#something so 'snatch your lover from beyond the jaws of death'

[mayasaura]

Sincerely love how locked tomb fic has wholeass reinvented the kirk/spock t'hy'la/marriage bond for perfect lyctorhood.

'Parted from me but never parted, never and always touching and touched' is something that can be so 'one flesh one end' when you think about it

[mlmxreader]

Kill The Director | Peter B. Parker x M!reader

request: hey gaymer “Don’t fucking write that down” with Peter B Parker and a male reader perhaps? i am simply. craving the comedy - anon

summary: life isn’t a romantic comedy. 

warnings: swearing 

word count: 963

Seeing you sat on the counter eating out of a cold pizza box, grease stains on your shirt and sauce on the corners of your lips, Peter smiled; you made him feel seasick, made his stomach go wild and his heart refuse to settle, made his palms sweat and his lips curl into a smile that refused to leave until you had long gone and left him alone. Today, it seemed, you had arrived earlier than usual, and had let yourself into the pizza with vegetarian sausage and mushrooms that he had hoped to have saved for later; but if this was seasickness, then Peter never wanted to get off of the boat. It made you distinctive, the fact that his spider-senses would topple over themselves and create chaos in his head the second that he saw you - he usually hated such a thing, but he didn’t mind it so much when it came to you. But Peter knew he would never be able to tell anyone outside of MJ about his feelings; dressed in jogging bottoms and an old hoodie from college that was stained beyond belief, Peter cleared his throat and approached, sitting up on the counter with you and snatching a slice of pizza from your hand. 

“Can I help you, arachnid?”

“You can stop stealing my food, for one,” he said, mouth full and words muffled. He could be so disgusting, but you just rolled your eyes and smiled, shaking your head; he thought that the smiles when you looked away from him were always the best. “Two, I locked the doors - how did you manage to even get in?”

You shrugged, taking the cold and stale slice of pizza back and finishing it off with a smug and triumphant grin. “Never underestimate a man that knows which pyjama bottoms are your favourite.” 

He scoffed, rubbing the back of his neck as he looked around to see if there was a newspaper or a magazine or anything lying around; he needed something to look at, as although he didn’t care for soap operas, he felt very much like he was trapped in an episode of Eastenders - pining for his best friend but knowing he could never say it, knowing he wouldn’t be allowed to have a man like you in his heart, not with the things he was doing; fighting supervillains, dodging death every day just so that he could help the people within his community, just so that he could keep being the friendly neighbourhood Spider-Man. But there was nothing around, so he sighed, and hoped that he wasn’t in some romantic comedy starring Hugh Grant or Gerard Butler. “I’m, uh, I’m gonna guess that you have a day off.” 

“You got it,” you smiled, brushing dough dust on your jeans with a sigh as you tried to savour the way that the cold pizza had tasted. Peter couldn’t take his eyes off of your lips as you spoke, seemingly not noticing. “Y’know, if this were a rom-com, we’d definitely be the friends-to-lovers. I mean, you’re the hunky best friend I’ve known for years, and I’m the useless guy that’s in love with him.” 

It was like a record scratch, Peter freezing up when he heard you saying that, furrowing his brows as he tried to stop his eyes from widening. “You’re in love with who?”

“You’re an idiot,” you chuckled, biting at your lip as you did your best not to look at his lips, not to wish to drown in his kiss. “I love you.” 

He was still frozen, biting at his lip as he looked at your face, eyes scanning your features and trying to commit them to memory in the hopes that they would live on in his mind the way that poetry lived on in literature classes and the way that cave paintings lived on. He cleared his throat, raising his hand and cupping your jaw as he tugged at the inside of his lips, pulling flesh away. “You, uh, you have sauce on your lips…” 

He was about to wipe it away when you leaned in, taking your chance and seizing the moment as you pressed your lips to his; it wasn’t glamorous, it wasn’t the perfect kiss like every single romantic film had shown, but it was a kiss that you yearned to drown in - it wasn’t until he pulled away that you froze up, chuckling nervously as you rubbed the back of your neck, suddenly feeling very hot. 

“I, uh, I’m sorry, I-”

“Don’t be,” Peter smiled, licking his lips. “I didn’t get the sauce off, so, uh, I might have to try again.” 

“Hang on,” you pulled out a small notepad and IKEA pencil from your pocket, but when you went to write it down, he grinned. 

“Don’t fucking write that down.” 

“Why not? It’ll just be a reminder.” 

If life itself was a romantic comedy, Peter wished that someone would have killed the director, as never in all his years did he ever imagine that he would be making up an excuse to kiss you in the form of a lie about pizza sauce, never once did he imagine that his first kiss with you would be one where he was more than out of shape in the game - he would have wished for that director to die. Life was nothing like Bridget Jones, it was nothing like Always Be My Maybe. But, that was all fiction, and what was more important was the fact that you were raiding his fridge and stealing all of his food again.

“(y/n), if you’re gonna be my boyfriend, you’re gonna have to stop eating all my food.” 

“Why?” You chuckled. 

“Because how else are we gonna have film night dates?”

[infernwetrust]

A Little Attention Please [Michael Langdon x Jim Mason x Fem Reader] Pt 1.

Summary: Jim grows tired of Michael working on the holidays and in attempt to get his attention says some pretty truthful, but hurtful words, to which the both of you will now have to suffer. 

Warnings: pre-smut, angst, swearing, mentions of drug use, a little bit o-violence, arguing

WC: 2.5k

A/N: I’m really getting into the Michael x Jim x Y/N universe and I like it. The next thing I put out will be for Hands On, which can be found here. In the light of the upcoming New Year, here ya go! Thank you for reading! 2 part series. -Juno

They were going at it again. You could hear them. Michael and Jim, arguing. And while this wasn't the first of the many arguments between just the two, this one was serious. This one intensified as the constant shouting and the occasional shuffle of noises, which you knew were things either flying around or breaking, only continued to get louder. Jim was beyond fed up with Michael working all the time, but today hit home for the boy. It was New Years Eve. They were suppose to be getting drunk and high together, like Michael promised. They were suppose to be cooking together, all of them, like Michael promised. And if anything pissed Jim off the most, it was just the fact that they were suppose to be spending time together, but they aren't.

Once again, Michael got wrapped up in his cooperative work. He sits at his desk for most of the day, coming out office every now and then to make sure Jim and Y/N were still okay or to grab another Monster and a snack. He reads and replied to a slew of emails and texts from his Mac. He'd have a couple phone calls and a couple FaceTimes with what he called "the esteemed members of the cooperative". This one phone call in particular set Jim off and for a moment you blocked out the intensifying argument coming from Michael's office to replay the events leading up to this in your head.

***

You and Jim sat around the island counter, your hand lovingly rubbing over his thigh as the two of you stared up at the kitchen TV, watching whatever was on, sharing a bowl of popcorn. In the other room you could hear Michael, yet again, taking another phone call, when he was suppose to be out here with you and Jim.

"I mean what else is there to do before midnight?" you heard Michael ask whoever he was speaking to on the phone. "Just work, work, work, and work, you know that."

You could tell that Jim was getting aggravated as his leg now began to bounce against your hand as he tried to remain focused on the show playing in front of him. In an effort to help, you slowly glided your hand across the bulge that formed between his legs a few minutes ago, around the time you started rubbing his thigh. That was a huge turn on Jim had that you recently discovered. Anything dealing with his thighs, Jim was hard as a rock. Rubbing, biting, scratching, kissing, licking, you name it.

"Oh. Jim and Y/N are in the kitchen. I hear them in there watching Big Bang Theory." Michael said as he continued his conversation. "Ahhhh. They'll be fine for a few more hours. They know how important my work is. Doesn't matter as long as I'm in there before midnight, right?" Upon hearing those words, Jim slammed his hands down on the table, getting up, eyes red from his own intoxication with marijuana.

"Jim please don't." you whispered, grabbing his hand.

"Please don't?" he whispered back, raising his eyebrows at you. "Please don't?! I'm so sick of this Y/N."

"I know, baby." you said, standing up to face him, holding onto his hand. "But you also know Michael's role and what he has to do."

"I don't give a fuck about Michael's role right now. We gave him Christmas. We gave him Thanksgiving. We gave him his favorite, fucking Halloween and the one time we ask him to please be fully present on a holiday, what is he doing?" You fell silent, knowing that Jim was right. "Answer me, Y/N. What is he doing?"

"Talking it up with his cooperative 'bitches'." you replied. That's what Jim liked to call them and Michael often found it amusing, not knowing Jim's angry connotation behind it.

"Exactly." Jim said. "So let me go."

Michael walked in the kitchen, still on the phone, and glanced between the two of you, giving both of you a wink before grabbing a water from the fridge and making his way back to his office, causing Jim to snatch his hand from you, trailing shortly behind.

"No holidays off. Ever. Not even birthdays." Michael said. "I know I can't even rem-,"

Michael's conversation was cut short by Jim, who grabbed his phone from his ear and chucked it against the wall with all his strength, watching as it shattered to pieces. Michael quickly turned around, eyes black as the night sky before quickly realizing it was Jim who appeared in front of him.

"Jim..." he spoke, his voice soft, but also laced with a little bit of anger. You decided that you wouldn't follow Jim into Michael's office because when things got bad between the both of them, it got real bad. "Do you want to explain to me why you just did that? I was in the middle of an important call."

"Why does it matter Mr. Big Shot Anti-Christ?" Jim spat. "You work so fucking much that you have all the money in the world to by a new one right? People at your disposal 24/7 and on call for you, right, Mr. Langdon?"

"Jim what are you getting at?"

"And what do Y/N and I get again on another holiday, nothing." Michael sighed, sitting on the edge of his desk and folding his arms across his chest. He assumed that this was just another one of Jim's little outbursts, so he was going to let him finish. "A couple of kisses and a quick fuck, isn't doing it for me anymore Michael." Jim paused, turning around to look at Michael's giant flat screen that occupied the wall directly in front of his desk. What appeared on it, made Jim's blood boil even more. More often than not, on days that he was especially busy and especially missing his babies, he kept a slide show on of pictures and random videos of the 3. This slide show just happened to be his private album of the 3. Pictures ranged from his nudes, Jim's nudes, your nudes, to the pictures he took during the many sexual adventures the three of you would go on.

"Oh so this is how you get your rocks off instead of spending time with us, huh?" Jim asked, glaring at Michael. "Because why have the real thing when I can just stare at the pictures all day?" Michael chuckled, running his hands through his long blonde hair, his eyes never leaving Jim's. "I'm glad you think this is fucking funny." And without warning, Jim grabbed Michael's PlayStation controller and threw it at the TV.

"Jim what the fuck is the issue?!" Michael asked, starting to get angry. "Breaking things isn't going to solve anything!"

"You Michael. You are the fucking issue! The cooperative is the fucking issue!"

"Jim Jam you know I have to work! I'm not just some regular fucking CEO. Im the-,"

"Fucking anti-Christ. Yeah, tell me something I don't fucking know. So far that's all you've been rather than a lover to me and Y/N. One holiday. That's all we both asked of you and where are you Michael? In here. Again! It's fucking 8PM and we haven't even started cooking because we've been waiting on your ass all day!"

