakfast wafted through the air, filling her nostrils. Damn Syverson and his military sleep schedule! She had taken all her days off to spend them with him only to wake up even earlier than when she was working.

With barely open eyes, Ada threw on his shirt that hung on the chair and slowly made her way downstairs, following the scent of pancakes. She found Sy in front of the stove, just finishing up the last one before setting it on the huge pile of pancakes that looked fluffier than clouds. Ada had quickly learnt that while Sy was a disaster when it came to the art of cooking, he was the master of pancakes and barbecue.

"Good morning, sleepyhead," he greeted her and then smirked when he noticed her attire.

"Morning captain," she mumbled, walking up to him before patiently waiting until he leant down so that they could share a kiss. It always made him laugh when she did that: the adorable pout on her face when he didn't bend down for a kiss fast enough was worth waiting the extra second every time.

They ate in relative silence, mostly because Ada definitely wasn't a morning person, but the fact that Sy had a habit of stuffing his mouth full of food also played a role. When she was done eating, Ada pushed her plate and glass away, and brought her knees up to her chest, hugging her legs on the chair. She eyed her husband intently, waiting for him to finish eating with a grin on her lips.

"Why are you looking at me like that, darlin'?" Sy asked, eyebrow raised suspiciously before taking the last sip of his morning coffee.

Ada blushed, suddenly looking bashful. "Well… I was hoping we could go back upstairs and continue what you started earlier," she admitted in a tiny voice.

Sy laughed, a booming sound that filled the entire room before a shit-eating grin spread on his lips. "Tough luck, darlin'." He got up from his chair, standing in front of her across the narrow table. "Should have thought about that before falling asleep on me earlier."

Ada's mouth fell open. The cheek on this man! And what made it worse, was his huge smile that made him look like a very amused bear, with his hairy, tempting chest. He was toying with her. "Are you really saying no to sex?" She asked, cocking her brow. Sy wasn't really the type to turn down-

"Yes, no sex." He stated, suddenly looking very serious. "We have to head to the store to buy decorations, then put up the tree and hang the lights outside." Ada tried her best not to laugh. He sounded as if he were explaining a major, life or death, mission to her – not Christmas preparations. "You’re dismissed but I expect you back here in fifteen minutes, dressed and ready to go." With that, he turned around and started gathering the plates and silverware to put them in the dishwasher.

"Yes, sir."

Ada knew better than to talk back. First, when he had something in mind, it was nearly impossible to talk him out of it. Second, she hoped that the sooner they were done with this, the sooner she could get laid. Third, he had used his Captain voice that somehow always managed to make an obedient little soldier out of her.

Though, rationally, she also didn't want to make it any more difficult for him. He had confessed to her a few nights ago why he'd felt so uneasy when they had gone grocery shopping: the gondolas were too tall which led to lots of blind spots and the amount of people meant he couldn't rely on his hearing sense to detect potential danger. 'It just screams ambush,' he told her.

Ada couldn't quite imagine what he must have experienced that a supermarket or a store would translate into danger, but it was not her place to question him. Instead, she had kissed his forehead in bed and offered to start doing their shopping on her own. Sy had promptly refused, suggesting they simply go early in the mornings, when there were less people and less distracting noises.

Now at Target, she was immensely glad she had gotten out of bed, the sight alone was worth it. It wasn't everyday you'd see Sy pick up a bunch of Christmas tree baubles and inspect each one of them carefully before determining which ones were worthy enough to make it to their living room. Ada sneaked a picture for safekeeping and then decided to send it to his mom as well. Family dinner was fast-approaching, and she'd seize all the cookie points she could get.

"Darlin'," Sy called, catching her attention. He was holding up an inflatable Santa who, instead of carrying gifts, dragged a bag full of liquor bottles and sported a drunk grin on his face. It was tacky beyond words. "Do 'you think we should get this, or will it just upset the neighborhood kids?"

Ada grimaced but tried to disguise it with a smile. She’d die before letting that thing on their lawn. “I think a neighborhood dog would tear it to bits within a second," she lied, trying to appear apologetic.

"Yeah, you're probably right."

°°°

The lights were up. It was a much quicker process with Sy's help. It was also the occasion for Ada to just sit back and relax because he was adamant, she shouldn’t step on a ladder to help. Instead, she had a glass of bourbon waiting for him for when he finished. It was 5pm somewhere after all.

"You said we had a tree!" Sy's deep voice reached her from the basement.

Ada threw her head back, sighing, before hurrying downstairs after him. "Yes, it's in that box over there," she pointed at a white cardboard box behind a couple of spare tires.

"Woman, it's tiny!" Sy complained, picking up the box and setting it down between them. It was about as tall as her. It was not that small.

"It's the one I've used every year since I moved in. It's pretty enough and doesn't take up too much space,” she defended.

In front of her, Sy exhaled loudly through his nostrils before rubbing his beard. She knew that move. It's what he did to remind himself she was not a soldier under his command, but his wife, and that he better measure his words unless he wanted to sleep on the sofa.

"Look, darlin'," he said calmly, enclosing her small hands in his much bigger ones. "This is my first Christmas home with my wife. I refuse to put up a minuscule, fake sapling in my home and call it a Christmas tree."

Ada was slightly taken aback. She didn’t know Christmas was this important to him. Though it was true he had been overseas on Christmas the past two years, so she could understand where he was coming from with wanting this Christmas to matter. Besides, it was endearing when he put it like that.

With a nibble on her lip, Ada gave in. "Okay. They're selling trees in that parking lot by the pharmacy."

Sy slowly shook his head, a mischievous look on his face. "No. We're going to get our own pine tree from the woods."

You gotta be kidding me, she groaned internally.  

°°°

Ada had no idea where they were. It hadn’t been that long of a ride, but there were no more houses or streets to be seen around them, just endless fields and a forest. It was only when Sy took a right turn, that she started spotting cars and what looked to be a very colorful barn which had been converted into a cozy boutique.

“Where are we?” She asked, staring out of the window as Sy looked for a place to park his truck.

“The Dallagher’s ranch,” he replied. “They do a corn maze and a pumpkin patch in the Fall, and in the Winter, you can pick up your own Christmas tree. My dad used to take Claire and I here every year.”

Oh… This was a family tradition. No wonder Sy made such a big deal about having a real tree for Christmas.

Once out of the car, they walked hand in hand through the dirt road until they reached the makeshift counter made of hay where you could get a handcart before heading out into the man-made pine forest and select a Christmas tree. Most people she saw, however, were already returning the handcarts and happily carrying their trees to their parked cars.

The old man by the cash register seemed to recognize Sy instantly, smiling warmly as he greeted him with a one-armed hug. Ada realized it was the ranch’s owner. “I haven’t seen you in years, Jack!” The old man exclaimed with a laugh before turning to Ada. “And who’s this pretty lady?”

“This is Ada, my wife,” Sy said, introducing them. He watched with amusement as Ada stumbled as the old man hugged her without a warning, taking her by surprise.

“Well, it’s great to meet you, Ada,” the man nodded once he had retreated, and then turned back to Sy. “Should I be offended I wasn’t invited to the wedding?” He teased.

Sy was already wrapping his arm around her shoulders, chuckling. “To be honest, Dallagher, there were no guests at the wedding,” he replied, amused at the way the old man frowned in a confused manner at that piece of information. “Actually, we came here to get a tree.”

“Of course!” Dallagher immediately turned and ordered the young boy in overalls to fetch them a handcart. “What size did you have in mind?”

“Something around seven feet,” Sy said, looking pensive as Ada looked up at him suspiciously, trying to figure out how much seven feet converted to in the metric system. Once she’d done the math, she pulled at Sy’s flannel sleeve to protest – that was way too big, it’d take up the whole living room – but the Dallagher’s grandson was already handing them the cart and leading them to the entrance.

“Trees that big are at the very back of the forest, you’ll have to walk a little.”

This turned out to be quite an understatement. Ada felt like they had been walking for literal years. While they had still come across other people at the beginning, mostly families, they were on their own now – that is if you didn’t count the many squirrels that kept appearing out of nowhere.

She stopped, grabbing the back of Sy’s red tartan shirt so he would be forced to pause as well. “Can’t we just take one of these?” Ads suggested, gesturing at the countless trees all around them. They were all pretty enough and considerably taller than her.

Sy huffed, biting his lip in amusement as he looked at her dispirited face. He’d told her she should probably get changed and wear more comfortable shoes before they left home, but she had insisted she wasn’t going to change clothes just to get a goddamn tree. “These are only around six feet, darlin’. And,” he paused, eyeing the trees more closely, “they’re not Nordmann firs. I want a Nordmann.”

Ada sighed defeatedly, but nodded all the same, starting to walk again when Sy took pity on her. “Do you want to sit on the handcart?”

The change on his wife’s face was instant, the frown lifting into a smile as she climbed on the cart and sat down in the middle, evening out her weight for him. “Is that better, darlin?” He asked teasingly.

She turned her head back just to make sure he saw her rolling her eyes.

By the time they reached an area with Nordmann trees that Sy considered nice and big enough, her butt was sore from the conjunction of the hard, wooden surface and the uneven ground. She wasn’t even sure she had made the better call or whether it would have been better to suffer in her new ankle boots instead.

“Which one is better?” Sy asked, pointing at two pine trees that looked virtually identical to her.

Ada shrugged, almost saying that he should choose before realizing how much time that would take. The man wasn’t picky about food, bedlinen or even the pillow he slept with, but apparently, he had to make sure he brought home the most perfect tree. She still couldn’t wrap her head around that. “The left one,” she said finally.

“Which one? Your left or my left?”

Breathing in deeply, she decided to just point at the tree she was talking about. Sy nodded thoughtfully and grabbed the saw he had brought with him and started to work on the tree. While she had been most eager to get this whole thing over with, it became an entirely different story now as she dreamily stared at her husband getting to work.

With most of his back facing her and one knee on the forest’s soft ground as he started sawing off the Nordmann fin, Sy looked absolutely delicious. The red flannel shirt unbuttoned over his white t-shirt and the jeans made him perfect sight with anyone with a lumberjack fantasy. Ada had never considered herself as having such a kink. A uniformed soldier, or even better, a captain? Hell yes. A strong, rugged husband capable of her breaking her in half? Also a big yes. A lumberjack? The thought had never crossed her mind in the past but there was no point in denying it now as she sat back on the wooden cart, watching Sy carefully saw down the giant tree.

She was wet. Horny. Aroused. You name it. It also didn’t help that they hadn’t had sex that day. Yet.

"Sy," she whined, just loud enough to get his attention, while swinging her legs in the air like a child.

"I'm almost done, darlin'," Sy responded, not bothering to turn around to look at her. "I want a nice, clean cut."

Yeah, and she want a nice, dirty fuck. Pouting, she watched him for a couple more seconds as he knelt in front of the base of the tree, deciding from which side he should bring the saw to the trunk next in order to make it even.

That was when Ada decided she was tired of waiting. Shuffling quietly, she slipped off her wet panties from under her dress and rolled them into a small ball before throwing it at her husband. It hit his left shoulder and rolled down his chest. Grinning wickedly, she leaned back on her shoulders and enjoyed the view, the muscles on his back shifting as he picked up the garment off the ground. If this didn't get her laid, nothing else would.

"Ada Metz Syverson," Sy groaned out her full name slowly, his voice even deeper than usual. He got back up on his feet and turned to face her, looking stern.

Suddenly she didn't feel so brave anymore, not when he had crossed the distance to her in two determined strides and went to tower over her small, sitting frame. His jaw was set, and his eyes were a darker shade of blue than usual. Ada moved her eyes down his body, her eyes pausing at the defined pectorals on his chest before sliding lower. He was definitely hard, the bulge on his jeans prominent.

"Just remember you asked for this."

She wanted to ask what this was supposed to be, but he didn’t give her the chance. “Legs,” he ordered, patting his shoulder as he came to stand just inches away from her. Almost unconsciously, she obeyed his order, her ankles coming to rest on the front of his shoulders, her feet framing his neck. “That’s a good girl,” he praised her with a quick kiss to her right calf before his large hands moved to the front of his jeans, just over the protruding tent and began undoing the belt and snap.

From this angle, Sy’s cock looked even bigger, the shiny glans flushed a deep pink. Ada swallowed tightly, her legs already shaking with anticipation and he hadn’t even touched her yet. Pumping his shaft with his right hand, Sy brought his left one to her core, rubbing the rough pad of his thumb over clit once or twice before sliding it between her folds. She was a dripping mess. Sy smirked when she keened eagerly at his touch, enjoying his ministrations until he pulled his hand away and brought it to his mouth, licking off her slick. “It’s good you’re so wet already because I just can’t wait to take you, darlin’.”

He wasn’t lying when he said he couldn’t wait. The next thing he did, was grabbing hold of his throbbing, hard cock and guiding himself into her. Ada moaned loudly at the intrusion, drowning out Sy’s own growl as her walls clenched around his cock, trying to get used to the abruptness and depth of the penetration.

“Fuck, Sy!” She cried out, not even sure what it was she wanted. “Don’t stop,” was all she could muster as he ploughed into her like there was no tomorrow, hitting her pleasure all at once.

He knew they were being too loud. They might be alone, but they were still out in the open air, and yet he just couldn’t find it in himself to care – not when she felt this good around his cock and her noises only heightened his fervor. If someone happened to stumble upon them, then they’d simply be in for a premium show,

It wasn’t long until her legs started shaking almost uncontrollably up in the air, prompting him to remove one hand from his steely grip on her hip and wrap his arms around her legs to keep them steady as he continued with jackhammer thrusts. “Are you going to cum for me, darlin’?” Sy panted, groaning out the question between clenched teeth even though he already knew the answer.

