#sometimes i lie down next to her and she gets real close to sniff me and she looks so silly from that angle

[moxie-girl]

girl why you so nose????

[thefanbasewhore]

Silent treatment - Din Djarin & Javier Peña. || Preference #1.

Summary: Just a little preference/head cannon on a snipet with Din and Javier dealing with the silent treatment. Enjoy!

Warnings/Content: none but pettiness lol

Din Djarin

Din is more of the intervert type, he likes the quiet. The shift of light to dark, nothing is more relaxing then the stars that reflect off the 'T' of his visor in complete silence.

While you understand he likes it, you tend not to talk too much, which can be difficult but you find yourself falling into comfortable silence against the mandalorian's chest more than you like to admit.

Quietness was the normal between the clan often because of the excitement that came when they were off the ship, blasters, yelling, threatening was no existent.

The Razor Crest resembled a place of peace, a place where skins real skin can press against your own without worry, he can remove the helmet in the dark to kiss you, kiss promises against your skin, a safe haven.

It would take Din longer than he would like to admit to realize you're not speaking to him, it takes almost hours to realize something is wrong.

There were hints of it, your nose turning up when he entered the cockpit, the small huffs, you avoid his gaze a presence at all times. You would even speak the child with the sweet voice but the moment he walks into the room you're silent.

Finally he's had enough, leaning against the door frame of the cockpit, you in the co-pilot seat with the child, the child holding the ball to show you for the millionth time his favorite toy. You smile sweetly at him, fingers pressing against his ears, rubbing the petals with a coo. The other hand holds out a small chunk of fruit, "Take one bite for me."

The child declines with a whine, making you huff. "C'mon buddy, you can play with the ball later." It's useless.

He clears his throat, crossing his arms over his chest. He stands unsure, hands nervously shaking as he fears the worst. You want to leave. "Is....Is something wrong?"

There's no answer, like he hasn't even said anything just the small gaze that meets him with a grimace. Again, the child distracts you instead. His heart pounds with anticipation as his chest falters.

This makes him frown, muscles straining as he grits his teeth nervously. "Hello?"

The thick tension that fills the air makes it almost impossible to breath for the pair, both are fearful, it's a new relationship, mistakes were still to be made. It pollutes the air with a sickly feeling.

Not only was the Mandalorian surprised, he was frustrated. You can see it in the way he tenses, fingers shake but not in the way his skin turned red under all the armour, that was for him to feel the heat run up his back and blush his neck.

He clearly didn't like the way you responded, long strides until he's between your legs. He stands tall, towering over your sitting figure. Intimidating with his large shoulders, the metal points of his helmet staring down at you. His fingers find your chin, gripping to finally feel your eyes but his words are gentle, pleading. "Tell me.. what is wrong?"

When you don't speak he does, "Cyar'ika, sweet girl if something is wrong you need to tell me."

"You're an idiot." He finds humor in the words, a chuckle tightening his chest.

"Care to elaborate? You say that a lot." Gloved fingers move up your jaw, fingers press against the soft spot in the back of your ear, apply just enough pressure to make it comforting.

"It's not funny. I'm mad at you." Your face was serious, lips pursing with a slight frown. This makes Din sigh, he kneels down until he's at your height still in-between your legs.

"I'm not laughing, I'm sorry. Tell me."

Your words make his heart pound, tears starting to stings eyes, the glossing over makes him worried. "You just jumped into the Krpt Dragon without a worry. You didn't think about me or the child. You don't care if you die.. but I do."

"I do care... You and the child are the only two people I care for." He disagrees, the cool basker pressing against your collarbone, leaning against your body. "I would do anything for you two."

"I know that... But you cannot be risking your life for people like this. I know you like to help but it's too much to loose." You pause, "I can't take it, the thought of loosing you."

The words make him pause. Throughout his life Din has heard a lot of things these words were yours and yours alone. They make him nervous, his breath hitches, he doesn't know how to feel. He's never had to think about this before.. he's was like but now he has a girl, a family waiting for him.

"I-Im sorry." It's uncharacteristic, they way he lifts his helmet just enough to press a soft kiss against your shoulder, another one to your neck before pressing against your lips for one final one, he words whispered against lips. "I never thought about it like that before, forgive me.. I don't want you to worry."

"Well I can't help it." You sniff, a lazy smile at his warmth but his helmet drops back down as you catch of glimpse of blushed lips.