"I don't know how many times I have to explain to you how important it is that I have all these files together and quickly."

"And that's what you have a second in command for. Tell them to fucking handle it! You don't have to over see everything 24/7, Michael! We exist too. We want your attention too. We worship the ground you walk on too, but you know what they don't do?!"

"Jim, don't start-,"

"They don't love you like we do Michael. They follow your fucking DEAD BEAT father, Michael. Not you! Last time I heard, it was Hail Satan not Hail Satan's son."

"I suggest you watch your mouth, Jim Mason."

"Or what?" Jim asked, stepping closer to Michael. "You do all this work to impress your daddy, but where is he? I'm gonna recreate the world in my father's image, but where has father been throughout all of this?"

"He's doing his best!"

"His best? Oh fuck me, Michael. His best?! He left you in the middle of the woods to DIE at one point Michael! He ignores you on days ends, only giving you maybe an answer when he sees fit. And your cooperative bitches? Satan probably doesn't answer them either so of course they're following in your fucking foot steps. Who's the next best person when we can't reach the devil himself? His son."

"Stop." Michael said, sternly, jaw clenched.

"Yet here Y/N and I are, loving you for more than the fact that you're just the anti-Christ and we find ourselves constantly at the bottom because everything is sooooooo important. Fuck you, Michael. I love you, but fuck you. And if it came down to it, since no one really wants to put it in your head, your father would have no problem watching you die."

"I'll snap your neck." Michael said, grabbing Jim by his throat and giving it a squeeze.

"Did you ever really stop to think about it?" Jim questioned. "He's selfish, Michael. There can only be one Satan and if it means watching you suffer and struggle to find answers, then of course he's going to turn a blind eye to his precious boy. And his precious boy, so eager for every one in the world, not just his significant others, to suck him off, is willing to work himself to death for an answer he'll never be able to find." Jim was pushing all the right buttons and he knew it. If he couldn't pull Michael out of his work nicely, dark Jim was going to do it.

***

"Cooperative this! Cooperative that!" Jim yelled, storming out of Michael's office with Michael's MacBook in his hand, causing you to get immediately snap your head up.

"Jim, I swear, if you fucking-," Michael said, trailing behind him.

"You'll what, Michael?!" Jim questioned, abruptly stopping to turn around and face him. "You'll snap my neck? Set me ablaze? Do it then. At least that's some form of attention." And again without warning, Jim smashed Michael's computer, screen open, face down, on the coffee table, right in front of you, causing you to flinch and yelp.

"Jim!" you shouted, but Michael stood perfectly  still. And you remembered, vividly, what happened the last time Michael stood perfectly still. You quickly hopped up to your feet, grabbing Jim by his arm and yanking him towards the back door. "Come on, Jim."

"I'm not running from him." Jim said, stiffening his body so you couldn't pull him away any further.

"No, Jim, seriously. We need to step outside. I know he's not saying it, but I've seen this before and we need to give him some space. Now."

"I think he's had enough space from us."

"Jim can you put your anger to the side for one minute and just listen. I know you're upset and you have every right to be, but please, let's just go outside and give Mike some space."

"Whatever." Jim sighed, softening up and letting you pull him away, but before you could even get the door open, Michael used his powers to lock all of them, cocking his head to the side.

"Shit..." you mumbled to yourself. Why did Jim have to be so angry? Why did Jim have to get himself riled up and then go get Michael riled up? How did you always end up in the middle of it?

"Attention." Michael spoke, shifting his stance. "That's what you wanted right? Some attention?" He looked at the both of you, annoyed that he wasn't answered right away. He glared at Jim. "Answer me!"

Both you and Jim still remained silent, knowing that if you gave Michael the wrong answer, he'd snap. But what you both failed to remember is that Michael above all, hates not being answered at all. With the snap of his fingers, both you and Jim were tied up to a dining chair, stripped of most of your clothing.

"Okay my little brats. Since no one wants to give me answer." Jim went to move his lips to say something, but Michael, with the use of his powers, kept him silent. Michael squatted down, taking his blade from his back pocket, gently rubbing it along Jim's skin causing Jim to shiver. Michael could see the fear in both of your eyes. He could smell it more than anything and boy did that give him a rush.

"What's wrong, Jim?" he asked, chuckling. "Satan's son got your tongue? Baby boy, if you wanted me to fuck you so bad, all you had to do was ask. I mean the answer would of been no, considering how terribly you've been behaving, but damn Jim, breaking my shit? Oof. That's an all new low for you. And now look, hmmm? I'm gonna have to break you, starting with that precious little mouth of yours. I could smell your horniness the moment I walked into the kitchen and hear the frustration as I listened to your thoughts."

"Oh and my lovely little Y/N." Michael continued, his sexy, sadistic gaze now falling onto you. "You thought you would get off free, didn't you? Mmmm, no baby, I could hear your thoughts too and feel your frustration. And I guess daddy is so sorry that he's been neglectful of his pups, but what daddy is not sorry for, is working to ensure that the correct people make it to this new world."

"Nonetheless, daddy is done working now, I suppose, since you know, his stuff was broken, so now he has no other choice, but to dish out some attention, yes?" Michael looked at his watch that now read 9:30PM. No, that's not the longest argument him and Jim ever had. In fact the longest argument was between the 3 of you, lasting 4 hours in total. "Wow and only 9:30? This is going to be so much fun." You and Jim shuffled around nervously, but aroused in your seats.

"You see. I'm going to spend the next 2 and a half hours and so on and so forth, ruining the both of you. And if you cum once, if you make a noise louder than the volume I set the TV, I'll be sure that the both of you regret it going into the New Year." Michael stood back up, his hard on, on full display for both you and Jim, turning on the dining room TV to whatever station they would be broadcasting the dropping of the ball tonight.

"We'll start with Y/N, since she's been somewhat decent tonight." Michael beamed.

And all for a little attention.

Taglist: @jimmason @angelicmichael @whatcodysaid

[blazed-memories]

Rambo Continued

@slystallone

Sorry my mind went out during out chat. I wrote 14 pages in two days.

AN ACT OF KINDNESS

The car ride is dead silent. Her nerves are getting to her and Rambo both senses and sees it. Knuckle-tight grip on her left hand, she squeezes and squeezes, having numbed out her right-hand minutes ago. Rambo silently peels his right calloused hand from the steering wheel and takes her right hand and squeezes. Hoping to help.

“Police come. I can put a gun to your head, you are my hostage. No harm, no foul.”

She gasps. “I am NOT leaving you!!”

“This is too much for you.” Rambo states coolly.

She exhales heavily, shoulders slumping. Unfortunately, she untangles their hands to run her hand through her hair. Rambo looks at her from the corner of her eye. The streetlights highlight her high-cheekbones and sweet feminine face.

Prettier than he remembered.

Strong as he remembered though.

There is an innocence to her and her face that he is desperate to hold onto, to protect.

“John. I am staying with you.”

“….”

“John!”

Rambo looks fully at her now, and sees the same determination as before.

Rambo’s jaw tightens. “Fine. Address?”

She rambles off some address that she is not even sure is correct. Her blood runs cold when she hears the mocking whining battle-cry of the police sirens. Rambo’s hand returns and squeezes harder than before. Smoothly, he pulls into the driveway of the home and begins to move.

She watches as he goes to the back of the car and covers the duffel bags of weapons with her old sweater. He even unbuckles her seatbelt when he gets to her and pulls her to her feet. She thaws at his touch and guides him inside.

Again, a heavy silence breathes between them.

Was she doing the right thing?

“They attacked you first?” She asks.

“They drew first blood.” Rambo replies sternly. “I will shower. As I do that, you gather whatever you would need. Take your social security card and birth certificate. I will burn them. Take whatever else you need; we will be gone in ten minutes.”

“You need to eat.” She states, her words simple, yet threaded with a concern Rambo only heard from his mother as a child. A shield over his heart inches free, and he swears his heart is beating harder.

The sweet earnestness of her voice is something to remember.

“Quick.” Rambo whispers lowly.

Rambo suddenly closes the gap between them and shifts to press his lips tenderly to her right cheek. The harsh stubble warms and scratches her cheek, while the warmth rolling off of his body is intoxicating. Whatever doubts she harbored have been successfully slaughtered by Rambo.

The scent of gun-smoke, sweat, blood and adrenaline suffocate her, while she drowns in the unending kindness of his eyes. She tilts her head to the side and places her hand on the side of his face, slipping her fingers down to his granite jawline. She traces it with a practiced ease, as if they have been lovers for years.

His brown eyes soften further, reminding her of the melted chocolate she gave him for winning a board game.

Gathering her courage, she gets on her tip-toes to press her lips gingerly to his, bracing her hands on his massive muscular shoulders. Kindly, Rambo kneels down slightly to meet her and kiss her back. Their chaste and pure kiss leaves her heart pounding fiercely and unforgivably, as if damning her to recognize her desires.

Rambo’s tighten jaw doesn’t show her that he feels the same, if not more. She is suffocating and he is being stabbed to death.

This is not normal.

“Bath.” Rambo utters in a growl, then steps into the bathroom to his right.

With him gone, and her mind split in half, if he likes her, if he doesn’t, she decides to make sandwiches with cartoon proportions. After that is done, she is off to her bedroom, gathering her social security card and birth certificate, then clothing and money. She forces all of her doubt away, but finds tears in her eyes at the prospect that Rambo doesn’t want her.

She is doing this for HIM, what then, if does not want her? What is the point?

There is no time for her to break into pieces. Rambo appears in the doorway, lightly damp and with a towel wrapped around his waist. A bleeding cut on his shoulder grabs her attention, along with the bruises up and down his neck. There is a cut on his left forearm as well that she stares at.

“Sorry. No clothes.”

She nods, then steps into her closet and pulls out a pastel-colored paper bag.

“Everything in there is for a man.”

“Who?”

“My ex. I kept it… not sure why. Mind as well take it with us.”

Rambo nods stoically and politely returns to the bathroom. A minute crawls by as she triplet-checks her bag and Rambo returns in black pants, new black socks and steel-toed boots. She did not remember buying the boots until she saw him in them.

Rambo remains shirtless for help with his wounds. Her eyes roam the massive expanse of his chest, the stacked and tense muscles of his barrel-chest and thick toned arms and biceps. Not a single hair is to be found on his chest. Rambo appears as if he would not bleed when cut, as if no bullet could rip through him mercilessly. She hopes desperately that he is bulletproof, that he is as strong and stone-like as he appears. He quietly takes a seat on the edge of her bed and faces her.

When she sits in front of him, the exhaustion carved into his eyes and face stun her. He looks like all he wants to do is rest for a year. She didn’t remember the first-aid kit she had taken out and placed on her bed, but is grateful for her planning.

She drenches a white rag in alcohol and presses it to the cut on his shoulder. He doesn’t hiss. The blood automatically seeps into the rag, and she frowns.