Ada didn’t manage to reply, the first waves of her orgasm already coursing through her when she moaned his name. Her hips canted up, her body tensed up like a bolt, and Sy knew he was done for right then. Her warm walls squeezed him impossibly tight inside of her, milking the cum right out of his cock while he fought to keep his balance as pleasure overtook him.

They came down from their heights slowly, chests heaving. Sy lazily removed her legs from his shoulders, massaging the strained muscles on her inner thighs before he set her legs down. This woman would be the end of him. “That was…” he panted, bending forward over her body to kiss her forehead, unable to find a proper adjective to describe what had just happened.

“Yeah,” Ada breathed out, nodding slowly.

Sy ended up having to carry her and the tree on the cart back to his truck because there was no way she was able to walk straight after that.

°°°

They finished decorating the giant tree. Ada had to admit it looked pretty although the red and gold decorations clashed with the color theme of their living room. She handed Sy the newly purchased baubles one by one – he was the only one capable of reaching the top.

On their way back home, she had somehow managed to convince Sy to stop at the therapist’s office – the one she had found had the highest ratings on Google. They had booked the first available appointment, which was just after the New Year and Sy had made it very clear to their secretary it was just a ‘testing appointment’ and that there was no need to set aside time slots for follow-up sessions yet because there was no guarantee he’d be back. His reluctance was palpable, but Ada was glad he was giving it a try at least. And if he didn’t like, then they’d figure out something else.

In the background, their wedding video kept playing and she wondered for how much longer she'd have to hear the sound of camera flashes as the chapel assistant took way too many photos of them in the most cliché poses you could imagine. Sy has insisted they put on their wedding video since they’d never gotten around to watch it and it fit the season, according to him. Slowly, the annoying sounds began fading away and Ada sighed with relief. Watching herself on TV sparked too much embarrassment in her.

"Hand me the big one with Rudolph, will you, darlin'," Sy asked from behind her, still meticulously decorating the tree.

Ada nodded, searching for the bauble he had in mind. It was still in the shopping bag, she remembered, lifting it off the floor to dig inside it.

Ada froze as a female chuckle was heard, unconsciously gripping the glass ornament too tightly in her hand. "Not that fast, Captain."

Behind her, Sy frowned. "What did you say?"

"Tonight, I'm in charge," she heard her own voice say - no, it was more like a purr.

"Shit!" Ada cursed loudly, letting the bauble fall back inside the bag and she hurried to the TV, her worst fear confirmed.

Sy followed her quickly, stopping just behind her, his hands on her shoulders. "Is that from our wedding night?" He asked slowly, his eyes locked on the screen as he watched his younger self being tied up to the bedposts by his wife.

"Yes," Ada cringed, her face a painful grimace. "I didn't even remember the sex tape."

"Me neither," Sy swallowed loudly, admittedly rapidly becoming aroused at the sight of his Ada doing a striptease on camera. She wore that red ensemble with the garter belt.

"I think the assistant never really ended the video after our wedding, only paused it and we later continued filming in the hotel instead of starting a new video," Ada commented, now understanding what had happened. How they’d even came up with the idea of filming a sex tape on their wedding night, she didn't know. Alcohol had probably played a part in it.

Sy was still staring in awe at the TV, enthralled by the sight of his wife deviously edging him, her hips swaying slowly, when her words slowly registered in his head. "Didn't we send copies of the video to our families?" He stammered, his voice uncharacteristically quiet and hesitant.

Silence fell between them as they both realized they had been dumb enough to send copies before watching it themselves. "Fuck!" Ada barked, seizing the remote to pause the video. "We sent that to my parents, your parents, your sister...," she listed, her face losing all color.

Suddenly, the sound of Sy's deep laughter filled her ears. She turned to him, aghast. How could he find this funny? This was peak cringe! She’d be one needing therapy after this!

"You know, darlin', watching this video was the first time my parents ever saw their daughter-in-law, before even meeting you in person." Sy explained, shaking his head with amusement.

Ada was mortified. No wonder Mr. Syverson had seemed on the verge of laughter the first time they'd met and Helen had given her the side eye. The woman had a USB stick in her home with an hour-long video of Ada fucking her son. "You know, Sy, this wedding video is also the first thing my parents saw of you." He stopped laughing abruptly, his face red, all amusement gone.

They both sat down on the couch next to each other, slowly coming to terms with the fact that pretty much their whole families had seen this, and never said anything, probably keeping it as an inside joke.

Sy broke the silence, his large hand reaching to rub her naked thigh. "You know, I don't think we should be embarrassed," he said, prompting her to stare back up at him, eyebrow raised dubiously. "The way you tied up my arms really enhanced my biceps and you looked adorably hot like a vicious kitten from hell."

°°°

@colourmeinblue​ @hail-horror-queen​ @youthought-iwasa-nicegirl​ @kmuir1​ @madbaddic7ed​ @coffeebreathy​ @purplelove75​ @summersong69​ @helenaellie​ @rn7rocks​ 

[honeypiehotchner]

i knew you (Bucky Barnes soulmate AU) -- part nine

This felt like it took AGES to get out but college really has had me busier than ever. Anywho, all that’s left after this part is an epilogue :( This is pretty much all fluff! Love you all xx.

After Sam, Steve, and even Bucky sign the Accords -- Colonel Rhodes signed while you were gone -- it is ratified. Which leaves the rest of you to tie up the loose ends.

For starters, where Bucky will be receiving help. For a moment you’re worried he’ll want to return to Romania, but he doesn’t even mention it. Instead, he says he’s up for suggestions.

To your complete surprise, T’Challa steps up and asks if he may offer his services.

“Wakanda is safe, no one will bother you there,” the King explains. “And we may be able to help rid your brain of the programming, not just give you ways to cope. My sister, Shuri, she will be able to help you.”

You look at Bucky, hopeful. It sounds like a good idea, but it’s ultimately up to him. Or so you thought.

Because Bucky turns his head to look at you, eyes soft, but so lost. “What do you think?”

“I think…” You pause. “I think you should do whatever makes you feel comfortable.”

“What would make you comfortable?” He asks. “You feel what I feel.”

You nod. “I know. I just don’t want to make any decisions for you that you won’t like.”

“I think I need your help with this one, doll,” Bucky says, gentler this time, pleading. 

“Okay, well, I think Wakanda is a good idea. Away from everyone else, you’ll really be able to heal.” You’re careful not to mention yourself, unsure as to whether or not Bucky will even want you to be with him. “And I think T’Challa’s offer is genuine.”

T’Challa nods. “I will go call my sister.” He disappears to do just that.

You stand in awkward silence, wondering what hit will come next. After the past two years, the past two hours seems too good to be true. There has to be a catch -- even if you desperately want it to be real, with no catch.

Without saying a word, Steve ushers Natasha, Sam, and Tony from the room, leaving you completely alone with your soulmate for the first time.

You never thought you’d feel this nervous.

You pull one of the chairs back from the table, sitting down to hopefully come across as relaxed as possible. You hate feeling like you need to tiptoe around Bucky, but right now, you don’t know what else to do.

He follows your movement, taking the seat directly next to you, though he keeps his distance, unsure.

One would think that if you feel what each other feels, then moments like these wouldn’t be so awkward. But they are.

“Thank you,” Bucky finally says. “For today. For everything.”

“You’re welcome,” you murmur, studying your hands to keep from studying him, which you desperately want to do. “How are you doing?”

“I have one hell of a headache.”

You laugh, something about the way he said it, or maybe the fact that despite the insane nature of today’s events, something as mundane as a headache still plagues him enough to mention. A reminder that you’re both only human.

Bucky doesn’t mind the laughter. It’s a sound he remembers only vaguely from his dreams, but his dreams have nothing on this. Nothing on the way your eyes squint, the way you cover your mouth and the way he wants to reach over and grab your hand so he can see your smile, the way his mouth aches to tell you that you should never hide. The real thing is a thousand times better than his dreams. He can’t believe he almost let you get away.

“How are you?” He asks, having realized he has yet to ask you this, even after all he’s put you through.

Your eyebrows raise slightly in surprise, though you hide it well. “I’m okay.” You pause, not wanting to elaborate, not knowing if he wants to know. Is it too weird?

“Steve told me you thought he was full of it when he would tell you about me,” Bucky tries a different route, a different conversation. “I swear he wasn’t lying. Your eyes are still my favorite color, and yes, I told everyone about you. There wasn’t a day when I didn’t talk about you.”

You’ve started smiling before you can stop it. “Really?”

“You think Steve drew portraits of you because he wanted to? No, I had to talk him into it after the first few. He kept telling me, ‘Buck, what could’ve changed?’ And truth was, nothing changed. I just wanted another picture to hold.”

You cup your cheeks, soreness settling in from how hard you’ve been grinning. Just like that, your Bucky has come back to you.

The one you’ve seen in your dreams is sitting in front of you, smiling sheepishly.

“I have the drawings now,” you confess, watching Bucky’s eyes widen in surprise.

“They survived?”

“Somehow,” you nod. “Steve gave them to me when we met.” You pause. “He also gave me a letter.”

Realization dawns on Bucky’s face as he remembers the letter, the night he wrote it. It was late, he was leaving the next morning, but he had to write this letter to you. He had to write it and get it to Steve if it was the last thing he ever did. He remembers shoving it into Steve’s chest, telling him he had to get it to you somehow, it didn’t matter how, he just had to do it for him. Bucky was a little drunk and a lot heartbroken, because he feared he’d never get to meet you. That he’d die in the war and leave you stranded.

After all those years, it finally ended up in your hands.

“Did you read it?”

You shake your head. “I hold it a lot. Sleep with it under my pillow. I could never bring myself to read it, though. Steve told me you wrote it in case you died before you got to meet me?”

Bucky nods slowly.

“Well,” you smile softly. “You’re right here.”

Bucky does the unthinkable. He reaches over with his flesh hand, fingers outstretched and palm up. It takes you a second before you realize what he’s silently asking. Gently, you place your hand in his, holding back your tears as his fingers wrap around yours.

“I’m right here,” he whispers, tears gathering in his eyes, too. Then, he shakes his head. “I can’t believe I finally found you.”

That sentence is the one that breaks you. Your lip quivers and the dam breaks. So many years of not knowing. More years of knowing, of living with the fact of your soulmate being dead. Two years of looking. And finally--

Finally, he’s here.

More of the unthinkable happens when the tears spill over your cheeks. Bucky doesn’t expect himself to do this either, but he can’t stand to see you crying. He rolls his chair closer, hand slipping from yours only so he can gather you in his arms.

Your arms wrap around his neck while his fit around your waist. 

“I’m so sorry,” he says into your neck, your skin wet with his tears.

“I’m sorry too,” you cry, fingers threading through his hair.

For a moment, all that exists are your two souls, finally at peace, now that they have found one another.

+++

The plan is to travel to Wakanda by Quinjet. Tony arranged everything with T’Challa, so all that’s left is for you, Bucky, and Steve to board.

Steve opts to fly the jet, which leaves you alone with Bucky. Again.

“Hey Bucky?”

“Yes, doll?”

You’re still not used to him calling you doll. You never thought he’d be comfortable enough for that, let alone the way he hugged you earlier.

But you guess that’s just what happens when you finally find your soulmate.

You try to focus. There’s one question that has been gnawing at your mind -- and everyone else’s, even Steve’s -- since it happened.

“You don’t have to answer if it’s too hard, or complicated, but can I ask why--” You pause, gathering your thoughts. “When you were the Soldier, why were you protecting me?” Your eyes meet Bucky’s. “Why did you tell me that your orders were to protect me? You nearly killed anyone else you saw and it just…”

You see it when Bucky remembers that he said those words to you as the Soldier. He takes a few moments, collecting himself, and you expect him to not say anything else. Which you would be fine with. You know it’s hard-- more than hard, to deal with.

But he begins explaining.

“When they first tried to program me,” he sighs, almost shudders, “it didn’t work very well. I fought it harder than they were expecting, I guess.” There is no pride hiding in his tone, only disgust. “They had to somehow convince me I was doing it all for you, to protect you. I don’t think they ever thought I’d meet you, but at one point they had to tell me I was following your orders. All I could think about was you, so they had to...use that to their advantage.”

“I understand,” you say because you can’t think of anything else. What do you say to something like that? Nothing you say will make it better. He’s aching, you can feel it, and it kills you knowing that there are no magical words to make it all go away.

“You’re sure I didn’t hurt you?” Bucky’s worried voice brings you back down.

“No,” you shake your head, even though you know no matter how many times you say it, he won’t be convinced. “You didn’t, I swear. You wanted me as close to you as possible and you followed my every word. It was...strange. I could tell it wasn’t you, but…” You stop yourself, not wanting to admit that you had briefly wanted the Soldier to stay. But that was before Bucky would actually look at you and hold a conversation with you, like he’s doing now. Now, you know this is who you want to stay. Your Bucky.

“Could you feel it?” He asks quietly, eyes focusing on his hands instead of your face. “When I would…”

“Yes,” you answer, not needing him to say it. “I didn’t know that’s what I was feeling until I found out that you were the Soldier, but yes.”

“I remember when I started to feel you,” he says softly, a smile almost crossing his face. “It didn’t last long because they would wipe my memory, but it was...probably the best day of my life. Knowing you were somewhere out there.”

“Why’d you say you didn’t know me?” You ask, briefly wondering if you’re treading in dangerous waters.