"I'm sorry. I'm not alone anymore, I forget." His arms wrap around your waist pulling you as close as the child on your lap will allow, the basker clad chest should be uncomfortable, cold but it's the exact opposite, warm and safe. "Forgive me Cyare."

"I can never stay mad at you." The words are breathlessly murmured against the small patch of skin on his neck, the spot where you would often pull down in the collar of his tunic to feel his skin. "I love you Bear."

"I love you sweet girl."

Javier Peña

Javier Peña's life is anything but boring, it's filled with chaos, long nights, alcohol and woman of any kind. The woman is where the problem was, no matter how much you told him it bothered you, that it should be more than just sex, he made sure it didn't.

It was pure raging hot jealousy that seared inside your veins, it crept warmth up the nape of your neck, fist ball under the table of the bar. Murphy must have noticed how violently you are chewing on your bottom lip, eyeing the pair across the bar. "You alright?"

"Fine." You snap rather quickly, eyes growing wide in realization. "Sorry Murph, I'm fine."

His eyes show it all, head tilting with an unamused look. "You don't have to lie to me."

"I'm not I'm just tired." And jealous, so, so jealous that Javier's lips press against the brunettes collar bones, flash of pink as his tongue rolls against her neck, pressing his weight against her.

You knew it was just sex, Javi made sure to let you know despite working together nothing would change, it was just sex , a stress reliever with someone who understood the faults of working for the DEA, the struggles that went with it. Except now it was more, it was those nights with next to each other naked in bed, the kisses, hugs, cute nicknames and the long talks of promises, potential future but now it seems you were never part of it.

He acted as if he were your boyfriend, he often made dinner for you, picking up a coffee before heading into the office for you every morning, he gave you gifts, his main reasoning being "It reminds me of you."

Javier was confusing, late at night after a long day he would confess his affection for you, even let it slip a few times that he loves you, swears you are his other half, his soulmate. Of course it's when he's drunk but you hold onto it being the truth he's afraid to admit.

Javier doesn't notice you leaving that night, he doesn't notice Murphy offering to walk you home, assure you get their safely despite it being right next to his own.

The next morning you decide to go into work a little earlier, hoping your sleepless night filled with tears would be worth it. At least it took your mind off it.

It was like clock work, Javier placing the large coffee cup in front of you on your desk, this time some kind of pastry is next to it, tucked in a wax bag and a kiss presses against your cheek. "Good morning Hermosa."

The silence is uncharacteristic, very seeing he literally has to beg you to shutup sometimes. His face twist into confusion as you pull away from his lips, but the mark still burns against your cheek. The same lips that you know for a fact were all over another woman's body last night.

"What's wrong?" He notices as Murphy shakes his head with a huff, clearly annoyed with his friends ignorance. Javi's eyes drift from his with shrugging shoulders to yours with a look of surprise. "What?"

"I'm going to bring these down to Lopez, meet you in a half an hour downstairs Murph." Your words make Javier's brows flur, why?

The coffee is left, along with the muffin. He sits down at his own desk, leaning over to grab it, he starts to pull it apart, pick at it with ever intent to eat it but suddenly doesn't feel hungry.

"What's her problem?"

"Really Javi? What's her problem?" The words make Javi's jaw clench, he doesn't much care for his friends tone as he speaks. "You're an idiot, you hurt her feelings."

"I didn't do anything! I even got her a muffin today, it's blueberry her favorite!" Javi feels nervous, in all the time he's known you this had never happened; intentionally ignoring him.

"you didn't do anything?" Murphy stands, Javier guesses it's to meet you. "You invited her out last night and then ignored her to fuck a girl in front of her."

"I didn't fuck her, all we did was kiss." Javi hisses back, rubbing over his face with a growl. "Besides we agreed it was just hooking up.'

"Well it doesn't seem to be for her anymore, you need to apologise. She was crying to whole way I walked her home."

"She.. She walked home?" The words sit deep in his gut, squeezing his chest with a soft sigh. No matter how much he tried to help it, all the alochol and woman could distract him from how he feels for you, even when he tries to hide it. His words faulter, "Why didn't you just tell me? I would have walked her home, when I came back you both were gone."

"She didn't want to speak with you, I made sure she got home safe. If it was any of your concern."

The words were sour, a dig that made Javier growl. Of course it was his concern, even thought he promised to never admit it, he cared for you in a way he never has for another person.

Sure he almost got married, had plenty of girlfriends but it wasn't like this. Nothing compared to the feeling of having you close at night, waking up next to you. Javier's fingers shakily reach for a cigarette, watching Murphy slip out of the main office with a huff.