“It’s okay.” Rambo whispers.

She nods again, deciding to focus on him. Taking a new white rag and drenching it again, she moves to his forearm. His teeth clink together from the pain.

“It’s okay.” She whispers to him.

Rambo gives her a forced small smile. He shifts and she sees a gap on his right side, something he had burned shut. The skin is tender to even look at, purple and bloodied. She grits her teeth on his behalf. Almost ridiculously, she drowns the white rag in alcohol and looks at Rambo for approval.

He nods, slight apprehension in his eyes.

Swallowing harshly, she presses the rag to his wound and he groans animalistically. If his mouth wasn’t welded shut, she would see the white of his teeth bared in agony. After five seconds, she pulls away and examines the rag, now pink.

“…. John,” she breathes sadly. “I…I have to do it again.”

Rambo visibly swallows, sweat breaking out on his tan face, but nods nonetheless.

She wants to encourage him, tell him something, but a wailing siren invokes fear in her. She presses the rag after another alcohol bath and devastatingly watches as Rambo squirms and grimaces in pain.

“Enough!” Rambo hisses after she let it sit for ten seconds.

She jumps away from him, not out of fear but regret. He tears through the first-aid kit for a bandage.

Rambo pulls free a white sterile sticky bandage. Rambo is absolutely at the end of his rope. An emptiness enters his eyes, and she sees it is defeat. He is exhausted and drained beyond her understanding.

“John, we can do it. There is no other option, okay?”

“…never had any.”

“Well, then we are used to this, aren’t we?” She tries to remain optimistic, but the more she thinks of this, the worse her mind spirals.

John’s eyes meet hers thoughtfully and she can’t help but blush. She is thankful for this dark room, and finds herself hoping the Green Berets didn’t teach him how to see in the dark. She can only see his eyes because of the moonlight.

Rambo shifts a bit so she can reach his side. He had cauterized it with something hot, so all of it should be closed? Thankfully, yes. Her fingers graze the wound and she shivers at the tenderness of his flesh. The heat and blood bubbling beneath the surface sadden her.

“Go by instinct.”

“I will do my best, John.”

“Thank you.”

She wishes she could close her eyes and had time, but she nothing seemed in her favor, just the muscle-bound outlaw was on her side. She was on his. Always. She frees the bandage and places it lightly on his side.

Out of the corner of her eye, she sees his hand fly up and land in his mouth. He bites down with a hot groan.

“I am sorry!” She exclaims as he shakes his head.

“Stay quiet!” Rambo urges lowly as adrenaline violently rushes through her. The sirens wail, closer now. They are maybe two blocks away…

The prospect of the police sobers them both up. He takes another bandage and finishes the job, placing it down on his wound, still gritting his teeth. He moves rapidly now, as if he is not wounded. Rambo shrugs into a dark brown button-down shirt. She moves and quickly fasten his buttons, wishing she could enjoy the false domesticity of this.

Perhaps in another world she is his wife, and they met up after the war, and simply want to rush to bed to ravage one another, but have some mundane party to go to first.

No.

The smell of a flame alerts her. He takes a zippo lighter to her birth certificate and social security card, then flushes the remains in the bathroom toilet with ease.

“Got everythin’ you need?”

“Yes.”

He nods, takes her hand and goes to the kitchen. The sandwiches are taken and stacked into his hands. She moves with him, taking napkins then deciding to take a roll of paper towels. He rummages through her utensil drawer and takes a collection of cutleries. He is not done; he even snatches some medicine from the cabinet above them.

“John…”

“Stay here.” Rambo whispers softly, looking down at her. The gentleness in his eyes reminds her of a lost puppy. “Don’t want you in this. You have done enough for me.”

She hardly feels when he leans down to press his lip to her temple, an act of purity. She takes both his hands in hers, a show of strength. She squeezes both tightly.

“You know my damn answer, John. We run.” Her voice shakes with her, and tears fill her eyes. “Damn it, John! I waited for you, forever! Please!”

His stone jaw jumps as he stares down at her. One final glance around at this lived in home, the smell of clean clothing, detergent, a stocked fridge… could he, do it? Could he prove for her and keep her alive, keep her well?

The tears rolling down her face are enough to rip his heart in half.

Drawing in a shallow breath, Rambo leans down elegantly and kisses her on the lips, but this kiss is not as innocent as their first. A fire brews and burns between them, her heart thundering and his replying.

The sound of nearby footsteps rips them apart. Rambo guides her to the car in silence. Everything is settled into the car, and they see that the police are two houses down. Rambo drives by the house calmly, coolly, as if nothing is wrong. It takes her a second to understand he is being inconspicuous. Rambo runs his hands through his damp hair and spikes it up, ruffling it. There is a difference in his appearance, sure enough.

She doesn’t breathe when a police officer wanders up to the car. Without thinking, she wraps her arms around his neck and drags him into a kiss. This kiss could burn the car down, her hands are desperate, moving and dragging down his chest, feeling all of the warmth and flesh waiting for her. Rambo moves with her, kissing her back feverishly, his hands now on her lower back. Their lips meld together, unifying.

The police officer whistles lowly. “Well, well, man-hunts turn you on?”

She plays the part, gasping lightly and tittering to take his attention off of Rambo.

“He asked me to marry him!” She titters again, lightly running her hands through her hair. The police officer eyes her maliciously. She feels sick.

“Real cute. Say…” The police officer leans into the car and looks Rambo dead in the face. “You look like Rambo!”

Rambo doesn’t even blink, he simply stares back, allowing the fury to leave his body. He softens his eyes to look dumb as a stump. It works.

“Please! Rambo doesn’t have a woman! What man would leave me?!” She exhales, running her hand down Rambo’s chest, drawing hearts lazily. “Can we go?” She pouts.

“Yeah, yeah, c’mon!” Rambo lightens his morose tone and slurs light-heartedly. “Gotta get to a motel, only the best for my best girl!”

Her heart beats wildly now, a screaming animal set free. Her smile is convincing as it is true, wild and unbridled love drowns her features. She radiates an unnatural love for him, and that is enough.

WHO WOULD LOVE A DEAD MAN WALKING?

The police officer eyes them one final time. A thin man with brown hair and a long horse-like face.

“Be safe.” With a nod he taps the roof of their car and Rambo drives off cautiously.

Once they are out of sight, she exhales.

“Get new plates, need a haircut.” Rambo sounds as if he is speaking out loud, but he turns to her and smiles. “You did great.”

“Can’t believe it worked!”

“Great point. Rambo has no woman. You were the cover. Work’d.”

“Worse comes to worse I am going to take your knife to your hair.” She plans, secretly hoping she can cut straight with all these nerves.

Rambo nods. “Do that.”

To her surprise, Rambo frees his knife from the sheath on his side and hands it to her. She holds onto it, relishing the kiss of warmth from it. The weight of the jagged blade is heavy, and for a moment she feels fear. Something about the peaceful look on Rambo’s face settles her.

“…I… kissed you.” She pieces together out loud, then blushes.

Rambo, watchful as always, catches it out the corner of his eye. A small innocent smile lightens his face. “Didn’t think you had it in you.”

“…I am a woman. We desire passion.” She tries to explain, but her face only grows redder.

Rambo laughs. “Ain’t so sure I got passion.”

“…wouldn’t you have some?”

“For you. Owe you my life.”

“Huh?” She gasps, almost fumbling his knife.

“Remember the police?” Rambo asks lightly, grinning at her.

She rolls his eyes at his dry humor, but shares a smile with him.

“… you like me.”

“When I came back, had a woman I want’d to marry. Go to see her, got the ring and everythin’. She had another man and kids…. I should have found you. Wouldn’t be here. Pawn’d the ring, bought more bullets.”

There is no sadness in Rambo’s voice, it is simply factual. As if he is reading off of a piece of paper. She offers her hand to him and he takes it, holding it securely. She had never felt safer in her life.

He…wanted me…. Always…

The thought settles on her heart like a warm blanket in a snowstorm. She rests into the car-seat deeper, wishing it was Rambo’s arms.

Is this love?

“My ex beat me.” She admits weakly, trying to be as factual as he had. She fails.

Rambo turns his head calmly, but an eternal fury whirls in his brown eyes. His face stone, his jaw drawn tight enough to slice cement. “Where is he?” Rambo growls tensely.

“Last I check, somewhere in Texas, drinking his life away.” She whispers gently.

Rambo curtly nods. “Let’s pay him a visit.”

                           DEAD MEN WALKING

She expects Rambo to stop at the first motel. He doesn’t. Rambo says nothing as they drive past the fourth hotel, the sandwiches are gone by then. It is three in the morning and she can’t help but to recite Our Father, for both their sakes. She has not killed like him. She has lied however, and that is a sin and against the law.

She hopes one day they end up on the right side of the law. It won’t be any day soon. It the seventh motel that Rambo picks, two states away. Rambo pulls into a dying motel; the walls appear to be made of cardstock. The parking lot is mostly vacant, just two cars for them to worry about. Rain lightly falls from the sky and she hopes it is a miracle, and not an omen.

A tan two-story building stares back at her as she swallows hard. He parks off to the far-left, far away from the red MOTEL sign that casts a soft red-light. She knows he is staying away from the cameras as well.

“Hair-tie?” Rambo asks, cutting through her rambling mind.

She pulls one free from the glove-compartment and ties his hair without thinking. The final smell of her dead freedom greets her, her coconut shampoo. The soft smell almost relaxes her. His hair is silk soft to the touch and thick. It will take some time to do all that she has to.

Maybe this is just a long date gone wrong.

No. Damn it.

No, this isn’t.

She ties his hair up and slices at the excess, going as far as to as lovingly as possible shave away at the back of his scalp to give him a fade with the flat of his blade. She marvels how not once does the red-light from the motel sign kiss the blade. They truly are in darkness. He moves when she dictates and they fall into an intimacy she never had.

“You trust me. I just realized you gave me your knife, you meant it as death.”

“Both,” Rambo’s voice is low and warm. She feels as if she is sinking in a hot bath. “If we got caught, woulda pretend’d I kidnapp’d you, remember?”

“Yes, John.” She is shocked at her obedience, yet finds herself at peace with him.

She finishes, running the blade once more across the center of his skull. She presses the blade back in his hand over his shoulder, and he slips it into his holster.

“…need somethin’ to cover my knife.” Rambo says.

She turns around and sees a .99 cent store behind them, but is closed. They ought to go in the morning and get clothes. She needs to dye her hair. They need to find a license plate… steal one, something.

“Take your knife off, I will hide it in my…” She blushes and puts her face in her hands.

Rambo chuckles warmly, setting her on fire.

“You put it…okay…” Rambo replies bashfully. Despite his stone face, there is still as sweetness about him.

Holster and all, he hands her the knife to put it in her bra. Her chest has never been ample, and she always wondered if that held her back from finding a husband.

He was at war his whole life…. She thinks, glancing up at Rambo, who watches on, not at all malicious or depraved.

She fiddles with the knife and finds it is best to just shove it down and be quiet about it. Rambo fetches the duffle-bags and hands her the sweater.