“I didn’t want to believe it was really you,” Bucky admits, shaking his head. “After all these years-- All the hell I went through, and then there you were, standing in my apartment.” He looks up to meet your eyes and finds tears there. “I knew from the way you were feeling that it wasn’t for a good reason. I had seen the paper, too. I knew I was in trouble.” He pauses, wiping one of your tears away. “I wanted to protect you, doll. That’s all I’ve ever been trying to do.”

His hand lingers, and you lean into his touch, gripping his wrist to keep him there.

“And then you started jumping off buildings after me,” he jokes, earning a small laugh from you. 

“You were really pissing me off doing that, you know,” you tease.

“Yeah, well,” his serious tone makes you open your eyes. “If you ever jump out of a building like that again…”

“Don’t make me run after you again, then,” you reply, just as serious.

“That’s a fair deal,” he smiles.

A moment passes, Bucky’s thumb brushing your cheek.

“Just for the record,” Steve’s voice comes from the front. “You guys make me sick.”

Laughter fills the cab of the Quinjet, and your tears recede like an ocean’s waves. 

Steve talks to fill the silence, sharing more stories as he remembers them. Bucky jokes about how small Steve used to be, how he could pick Steve up with one arm back in the day. 

Of course, the “back in the day” comment earned a snort of laughter from you. They are extremely old, despite not looking like it.

+++

Before you know it, you’re landing in Wakanda.

T’Challa and his sister, Shuri, greet the three of you outside the Quinjet. 

“You’re the famous Shuri we’ve heard so much about,” you joke. She’s a lot younger than you were expecting, but somehow that makes you love her a little more.

“He talks about me?” Shuri gasps, playfully nudging her brother’s arm. “What a shocker. You must be the one who talked some sense into his thick head.”

There is no muffling your laughter, not when Shuri is grinning, eyeing T’Challa for his reaction, which is a tired stare.

The King moves the conversation forward. “This is Bucky Barnes and Steve Rogers,” he gestures to the two men beside you.

“Two broken white boys to fix?” Shuri asks, all in good nature.

“No, no,” Steve shakes his head. “I’m alright.”

You give Shuri a look, earning a laugh. Oh yeah. You’re going to love it here.

That’s if you’re staying-- if Bucky wants you to stay.

“Come, come,” Shuri turns and starts walking, motioning for you all to follow. “We have everything ready for you. And I think we have found a starting point on how to get all of that nasty HYDRA programming out of your brain,” Shuri gestures to her head with a look of disgust.

You can’t help but smile. That’s the best news of the day. If there really is hope for erasing all of HYDRA from Bucky’s brain, then you’re willing to believe in it.

Shuri leads you all to what you learn is Wakanda’s sort of hospital. It’s nothing like the kind in America. The blankness that would send any sane person spiraling if they were there for long enough. Wakanda’s hospital feels more like a home, a safe place where Bucky can get the help he needs.

You only say all this because you feel and see him physically relax when you enter the building. Some panic was still swimming inside of him, but you weren’t sure why, until now. He must’ve thought it was still too good to be true, until he laid his eyes on it.

You turn your head to look at him, offering a smile. He grabs your hand in return, squeezing gently.

“Will you be staying here as well, Captain?” T’Challa asks, seemingly out of nowhere. “We are happy to have you.”

“No, but I will visit,” Steve replies, sending Bucky a smile. “As much as he’ll let me.”

“You can visit whenever you want, punk,” Bucky shoots back easily, surprising himself.

“And what about you, Y/N?” Shuri asks. “I’m sorry I went snooping around on the background checks, but I could use a brain like yours around here.”

Bucky’s chest fills with confusion. Upon feeling this, you shrug and tell him, “My degree is in psychology with an emphasis on cognitive and neuropsychology.” You pause, suddenly sheepish. “You should’ve seen the look on my best friend’s face when I told her I was switching to that from history.”

“Didn’t you still minor in history?” Steve inquires -- basically throwing you under the bus.

“Yes,” you murmur. “With an emphasis on WWII.”

You feel it when some different emotion rises in Bucky’s chest, one you don’t think you’ve felt from him before. You can’t pinpoint it, but maybe that’s for the better.

“But to answer your question,” you chuckle, returning to Shuri. “I wouldn’t mind sticking around. If you’ll have me, of course.” You pause, tugging on Bucky’s hand. “And if you’re okay with that.”

“I don’t want you going anywhere, doll.”

“Good,” you murmur. “Because I’m not.”

Of course, this is when you and Bucky realize (yet again) that you are not the only ones in the room, which has Shuri grinning and T’Challa sharing a look with Steve.

Oh, well. You and Bucky have years of time to make up for. Everyone else will have to deal with it.

[littlesystems]

For the people who are out there “fighting the good fight” and “trying to make fandom a better place,” I have two important questions for you:

1. Is the author dead? x

2. Is your baby in the bathwater? x

What do I mean by those things? Let’s start with #1. The Death of the Author is a type of literary criticism, the extreme cliff notes version of which is that art exists outside of the creator’s life, personal background, and even intentions. I’m using it slightly differently than Barthes intended, but that’s okay, because the author is dead and I’m interpreting his work through my own lens.

In fandom, the author is dead. In fact, the author was never alive in the first place, not really. The author has only ever been the idea of a person, because unlike published fiction, the only thing we know about a fanfic author is that which they choose to tell us about themselves.

Why is that important?

Because it might not be true. Hell, that happens in real life with published authors, who have SSN’s on file with their publishers, who pay taxes on the works they create and have researchable pasts. If the author of A Million Little Pieces could fake everything, why can’t I? Why can’t you? Why can’t the writer of your favorite fic in the whole wide world?

Stop me if you’ve heard this before: “you can only write about [sensitive subject] if [sensitive subject] has happened to you personally, otherwise you’re a disgusting monster that deserves to die!!” Or maybe “you can only write [x racial or ethnic group] characters if you’re [x racial or ethnic group] otherwise you’re racist/fetishizing/colonizing!”

You can play this game with any sensitive subject you can come up with. I’ve seen them all before, on a sliding scale of slightly chastising to literal death threats.

Now, I could tell you that I’m a white-passing Latina whose grandmother was an anchor baby. I could tell you that I speak only English because my family never taught me to speak Spanish, something which I’ve been told is common in the Cuban community, though I only know my own lived experience. I could tell you that I’m mostly neurotypical. I could tell you that I’m covered in surgical scars. I could tell you lots of things.

Are any of these true? Maybe! I could tell you that my brother has severe mental development problems, so uncommon that they’ve never been properly diagnosed, and that he will live the rest of his life in a group home with 24-hour care. Is that true? Am I allowed to write about families struggling with America’s piss-poor services for the handicapped now?

Am I allowed to write about being Cuban? After all, I did just say that I’m Cuban. But is it true? Can I instead write a character that’s Panamanian? Maybe I really am Panamanian, not Cuban. Maybe I’m both. Maybe I’m neither. Maybe I’m really French Canadian. Should we require people to post regular selfies? I can’t count the number of times I’ve had someone come up to me speaking Arabic, and I’ve been told that I look Syrian. What’s stopping me from making a blog that claims that I am Syrian? Can you even really tell someone’s race and ethnicity from a photo?

Am I allowed to write about being a teenager? Am I allowed to write about being a college student? Am I allowed to write about being an “adulty” adult? Can I write a character who’s 40? 50? 60? How old am I?

All of this is to say: you can’t base what someone is or is not “allowed” to write about on a background that may or may not be real. No matter how good your intentions. And I get it - this usually comes from a place of well-meaning. You’re trying to protect marginalized groups by stopping privileged people from trampling all over experiences that they haven’t suffered. I get that. It’s a very noble thought. But you can’t require a background check for every fic that you don’t like.

If you say “you can only write about rape if you’re a rape victim,” then one of three things will happen:

Real survivors will have to supply intimate details of their own violations to prevent harassment

Real survivors will refuse to engage and will then have to deal with death threats and people telling them to kill themselves for daring to write about their own experiences

People who aren’t survivors will say “yeah sure this happened to me” just to get people to shut up

Has that helped anyone? I mean really - anyone??

So now let’s get to point #2: is your baby in the bathwater?

If your intention is to protect marginalized people from being trampled upon, stop and assess if your boot is the one that’s now stamping on their face. Find your baby! Is your baby in the bathwater? Which is to say: find the goal that you’re advocating for. Now assess. Are you making the problem worse for the people you’re trying to protect? Does that rape victim really feel better, now that you’ve harassed and stalked them in the name of making rape victims feel safe?

Let’s say you read a fic that contains explicit sex between a 16 year old and a 17 year old. Is this okay? Would it be okay if the writer was 15? 16? 17? Should teenagers be barred from writing about their own lives, and should teenagers be banned from exploring sexuality in a fictional bubble, instead of hookup culture? Is it okay for a 20 year old to write about their experiences as a teenager? Is it okay for a 20 year old to write about being raped at a party as a teenager? Is it okay for a 30 year old? How about a 40 year old? Is it okay so long as it isn’t titillating? Is it okay if taking control of the narrative allows the writer to re-conceptualize their trauma as something they have control over? Is it okay if their therapist told them that writing is a safe creative outlet?

Is your author dead?

Is your baby in the bathwater?

Now let’s take a hardline approach: no fanfiction with characters who are under 18 years old. None. Is the 16 year old who really loves Harry Potter and wants to read/write about characters their own age better off? Should they be banned from writing? Should they be forced to exclusively read and write (adult) experiences that they haven’t lived? Will they write about teens anyway? Should they have to share it in secret? Should 16 year olds be ashamed of themselves? Should we just throw in with the evangelicals and say that the only answer is abstinence, both real and fictional?

Let’s say that no rape is allowed in fiction, at all. None. What happens to all the hurt/comfort fics where a character is raped and then receives the support and love that they deserve, slowly heal, and by the end have found themselves again? Are you helping rape victims by banning these stories? Are you helping rape victims by stripping their agency away, by telling them that their wants and their consent doesn’t matter?

Is your baby in the bathwater?

Fandom is currently being split in two: on one side, the people who want to make fandom a “safer” place by any means necessary, even if that means throwing out all of the marginalized groups they say they want to protect - and on the other, people who are saying “if you throw out that bathwater, you’re throwing the baby out too.”

The whole point of fandom is to be able to explore all kinds of ideas from the safety and comfort of a computer screen. You can read/write things that fascinate you, disgust you, titillate you, or make your heart feel warm. This is true of all fiction. People who want to read about rape and incest and extreme violence and torture can go pick up a copy of Game of Thrones from the bookstore whenever they want. Sanitizing fandom just means holding a community of people who are primarily not male, not straight, not cis, or some combination of those three, to higher and stricter standards than straight white cis male authors and creators all over the world.

There is nothing you can find on AO3 that you can’t find in a bookstore. Any teenager can go check out Lolita, or ASOIAF, or Flowers in the Attic, or Stephen King's It, or Speak, or hundreds of other books that have adult themes or gratuitous violence or graphic sex. The difference is that AO3 has warnings and tags and allows people to interact only with the types of work that they want to, and allows people to curate their experiences.

Are these themes eligible to be explored, but only in the setting of something produced/published? Books, movies, television, studio art, music - all of these fields have huge barriers to entry, and they’re largely controlled by wealthy cishet white men. Is it better to say that only those who have the right connections to “make it” in these industries should be allowed to explore violence or sexuality or any other so-called “adult” theme?

Does banning women from writing MLM erotica make fan culture a better place?

Does banning queer people from writing about queer experiences make fan culture a better place?

Is M/M fic okay, but only if the author is male? What if he’s a trans man? What if they’re NB? Who should get to draw those lines? Should TERFs get a vote? What if the author is a woman who feels more comfortable writing from a male character’s perspective because she’s grown up with male stories her whole life, or because she identifies more with male characters? What about all the trans men who discovered themselves, in part, by writing fanfiction, and realized that their desires to write male characters stemmed from something they hadn’t yet realized about themselves?

How can we ever be sure that the author is who they say they are?

Who is allowed to write these stories? How do we enforce it?

Is it better for none of these stories to ever exist at all?

Have you killed your author?

Have you thrown out your baby with the bathwater?

[d6official]

Day6’s Jae Park is leading K-pop’s vital mental health conversation for Dazed Magazine

The musician discusses his solo project, eaJ, and reveals how a panic attack led him to tackle his own mental health issues and launch a social initiative.

He may have played his father’s guitar in the living room as a kid, but a career in music always felt like a pipe dream for Jae Park. Raised in Cerritos, California, Jae was pursuing higher education when he got the chance to audition for a Korean American Idol-esque survival show. Through this experience, he was able to carve a space for himself in the Korean music scene by ultimately joining Korean rock group Day6 in 2015.

Making their debut almost six years ago, Day6 created a space for a different type of idol group, a band. The five-member group has each member on an instrument: a drummer, two guitarists, a bassist, and a keyboard player. The members are heavily involved with the lyric writing and production of their songs. A trip to one of their live performances will surprise you with a member shredding a solo on the electric guitar instead of an intricate dance break. Their first EP, The Day, peaked at number two on Billboard’s World Album Chart, and since then, each succeeding release has found a home in the top 10.

Outside of the day job, Jae’s been busy with various projects: he’s a part-time streamer on Twitch, a co-host on the How Did I Get Here (HDIGH) podcast and, most recently, a solo artist, posting a string of self-penned songs under the alias eaJ to his YouTube channel from early last year. These side projects give us an insight into his personality. HDIGH explores a playful side to Jae; he and his co-host begin with a topic, start by sharing their opinions and beliefs, and slowly, they spiral into a deep dive on Google, diverging into a completely new topic by the end of the episode. It leaves them asking “How did I get here?”