As time went on, Javier couldn't get out of his own head, while they agreed that it was strictly just a way to relieve stress it was also a habit by now.

The nights spent back and forth at each other's houses, the particularly rough days were together, holding each other close.

When he found himself down you were always there, comforting him, making sure he eats telling him that alochol and cigarettes are not a meal, even going as far as making meals for him. Call him selfish, but he didn't want it to end.

The moment he heard that the next group was heading out over the intercom he was up, he knew Murphy and you were going to it, he be dammed if he would ever let you go anywhere near action without him.

You would be fine.. eventually. You give a small smile of reinsurance to Murphy as he slides into the car next to you, but both of your faces drop the moment Javi opens the door, clearing his throat with a nod of acknowledgment.

"Javi.. I thought you weren't on this one?" Murphy questions, rubbing over his face as your eyes narrow at Javier's which are already on you.

"Change of plans." It's gruff, sharp as his narrow back. "Want to tell me what's wrong sweetheart?"

He's only met with more silence, your arms wrapping across your chest as you lean into the seat, eyes roaming over the different shades of green head resting across the glass. It was going to be a long ride.

"Why are you acting like a brat?" It's a dig, he's trying to break this silence, the only way he can think of is to piss you off. "You're acting like a baby."

You bite the inside of your cheek, fighting the words turning your head to look at him, then to Steve who looks the other way, deciding now was the perfect time to mind his own business.

Javier obviously doesn't get what the silent treatment is, he shifts, leaning against the seat, spreading his legs to give you the perfect view of his legs, his thighs. There's a small smirk, cocky as his hands run across his inner thigh. "Come talk to me."

It's an invitation one that makes your blood boil, you can't help the words that fall past your lips. "Go ask that girl from the bar, you pig."

"Mmhmm." He mumbles, eyes flickering with that stupid knowing smirk. "You're mad about that mija? I thought we agreed it was no commitments besides I didn't fuck her."

The car comes to a holt, quick you and Steve tumbling towards the seats across where Javier sits, Murphy catches himself hand extending to the seat belt while you find yourself heading toward the window but fingertips softly grapsing your hips stop you, pulling you into a familiar chest.

Steve mumbles something about 'getting to work' and you two being 'ridiculous already' before opening the car door and shutting it.

You're about to follow him by pushing against Javier's chest but his grip never falters. "Relax." He mewls, lips pressing against your neck. "You know you're my girl, my Hermosa."

"I bet you said the same thing to her before you fucked her."

It's a sigh, breathlessly and exaggerated. "I told you I didn't fuck her. We only kissed."

"You could have kissed me." There was no use in struggling, but you managed to keep distance. Cold eyes on his own.

His hand presses against your chin, thumb on the sharpest angle trying to bring his lips to your own, his apology but you move your head to the side.

"I don't think we should do this anymore.." you eyes don't meet his, adverting as all cost. His jaw drops, resembling a fish out of water as it closes, opens to say something but closes against deep in thought as he hears his heart beat in his ears.

His heart stuttering at the words, chest heavy, crushing as he held in a breath. "N-No, I mean it. You're my girl, I'm sorry. You know how I feel about you."

The words sit on the tip of his tongue, his eyes shoot over to Murphy with a group of other officers talking tactics but suddenly he doesn't care about that anymore only the fact his own heart was breaking inside his chest.

"I can share you anymore. I can't do this to myself."

"I'm yours, I-I won't -." He can't seem to say the words, they choke up in his throat, eyes show his internal panic his heart against his mind, Javi didn't commit, this life style didn't allow it.

But when your fingers find the handle, trying to leave the close proximity of the car he knew he'd loose your forever. "I'll stop sleeping around, I'll stop all of it. Only me and you."

Eyes test him, even like this, large bags, no make up you looked beautiful. You're unsure letting out a deep breath, it wasn't looking good. "Please, I need you. You can't just go.."

"You get one chance Javi, one slip up and I'm not putting myself through this." He lets out a sigh of relief heart claiming down for the anticipation but before he could manage another word you open the door, stepping outside. "You coming Agent Peña? I believe you have a dinner to take me to later, since you're officially making me your girlfriend and all. I rather get this over with." Javi smiles, shaking his head as he rolls his eyes at your playfulness.

[troubatrain]

together by this christmas tree - p.l. dubois

a/n: happy december, so because The Maine’s Ho Ho Hopefully is a god tier Christmas song and I forgot how to write anything else heres like 5 words of just fluff. big shoutout to @prettyboybarzal​ for letting me just dump this fic on her for a few days so i could fuck around with the plot you are a queen!!