“For now.”

She puts the sweater on and steps out the car. Rambo once more, takes her hand and guides her into the motel.

The motel has the odor of cleaned clothes put away for years. It is not refreshing, but what was she to expect? The puke green carpet crunches with every step they take, and the grey-brown walls make her feel sick.

She wants to lie down for a year with Rambo. His grip on her hand is eternally comforting and tight, the safety brings her some snippet of peace.

There is an older guy at the front desk, in a sweaty once white tank top, shining bald head and scowl. He palms dirtily at an adult magazine, pure filth as he loudly opens the centerfold and groans luridly.

Rambo guides her quickly to stand behind him as he approaches the guy.

“Need a room.” Rambo states coldly.

The older guy looks up with a low grunt. “One room left, 109. Guy across from you is mean.”

“Mean?” A whiskey baritone enters the fray.

She turns at the sound of the voice and sees a tall man, taller than Rambo by three inches. A slightly bigger physique than Rambo’s, his barrel chest sticks out more, his arms tighter. Eyes dead. Electric blue eyes and blood red hair, cut short. By his impeccable posture, she has to believe he was in the military somehow. His masculine face is stone, slightly more youthful than Rambo’s and a shade lighter. His ears stick out.

“Darling.” A woman enters, appearing to his left. She wears a red dress, topped by red heels and a sweet red ribbon. Her small hand weaves through his and for a moment there is glimmer of tenderness in his eyes. All of this offsets her platinum long blonde hair.

He turns slightly to look down at her, leaning down to press a warm kiss to her cheek.

“Told you to stay inside, this is a dangerous place.” He whispers to her, nothing less than loving.

“Yes, yes,” she sighs. “I do not want to be in that room without you. Swear, place is haunted.”

He nods. “Won’t be here long.”

“I know. And my husband is not mean!” She snaps at the older guy, who eyes her almost violently, chewing at his lower lip.

Her blue eyes shift and raise to her husband’s face, calm for a second. He releases his wife and steps forward, his massive hand outstretched. When his palm smacks the guy in the face and when he pulls away, the guy’s nose gushes a river of red.

The guy’s dark eyes cross as he snatches the guy by the back of his head and slams it down on the table in front of him. One more thundering crash and he pulls away to snatch the key that is hanging behind the guy. A plastic white square is connected to the key, marked 109.

The man turns and hands it to Rambo, going as far as to grab the clipboard to write his name.

“Need a name.” The man states.

“…. Foreman.”

The man nods as he writes down the name, yet hands the clipboard to Rambo. “Sign it.”

Rambo does, looping his letters to make it not look like his own handwriting. He would have to remember how he did it. Maybe he can snatch it on his way out.

The man returns to the guy at the desk, and opens the water bottle at his side and dumps it on his head. The older guy shakes awake gasping.

“I dare you to look at my wife.” He snarls, his massive calloused and scarred hands yank at the guy’s shirt front and raises him in the air, several feet off the ground. He slams the man back down into his chair and simply laughs.

“Go.” His wife whispers to them, and that is when they both see recognition in her eyes.

Does she know?! Does he?!

They both move off to their room, only stopping to hand the woman a couple hundred dollars. The last they see is her placing it on the table.

Rambo is tense, his massive back motionless as he opens the door to the motel room. He ushers her in, but she is stunned when his guiding hand becomes a shove and the door slams behind her.

“John?!” She asks in a low gasp.

“What do you know?!” Rambo’s low rumble brings her some peace, but the shock in it doesn’t.

“A Marine knows a Green Beret when he sees one.” The man from earlier replies with such a confident ease that it is almost laughable.

She finds herself laughing, almost tittering out of her nerves fraying. She presses and leans against the door, feeling Rambo doing the same, pressing all his weight against the door to prevent anyone from coming it.

“What else?” Rambo urges lowly.

“Lot of people want you. Not me. Not my wife.” The man replies easily. “Vietnam was rough enough. I know you are just protectin’ yourself.”

“…you sure?”

“Ain’t about to lose my wife, no amount of mon’y in this world exists for me to let her go. One piece of advice, marry her if you love her…plus she ain’t gonna have to testif’. G’night, Foreman.”

“…goodnight.” Rambo utters after a pause. The weight on the door eases and she steps away, trying to appear not worried.

It is not convincing.

Rambo’s hands cup her face as he leans down to kiss her slow, but passionately. It is as if they are breathing life and relief back into one another. When he pulls away, pure understanding and relief is in his face.

“He helped you…” She whispers, grabbing onto his hands.

He nods, and takes another kiss that she is more than glad to give. She pulls away this time, to breathe and rest her head on his chest. His heart slams away in his chest, and she is afraid it will burst.

“Got to rest and get ready for tomorrow.” Rambo mutters, then picks her up as if she is his bride. Her arms lock around his tree-trunk neck and stay there, feeling content.

She blushes, but allows herself to stare at him and see the gentleness in his eyes. He looks so different with short hair.  Even younger and sweeter. This will work, he looks as if he should be handing out flowers. If he keeps his eyes soft…

His bangs need a slight trim. When he places her on the hard springless bed, she fetches his knife, glad she is past being 100% shy around him.

There really is no time for nerves.

Is this what trauma bonding is?

Rambo sits on the bed and she props herself up with the rotten pillows to hack away at his bangs. When a handful is collected by Rambo, he burns it all with his lighter, going to flush the remains like he did with her documentation.

He lays beside her in silence, pressing his hand on top of hers.

“Darling.”

Rambo rises up naturally when the woman’s voice from earlier is heard, near the door. Motels always have paper-thin walls and sin.

“Hm?” Her husband replies, and there is an envelope shoved under the door.

“Forgot something.” Her voice is light and pleasant.

“Oh.”

The sound of bullets clinking in a worn palm greet them. Five bullets are also slid under the door, then there is no sound. Rambo moves to the envelope in a mastered light step, making no noise. He opens envelope haphazardly, then shows a wad of cash, all hundreds.

She bolts upright and moves to Rambo’s side.

“Three thousand.” He states.

Her eyes widen and she gasps. “What the hell?”

Rambo shows her the bullets swimming in his palm and smiles. “Y’see, these fracture off, break off in the body… these are fun. Note says they will kill demons. Some might chase us because they like havoc. Well, how kind.”

Rambo is smiling just like he has after every kiss. He takes a seat at the edge of the right side of the bed. It takes a moment for her to understand that the husband takes that side, closest to the door to protect.

“John?” She shifts and takes a seat beside him, feeling comfortable enough to lean on his massive arm.

“This is enough money for us to be okay. More money than I ever held…” Rambo marvels, feeling the heft of the stacked bills in his hand.

“Why do you think they did it?” She asks.

“Suppose… we both served, so comradery?”

She nods. “That brotherhood I remember. Did you serve together?”

“No.”

She frowns and he catches it. “What if those bullets are a tracking device?”

“…. hm.” Rambo fiddles with the bullets and examines them. “Too small, don’t you think?”

“Yes, but if they have money...?”

“No time!” The man replies from behind the door.

Rambo simply stands and goes to open the door. The man cracks his neck in reply and then points to his oversized ears.

“These ache in a helmet but work well otherwise. No tracking in anythin’. Just want’d to help you.”

“Why?” Rambo demands.

The man shrugs. “You go craz’ or were you attack’d?”

“Attack’d.”

“Exactl’.”

“Weren’t we attack’d in Vietnam?”

“…yes.”

“The war never ends.” The man says, his voice hollow for a moment, his eyes dead. “Came back home to nothin’, just sick, sick, sick and had to wait to get better. Wakin’ up screamin’, achin’ to kill. That don’t die. Figur’d… demons would maybe attack, if not, use it on whatever. But at least you got somethin’.”

Rambo rolls a bullet between his fingers. “Works on both?”

“Yes. Those bullets are spok’n over to be able to fight off demons though.”

His wife appears at his side and glances at her husband, then Rambo.

“Surprised you two didn’t meet.”

“Stuck with my broth’r.” He answers.

She shrugs nonchalantly. “Still, honey. Come to bed.” She takes his massive hand and funnily, he guides her off without another word.

Rambo exhales and lays down, putting the money in her bag and slipping the bullets in his shirt pocket.

“Rest.” Rambo whispers, then turns to face her. His arms naturally slot around her waist and pull her flush to his massive chest. The warmth and beating of his heart slow and kill her nerves. She combs her small hands through his hair.

“What do you think of them?”

“What?”

“The couple, John.”

“In love.”

She looks up at him, enjoying how the dim lighting in the room drenches his strong cut cheekbones and masculine jaw.

“You think?”

“He beat that guy, didn’t even flinch.”

“She would have flinched…”

“Would have.”

Exhaustion shuts her eyes for her and he follows, not before grabbing his gun and slipping it under his pillow. It is a dark and dreamless sleep for both.

[expectingtofly]

The Cost of Happiness

1.6k

implied/off-screen major character death

also posted on ao3

(I told myself I wasn't going to get all sad and write about the Shadow coming for Castiel,,,, but here we are. whoops. settle in for some angst)

So it was over. Well and truly over. Jack had saved the world as Castiel always knew he would. The world would be different now, more peaceful, quieter. 

Castiel began to smile at the thought, but the expression faded from his face before it was fully formed. 

Not over, not everything, not quite yet. He closed his eyes and breathed in. It would soon be time, he knew it.

At the sound of footsteps, he opened his eyes. He knew who was approaching before Dean entered the room. 

“Dean,” Castiel said, standing. He was going to miss saying that name. 

“There you are.” Dean walked forward, before his footsteps faltered and he paused. “Are you...” His eyes roamed over Castiel. "Are you okay?”

Castiel started to nod, then he realized what Dean was really asking. 

Are you happy?

Ever since he had told Dean about his deal with the Shadow, the knowledge of his fate had weighed heavily between them. In unspoken agreement, they had pushed away any thought of it to focus on the here and now, on protecting the world, on Jack defeating God. 

But now it was time. The deal hung between them now, ominous, thick like fog. It wasn’t right, that happiness could be so foreboding. Such a cruel trick by the Shadow.

Castiel sighed and stepped closer to Dean. “I’m tired.”

“Yeah, me too.” Dean looked relieved, though still a little wary. Castiel stopped in front of him and studied him, though, truly, he didn’t need to study Dean’s face to recall it. It was ingrained in his mind. The line of his jaw, his freckles, his so very green eyes, this body Castiel had rebuilt, the face he’d gazed at for hours when he first met Dean, as Dean slept. 

“I’m so proud of Jack,” he said, pushing those early memories away. "He did it. I knew he would.”

Dean nodded, smiling a little. "He was incredible.”

Castiel mirrored Dean’s smile. He felt a deep relief that he hadn’t felt in ages, maybe ever. Jack, Sam, and Dean were safe. The world was quiet. What more could he want? He was the happiest he could ever be. 

“And, Dean, I’m… I’m happy.”