Feeling lost and uninspired, Jae began writing the tracks as a way to reconnect with his love of music. These solo tracks sound different to his work with Day6. While Day6’s high energy work is reminiscent of early 2000s pop punk bands like All Time Low, the aeJ project tracks are tranquil, almost dreamlike, revealing a softer side of Jae’s musicality.

But amid this new venture, Jae faced mental health challenges that he feels changed his life, beginning with a panic attack in the back of a taxi. In recent times, more K-pop idols have become outspoken about their struggles, but there’s still a stigma attached to the topic in Eastern society. Compared to artists in the West, K-pop idols are more reserved about their relationship with mental health. Jae believes that continuing this cycle of “toxic positivity” and perfection can be destructive to today’s youth, fueling the global prevalence of adolescent mental health disorders.

These confrontations with what he calls “feelings of death, doom, and finality” encouraged him to become a mental health advocate and, through that, From Friends was born – a clothing line created in collaboration with REPRESENT, which helped the star raise £100,000 for mental health charities.

We caught up with Jae to talk about his projects, mental health, and why From Friends was such a valuable experience to the 28-year-old artist.

You began the eaJ solo project last year. Could you talk a bit more about that?

Jae Park: I came to the conclusion that I’d forgotten what kind of music I liked. (I wanted) to find my identity, so I started spinning out track after track; it came almost like word vomit. I was throwing up all this emotional baggage I had (built) up over the years. I just ended up releasing it. I took everyone for the ride, because (I thought), ‘If I’m gonna make it, I might as well take you with me’.

Can you talk us through some of the issues you were dealing with at the time?

Jae Park: I ended up breaking down in a taxi ride on the way home from a video shoot for the eaJ project, on a song called “Truman”. At first, I felt my body go numb. And then my heart felt like it was going to beat out of my chest. So I said, ‘Oh, panic attack… nice. I’m gonna die’. And this impending feeling of doom and death and finality was just drawing so close. And I started hyperventilating, I was freaking out. I told the taxi (driver), ‘I’m going to need to go to the hospital’. I was almost out of my mind when I reached the hospital; I’d been hyperventilating the whole time. They took me into ER, did all these tests, and told me there was nothing wrong with me. I was like, ‘You’re lying, there’s no way. There’s something physically wrong, I feel like I’m going to die. I can’t breathe’. Turns out I had some pretty severe panic attacks.

“(I wanted) to find my identity, so I started spinning out track after track; it came almost like word vomit. I was throwing up all this emotional baggage I had (built) up over the years” – Jae Park

Oh wow, that’s quite a journey. Especially when you’ve never felt that way before. Your brain is telling you, ‘Oh my God, you’re gonna die’. Sometimes the wires in your brain just get crossed a bit. And there’s not necessarily anything that causes it.

Jae Park: Sometimes there’s no trigger.

A part of your job is to almost seem like you’re perfect, right? Because people idolise you. And when you have these little cracks in the armour, it’s seen as a weakness. Could you talk about how you turned this thing that could be perceived as a weakness into something good, with From Friends?

Jae Park: This actually segues perfectly into what I wanted to talk about. That’s why it’s called ‘From Friends’. The mission statement is (about) extending a helping hand to whomever, wherever there’s a need. It’s very personal and it’s from a friend. Friends are people who tell you, ‘Hey, you don’t look like you’re doing well’, or, ‘Hey, you seem a little bit off’.

I thought this was something that was going to positively affect people. When the car incident happened, I thought, ‘Damn, if only someone had told me that a panic attack can make you feel like you’re about to die, that it usually comes with impending feelings of death and doom, and you start breathing really fast’. If I’d known those things, which I’m sure that 90 per cent of celebrities have gone through, I wouldn’t have freaked out as hard as I did. And I feel like that day carved a couple of scars in me that aren’t going to be healed in the near future.

What kind of reactions did you receive after the launch?

Jae Park: I definitely received a lot of positive reactions. And it’s incredibly rewarding to be a part of this. To be completely honest, in a big corporation (the idol group Jae belongs to, Day6, is part of South Korean multinational conglomerate JYP Entertainment, which has represented some of the biggest acts in the industry), it’s not the easiest to be able to start projects like this. It’s one hand to the next hand, and the next. Then it gets rejected, all the way back down and you do it again. It wasn’t easy, but it felt good. Especially when I used to read my DMs, a lot of people were like, ‘Thank you so much, I thought it was just me’. And it’s not just you. Those are the people I want to reach. Those are the people we wanted to educate, and let them know it’s OK not to feel perfect. Your idols try to look perfect because their company told them to look perfect! But I (guarantee) you, they don’t feel perfect.

What are your personal goals for 2021?

Jae Park: So I’ve been doing these unofficial releases on YouTube, and people liked them so I thought I might as well make a video. It was purely for entertainment, just to see how people would react. And I think I had a really positive reaction and I feel like I’ve garnered some of the respect that I wanted when starting the project. I’m planning an official release sometime soon.

I think my next venture is (for) my number one (job), Day6. We’re always working on an album. I’m, like, 99 per cent sure we have a solid album for you this year.

We’ve talked about mental health, your solo projects, and Day6. Is there anything else about yourself you think the world doesn’t know, that this ‘idol’ world doesn’t capture authentically?

Jae Park: I feel like I’m pretty damn transparent, especially these days, after the ‘incident’. I’ve probably shared every opinion that I have online somewhere; they’re always a little bit controversial. I’m known as a bit of a problem child these days in the K-pop realm. Something the world doesn’t know about me? I’m not sure if there’s anything. Everyone knows I’m a dumbass and I make mistakes; I am a hypocrite (who contradicts) what I’ve said the week before, because I feel different a week later. I’m just me, I’m just a human being, and that’s just how it is.

©️DAZED Magazine

[thewickeddevil]

A Study In Jean Moreau

(tw: mentions of Jean's past, violence, mental health and suicidal thoughts/intention to die. let me know if there's something else)

ok, so, i say all the time that Jean Moreau is my favorite and comfort character in All For The Game (i know. it literally hurts but also brings me joy sometimes) and i would literally kill for that man. so, that said, i think too much about him and, consequently, i have too many hcs about him. on request, i will now do what i'm gonna call A Study In Jean Moreau

(my beta reader and best friend helped me a lot with this. thanks @jostenrun)

i'll start with this quote from one of my kerejean fics (https://archiveofourown.org/works/26146540)

During Jean's first four months at USC and playing with the Trojans, he would always ignore Jeremy and put a frown on his face whenever he was in the same place as him. It obviously wasn't the best of strategies to put distance between himself and all the Jeremy glow, but it looked exactly bad enough to work.

Still, Jeremy was all pompous and charming looks at him, always smiling and being polite even though he received much less in return. It pissed the shit out of Jean.

He was used by the Ravens for many years, treated exactly like the exchange item he had been, just possession and obliged to follow lines and lines of rules too strict even for how he should breathe.

Riko was violent, the Ravens were cruel, the Moriyama family was wrong and he needed to repeat this to himself on a daily basis to be able to just keep going.

Back at the beginning of those days, many times he would fight back until he was taught that it was only worse. Many times he would beg until he realized that it encouraged Riko more than it prevented him. Many times he would cry until he was taught that it was wrong.

He would often bleed.

He would often wish to bleed until there was nothing left in his veins, no thoughts in his brain, no air in his lungs, no words on the tip of his tongue—

And he would often try to do just that on his own.

That was his daily life for a long time. Evermore was what he knew, the Moriyama family was who he belonged to and all of that was for what he served. That was it.

How was he supposed to know back then that suddenly overly nice twenty-eight other people would replace all of that with magnificence?

How was he supposed to know that they wouldn't look at him with disgust whenever he accidentally let a curse in French slip away?

How was he supposed to know that the Trojans had complete freedom within the team, instead of having to walk in pairs like the Ravens?

How was he supposed to know that Jeremy wasn't going to hit him whenever he made a mistake?

Or how would he know that Jeremy never considered anything that he made a mistake?

It was all a very big break from reality and so, so suddenly. Jean felt confused at first. Lost, wrong, out of place, stupid and scared.

And Jeremy was always determined to be the best he could be. Jeremy was safe.

Until Jean felt comfortable, confident, fine, and satisfied. He was someone instead of something and he really felt like that.

i think Jean would take years to relearn how to live instead of surviving. sometimes he would fail at that, but so many failures can only lead to success eventually.

he really didn't want to keep playing exy after everything, he doesn't think exy is good at all and trauma made him hate it, but he needs it because of the deal with Ichirou. fortunately, the Trojans are a team big enough to put him in the background for a while, to give him a little rest. but he knows he can't relax too much

he starts therapy. he needs it badly and it takes time for him to really be able to do it, but Jean was never anything but strong, and when he sees the chance to finally heal he knows that, despite how tired he is, despite how many times he wonders if it's worth it to keep going, he needs to grab that and at least try. just one more time. he never wanted to work for anything in his life because nothing was important before, but now he thinks that maybe things are changing

the Trojans get a dorm exclusively for him at first, because they don't want Jean to force himself to share space with someone he doesn't know and still doesn't trust. they want Jean to have his own space and feel safe before anything. he needs that solitude and he knows that it doesn't mean loneliness because his team will always be just a call away from him

he relapses sometimes. days without taking basic care of himself and without getting up from bed, and he no longer remembers whether he’s alive or not. sometimes he's able to call his therapist when that happens, but sometimes he isn't

this is how he gets into the habit of learning poetry. and eventually, writing poetry. he needs a coping mechanism and words seem to be safe enough to float around in his mind and make space in his core

(French poetry that Kevin always dissects for him and tells about the history behind the period in which those texts were written, or about the authors of each text)

the process is slow but it’s progress nonetheless

so, we know about therapy, about not being easy, about difficulties and things happening slowly during the healing process, now let's talk about the little details when things finally start to work out positively. when the best part of Jean's life finally begins

he finds out that his eyesight isn't bad only because of the beatings he took in the nest, and finds it ridiculous when Jeremy offers to help him buy glasses because, according to him, all the glasses Jean likes make him look like a middle-aged man that curses people for fun. Jean doesn't hate it though

Jean learns how to swim and likes it more than he thought he would. he likes the fluidity and movements of the liquid around his skin, how he cuts the water with his body when moving around and how it doesn't hurt him, and he just feels light

Jean likes nutella and chocolate with nuts, because Jeremy used to give it to him after nightmares or difficult days, and it became a comfort food for him (something he wasn’t even allowed to eat in the nest)

Jean's musical taste is a big mess of R&B, soul, pop art, folk, dark pop... he likes artists like Lorde, Aurora, Marina, Sigrid, Sleeping at last and the list goes on

Before he left France, Jean's family had a farm and he was responsible for harvesting fruits and vegetables there. this is one of the last memories he has about France, so he likes to harvest fruits and vegetables whenever he has the chance in the US

Jean loves to read fantasy books. he is a hufflepuff and part of cabin 6 in camp half-blood (children of Athena)

he likes geography. pedology, topography and weather are his favorites. he likes to look at the sky and know how to name climatic phenomena regardless of where in the world he is

(he also likes history and sociology, but only because he can hear Kevin and Jeremy — respectively — talking for hours and hours about those two subjects)

he hates biology

he absolutely hates croissants, tea and coffee. in the morning he always drinks juice or chocolate milk (the latter is Jeremy's fault)

the first time he willingly got wasted on alcohol, he, Sarah and Laila woke Jeremy up in the wee hours of the night while singing in Spanish (Jean barely knows Spanish). he passed out after that and woke up the next day in his room. his first thought was that he was fine even though he lost control of himself around other people, and he cried because of that. Jeremy was concerned because he thought he was crying from a headache or something related to a hangover

Jean can never find shoes his size in conventional stores because he's very big (fucking tall, muscular but not too much, with large shoulders and hips, and eventually a tummy) and, consequently, his feet are also big. he needs to have it personalized and he completely hates it

he loves dogs but is easily scared by them. he couldn't get out of the dorms for almost an entire day after Jeremy's mom's dog barked too loud and it scared Jean. he felt guilty and didn't want people to be mad at him for being so scared of a simple dog

he loves cats though, and after some time into therapy, he adopted a service cat. Kevin and Jeremy always joke about it looking like a replica of Jean himself

Jean doesn't understand the purpose of MMA competitions, because he doesn't like violence and thinks martial arts should be only for self-defense, so he doesn't really understand why people choose to compete over something so aggressive

he also doesn't like the violence in exy, but he forgives because, at least, violence is not the main goal of the sport, but to score points

he learns to draw and starts to open art commissions on the internet. this is his first job and he's proud of it because it was something he achieved by himself

Jean and Jeremy fell in love on the beach

Kevin and Jean take time to forgive each other, especially Jean. the broken heart Kevin left in Jean hurt more than being abandoned by his parents. he suffered from it for years but he didn't really want to blame Kevin. he also knew Riko, after all. he knew how capable of driving someone insane Riko was. it didn't make things easier or less painful though. Kevin and Jean took time, but they never loved each other less

Kevin and Jean fell in love for the second time (the time they could, the time they were allowed) after one of the matches in which their teams were rivals

Jean is very picky for food consistency, and he hates ketchup and mayonnaise for that. he insists all the time that if people knew how to season the food well, they wouldn't need those condiments

(he secretly loves Dijon Mustard though)

Jean was born on 08/31. he’s a virgo

plushies are the first resource that Jean uses when he feels alone but is unable to be around anyone at the moment, so he unconsciously starts making a collection of them. they're all small, except for two that Kevin and Jeremy gave him and are, respectively, a fox and a red and gold trojan. he eventually distributes his plushies to children in local orphanages but keeps those two to himself out of sheer emotional attachment

he doesn't stop suffering because of his trauma throughout his life, but he learns to deal with it. that's the point of everything. he never thinks he will magically forget or get over it, but now he is in a different place in his life and he can start working his way to be the best version of himself he can. he doesn't fool himself into thinking it will be easy and fast, he never thought it would be less difficult than it really was, but he takes things slowly and carefully and hopes it works

his entire healing process is too complex and extensive to explain everything here, but i did the best i could and now i really need to stop because i could stay here ranting for days. xx

[bonjour-rainycity]

Double Heart | Chapter Four ~ Cosima

|previous part|

Pairing: Haldir x OFC

Rating: PG

Word count: 4887

Warnings: None

**Read on Ao3 under the user “bonjour_rainycity” if you prefer!**

A/n Thanks for all your interactions with this story! In honor of all the writing I got done for the World Wide Write-a-thon, here’s a bonus chapter :) 

Translations: Mellon = friend

Haldir wasn’t kidding. In order to make up for the time spent with Alex, he pushes us hard. That, combined with the unfamiliar gait of Rumil’s horse, leaves me sore and aching by the time we finally stop well after dark.

Rumil helps me to the ground, giving me an apologetic look. “Sorry.”

I wave off his concerns, starting my stretching routine. “S’alright. I’ll probably get used to the all-day riding the second we get to Imladris.”

At this, he cracks a smile. “If you want to wash in the river, better go now. I’ll take dinner to Alex.”

I shouldn’t leave Alex alone. But my body aches and is covered in dirt, and a part of me just isn’t ready to face him. I need to take a moment for myself, away from everyone else, to process and think about what all this means. So I skirt around the hill that marks camp and head to the riverbank.

I undress and wade into the river, stopping when the cool water comes to my shoulders. Baranor had supplied me with an extra bar of soap and I use that to cleanse my body and hair of the dirt that attached itself to me during the day. At the top of the hill that overlooks the river, I catch sight of Alex, sitting isolated near the pile of bags that indicate our spot of camp. I purse my lips.

What does his presence mean?

I had been quite convinced that this world is in my head, that I’m concocting some elaborate, possibly lucid, dream and that I would wake up any minute. Or, perhaps, that I had hit my head like Baranor suggested and am now in some sort of coma. But now Alex is here. The memories I have of him clearly show that he’s important to me. I can recall a long line of birthday parties, study breaks, summer camping trips spent staring up at the sky. I remember him comforting me after a bad day, us getting into arguments and then making up, me cheering him on at some sort of competition. But when I try to look at the other faces there, to zero in on any one and pull up memories of them, all I get is a vague blur and a splitting headache. I give up the fruitless effort and turn my thoughts back to Alex.

Alex, who I know I know, is just as real to me as Haldir or Baranor. And each man here acts in a way that I wouldn’t expect — if I created them, wouldn’t they act as I would? I am not stoic like Haldir or silly like Rumil. I don’t posses Baranor’s healing knowledge or Orophin’s attention to detail. And just the sheer vastness of this world…there’s no way I could imagine it all. Even now, we follow a path of which I have no knowledge, so how could I have dreamed up that path?

The ache behind my eyes deepens.

This is too much.

This world feels real. The people feel real. My budding friendships with them feel real—just as real as my friendship with Alex.

I groan, flipping on my back to float.

And I lose the ability to breathe. Because these constellations aren’t the ones I remember. They dance in unfamiliar patterns across the inky black sky, distant and watchful as always, but completely unknown to me.

I love the stars. I love them in a way that causes my heart to ache, that sometimes makes me weep. Night after night I sought them out, charting them by telescopes and my naked eye. I know my constellations like I know the back of my hand—I studied and tracked them relentlessly.

I wouldn’t have replaced my stars.

I release a shaky breath.

A cold dread creeps through my bones, turning the water frigid. Everything suddenly seems more predatory, more dangerous, from the tall grass on the bank to the trees far in the distance….Even the men I travel with.

For one, wild moment, I entertain the idea that they are exactly who they say they are — elves from some unknown realm. Elves, not men. Elves who have pointed ears and wear intricate braids and walk with a grace I could never hope to imitate. Elves who can see far into the distance, hear every comment I make under my breath, ride for hours without tiring, and draw their weapons in less than a second, using reflexes that far outmatch mine.

Elves who inhabit a world that has a foreign set of stars.

The water that brushes against my neck feels suffocating. Gasping, I swim to shore, pulling myself onto the riverbank. It takes me multiple tries to redress, and I realize that my hands are shaking—I am shaking. I collapse into the grass, drawing in heaving breaths. This is too much, this is too much, this is too much!

“Cosima.”

My name comes from over the hill.

It’s Haldir’s voice.

In the beats of silence that follow, all I can hear is my wavering breath.

He calls my name again, closer this time.

I squeeze my eyes tightly shut, concentrating on the sound of his voice. Solid, assured, stable. Everything I do not feel. My breath begins to even out. My shaking subsides. The sound of grass crunching underfoot reaches my ears, and I stand just in time to meet Haldir’s approach.

He settles his weight on his back foot to balance on the slope of the hill, giving me a stern look. “We lost sight of you.”

I stiffen, pulling back from him. “Were you watching me bathe?”

His eyes blow wide. “N-no! Of course not, I-I would not presume to—” I’ve never seen him look so out of sorts. The tips of his—pointed—ears burn red and his eyes dart wildly around looking anywhere but at me.

The sight is so at odds with what I know about him that I can’t help it.

I burst into laughter.

It’s a little hysterical, and maybe I’m crying a bit, but it feels so good to laugh. Haldir lets out a noise that sounds suspiciously like a sigh of relief, and chuckles hesitantly. It rumbles deep in his chest, sounding almost warm. I wipe the tears from my eyes, shaking my head slowly. As the laughter subsides, I study him, taking in everything that marks him as clearly not human.

He feels real.

I pull my gaze from his braids and instead settle on his ice blue eyes. They stare evenly into mine, perhaps studying me too. A wind blows over the river, reminding me just how much I long for my mat and blanket. The fatigue once again makes itself known—much worse after my panic on the riverbank. I shift on my feet, gesturing up the hill. “I think I’m overly tired.”

Haldir inclines his head in acknowledgment, clasping his hands professionally behind his back. “Understandable, given the day you’ve had. I will escort you back.”

I trudge up the hill, concentrating extra hard to not slip in the mud and ruin the bath I just had, Haldir not far behind. We reach the top of the hill and make our way to where the bags are laid out as well as dinner rations distributed.

Alex sits by himself.

He raises his head, his smile of greeting turning to a scowl the moment Haldir crests the hill behind me. He looks past me, addressing Haldir only. “What were you doing with her down there?”

I feel Haldir bristle and once again hurry to de-escalate. “It’s fine, Alex. He only came to get me because I was gone for a while.”

He shrugs, the action seeming jerky and unnatural. “I could have gone to get you.”

I turn and give Haldir a look of apology. I honestly don’t know why Alex doesn’t like him, they haven’t even had a proper conversation. Haldir watches Alex intently, his own mouth set into a hard line. Then, saying nothing, he stalks forward, leaving us alone.

I groan, bringing a hand to my forehead. “They’re not going to hurt me. They’re not going to hurt you, either.”

Alex shakes his head resolutely. “I don’t trust them.”

“You haven’t given them a chance!”

My words—louder than they’d needed to be—ring through the countryside, destroying the peaceful silence.

I sigh, berating myself for once again treating him too harshly. He’s owed the time he needs to adjust. Tentatively, I take a seat across from him. “I’m sorry. I know it’s a lot to take in. It took me a little while to get comfortable with them, too, you’ll—”

“No, Cosima,” he groans, cutting me off. “There is no ‘getting used to them’, there’s no ‘learning to trust them’. They’re delusional. They’re dangerous. We can’t let our guard down and get caught up in that. We have to focus on finding a way home.”

I rest my chin on my hands, feeling overwhelmed and exhausted. Something in his sentence reminds me of the conversation I had with myself in the river. Maybe he’s been thinking along similar lines. “Alex, if you’re talking about getting home, then you believe this place is real.”

He squints, raising an eyebrow. “Of course it’s real. There’s no way we’re both making it up. We’re probably in the plains of Africa or-or maybe somewhere in Europe, I don’t really know. The point is, these guys are lying to us. They’re trying to keep us confused and isolated. We need to stay sharp and look for an opportunity to escape.”

“Escape,” I breathe, definitely not wanting the others to hear our conversation. “Have you seen the land we’re traveling? With no supplies, no horses, no maps—we wouldn’t last two days.” Never mind the fact that just a few days ago, I was considering escape, myself.

“We’ll steal supplies then.” He shrugs, passion alighting his eyes. “It doesn’t matter—we’ll figure it out. In the meantime, learn as much about these guys and the landscape as you can and stop letting them try to convince you that they’re a fictional species. I’ll work on taking supplies. Then, when we have enough, we’ll leave.”

I shake my head slowly. Something about leaving, about separating myself from the group and striking out on our own feels wrong. Every survival instinct I have screams at me to stay put, to not abandon the safety net I found by chance. And a voice in the back of my head reminds me that if I’m seeing different stars…if I am under a different sky…well, then maybe there is no going home. I try to reason with him. “They haven’t tried to hurt us yet. They’ve given us their food, their water, allowed us to ride their horses. They’re helping us!”

He rolls his eyes, clearly about to interrupt.

“Just—go along with it until we reach Imladris,” I beg, holding up my hands to silence him. “Then at least we’ll have seen more of the landscape and will know what we’re dealing with. Maybe there will be supplies in the city that we can take, or even someone with knowledge of how to get back to America.”

He grits his teeth. “You need to stop playing into their lies.”

The two of us stare at each other, equally unwilling to back down.

Rumil appears at the top of the hill, smiling broadly. Either he’s oblivious to our argument or trying to diffuse it. He sets a bedroll at my feet. “For you.”

I look between the mat and Rumil, feeling quite guilty. There are only four bedrolls between the six of us now, and I’ve slept soundly on one for every night of my journey. I don’t deserve that…especially now that I’m thinking of robbing and abandoning them. My stomach churns. “Thanks, but I’m fine on the grass. I don’t want to keep taking your stuff.” I wince. Did that sound too suspicious? Could he know my thoughts?

Rumil only winks and plops onto the ground next to me. “Nonsense. It’s Orophin’s anyway.”

I sputter, the laughter escaping me without any real thought. It just feels so natural to be comfortable with Rumil, the others too. So what if they think they’re elves?

So what if they are elves?

Alex’s foot digs into mine, and my laughter dies. His words return to haunt me. They’re delusional…stop playing into their lies….

Haldir joins us. He sits across from Rumil, completing the small circle, saying nothing. He takes out a knife and what looks like a small rock and begins to sharpen the blade.

It’s clear Rumil doesn’t care for silence and he quickly tries to strike up a conversation. “Obviously you know each other now, but Cosima, you couldn’t remember Alex before today. Has anything changed? Do you remember something more?”

I feel each of their eyes on me and I search through the vague remnants of my memory. “I…didn’t know I knew Alex, true. But the minute I saw him, the memories came rushing back—not everything, of course, but I got more context into who he is and who we are to each other. But no, nothing more than that.”

Rumil raises an eyebrow, intrigued. “And who is he?”

“Her friend since childhood,” Alex cuts in smoothly, responding before I can.

Images of two children running down a paved road, cutting up paper and gluing it to popsicle sticks, trying to hit each other with foam swords, race through my mind.

“We…lived down the street from each other,” I recall, smiling as the memories take firmer hold. “I used to go to your house after school and your sister would watch us until our parents got home.”

“We went to prom together.” He gives a short laugh, fondness softening his guarded eyes. “Only because we couldn’t find anyone to go with either of us.”

“It was better that way,” I declare, the start of a smile twitching at my lips. “Who else would have ditched halfway through with me to get snacks and watch a movie?”

He shakes his head slowly, fondness giving way to nostalgia. “I had fun that night.”

“Me too.”

Look at all these memories you have together. See how long you’ve trusted him? How long he’s stuck by your side? Maybe you owe it to him to trust him now.

“That was good.” I whip around, startled to see Baranor leaning against a tall tree, clutching his healer’s bag. I had assumed he was on watch with Orophin. He makes his way over to us. “Perhaps the more you talk about it, the more you will remember.”

I shrug, heart rate slowing down after the scare. “Hopefully. Right now, it seems like my mind’s gone completely blank. I only have the memories I described. Anything beyond is just that—out of reach.”

“Be kind to yourself. Any progress is admirable.” He smiles, walking to the middle of our circle and crouching in front of Alex. “I’d like to take a look at your head and address any injuries you acquired in your time traveling alone.”

Alex hesitates, then rolls up the end of his right legging to reveal a dirty red and brown gash.

“Alex,” I gasp, recoiling from the wound. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

He shrugs, wincing slightly when Baranor prods at the edge of the cut. “There were more important things to deal with.”

I roll my eyes as a new set of memories—annoying me more than giving me hope—come to mind. “You always tried to be tougher than everyone else.”

He grins, then grimaces slightly when Baranor starts the cleaning process. Despite that, he retains a playfulness in his tone that’s welcome after our arguments. “True. Way tougher than you! That time you fell out of the tree—gosh, we could hear you shouting for miles.”