Dean’s smile vanished. “No,” he whispered. Castiel didn’t fault him for his reaction. He felt a similar panic starting to rise in his veins. That after all this time, the one thing he should fear was happiness. He could feel it, the Shadow. Sinister and foreboding. He spread his fingers wide, felt the chill seeping into the room.

“Fuck, Cas, no.” Dean looked around the room, as if expecting the Shadow to appear suddenly, quickly, and snatch Castiel away. Castiel knew it would come slowly, menacingly, taunting. Instinctively, he reached out and touched Dean's arm, fingers trailing over his sleeve, before dropping his hand to his side. 

Dean swallowed, returning his eyes to Castiel’s, and Castiel looked beyond his face to his soul. So bright, so precious, so fragile, yet so incredibly strong. He felt in awe at the sight as always. 

He couldn’t forget how it shone, he couldn’t, but in the Empty, in deep sleep, he wouldn’t remember a thing. 

He was supposed to be happy now, but instead he felt a sadness weighing on his shoulders that made him want to crumple. Maybe happiness always came with such sorrow.

Pushing his shoulders back, he tried to put on a brave face for Dean’s sake. "I can feel its presence. It’s close.”

Dean looked scared, genuinely scared, and Castiel knew it was an emotion that did not come easily to him. “Cas, it can’t, not now, you can’t go.” 

In a rush, he grabbed Castiel’s hand and Castiel looked down in surprise. He studied their hands, held together, then raised his head. Dean’s eyes were red; he was crying, and the sight sent a pang through Castiel’s chest. 

He had not expected Dean to look so broken.  It will fade,  he told himself. Dean will be able to move on, have a happy life, maybe even start his own family. Tears pricked his eyes and he blinked them away. “I don’t have a choice."

“You had a choice—“

"Yes, I did, and I do not regret the deal I made. I saved Jack’s life, and because of that, he saved the world. You and Sam are alive. You can live your own lives now, you’re free. You can be happy.”

Dean shook his head. “I can’t, I can’t.” He gripped Castiel’s hand tighter. "We need you, I need you.” 

I need you. Castiel had heard him speak those words before. Words that brought him back from the brink, that made him hope there could be more between them, that Dean could feel more.

Wheeling around, Dean scanned the room and Castiel followed his eyes, expecting to see the snaking, black, metallic ooze curl from the corners of the room. 

Nothing yet, but Dean yelled, “You sonuvabitch, come out here! We need to talk! You can’t have him, we’ll make a deal!” He began to pull his hand from Castiel’s and Castiel grabbed it with both of his own.

“Dean, no—“  Dean turned back to look at him, at their hands, his face registering surprise. “It’s a deal that brought me to this place,” Castiel said. "I won’t let you or Sam or Jack sacrifice anything else.” Dean started to protest and Castiel squeezed his hand, silencing him. “You will be happy without me. I’m not... needed anymore. I’ve made peace with this. It’s my time to go.”

“Not needed—?“ Dean started and his voice broke. “Cas, that’s not all you are to us, you're family.” 

Castiel waited for him to add our brother, like he’d done years ago—the words that had told Castiel where they stood, the words that he had accepted quietly though he'd felt such a deep disappointment. 

But Dean didn’t call him a brother. He only clung to Castiel’s hand, tears running down his face. 

“I know,” Castiel said and realized he himself was crying. Tears slid down his cheeks to his neck, an unfamiliar sensation. “I know, and you’re my family too.” Maybe he meant to say all of you—Sam, Jack, Eileen—but he said you and looked in Dean’s eyes and knew it was what he meant to say, wanted to say. 

He took a shaky breath. There were so many other things he wanted to say, before he ran out of time. “I have felt close to you since I first saw your soul in hell. We’re bonded together, tied to each other.” Dean was shaking his head and Castiel wanted to reach out and wipe the tears from his face, but he forced his hands to remain enclosed around Dean’s. "I thought it was my mission to take care of you, but it was you who helped me. You taught me about free will, about family, about sacrifice—"

“Cas, please,” Dean begged. For what, Castiel didn’t know. To stay? To leave quietly?

“Thank you, Dean. For everything. I’m truly happy.” He waited for the words to spark something, anything, but the room remained silent, the Shadow yet to appear. 

It’s trying to torture me, he thought. To draw out this moment as long as possible. “Tell Sam and Jack—”

“No.” Dean shook his head, more determined now. “No, because you’re not going. I won’t let you.”

“Dean.” He never knew it would be this difficult to leave him. Maybe he’d known.

“Cas, I love you.” 

Castiel stared at him. Dean set his jaw and looked back, his gaze resolute. 

Was there more? As family, as a brother. 

“I love you,” Dean repeated, and this time his eyes went soft, his expression tender, tears steadily trickling from his eyes. 

I love you. And suddenly it rushed over him, the realization: Dean meant it, truly, in every way Castiel had hoped he could, in every way Castiel felt for him.

Something sparked in his chest, a warmth that spread throughout all his limbs and, oh. 

He was happy. This was happiness. 

“Dammit, Dean,” he breathed, gazing at him, but there was no anger in the sentiment.

Untangling their hands, he grabbed the back of Dean's neck and pulled him down, kissed him deeply. Dean let out a noise of surprise before sinking into their kiss, wrapping his arms around Castiel to draw him closer. 

Wet, salty, desperate, their bodies pressed flush together—this was happiness. Despite the threat looming over his head, Castiel felt a smile pull at his mouth and he pressed it to Dean’s lips.

It was the cold, prickling sensation on the back of his neck that told him it was time.

Slowly, he pulled away from Dean. The look in Dean’s eyes, of love, of grief, made Castiel feel lightheaded. This deep emotion, so new, so young.

“I’m sorry,” Dean said quietly. His voice shook. “I’m so sorry. For everything, for not being there for you, for not being able to stop this, for not telling you…"

Castiel could see black shimmering matter swirling on the floor behind Dean, forming a figure. “Don't be sorry.” Intertwining their fingers once again, he resolutely focused his gaze on Dean.

He pulled back every memory he had of them together: seeing Dean through his vessel’s eyes for the first time, hearing Dean’s prayers in the night, watching his chest rise and fall as he slept, feeling the thrum of the Impala’s wheels beneath them as they drove, touching his fingers to Dean’s forehead to heal him, to feel his grace twine with Dean’s soul. There were other difficult, complicated memories that rose to mind and sent a pang through him even now, but he pushed those away and focused on the ones where he had been truly content and at peace. Happy. 

“I love you,” he told Dean. Reaching out, he touched Dean's face, and Dean closed his eyes, took a deep breath.

It’s time, the Shadow hissed in his mind.

A shiver ran down Castiel’s spine, but he kept his gaze on Dean. “And I’m so happy."

Tag List:

@becky-srs @misha-moose-dean-burger-lover @xojo @marvelnaturalock @cas-you-assbutt-dean-needs-you @aelysianmuse @prayedtoyou @spooky-things-do-happen-dean @spnwaywardone @letsjustdieeveryone @spooky-spooks-and-all-the-spooks

Let me know (message, ask, comment) if you’d like to be tagged in my other random destiel fics :)

[polotiz]

8 and Avalance

“Things you said when you were crying”

Allllrighty then express tumblr fic here goes...

PS this one hurt like a hoarde of zombies but I loved it

Thanks for the prompt, Anon.

———

They’ve won.

They’ve won against the fates, against fate, against death. Zari, Astra, even Mick has had an opportunity to tempt fate.

Fate(s), plural…

Because as it happened, Charlie and her two co-captains appeared to be the best opportunity to run the damned thing.

And now, it’s Sara’s turn.

The loom glows and glows and glows.

“Laurel”. She murmurs, locking eyes with Ava from the beginning of the loom. Sara speaks again, and maybe, just maybe Ava imagines that Sara’s words were meant for her ears only. “…she deserved a better life. She died because of my choices.”

Ava smiles at her, bright and wide and full of the promise she knows this possibility offers Sara. Offers them both.

Family.

Charlie only nods, a smirk on her lips as she pulls at the strands from seemingly endless origins.

Ava wishes she could reach for Sara, but one hand is interwoven with golden strands and in the other she holds the very thing that ends lives. Instead Ava pours every possible touch she’s missing into the look they share between them, allowing her chest to overflow with promise.

But the moment is short-lived, because Charlie has suddenly frozen in place, and she shakes her head, a barely perceptible thing were it not the only thing they were focused on.

“Sara.” She whispers. “I’m not -“

Sara’s eyes dart away, fixing on the woman between them.

“What, Charlie?” She demands, and Ava knows Sara well enough now that she can hear in the pitch of her voice.

Charlie shakes her head again, eyes fixed on the strands in front of her, fingers weaving so quickly they themselves are golden.

“I’m not sure-“

“Come on Charlie!!” Sara growls from between clenched teeth, “You can bring back Behrad, Astra’s mother, Micks uncles cousin’s former roommate...but you can’t find Laurel?“

Ava can see the legends staring at them, she can practically feel the intensity of their anticipation. And she knows… she knows…

Charlie shakes her head, lips parting before closing again, and her brows raise high.

“There’s… there’s a thread interwoven with Laurel’s.” She stammers, and without warning, her fingers still to reveal a single golden strand, shifting and shimmering in the light. “Thousands. I’ve-“ she curls it around her fingers to reveal a knot, splitting into a tassel-like bloom of smaller, identical threads, thick and interlaced.

“I’ve-“ Charlie’s voice is clipped, her posture stiff. “I’ve not seen it before.”

“So?” Sara hisses. “Who cares? We’re Legends we make a living out of dealing with things we’ve never seen before. Untangle them. Or get Ava to cut them so you can fix it.” Her jaw sets. “Just fix it.”

“But-“

“Now, Charlie.” Sara snaps. “We only have five minutes of immortality left before we’re toast!”

Something unusual washes over Ava. A strange realisation, like a strand of a thread she’s supposed to be tied to.

And suddenly, Charlie is looking in Ava’s direction, eyes wide, her face etched with an expression somewhere between shock, panic and a strange sort of… resignation… That causes Ava’s frown to deepen.

“Charlie?” She whispers, fingers tightening on the shears. “What is it?”

But Charlie stares at her only barely long enough, before shaking her head, closing her eyes, and turning away.

“It’s Ava.” She says. “These are all Ava.” And this time, the catch in her throat is strong enough to notice.

Oh.

Ava blinks.

And somewhere, her heart sinks. Twists into oblivion.

Along with-

“Somehow, Ava’s life is linked to Laurel’s death and I can’t untangle them in time.”

----

There are two images that flash in front of Ava’s eyes at Charlie’s words, and neither of them, were there opportunity for her to analyse, would make any sense.

Her father, calling her name

The dishes slipping through her fingers in the sink. They’re not finished. She’s not ready.

They had such great news for her.

It’s a strange memory, of all the memories to reach her at this time. Considering what she knows – considering what she’s prepared to know. Ava finds herself intrigued by the domestic picture of dishes.

Ava-

She blinks again, and squeezes her eyes shut, because the word, the sound is distinctly Sara’s, and if anything Ava rights herself with the memory of the two of them attempting to clean her apartment. What was their apartment.. what was theirs-

She’s putting dishes away.

Sara’s staring at her, a wistful smile on her face.

Oh.

Ava’s gut twists again. The pain increases to a stabbing throb.

Ava’s never imagined dying. It always seemed impractical in her line of work, to consider her own mortality. Impractical, illogical.

But she’s different now…

…Ava opens her eyes, and the reality of what she feels, what she knows, makes them sting.

She sees the timer on the wall tick below four minutes.

Ava turns to Sara, who is staring at her in muted horror.

…And in all Ava’s time with her, both enemy, friend and lover, she’s never found Sara looking so utterly unsure.

It sparks something within Ava. The two of them were always push and pull, after all. Something in Sara’s hesitance bolsters Ava’s confidence and she knows… she knows this is the right thing. She’s seen Sara’s loves, and her hurts. She’s seen her heal from them all. Lovers, friends….

But never Laurel.

She turns away, and raises the shears.

“Sara, it’s alright.” She says, willing a watery smile to her face as she speaks to the specks of gold in the atmosphere surrounding them. She tells herself its because she wants to spare Sara the choice. “I’m a clone, somewhere, somehow there’ll be a version of me in the future you could find. I mean technically-“ She shrugs, staring at the knot and thread rippling beyond Charlie’s fingers. “I was never meant to exist in the first place.”

Ava’s parents’ faces come into view in her minds’ eye, in moments past when she had the opportunity to believe who they were, and she spends a moment lingering on the contours of her mother’s face, the cadences of her father’s laugh.

And it occurs to her, how strange it seems she would seek out the comfort of false memories, and still find them-

“Ava.” Sara’s voice is clearer this time.

Ava takes a breath, aware of the tears now sliding down her cheeks.

She’s never imagined dying, not once.

But more than once she imagined living, because of Sara.

Ava can see her, can see Charlie, desperately trying to contain the lives at their fingertips, because of course, time and life stops for nobody and their decisions, and it’s not like they reassembled the loom just to destroy humanity because of a bit of extra angst over a clone’s life.

…Something within Ava feels more than a little cheated that before she ends her existence, the one person she’d want to end it with is barely an arms-length away and yet so distant.

Because if she had a choice, Ava would love for just one moment-

-to-

She looks at Sara, instead.

“It’s alright, love.” Ava whispers, a hairsbreadth away from where she can’t touch Sara. “You gave me everything. You made me a whole person. This team, made me someone worth being. For a clone, there is nothing more I could ask. My life, however long is was, was filled with… so much-“ She can feel the tears slipping down her cheeks, the hollow loss of not loving Sara forever. “Let me do this, please, Laurel was born. She deserved to live.”

A strange peace settles in the spaces between Ava’s words as she slides the shears towards the knot.

“I love you forever.”

Ava hears the sound of metal against metal as her fingers close together. Her world lurches to the right, and for a moment, Ava wonders if death had a strange grip on gravity or if perhaps dying in the temporal zone meant she just ended up with a terrible case of vertigo before it all came to an end-

She lives long enough to see the loom stutter, and fade, to see Charlie stagger back, collapsing against the far wall, knees drawn to her chest.

Long enough to feel a soft warmth against her body, to feel hands cradling her face, gently wiping away the tears streaking her skin.

“Ava-“ She hears the whisper, and the voice she knows so well is wobbly and wet. “Ava don’t you dare die on me you fucking jerk.”

And Ava gives herself a moment, a pause long enough to realise that she hadn’t died, she hadn’t saved Laurel, and her heart is filled with so much remorse she can’t help the sob that escapes her lips, as fresh tears slip past her temples.

“But-“ Ava curses her own hoarseness. “Sara, I didn’t want you to make that choice.”

“What, you?” Sara’s fingers are shaky as they trace Ava’s cheeks. “There was never a choice, Ava.”

Ava’s head has started to hurt, a pulsating sensation that reaches across her forehead. She’s confused, and she squeezes her eyes shut, but a cool hand slides to her cheek and coaxes them open again.

“Listen to me.” Sara says, her other hand finding Ava’s cheek and holding her head steady. “I lost Laurel, yes. And yes-“ Sara licks her lips. “- I want her back, so badly. But never, never in exchange for your life.”

And then Sara shakes her head, passes her right hand over Ava’s forehead in a gentle swipe but then bites down on her lower lip. Her chin trembles, and she looks away in just enough time for Ava to notice thick tears spilling down her face, collecting underneath her chin and dropping to Ava’s shirt.

“I’ve spent the last ten years learning about death, Ava. But-“ Sara turns back to Ava, one hand reaching the space above her heart. “-But in the last two? I’ve learnt about life. I’ve learnt what life is… what life is with you, Ava.”

The tears are flowing in earnest now, but Ava isn’t sure how much of them are who’s.

“Sara-“

She reaches a hand up, only for it to be snatched away in a vice-like grip, which would be intimidating enough were it not for the way Sara’s fingertips gently circled Ava’s skin.

“I’m not done-“ Sara whispers. “-because god forbid you ever become immortal again and have an opportunity to use the loom of fate. I need to make this extremely clear, Ava Sharpe.” She’s crying in earnest now, and Ava would argue she wouldn’t know what to do except for the fact she’s already sitting upright, her arms wrapped tightly around Sara’s body and face buried in her neck as Sara sobs into Ava’s ear. “Ava, I need you to know. I need you to know. if Laurel was here now, she would slap me in the face and tell me to get my shit together because Ava...”

Sara presses a palm into Ava’s chest, pushes them apart and looks into her eyes.

“You are my future.”

[veinsandknuckles]

Remembering Karl

Wrote this for the dragon age kink meme a while back. Anders finishes his business in the Kirkwall Chantry and thinks back on what he’s lost. ⁎⋆✥°⋆◯  。☾ ✧⋆❧⁎   ✶♡❄ ⁎ ❄♡✶   ⁎❧⋆✧ ☾  。◯⋆°✥⋆⁎ Even at night, light fell in through the tall Chantry windows from the moon, the stars and the city and landed across the statues and pooled on the bare stone of the floor. Even at night, the building felt alive with voices just beyond the cusp of hearing. Anders thought he heard a stifled sob. He had come up through the basement and placed his charges as he went. His heart was in his throat, his head was light with exhaustion, his ears too alert to sort the background noises from the signs of danger. There was one spot left he had to get to, one more supporting pillar.

Keep yourself busy, that was the way. Nothing in this world ever changed without action and once you took it on there was no end to the things that needed fixing.

He took it all on. The grimy tasks. The risks. The awful confidences from people who had no one else to share them with. He listened because who else would? Keep yourself busy, fill up your mind with other people’s pain and there won’t be room left for yours. Fill your days with the big impersonal problems and your own will seem so small by comparison. Push yourself into the small hours and there’s no night left to lay awake, tossing and turning...

What lay beyond this for him? This new world he was creating, was there a place for him in it? Anders had thought about death on the daily for so long, the idea had no tension for him anymore and he thought about it as a consequence with the same detachment as any of the other unfathomable options. If nothing else it’d mean rest, presumably. Heaven, Hell... it was such a long time since he had thought in those terms.

If he survived this, perhaps his role would be the same. Kicked around by turns, scrambling to do what little good he could while he waited for the next blow. Comforts few and far between. Maybe. Maybe others would pick up what he had started and he’d be swept along by something seething and big, something he couldn’t predict.

Anders made it more than halfway up the stairs before he remembered where exactly he was going. He wished he could say it hit him like a punch in the stomach, or that the sight of that little nook, littered with warm candles and leftover furniture, brought him back to that moment in time with clarity and sharpness. The least he could do would be to honestly say he’d keep the memory with him to his grave. But here he stood, and he couldn’t remember the colour of Karl’s robes.

When he tried to recall those last words, he could only force a few of them to ring in his mind with Karl’s own voice... the rest had lost his melody and his cadence, they were out of order, he couldn’t sort them. Anders held on to the railing by his side. His nails bent against the stone and on his other side, his staff supported his weight. He cleared his throat, he tensed his jaw and ran his tongue over his teeth.

How far had the blood spilled? Where had it landed? Had the carpet been replaced, or would he find stains if he got on his knees and looked for them?

He swallowed and he swallowed again. He couldn’t remember... so much of that night was a tangle and the important things, details he had promised himself to preserve forever, lay knotted together somewhere inside that mess. What he did recall... there was no way to tell if it was really real, if it was true to what had happened, because he’d pulled up those moments before his inner eye over and over, by choice or by compulsion, in dreams, and he would never know if all he had left was the memory of remembering the memory. The past was worn out by repetition.

Anders blinked and turned his head away, searching for movements in the dark and saw nothing. It was dangerous to linger here, he knew that. But he couldn’t help how he faltered - he didn’t want to cut this doubt short, not this time. This place... Karl’s ashes were probably tossed into the harbour and he shouldn’t have to make a murder scene a stand in for a grave but it was as close as he would ever come. And he had walked past it and through it too many times before to count, he had been prepared to walk across it now again without a thought.

Wooden boxes full of unlit red candles, as thick as his arm, lay scattered across the main hall of the Chantry with donation tins beside them. For a small tithe, you bought one and lit it to accompany a prayer. Anders had stolen one on his way in both as a matter of course and as a precaution in case he didn’t want to risk a spell. It weighed down his left pocket and he stood a little more balanced once he’d brought it out, carried it across the carpet and set it on the stone altar by the bed. A spark lit it and Anders paused, just in case it’d be mirrored in his chest by some kind of flicker or burn. Alas, it didn’t seem like visual metaphors was what did it for him tonight.

There shouldn’t have to be some swell of emotion for him to know that he had honoured Karl, should there? Other things remained. Those six freckles on the back of Karl’s neck... Anders had always seen a pattern there so he’d dipped a quill in ink one morning and strung them together into the shape of a weirdly smiling duck. Karl had gotten annoyed, or made a decent show of being annoyed, swatted Anders away... and by the trail of ink running from Karl’s collar to Anders’ sleeve, everyone in the tower put two and two together and by the end of the day the rumours about them had turned into a fact. Anders could still trace those freckles by feel, even if there wasn’t anything left to touch. Who else alive could say that?

Every life Anders saved, every mage he snatched from the Templars’ reach and every day he picked himself back up, saw the sun, walked free - that was how he honoured Karl. By treasuring how Karl had been his first in a thousand little ways and remembering that he would pleased, not jealous, to know that there had been a second, a third, a hundred other friends and lovers and inspirations. By ensuring that life went on no matter what it had to fight.

And... he would understand. If he watched over Anders now, he would egg him on like always, dare him to make their big talk a reality. He would see, he would see... if no one else could see why this was how it had to be, that there was no other way forward, Karl would understand. The number of times they had joked about how one day they would do the sort of thing he was planning now, in that not really a joke way, that not even we think this is funny way... If no one else could understand it and stand beside him, of course Karl would - he’d lived it. He’d died because of it.