That memory flashes forward, too. “I was seven and it hurt!” I defend, crossing my arms indignantly.

Alex quirks a teasing eyebrow. “And did you ever climb a tree again?”

I sniff, turning my head to the sky to avoid seeing the blood weeping from the wound. “I can’t remember.”

“Well, you didn’t,” he snarks.

“Must be why you’re afraid of heights,” Rumil muses, reclining on the grass to watch the stars. Stars that I’m not making up. “You’re going to hate Caras Galadon.”

I turn my head in his direction. “Why?”

Mischief shines brightly in Rumil’s eyes. “The city is built into the trees.”

I gulp, wondering how on Earth I’m going to visit a city that’s built so high up, but then Alex catches my eye, and I understand.

We will not be going to Lothlórien.

{***}

The morning greets us with a cloudy sunrise and a harsh breeze.

Haldir eyes the sky warily. “Secure your supplies as best as you can We are in for a storm today.”

I grimace. It’s not that thunderstorms scare me, but from what I’ve learned about Haldir in our few short days together, I have a feeling he’ll require that we keep riding, no matter the weather conditions. Today probably isn’t going to be fun. A particularly gusty wind blows my cloak from my shoulders and I huff, yanking it back into place.

“Here.” I look up to see Haldir offering me a green and silver clip in the shape of a leaf. I eye it in confusion. “It will keep your cloak secured,” he explains, pointing to his own that clasps at the base of his neck.

“Oh,” I take it from him, slightly stunned at the kind gesture. “Thank you.”

He nods once then pivots on his heel and marches back to his horse a few yards ahead. I turn the clip in my hands, admiring its craftsmanship.

“That will come in handy today,” Rumil notes, bringing his horse up the hill to meet me.

I smile in greeting, securing the edges of my cloak with the clip. “Hey, I was thinking. Would you show me how to tack up the horse? That way I can help with that while you do some of your other tasks.”

He nods, agreeing to my proposal, and launches into a surprisingly in-depth description of how to properly care for and prepare a horse for a day of hard riding. I take in as much as I can but, knowing me, I’ll need some repetition and practice before it truly sticks. When Haldir gives the order to leave, Rumil gives me a leg up. But, much to my confusion, he settles himself behind me on the horse, rather than in front.

“What—“

He reaches around me to take the reins and place them in my hands, which have already clenched into fists. “You are not the only one who has good ideas. Today, I teach you how to ride. Do try your best and please don’t steer us into the river.”

I groan at the truth behind his joke but take the reins in my hands, knowing that its a good idea for me to learn. Riding skill will help when Alex and I are on our own.

Haldir doesn’t turn from his watch of the horizon, but he raises his voice loud enough for us to hear. “Do not slow us down, Cosima.” And, though his voice holds the same seriousness it always does, I swear I can hear the smallest hint of amusement.

{***}

By late morning, it starts to rain. The droplets are cold and big, taking away any warmth spring has to offer. Not long after, it begins to pour and the path turns to mud. Rumil switches places with me then, wanting a more experienced rider directing the horse through the worsening conditions. The rain soaks through my cloak, my tunic, my leggings. I shiver. Looking over, I see that Alex is equally uncomfortable and sits rigidly on the back of Baranor’s horse, using one arm to grip his cloak tighter around him. The others seem inconvenienced, but otherwise unaffected. They do not shiver, nor obsessively wipe the rain from their eyes. They certainly don’t react to cold rain like humans.

About an hour later, the storm really starts, the rain having apparently only been an introduction. Flashes and booms fill the air, loud enough for me to feel the vibrations in my chest. The wind howls and blows fiercely, causing the horses to bend against it to keep their pace. Water falls from the sky in sheets, completely obscuring my line of vision and soaking us all to the bone. With a note of panic, I realize that the river is steadily creeping up the bank, mingling with the mud that has become our path.

I shout over the rain. “Rumil!” Tugging on his arm, I point to the rising water, and he uses his knees to spur the horse forward. We pull up beside Haldir, who greets us with a questioning gaze.

“The path is in danger of flooding,” Rumil informs him, gesturing his head to the water mere inches from the horses’ hooves. A crease appears in Haldir’s brow and he glances around, working to form a plan.

To my surprise, he addresses me rather than Rumil. “Can you and Alexander continue in this weather? Is your health in danger if we do not seek shelter?”

Oh, I want to stop so badly. I want to find shelter, to let my clothes dry, to have a break from being pelted by icy droplets of rain. I want a snack and a blanket and perhaps a warm fire, if that’s not too much to ask.

But Haldir is appealing to my honesty, trusting me to give him an accurate answer. He is showing me the same respect he gives to his brothers, to Baranor, and I cannot take advantage of that trust. So, with a sigh, I shake my head. “No, we’ll be fine. We can keep going.”

Haldir nods once, a tendency of his, and raises his voice to be heard by all over the rain. “Leave the path and go uphill. We ride over the plains.”

I shudder. The planes are exposed. We will lose what little cover from the rain that the trees provide. But I push aside my dread and steel myself for the rest of  journey. I can do this.

Hopefully, the rain will stop by nightfall.

{***}

Mercifully, it does. An hour before we stop for the night, the rain dies down, taking the wind and lighting with it.

Rumil has to practically peel me off the horse. He looks me over, eyes widening in alarm, and wraps me in his arms. “Mellon, you are shaking.” I lean into his warmth, though his clothes are as soaked as mine are.

Haldir dismounts and stomps over, giving me a withering glare. He speaks sharply, a bite to his words. “You said you would be fine.”

“And I meant it,” I snap back, annoyed from discomfort and the venom in his voice. “I just need to dry off and warm up, is all.”

He holds his glare steady, probably assessing the honesty in my statement. Or just trying to intimidate me. Finally, he nods, still angry, but resigned. “Baranor is starting a fire. You and Alexander shed your cloaks and sleep as close to it as you can.”

“Don’t you need me too-”

He cuts me off. “We will take care of the preparations for the night. You rest.”

When I make a noise of agreement to his plan, Haldir walks away, taking Rumil’s horse with him. With a final, worried smile, Rumil pushes me in the direction of the small fire, walking the opposite way to follow his brother.

I practically collapse on my bedroll next to the fire.

Across the flames, Alex sets me with an indecipherable look. “That was a long day.”

I huff in agreement, unable to do much more now that my body realizes how drained it is.

A pause. Then, “Do you think we’ll reach Imladris soon?”

I squeeze my eyes shut, wanting desperately to sink into sleep. Instead, I force myself to do some mental math. “Based on the timeline Orophin gave me, we’re probably about eight days away. Though, I don’t know how much the storm set us back. Why?”

He flops on his mat, pulling a probably damp blanket up to his chin. “Just trying to figure out how much more of this awful traveling we have ahead of us.”

I want to roll my eyes, but, before I can, sleep takes me.

{***}

When I open my eyes, it’s still dark out.

The fire has mostly died, though it retains a soft orange glow that gives me enough light to see the faces of my soundly sleeping companions. Alex has not moved from his spot across the fire, but to my right and left are Rumil and Baranor, the four of us forming a circle around the weakening flames. Haldir and Orophin must be standing watch.

I sit up slowly, trying to avoid making noise that could wake my friends. I press my hand against my cloak that is laid next to the fire—still a bit damp. It will need until morning. Twisting slightly to stretch my aching body, I notice the small bundle next to my mat, and curiously pull back the cloth. Inside the makeshift pouch sits a serving of lembas bread and a handful of red berries. I smile, pulling the dinner into my lap.

While I eat, I let my eyes scan the rolling hills of the plains. I’ve noticed that Haldir relaxes camp when we’re surrounded by trees, but in the plains, he sets a double watch. Looking at the landscape, I suppose I understand. The dips and peaks provide good cover—not just for us, but for anyone wishing to do us harm. There are plenty of hills around us of equal height, meaning the advantage of having the high ground is pretty much nonexistant. And, tonight especially, the landscape is encapsulated in a thick fog, obscuring much from my eyesight. But elves have much better vision, I reassure myself. Haldir and Orophin will be able to see just fine.

I hold my breath.

They are not elves. They are men, just like any other.

It seems I have to remind myself of that more lately. It seems too easy, given the differences between us, to accept their story. But as Alex says, they have to be playing some sort of trick on us. But why? Out of malevolence?

Immediately, I recoil from that thought. My companions seem much too kind, much too genuine to be liars. Even Haldir, who defaults to being standoffish and cold, has never made me feel like I’m in danger. In fact, he actively keeps us all from it. Even now, I’m sure he’d much rather be asleep, warming by the fire, but he and his brother brave the elements, keeping themselves awake and uncomfortable to ensure our safety.

How can people like that be liars?

How can they be bad?

Boots squelch against the mud and I look over my shoulder. Haldir walks up the hill, coming back from watch. Upon noticing me staring at him, he raises an eyebrow and comes to crouch between my mat and what’s left of the fire. He holds up his hands, warming them. “Can’t sleep?”

I shrug, fiddling with the edge of the cloth that holds my dinner. “Don’t know why, I’m tired enough. How was watch?”

He smiles softly as he glances around, still seeming to subconsciously take note of his surroundings. “Foggy, but quiet. We probably don’t need two, but I feel better that way, given all the hills.”

I offer him the remainder of my bread and berries, which he accepts with a nod of thanks. “Are we in danger?”

He pauses, chewing a berry. He doesn’t look at me and seems to take the time to choose his words very carefully. “The risks are lessened here.”

“Which means the worst is ahead of us,” I guess.

His eyes leave the horizon and turn to bore into mine. “The four of us are well-skilled in battle and have made this journey a hundred times before.”

I raise an eyebrow. “You didn’t answer my question.”

He only raises his own eyebrow to match mine, popping another berry into his mouth. He stands, brushes his hands off and returns the bundle to me. “I must wake Rumil and Baranor so Orophin can come back. You should try to sleep.”

I nod, my full belly and the warmth from the fire lulling me back into tiredness. I lay down on the mat and tuck my head into the crook of my arm just in time to see Haldir rouse his youngest brother and take his spot on the mat. Rumil gives me a sleepy smile before waking Baranor and the two head off together, presumably to relieve Orophin and take over watch.

Haldir settles on his mat and notices my gaze over the hill. “Goodnight,” he says pointedly, then rolls onto his back.

“Goodnight,” I mumble, falling back into sleep.

A/n Thanks for reading! Likes, comments, and reblogs make my day :) Let me know if you would like a tag! And if you’re having trouble being tagged, try subscribing on Ao3! That will notify you automatically when I post there. 

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[marvelettesassemble]

A long time (Sirius x Reader)

Summary: It did take a while for you and Sirius to find your way to each other – and then you lost him when he was landing himself in Azkaban. But will you find each other again?

Warnings: blood, injuries and a bit of screaming

Word Count: ~ 4.700

Being best friends with the Marauders came with good and bad things.

You started to get really close to them when you figured out their little secret. They thought they were so clever, but if you looked closer and if you put together the signs it wasn’t really hard to figure out. Remus Lupin was a werewolf. How else would you explain his look every full moon? Him becoming restless before it and exhausted afterwards?

Sirius Black, James Potter and Peter Pettigrew were also strange when the full moon was near. They fussed about Remus, became somehow protective of him and especially the first two started picking more fights than usual. It wasn’t also pretty hard to figure out that three of them planned to become animagi, especially when they carried a mandrake leaf under their tongue for a month.  

That is if you really paid attention. And you did. Not because you wanted to get their attention, but because you were worried about Remus and were impressed what his friends were willing to do for him. You liked Remus, because he never failed to help you when he noticed you were struggling. And he always wished you a good day when he walked past you in the mornings. Or he just shoved the coffee in front of you, when the pot in front of you was already empty. He had soon noticed, that you despised tea.

And because all of that you noticed that the lot of them looked more ruffled than ever. You decided to help in your own way. You read about healing spells and how to make potions to help with their injuries. After the next full moon, you waited in the common room. You noticed that the portrait opened and were sure you heard something, but couldn’t see anyone.  

“I know you’re there,” you said and hoped it would do the trick. Nothing. “I know why you sneak out every full moon.” Again. Nothing. Okay, maybe that did nothing to reassure them that you wouldn’t rat them out. “I have some ointments for your injuries and am pretty good with healing spells.” Still nothing and them finally the head of Peter appeared.

“Could you have a look at my arm?” he asked.

“Peter,” Sirius and James hissed at the same time. But the damage was done and so they got rid of their invisible cloak while you patted the seat next to you on the couch. Peter plopped down and showed you a gash on his arm.

“Why are you doing this?” James asked suspicious.

“Because I like Remus and I want to help,” you said simply. That didn’t ease their minds but they let you patch them up and soon it became a habit when they went out on their nightly walk. Slowly a friendship started to form when they realized you wouldn’t rat them out.  

James greeted you when he sat down in front of you and Sirius stole a piece of toast from you before he took the seat next to you. “We may need your help,” he said with his mouth full of toast.

You made a noise that you heard him and he should continue while you were chewing your eggs.

“You know that we have problems running into teachers and prefects for a while, right? So, we thought we could create a map,” James said.

“A map of what?” you asked and took a sip of your drink.

“Hogwarts of course,” James said.

“We’re going to put a spell on it, so we can see where someone is at that moment. So, we can get faster to Moony.”

“Sure, that’s the only reason you want this. Okay, but what should I do?”

“We want you to draw it for us. You have way more talent. Come on, please?” James tried to bribe you. “For Moony.”

“Okay, but I need some time. I have to write that essay for Professor Binns and my homework for potions and there’s the Hogsmeade trip on Saturday.” Finally you agreed to help them Saturday afternoon after your trip to the town.