Action, not emotion. Anders might not feel much right now, he might not have felt much yesterday either apart from resolve, but what did that matter? He would do what no one else could or dared. Others had felt and worried and talked and thought a great deal - fat load of good that had done. If Karl’s death had lingered he stood in it right now and after he left this holy place, there would be no deaths again like it.

He was tired, he was worn out, his shoulders ached and after this last task, one way or another, he was done. This life would be over, either because it was all over or because he would be forced to start a new one. His past had become a little unreadable in parts, but for the first time since forever the future wasn’t entirely clear, either. Anders smiled, lit and warmed by the flames on the altar and perhaps it was a little bitter, but it reached his eyes.

[universalfanfic]

Ok, @inkoutsidethelines, I was inspired by your inspiration, and I finally wrote a bit of faerie au! (Hope you don’t mind.) 

Mary “Em” Murdock is Ink’s. ;) 

“What’s gotten you in such a sour mood lately?”

Owen slammed his sketchbook closed and glared at Maddie. She crossed her arms and cocked her hip, already challenging him. 

“I’m not,” he snapped. 

Maddie rolled her eyes and dropped down next to him. 

“Bull-oney,” she drawled. “You’ve been such a drag the entire week. I haven’t seen you mope this badly since that time I accidentally knocked over your paints.”

“They were a birthday present.” 

She shoved him and kicked the bottom of his boot as he let out an indignant cry and scrambled to keep his balance. 

“Look, you think I haven’t noticed your little trips out into the woods? Or that bag you bring with you?” 

Owen cut off his complaining and pushed his sketchbook further out of Maddie’s reach as he leaned forward. 

“What? Is it illegal to go on walks now?”

“No. But it sure would be interesting if mom and dad found out about your secret lover.”

He nearly paled at that. 

“What?”

Maddie threw herself back and waved her arms open wide. 

“Oh, come on. I’m not a complete idiot. What else would you be doing? Going off into the forest with enough food for two people? Who is it? The archer’s daughter? Or maybe that girl who moved in from the city?”

Owen made a face. 

“What? No! It’s not- I- Maddie, just stay out of it.” 

Her expression flickered at that, losing some of it’s annoying, teasing quality. She adjusted herself on the grass next to him and her face became somber. 

“You’re acting different, Owen. You’re not the one usually sneaking off. And if mom and dad knew you were always going into-” 

She paused, eyes flickering out towards the towering trees across from their home and Owen felt panic rise. 

“Owen, who are you meeting out there.”

He snatched up his sketchbook and stood, Maddie following closely after him. 

“No one.” He desperately tried to keep his tone even. “You’re being ridiculous.”

Maddie grabbed his arm and yanked him backyards before he got too far away. 

“If you don’t tell me I’m gonna imagine crazy stuff; you know me. I thought we trusted each other.” 

Owen winced. He did. Mostly. At least, there were quite a few misadventures that their parents still didn’t know about. But this was different. This was bigger. 

His family would think he was being reckless. Foolish. Any maybe he was. He’d spent the last week agonizing over his choices and what he was doing. 

What he was trying to do. 

The warning from Em’s mother still haunted him at night. The wrath of a faerie wasn’t something you wanted aimed at you. And furthermore, if he continued and things went south, he didn’t want his family connected to this at all. Didn’t want them even known. 

An angry faerie was said to be a vindictive faerie. 

“Maddie,” he finally said, “I love you, but I have everything under control. Trust me.” 

She let his arm drop and Owen continued on without looking back. Maddie’s voice rang out behind him. 

“I won’t cover for you forever!”

[]

The thought of Em had plagued him all week. He needed space, but it felt like the more he tried to distance himself from the wood, the more it loomed over him. He missed her smile, her bell-like laugh. He missed the way she would eye the sack he brought eagerly, excited to see what was inside but too proud to say. The way she viewed his mundane world with enough awe to remind him that he hadn’t actually seen it all. 

He had it bad, and he wasn’t sure that even the threat of her father was enough to knock sense into him. 

A threat on her life…. 

Was he? Was trying to convince her that his world was worth exploring wrong? Was the hope of convincing her to want him sentencing her to death? 

Owen grunted deep in his throat and shoved his hand through his hair. 

What was wrong with a human lifespan? Was it any less?

His footsteps slowed and he realized he’d walked himself right back to the ring. It was empty and quiet, with only a few beams of light hitting the grass. 

Was he being selfish?

He sat on his usual stump and flipped open his sketchbook. Em’s face consumed the last few pages. His thumb grazed over a sketch of her smiling at something beyond the page. It was some of his best work, and it still didn’t do her any justice. 

There was no way he would be able to capture all of her, her essence and life, on a page. 

His gut told him she wouldn’t be coming to see him this time. He hadn’t meant this to be a visit anyway. 

Owen sighed and carefully tore out the sketch from the corner of the page. 

Em, he hastily wrote on the blank side, sorry for the disappearance. I hope you’ll forgive me.

He folded the paper and eyed the ring. It was still vacant. If he let the paper on his stump, she wouldn’t be able to grab it. Owen ticked his jaw and grabbed a small rock. 

It would only be a second. 

He reached over, hand passing the protective barrier of the mushrooms, and gently sat the paper on the grass with the rock on top. Then he pulled his arms back so quickly that a hummingbird might’ve been envious of his speed. 

For a moment he didn’t move. Just breathed, amazed at his own reckless stupidity, and yet somehow fighting back a rush as well. 

Nothing happened. 

Em didn’t appear. 

But that wasn’t a surprise, somehow. He’d left without giving her a warning. She was probably, rightfully, upset with him. 

And he was evidently willing to cast aside a gracious warning that he was sure he wouldn’t be given twice. 

Maybe he was trying to convince Em of his side, but he’d never lie to her. And he’d never try and force her choice. It was hers to make, after all. What was friendship, what was love, if it wasn’t freely given?

He’d come back tomorrow or the next day and explain. 

First, he had to figure out how he was going to handle Maddie.

[selcouthwriter295]

The Red Wedding

The Noise Of The City

The air was still filled with noise in the city, even as the sun fell beyond the horizon. It fell practically unseen, behind the towering buildings and flashing lights, to all but one. A man sat on his terrace, seated comfortably in his favorite chair, enjoying the sight of the merging of what seemed like a million colors. All was peaceful, but work would start once the darkness took over.

A raven flew overhead and dropped a small envelope into the man’s lap. He let out a long sigh, willing his peace to never end, but knew he couldn’t get out of the job because you can’t get out of family. At least it was the last before a long break for his wedding. Fiddling with his engagement ring, almost identical to the one he had given to his fiancé, he carefully opened it and read over the words. The breath was sucked from his lungs as he saw the name, and had to read over a few times more. He doubled over in the chair, his chest suddenly made of lead. The tall man stood and clutched his head while leaning over the terrace, attempting to figure out his situation in his head. Suddenly the door to his house was quickly opened and shut again. A slightly smaller man came out of the apartment, filled with concern.

“Yue, carissima, are you okay?” The dark-skinned man ran to his lover.

“Yes, Candide everything is fine. I merely felt light-headed for a moment.” This was only partly a lie.

“Are you sure? Was that your job information coming just now? From the avem? How long will it take?” Yue let out a sad chuckle at his lover’s concern and questions.

“Yes, I’m sure. Yes, that was the job information,” he grasped his lover's hands in his and gazed into his fiancé's dark eyes. “And it shouldn’t take long.” He kissed his hand.

“Alright, just checking. Mine should come once Solis rises. You should come inside before it gets too cold. I know a good movie we can watch. Want me to make us some popcorn? Or is it too soon after dinner? Maybe I’ll just make some snacks…” The Latino let go of Yue’s hands and walked back inside, continuing to ask questions of their night plans, fully aware his lover remained outside. Yue watched him go sadly, wondering himself of their night's plans, for another reason.

Before Sunrise

The Sun had yet to rise, but the birds had already started their songs. The city was as quiet as one could hope and all the lights in all the apartments had turned off their lights; this made it all the better for the dark-skinned man to watch the Sun come up from above the horizon through the large kitchen window. He closed his chocolate colored eyes and took a deep breath in and out. After a few moments of tranquility, he leaned out of the window as far as he could, just in time for an out of place crow to drop an envelope into his hands. The letter inside, written by his grandmother no doubt. Crawling back inside, he opened it and let out an audible gasp; letting the letter slip to the floor, covering his mouth in horror.

Tears filled his eyes as he sunk to the floor. Unable to process what he has been told must be done. It all seems too unreal for the young lover. Slowly he rose and picked up the letter and envelope. Staring at it for a moment he chucked it out the window and stood, letting out angry sobs. A few minutes passed for him to calm down and when he finally did he trudged back to his bedroom, climbing into bed, tears streaks imprinted on his face. Once in bed, pushing himself into his lover’s chest and hugging it tight.

“Candide? Sweet are you alright?” Yue asked, being pulled out of his light sleep at the motion of the bed and sudden warmness.

“I’m fine love. Simply a bad dream.” This is what he hoped it would turn to be.

“Are you sure, ” He brushed some hair out from the small man’s face. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“No. No, let’s just- uh. Let’s just go to sleep. Mkay?” Yue wasn’t entirely convinced at this, but the taller man nodded his head at his distressed fiancè and hugged him closer. And the both of them fell into a sleep of a series of uncomforting dreams.

Cafe Trip

The next morning they both rose got ready with a heavy and awkward silence hanging above their heads. Afterward, they sat at the kitchen table, staring out the window at the rain, neither knowing what to say.

“Why don't we uh… Go to that cafe we saw the other day. Near um that pizza place and the theater.”

Yue thought a moment on this, trying to remember any time they had been there before.

“I’m not sure if we’ve been there before. What if it’s no good?”

“Oh, it’ll be fine. I’m sure there’ll be something for the both of us. Besides, it pretty new and hasn’t been claimed so there won’t be any family drama.” With that, he stood and walked to the door. Stopping a moment to offer his hand to Yue.

”You’re aware it raining right?”

”Then we’ll wear of coats.” The green-eyed Latino spoke as if he was speaking to a child. The light-skinned man looked at it a moment, suppressing the tug on his lips, then stood and took it. Together they took the elevator down and walked the few blocks to the small hole-in-the-wall cafe with a flickering neon sign.

Inside smelled like coffee and had a fireplace with chairs, benches, and a couch scattered around. Candide thought it was cozy. Yue was skeptical. There were a few people sitting quietly, eating pastries and working on laptops but it was otherwise empty.

Yue gripped Candide's hand tighter as he surveyed the room.

“What do you want love?” He asked, his gaze fixed on the large, chalk-written menu on the wall.

“Green tea and chocolate muffin?” Candide asked, implying the older man would be ordering alone.

Yue sighed, glaring across the room at the teen cashier. ”Alright love, go find a table.” With a last squeeze to Yue’s hand and a small giggle, Candide went to find a good table.

Yue clenched his jaw, always disliking dealing with people, especially so early in the morning. Stalking up to the register, Yue tried to push away thoughts of his family going after Candide. Coming from major-mafia families that have eyes practically everywhere can make a person a bit paranoid.

Settling on a coffee and breakfast sandwich, it was amusing, to say the least for the tall man to watch the anxious teen attempts at avoiding eye contact.

When the meal was finally ready at the pick-up area, Yue walked briskly over the where he had been watching his lover sitting and staring out the window.

The smaller man smiled up at him but said nothing as he snatched the muffin off the tray and shoved a large chunk in his mouth. They sat across from him, before having to lean across the table the wipe chocolate-stain on Candide’s cheek.

“Enjoying your meal, love?” The Latino simply looked across the table at nodded vigorously, mouth too full to speak. After swallowing he commented,

“See? Aren’t you glad we came? This place is really cool.” Yue was about to answer before something caught his eye from across the street. An older man was inside a shop across the street and seemed to be looking right at them. He stood there completely unmoving with his arms crossed. The two men were caught in a staring contest for what felt like an eternity before Candide shook his shoulder slightly, bringing Yue to reality.

“Uh, hello? What are you looking at?” Candide tried to turn and find what had captured the other man’s gaze but Yue quickly stopped him.

”Oh, nothing. Nothing. I just, I'm, ” He touched his shoulder to gain back his attention, “I’m going to go do something real quick, ok? I’ll be right back.”

Not waiting for an answer he got up and left the cafe. Quickly jay-walking while trying to subtly take his ring off. No one knew of the engagement and the demands of the past twenty-four hours had only complicated things. He entered the shop across the street and was immediately asked the expected yet dreaded question,

“When will the job be done?” That was the first thing to come from his brother’s mouth. No hello. No good morning. All business.

“I just got the letter last night Gui.” Yue clenched his fists but did nothing that might aggravate his older brother.

“Which should be enough time to come up with a plan of execution.” Yue snapped at the word ’execution’. He advanced towards his brother stopped only when they were an inch away.

”Why the hell is this even a thing? This can start up a war between our families and you’re treating it as if it’s no different than any other job.” Gui raised his chin and tightened his already up-tight posture.

”You and I both know not to question the Boss. We’re the soldiers, and we take care of the business. If that means your little boy toy over there, ” he cocked his head across the street where through the window Candide could be seen. His head buried in his arms and staring at his tea with wide eyes. ”doesn’t make it. Then he doesn’t make it. Family first. You really going to make the Capos question your loyalty over that little shit?”

At first mention of his fianće, Yue looked over at him. But at the insult, even if it was lazy, his head turned so quick his neck could have snapped. He rounded on his brother, slamming him against a nearby wall and gripping his collar tightly.

”I don’t give a crap about the fucking Capos and what they think of me. And don’t talk about him like that, alright?” Before the older man could react Yue turned on his heels and left, storming across the street. Yue walked back to Candide, still radiating with anger. Candide lifted his head; eyes filled with worry, bouncing his knee furiously.

”Come on. We have to go.” The taller man put his almost untouched meal back in its bag while the Latino simply looked down and sadly got up. They both sped-walked back to their apartment complex in silence, holding the others’ hand in a death-grip. It wasn’t the first time something like this had happened.

Wedding Invitation pt.1

Dear Abuela,

Tu, along with mi hermanos y padres, are invited to my courtship. I understand you are displeased with my choice of a mate but I hope you will reconsider my mission and come to the wedding.

Love, Candide

Wedding Invitation pt.2

Dear Grandfather,

I know you have a certain plan for your offspring's lives but I cannot follow that path anymore. I will always respect you but the time has come for me to make my own choices and life-decisions. You must understand that what you wish for me to do is contradictory with what I personally wish to be true. This said I wish for you and my immediate family to come to my wedding ceremony. Again know that I am still forever loyal to you and to this family, I simply need more than what this life of yours can offer. I hope deeply that you will show your support for me and come.

Respectfully, Yue

Approval

It was terrifying but the men had to face what they heated most; their families. Both men contacted the heads of the families and asked permission for others to attend the wedding. Everything had been planned; the ceremony, the music, the outfits. Everything. All that was left was the guest invitations.

They both sat in the living room, the T.V. playing quietly for some sort of background noise. Candide lay on the couch, his head in Yue’s lap with his eyes closed and hands folded on his stomach. Yue sat upright, staring at nothing while mindlessly running his hands through is husband-to-be’s hair. They sat in comfortable silence but there was a heavy question floating through the air. ’What if they rejected me?’ Always a ’what if’ question.

At long last the envelopes were dropped from a raven and a crow. Both out of place and flying from opposite directions. The two men leapt from their seats and grabbed the letters, differentiating the two by the striking colors. Each notice and eagerly torn open and held less than ten letters. Simple, yet powerful words. Yue’s letter wrote,

“Careful assessment has approved of this wedding.” Yue breathed a sigh of relief and looked to his lover. Candide’s wrote,

“We’ll be there.” He smiled widely and turned to his finance.

“They’re coming.” He let out a breathy laugh.

“Mine too.” Yue revealed. Candide smiled even wider and nearly tackled the taller man in a hug. Their families approved! Or at least, majority rule stated so. The point is this could solve many problems, personal and political. Finally! They could have peace…

Spring Wedding

Everything had been carefully prepared and, after quite some time, was finally ready. The only thing left? Facing the family in person.

It was a Spring wedding in the early afternoon. The Sun shone down and flowers were blossoming all around the altar. One both sides at attendees sat wearing formal attire on white chairs.

Both men were getting ready in separate rooms, anxiously awaiting the event and the prospect of anything going wrong. Albeit, when it was finally to take their places there were no worries as the priest called everyone to rise and turn to watch Candide walk down the aisle to his betrothed.

Candide’s breath was ripped from his lungs at the sight of Yue. The way he stood, the Sun shining upon his face. He looked so entirely at peace. His usually hard features melting away to appear as the picture of pure innocence. The sunlight reflected off his hair in a way that made his dyed crimson red tips blow up with light as if his hair was alight with fire. And his eyes. Coal black and thin, giving away his Chinese heritage, seemed to devour all light in their perfectly matching clouds of volcanic ash, intensive enough to bury pure obsidian and jet blackness in their depth. So dark and deep an angel could drown in the beauty of it all. A whole dimension captured. At that moment, of gazing into the deep abyss of inky darkness, the true meaning of stargazing was known.

He could feel himself fall in love again.

Yue looked upon his soon-to-be husband and felt his heart melt away. The light shining upon him from the light through the glass ceiling above gave him the appearance of an angel on Earth. His pearl white suit glowing in the afternoon light. His curly, snow-white hair brushing gently against his face. The tips, a lemony gold, reaching just past small button nose and curling around his nape at the back. The bright colors standing out even brighter against his rich, tawny skin. Red flushed his cheeks above where the bones curved and stuck out. His lips, full and red, parted slightly and tilted towards the heavens. And his eyes; the epitome of beauty itself. Nothing could stand to compare. Near the pupil was a dark green. On the outside was an almost gold color. In the middle was an electric green with sparks of gold jutting in. There was a story. A green forest where creatures of all go to prosper. Deep within that forest is a lost city of gold. It spread like vines to the rest of the forest. Producing fruit of everlasting love and life. Standing there, he was the picture of royalty.

At that moment, of feeling his heart swell of the love so full one could cry from it all.

“I promise to protect you when you feel unsafe, treat you when you feel ill, and serve you through all that could happen. And above all, I promise to stand by you as your loyal husband.”

“I promise to be at your side, through thick and thin. I promise to share my soul with you, but not stand below you. To explore and dance and share and create new memories. And above all, I promise to stand by you as your loyal husband.”

“Do you, Candide, take Yue as your lawfully wedded husband?”

“I do.”

“Do you, Yue, take Candide as your lawfully wedded husband?”

“I do.”

“You may now kiss.”

Family Betrayal

The two leaned forward, but a moment before their lips touched the left side of the room stood and faced the other family. They pulled out small handguns and fired at will. Blood stained the chairs but the larger family ducked from view, re-emerging with their own guns, and a few brandishing knives. There was anarchy throughout the pews as the now one family fought against one another. The priest ran from sight, leaving the two lovers, now husbands, to stare in horror as their special day was burned to pieces before their eyes.

Yue grabbed Candide and pulled him behind a column. “Stay here. I’m going to my family to see what they think they’re doing.” “What? You can’t go over there! You’ll get hurt!” The cupped the smaller man’s face in his hands and kissed his forehead. “I have to end this. I’m going to be ok. But I can’t say the same for everyone else.” The last part practically came out as a growl and he raced to where his family was huddled. His brother, grandmother, and father lay dead, sprawled across the floor. Two with gunshot wounds, his brother with a knife sticking out of his throat.

The man ran up to his mother, barely regarding the corpses. “What the hell do you all think you are doing?!” We will speak after. Go. You have nothing to defend yourself with.” “I will do no such thing. You were invited here under good will but have unleashed violence.” “You will do as your mother says and leave now. You think we would overpass an opportunity of being so close to our deepest enemy?” She then turned her attention back to the knives being thrown at her.

“Not my enemy.” He muttered to himself, prying a gun from a nearby family member’s hand. Pointing it at the women who raised him, and now betrayed him, he put a bullet through her head. The sound reverberating off the walls. “You are my enemy.”

The Blood Of Your Kin

Candide stared at the space where Yue had been just a moment ago. He knew he couldn't wait for the danger to end as his lover wished. More often than not Yue attempted to shield and protect him as much as possible. Though growing up in a family like his, one would learn how to protect themselves.

He turned to where a few of his siblings were hiding from the onslaught of bullets raining down and ran to them. Even quicker than his fear had turned to anger. “Candide, I’m sure you have your own weapons on you. They’ve already killed six of us. Help us kill the rest of those idiots.” It was clear ‘those idiots’ included Yue and Candide knew there was no way he was going to let the man die.

“I’m sorry mi hermanos but I will not let you take this away from me.” With that he grabbed two hidden knives for each hand a jabbed them into the hearts of his brothers. His sister’s eyes widened in horror but quickly recovered, stabbing at Candide with her own army knife. It landed deep in her brother’s forearm and with a scream he slashed at her chest pushing her down with his other arm. With a cry she landed, unmoving, dead.

Blood Wedding

Over the next two hours the two men sought out and killed their own kin, unable to find a single relative who wasn’t out for blood. Both men stood at the altar, covered in blood. They stared out at the massacre and sat down, embracing each other.

“I was supposed to kill you.” Admitted Candide, tears filling his eyes. Yue kept silent for a moment, think his words through carefully.

“As was I.”

Candide let you a sigh and rest his head against Yue’s shoulder.

”We can’t go back to the apartment can we?”

”No love, I don’t think we can.”

Candide thought a bit more, trying to decide if he should speak his mind while chewing on the words in his mouth.

”Will we ever have a home?” Yue frowned a moment at the upsetting question but lifted Candide’s head for their eyes to meet. It was raining in the forest.

”Of course we have a home. We have each other. Home is where the love is at.”

Both smiled at each other and connected their lips in a kiss of true love and lover’s passion.

Fin