Somehow you knew that you’d regret that decision. You walked into the common room, your cheeks still red and your thoughts were somewhere else, when you heard your name.

“How was the date?” James wriggled his eyebrows.

“Well, the astronomy tower isn’t that creative,” Sirius gave his input. You stopped.  

“How the hell did you know?” you walked closer to them and saw that James tried to hide a suspicious looking paper under his charms book. Remus didn’t look up from his homework and Peter tried to suppress his giggle.

“YOU ARE UNBELIEVABLE!” you exploded. “HOW DARE YOU?”

The boys looked shocked at you and Peter stopped his laughing. You had never used that tone with them.

“Give me that,” you grabbed the Marauders Map from James book.  

“Hey,” he protested.

“I helped you to help Remus.” You lowered your voice. It wasn’t as if you want to expose your friend although you were angry. “I didn’t expect you to stalk me and I’m so disgusted by you. How dare you to betray my trust like that? I don’t want to see any of you right now.”

“But, but... the map?” you heard Peter behind you.

“You get it back when you need it,” you yelled and stormed towards your room. You had a nice evening, but now it was all ruined. There were tears in your eyes because you were so angry and the boys had seen them.

The next morning you saw the four boys sitting at the Gryffindor table when you entered the Great Hall. You walked past them and ignored their greetings.  

You sat down almost at the other side, but it didn’t take long for a hand with a coffee to appear in front of you.

“You don’t get it back,” you said and grabbed your own cup to fill it with coffee.

“You can’t keep it forever, we need it,” you heard Sirius voice.

“And when you need it, you’ll get it.” You said simply and took a sip of your drink. It was too hot and you burned your tongue, but you didn’t make a face and acted as if nothing had happened.

When you didn’t add anything and started to pile some food on your plate, he left you alone after he placed the cup in front of you. They tried a few times to get the map from you, but you didn’t give in.

However, on the night of the next full moon you sat in the common room in front of the fire, the map in front of you. When you saw the guys you gave it to them and simply said “Take care”, before they left the room under the invisible cloak.

You waited for them to return just like always. But it took them much longer to arrive than usual. And when they walked into the room without the cloak on you realized why. They had problems bringing Sirius in. They couldn’t bring him to the infirmary – what should they say? We became illegal animagi so we could help our werewolf friend shift?

That Remus was a werewolf was no secret so he could go to the infirmary and were escorted to the common room, but his friends? They were at your mercy.

“What happened?” you asked. You tried to wake yourself faster and even slapped yourself in the face. Your next thought did the trick. “You’re not bitten, are you?”

“No, it was an accident. He ran into my antlers,” James said and let his friend down. He aimed for the sofa but instead Sirius sat in front of it.  

“Okay, okay. Let me see,” you said. “I’m going to undress you, yeah?” you said. When you didn’t even get a sassy reply you started to worry. “Are you still with us?” you fumbled with his jacket but his Pullover started to get a bigger problem as it was also in the wound.

“Wouldn’t miss this for the world,” you heard him and relief flooded you.

You turned towards the other boys. “I need some time to clean this. The others will wake up soon, can we move him to your dorm?” The three of you somehow managed it and Peter went back to get the evidence of the accident.

“Okay, okay. I don’t even know where to begin,” you talked to yourself. James started to say something, but you shushed him. And then you got to work.

It did take a lot of time, so much, that you weren’t even nearly finished when the first lesson started. You stayed with Sirius when James and Peter walked towards class, working on an excuse for the both of you. Remus walked into the dorm when you were still working on his friend. He looked like death, but he was startled when he noticed Sirius condition.  

He asked how he could help you and when you finally finished you were so exhausted that you fell asleep sitting on the floor with your head on Sirius bed.  

You woke up, when someone shook your shoulder and called your name. “We brought you something to eat,” you heard James voice. “And you need to get up, this can’t be comfortable. Sit down on my bed.”

You agreed and walked slowly towards the bed he had pointed at and took a bite of the offered sandwich. “I’m really beat. I don’t think I’ll make it to my dorm, would it bother you much, if I sleep here?”

James told you you were free to use his bed and you didn’t even finish the sandwich before you passed out again – sandwich still in your hand.

“Hey, do you want to sit with us?” Sirius asked the next day when you walked into the great hall.

“No, thank you. I think I’ll sit with the girls today,” you replied. “I also need to copy yesterday's notes.” You walked further towards your dorm mates when Peter came and sat down next to the boys.

“Sirius, the newest gossip is about you,” he started. Sirius made a noise that told him he was listening but was not really interested. He’d heard a lifetime of gossip about himself.

“It’s about you and her,” he pointed towards you with his head as his hands were busy with the food, “and why both of you weren’t in class yesterday.”

“Seems like McCallan doesn’t like it also, he’s shooting daggers at you with his eyes.” James piped in.

“He’s the guy she dates, right?” Peter asked.

“Sirius, don’t,” Remus simply said.

“What?” Sirius started.

“You know what” Remus finished.

Sirius smirked and stood up. He walked towards you and put his arms around your shoulder from behind so his face was at your ear. “Can I get those notes from you?” he asked.

“Why don’t you ask James? He doesn’t need to copy them first,” you asked not surprised.

“Because nobody can read what he writes. Come on, give me yours,” he nudged your shoulder before he grabbed your cup and took a sip from it. He noticed that the girls you were sitting with stared at him.

“Okay, fine. You’ll get it tonight.” He thanked you and gave you a light kiss on your hair before he disappeared again.

“What was that about?” Marlene asked.

“What?”

“His behaviour around you? I thought you said there wasn’t anything going on between the two of you?” she asked further.

“There isn’t. Sirius is a big flirt; he does that always. And I’m not the only one on the receiving end, so it doesn’t really bother me.” You shrugged.

“Well, I know at least one person who is bothered,” Lily said and looked right at the guy that James had also mentioned. You turned around and waved, but received just a glare.

“Sirius is just a friend,” you said again.

Not everyone believed you. A few days later McCallan and you decided you wouldn’t see each other anymore. He was bothered by your friends and told you you shouldn’t see them anymore. You didn’t want to hear any of that. Even if you wanted that how should you pull that off? You were in the same house. And you didn’t want to do that. If someone didn’t trust you then what’s the point?

“It's not easy being friends with you,” you sighed when you sat down on the couch in the common room.

“Oh, we know. But why exactly?” James asked.

“Because every guy has a problem with me being friends with you guys.” You threw your arms theatrically in the air.

“There is an easy solution, you know?” Sirius said and looked up from the game in front of him. “Date one of us. We can actually stand each other.”

“Yeah, right.” You scoffed. “But I need to ask you something else. Can someone help me with Defence Against Dark Arts? I really need your help. I swear I couldn’t save myself if my life depends on it.”

“That’s why everybody has different talents. But we’ll help you. Tell us what you struggle with,” James offered while Sirius looked back at the game played with Peter and Remus.

“Okay, what’s up with Sirius?” you asked finally when you sat down next to James in the classroom.

“What?” he asked confused and turned to look at you, after he suddenly closed his book so you couldn’t see what he has written in there.

“I asked what’s wrong with Sirius. He doesn’t act like himself.”

“He likes you,” he said as if it were as simple like that. “I’m surprised you haven’t noticed before. Didn’t it struck you as strange, that whenever you interacted with someone interested in you, he was near and touched you in some kind of way.”

“I thought he was still acting like this because of that map,” you said confused.

“Sometimes you’re a helpless case,” James patted your head while he laughed in your face.

You thought about James words the whole day. But it was James who had said something like that and what if this was some sort of a prank? If you had to be sure you needed a second opinion and you were sure that Remus would be honest with you.

“Hey Remus, can I talk to you?” you asked him when all of you left the table in the Great Hall. He nodded and the others looked curious at you while you stayed behind.

“Does Sirius like me?” you asked when the others were out of the hearing range.

“Why are you asking?” He wasn’t sure what he should answer.

“Does he? I asked James why Sirius acted weird and he told me he liked me. But I don’t want to make a fool out of myself in case this was a prank, so I’m asking you. Does Sirius like me?”

Remus nodded. You let out your breath slowly. You hadn’t thought so far and what you’d do with that information.

“You don’t have to act on it. Think about it and see where it leads you,” Remus suggested and that was what you did. Sirius and you didn’t become a couple overnight. You started touching here and there – an arm thrown over your shoulder, your knees touching when you sat next to each other and finally you’d take his hand when you were walking to the same class. You didn’t really talk about it; it seemed natural that one night he kissed you goodnight before he went to his dorm and from then on it was sealed that the two of you were together.

Dark. That would be the best word to describe Grimmauld Place 12. It was dark and depressing. You were astonished that Sirius had managed to live her as long as he did.

After you rang the bell you heard screaming and shouting from the inside. The door was opened and you were greeted with a wand almost in your nose. You looked surprised at your old school friend Remus Lupin, just a bit older and more beaten up. Behind him someone screamed blood traitors.

“What happened the first time you tried to heal me?” Remus voice was darker than you remembered.

“You had cut your hand in herbology and hadn’t told anyone about it. I thought I was a genius for making Murtlap essence but had used the wrong ingredient and you had to go to the infirmary because your hand started to get purple and there were blisters between your fingers.”

Suddenly the wand disappeared from your nose and a smile showed on Remus face. “Come in, come in,” he ushered you inside and closed the door quickly behind you. The noise was almost deafening when you were inside. Remus closed some curtains in front of the painting and when you heard the words only muffled you realised that the woman in the portrait screamed them.

Remus threw an arm around your shoulder and led you to the kitchen. You were greeted with more eyes than you had anticipated and one of them caught your eye. “Lily,” left your lips before you could think about. “I’m so sorry, this must be so weird, but your eyes.”

“No, it’s okay. I hear it a lot actually,” Harry said. Remus didn’t need to point out who he was. You had recognised him at once even if you hadn’t seen him since he was one.  

“I’m really sorry, that we haven’t been there for you. Really sorry.” He didn’t say anything. It wasn’t okay. Remus introduced you to the others: Weasleys over Weasleys, Harrys school friends and Sirius cousin Nymphodora (who told you she would hex you, if you called her that).

“It’s so good to see you again,” you looked at Remus when everyone sat down. Molly offered tea, but someone interrupted that you only liked coffee. Your eyes went immediately to the door. There he stood – Sirius. You couldn’t say anything. You had imagined what you’d say to him, but now no words would come out.

“Well it’s a long time since we have seen each other, huh?”

It was suddenly so quiet you could’ve heard a needle drop. You weren’t sure if they knew about you, but the tension was filling the room. That was until you exploded. “That is the first thing you say to me after all this time? You couldn’t think of something dumber?”

“Well,” he started slowly, but you weren’t done yet.

“You weren’t the only one who lost someone. Remus and I lost our friends too. We lost all our friends, not just Lily and James. But you couldn’t have thought about us, have you? If you had thought about Harry for a moment.”

“I THOUGHT ABOUT HARRY. HE WASN’T SAFE WITH PETER STILL OUT THERE,” Sirius interrupted.

“HE COULD HAVE BEEN SAFE WITH US! Look where it got you. Twelve years of Azkaban and you would still be there. What did you think? That I’d welcome you back with open arms after you left us?”

“Well, isn’t it nice? You’re all reunited, well almost all,” you heard the voice of Severus Snape. Snape would have been the next one who would have gotten an earful of you if Remus hadn’t put his arms in front of you. “Calm down,” he whispered.

“Would everyone who isn’t in the order leave now, so we can start the meeting?”

“Stupid asshole,” you muttered, but Ron heard you and snickered. You left the room with the younger ones and didn’t look at Sirius as you walked past him. They signed you that you should be quiet when you walked past the portrait.

When you were upstairs all of you took place in an unused living room. You sat down on the couch and dust came out of the cushion. “Cosy,” you joked.

“You aren’t in the Order?” Hermione asked when nobody knew how to start the conversation.

“No, I never was. I never had a knack for defending let alone attacking, although I had really good friends who tried to teach me. But it never really worked. I was sitting at home waiting for everybody to come back and to tend those injuries.” You shrugged.

“But the Order isn’t only about fighting,” the young witch continued.

“That’s true. But we figured it was better when I didn’t know some things. So, I stayed back, first alone and then I looked after Harry.” You smiled at the boy.

“Were you good friends with my parents?” he asked.

You nodded. “We went to school together. Your mom lived in my dorm and I befriended the boys. When we graduated, we stuck together. Your mom and dad moved in together, got married and had you. Remus, Sirius and I moved in together while Peter still stayed with his parents.”

You talked about an hour with the kids. “Were you and Sirius close?” Harry asked finally the question he had wanted to ask for a while..

Before you could answer a voice from the doorway answered for you. “We were in love.” You looked up to see Sirius standing there and you hadn’t imagined the pain you were feeling in that moment when you looked in his eyes.

“I need to go,” you said suddenly and you weren’t able to sit there any longer.

“We need to talk,” Sirius grabbed your arm and his touch startled you.

“We do, but not right now. I didn’t know what I expected when I followed Remus invitation. I’ll come back tomorrow and we talk, okay?” He nodded and reluctantly let go of your arm. You smiled at Harry before you walked out of the dark house and made your way home.

Remus put his hands on his friends' shoulder. “I told you she wouldn’t make it easy on you.”

“But it used to be so easy between us,” Sirius sighed. He didn’t expect you to look like you did and he was a bit insecure how he looked. He knew he didn’t look like he used to. Living on the streets and caves had left its marks on him.  

“Dinner will be ready soon,” Remus announced to the young witches and wizards, squeezed his friends' shoulder and made his way back downstairs.

A tiny owl was sitting on your window sill. You probably hadn’t heard it as it was raining so much. Swiftly you opened the window to let it in. You got an old towel and a piece of bread, spread the towel on your table and put bread crumbs in the middle before you sat the owl down and freed her from the letter it had carried.

You sat back down and opened the letter. You recognized the handwriting immediately.  

Darling,

Can you believe that I’m writing a letter to you? As if you were a distant family member? We could always talk about everything. I remember that I used to sit down next to you, laid my head on your shoulder and when you started to put your hands through my hair, I started to spill my secrets and worries. Or later when I’d join you in bed and you put your head on my stomach and I’d put my arms around you, just to feel that you’re still by my side?

You know that I’m selfish and it kills me to think if you’ve found someone else. Do you lay with them now? I don’t know if I should be happy or not. Because I shouldn’t wish for you to be alone and miserable all those years and still, I have that hope that you might have waited for me.

You were right, it wasn’t fair of me to leave you behind. But no one knew we switched the secret keeper. How was I supposed to know that Peter was the little snitch? Would you have believed me when I told you? I don’t think so. But to be honest I was filled by this rage. I had to make it right and not once did I thought that I would end up in prison.  

You know of all the things James had done for me. He took me in, he was like a brother and I needed to take revenge. Of course, I should have thought more about Harry. But I thought I put him in good hands. Honestly, I thought they would bring him to you and Remus. And all those times I thought you’d raise him.

I’m so sorry for burdening you with everything I did. I know I promised you other things. And when I saw you today, I couldn’t help myself to see everything that I could have had. We would have been married by now, we would have raised Harry like our own son and maybe we could have even one of our own. You know that I never saw myself like that, but when Harry entered the world all I know that if I would have a family it would only be with you.

I know it has been a long time, but when I saw you, I felt the same as the last time I saw you. I had this huge longing and it hurt me to see your hurt. I wish I could have taken it away.

But it doesn’t matter what I want, the only thing I can (and will) ask of you is that you don’t shut Harry out – even if you can’t stand to see me. He has to stay here for the break but if you want to see him without seeing me, just say so and I will stay out of your sight.

Yours forever,

Sirius

The next day you stood in front of that dark house. You weren’t sure if you should ring the doorbell or if it was better to not wake that awful portrait. The little owl in your hand took matters into its own wings as it wiggled until you set it free and it flew up to a window and started picking it with its beak. It took a while until you saw Harrys wild hair and it took a while for him to notice you.

It didn’t take him long to reach the front door and he opened it in his pyjamas. “I’m sorry I have woken you,” you smiled sheepishly at him. To be honest you couldn’t wait to see Sirius again. “How about I make you breakfast as a peace offering?”

He nodded and quietly the two of you walked into the kitchen. “He really misses you; you know?” he said suddenly when you were busy mixing ingredients in a bowl.

“I know,” you admitted. “I don’t want to offend you, but this is something Sirius and I have to figure out on our own, okay?” you turned around and looked at him to show him you weren’t angry at him. It didn’t take long for others to appear in the kitchen and Mrs Weasley was surprised and couldn’t really handle that anyone else was doing the breakfast so she took over step by step until you sat down next to Harry.

Sirius stepped into the kitchen and stopped in his tracks when he spotted you laughing with Harry.

“Won’t you sit down?” you pointed towards the empty chair next to you. He nodded and walked slowly towards you, almost as if he was afraid, he would frighten you and you’d jump and run.

You still made light conversation with Harry while sneaking a glance at Sirius here and there. Every time you were looking at him, he was staring at you. “Okay, so would you like to talk to me privately?” you asked him quietly.

“I’d do many things to you in private, but talking is okay for now,” he answered in your ear and your loud laugh startled the others in the room.

“You’ll never change,” you stood up and left the kitchen with him.

“Do you want me to change?” he asked and boldly took your hand to guide you into the direction of his bedroom.

“Never,” you admitted. It wasn’t everything settled between you and you still were angry at him, but in this moment, you knew that you’d get over it. You had missed his touch and his hand in yours, your fingers intertwining was the best you had felt in a long time.

Masterlist

[lilypixels]

...............all of them.....?

It took me an hr to do this....🥲💀

1. coffee mugs, teacups, wine glasses, water bottles, or soda cans?

Teacupsss

2. chocolate bars or lollipops?

Lollipops

3. bubblegum or cotton candy?

Uhhh cotton candy

4. how did your elementary school teachers describe you?

Probably quiet and smart lol I did my school work and was friendly with everyone so I was a favorite and heard all the nice things 🙈

5. do you prefer to drink soda from soda cans, soda bottles, plastic cups or glass cups?

I kinda like bottles more but like the glass ones with the caps that could slice your fingers-

6. pastel, boho, tomboy, preppy, goth, grunge, formal or sportswear?

I’m for all but sports lol

7. earbuds or headphones?

Earbuds

8. movies or tv shows?

Shows cause I’m the type to watch an hr long episode vs hr long movie idk why but I’m rarely in mood for them

12. name of your favorite playlist?

Drop the beat (ie songs that are upbeat and I like most)

13. lanyard or key ring?

Hmm...I guess lanyard?

14. favorite non-chocolate candy?

Skittles or twizzlers

15. favorite book you read as a school assignment?

I had lots I had to read in school but only ever finished a handful lol my favorite I think was maybe Macbeth? I would say Odyssey but I don’t think we read the full thing cause I remember being disappointed about something like that...

16. most comfortable position to sit in?

Sitting with my legs bent up in seat with me in some way

17. most frequently worn pair of shoes?

Converse and some nice but cheap sneakers from Walmart

18. ideal weather?

Not too hot, not too cold, mild like before/after a rain (most the time), idc if it’s raining or sunny but as long as temp is comfortable I’m fine

19. sleeping position?

On my side most often

20. preferred place to write (i.e., in a note book, on your laptop, sketchpad, post-it notes, etc.)?

Phone and notebook

21. obsession from childhood?

Oh gosh uhhh I guess my like of dolls maybe? Or obsession with anything ✨unexplained✨ like ghosts, aliens, cryptids, etc

22. role model?

Kim Namjoon lol just kidding (sorta)

23. strange habits?

Ok I know I have some and my friends would be more than happy to point them all out but hm let me think...idk if these count as habits but I’ll never place a mirror facing a bed (this is more superstitious I guess than habit,,,) I can’t stand my food touching, if I have a tray like in cafeteria I have a certain spot for everything and uh my mind just went blank-

24. favorite crystal?

Moonstone, lapis lazuli, and I feel obligated to say garnet cause it’s my birthstone

25. first song you remember hearing?

Circle of Life maybe who knows xD

26. favorite activity to do in warm weather?

Walk or clean,,I’m more active and about with warm/nice weather

27. favorite activity to do in cold weather?

...stay inside where it’s warm

28. five songs to describe you?

Not this again😭 uhhh idk you tell me ajdbd

29. best way to bond with you?

Indulge me when I go off about things I like or learn 😔✊ I know I’ll talk your ear off and I’m sorry but know I don’t often talk about these things with people so once I start it’s hard to stop,,and it makes me really happy when people do listen to me about these things and send me related items every so often or even look into it themselves to learn more 🥺

30. places that you find sacred?

For some reason this feels like a trick question...um cemeteries and anything with ages of history I guess

31. what outfit do you wear to kick ass and take names?

Oof do I really have a true outfit?? I have shoes for this which are just black platform sneakers I call stomping shoes

32. top five favorite vines?

I never,,,watched these,,,

33. most used phrase in your phone?

“Yes”...?

34. advertisements you have stuck in your head?

State Farm and McDonald’s, always

35. average time you fall asleep?

10-11...usually...

36. what is the first meme you remember ever seeing?

Uhhh that one with the ginger dude (I think it was someone’s yearbook photo??) I don’t remember much else about the meme but it was on ifunny, or whatever the app was, a lot

37. suitcase or duffel bag?

Suitcase

38. lemonade or tea?

Easy, tea

39. lemon cake or lemon meringue pie?

...neither

40. weirdest thing to ever happen at your school?

Dude these questions really testing my brain power here- for senior prank someone put cereal in some bathroom sinks I think

41. last person you texted?

My mom

42. jacket pockets or pants pockets?

I’m gonna say jacket since I wear those often

43. hoodie, leather jacket, cardigan, jean jacket or bomber jacket?

Hoodie or cardigan

45. which genre: sci-fi, fantasy or superhero?

Fantasy

46. most comfortable outfit to sleep in?

Usually whatever shirt I’m wearing that day and some pj/lounge pants 🤷

47. favorite type of cheese?

Mozzarella

48. if you were a fruit, what kind would you be?

I-what kind of question is this? How does one even answer this?

49. what saying or quote do you live by?

What comes around goes around lol (yes I’m a heavy believer of karma)

50. what made you laugh the hardest you ever have?

Lol who knows, probably something dumb me and my siblings were doing or something we watched cause there’s been plenty times of that xD

51. current stresses?

Homework vs free time e-e

52. favorite font?

I like the gothic looking ones but it’s usually not practical to use so idk

53. what is the current state of your hands?

My hands...? They’re fine ??

54. what did you learn from your first job?

How to care for babies and little kids, how to put on a diaper lol

56. favorite tradition?

I can’t remember a particular one off hand but I’m trying to start few new ones like decorating cookies for Halloween uwu

57. the three biggest struggles you’ve overcome?

Uhhhhh like personally or...? Cause we’ve overcome homelessness before, um finishing assignments idk😭 oh maybe bullying?? That’s all I can think of since I still struggle with a lot,,

58. four talents you’re proud of having?

Alright let’s do thisss: creativity (mostly in writing sense), I can bake/cook, I have amazing organization skills and many work places have used that lol (bonus is I don’t mind, I actually really enjoy it, very peaceful), surprisingly good balance all things considered, I’m a quick learner

59. if you were a video game character, what would your catchphrase be?

“I’m too tired for this.”

60. if you were a character in an anime, what kind of anime would you want it to be?

Good question good question🤔 I don’t think I’d last in any of them/have a terrible side character role so 💀

61. favorite line you heard from a book/movie/tv show/etc.?

“Life’s too short to hold grudges.”

62. seven characters you relate to?

Dude this is gonna get embarrassing I can feel it🤠

Itaru, Iori, Sogo, Belle, Simeon (obey me), Nozaki (he’s clueless about romance irl and doesn’t know when someone has a crush on him yet can write romance well enough and yeah it’s me lol), and uhh Swindler/Ordinary Person in Akudama Drive (still can’t believe no one really has names in that anime but the way she gets wrapped in everything felt like something that’d happen to me lol)

63. five songs that would play in your club?

Like nightclub...? I’m skipping this ajdbd

64. favorite website from your childhood?

Probably the Barbie site, me and my sister played all the dress up games almost daily istg

65. any permanent scars?

Appendectomy scars and then looks like I have one on a toe but it’s possible it still might heal...

66. favorite flower(s)?

Nightshade, foxglove, baby’s breath, bellflowers, roses

67. good luck charms?

I don’t think I have any...

68. worst flavor of any food or drink you’ve ever tried?

Lemon

69. a fun fact that you don’t know how you learned?

Let me think...I read something once about flowers having ears(?) but like not ear ears just something about having a part that picks up sound waves

70. left or right handed?

Right

71. least favorite pattern?

Lolll animal print I think

72. worst subject?

Physics...the worst science

74. at what pain level out of ten (1 through 10) do you have to be at before you take an advil or ibuprofen?

6...?

75. when did you lose your first tooth?

I don’t remember, it probably happened when i was 6. I do remember losing one of my front teeth during my birthday one year and I was happy since the tooth had been loose for some time xD

76. what’s your favorite potato food (i.e. tater tots, baked potatoes, fries, chips, etc.)?

Chips I guess or just like fried in skillet

77. best plant to grow on a windowsill?

A succulent probably

78. coffee from a gas station or sushi from a grocery store?

Neither ew

79. which looks better, your school id photo or your driver’s license photo?

They are both about equally terrible

80. earth tones or jewel tones?

Earth

81. fireflies or lightning bugs?

Fireflies

82. pc or console?

I am on pc side now

83. writing or drawing?

Writing

84. podcasts or talk radio?

Podcasts I guess

84. barbie or polly pocket?

Barbie

85. fairy tales or mythology?

Mythology, it’s too fun and chaotic lol

86. cookies or cupcakes?

Hm...cupcakes

87. your greatest fear?

Uh,,,I don’t have many fears but I guess one would be falling from a great height? So I would get scared of crossing a bridge and it collapsing or riding a plane and it falling easily

88. your greatest wish?

World peace🥲

89. who would you put before everyone else?

My mom maybe...?

90. luckiest mistake?

I honestly don’t remember but something I do remember is I out semicolon instead of period and turned out to be correct grammar lol

91. boxes or bags?

Boxes

92. lamps, overhead lights, sunlight or fairy lights?

Sunlight or fairy lights, I don’t require much either way and prefer more natural lighting

93. nicknames?

Lassie, twinkle toes, Ash, poody butt (by 3 yr old I sometimes watch and play with lol he means it affectionately; I call him monkey butt and it’s catching on slowly instead)

94. favorite season?

Starting to be fall just a little more but I like transition times most

95. favorite app on your phone?

Let’s go with twitter

96. desktop background?

It is a moriarty and gang pic

97. how many phone numbers do you have memorized?

2: mine and my moms

98. favorite historical era?

Ooo tough one but I’ll say renaissance as some of the coolest things came from that time