Pierre was in Los Angeles.

At any other time, he’d be pretty happy. The long West Coast road trip was one of Pierre’s favorites, he got to spend some time with his teammate’s, enjoy the warm weather, and play a few games that would hopefully end in a win. This time, however, he was sulking in his hotel room because he wished he was in Columbus. It was the first day of December, and Pierre knew that meant one thing - You were undoubtedly getting ready for the holiday season in whatever ways you knew how.

You stumbled into Pierre’s life by accident - literally. When Phillip was just a puppy, Pierre had taken him on a run. The French Bulldog pulled him with all his strength, causing you, who’d been looking at your phone to trip right over his leash. You assured Pierre it was fine, but while you were explaining to him that you had dogs growing up and sometimes shit happens your elbow had been bleeding before you could finish your sentence. Pierre offered to help you out, given his own apartment was barely a block away, and you’d been friends ever since. Friends. Just friends.

“Just tell her,” Tex says from the bed next to him, his road roommate having enough of watching Pierre sulk around their hotel room, “I’m tired of this.”

“Tired of what?” Pierre asks, his eyebrows raising. 

“This, the thinking about Y/N all the time,” Tex exasperates dramatically, he sighs, putting on his best impersonation of his teammate, “Y/N’s watching the dogs while I’m away. Y/N and I are trying that new French restaurant downtown. Y/N’s favorite holiday is Christmas and I’m not decorating with her. Dude, you’re in love with her, just tell her. I’m sure she feels the same way.”

“What if she doesn’t?” Pierre asks, finally admitting the real reason he’s yet to say anything. Pierre had been rejected a few times in his life, but he never let it get to him. That was because those people didn’t matter the way you did. You knew everything about him. You knew the way he took his coffee and the way he hated being woken up. You knew Pierre better than you knew yourself, and losing that was the first thing that’s ever really scared him.

“Well you won’t know if you don’t do something about it,” Tex sighs, frustrated with his two friends, “Or you’ve got to let her go.”

Tex walked out of their hotel room after he spoke, undoubtedly to get away from Pierre’s energy that was clouding the room. Pierre sighs, rolling over to the otherside of his bed and pulling up your contact. He did the math internally in his head for a moment, trying to figure out if you’d be asleep or not - smiling to himself when he realized you were probably still up. 

“Shouldn’t you be at some fancy LA restaurant?” You chirp, smiling on the other side of the phone when you pick up the Facetime call.  You were home, but Pierre could see two familiar figures snuggled together on her couch. You had become Pierre’s accidental dog sitter at the beginning of the season. He put finding one on the backburner, and when it came close to the start of the season, he was coming up empty. You offered three different times before Pierre finally came to his senses and said yes, not because he didn’t trust you, it was because if he had to watch his dogs love you as much as he does - he was never going to recover.

“Shouldn’t you be decorating for Christmas?” Pierre smirks, knowing exactly what the first day of December meant to his friend.

You loved Christmas, like in the type of way that made Pierre envious that anyone could be that happy from a holiday, and the first day of December was the day you went all out. A tree got put up in your apartment, a fake one because hauling a real one up to her place seemed like it would be too much, decorated elaborately in gold and white. You’d get dressed up in a set of Christmas pajamas, one’s that Pierre would scrunch his nose at but he secretly adored, and when he’d make fun of you for it - you’d just pout and call him a grinch.

“I thought I’d wait for you this year,” You mumble, hoping the lighting in your living room would hide the blush on your cheeks, “Speaking of Christmas…”

“I told you three times I don’t want anything,” Pierre reminds you, the argument sprung up twice a year, on Pierre’s birthday and the second the holiday season started. Pierre really had all he could want, his family and his friends were healthy, the team was doing well, and he could buy any material thing he wanted. His answer wasn’t a total lie, because he couldn’t think of anything he wanted besides you.

“You’re the worst,” You whine, throwing yourself back on the couch dramatically, Pierre watched Georgia spring up from next to you, the puppy dropping sloppy kisses all over your face. He thought about what Tex had rambled on about just before he called, that he had to just tell you, but you deserved it to be perfect. So he made a decision, he would tell you by Christmas and he’d spend every moment before that proving to you that he could be the man you deserved.

***

Pierre sighed, stepping back and looking at all of the pine needles that were scattered through his freshly washed BMW. He was going to have to get it cleaned, but the smile on your face would be worth it once he lugged that tree through your apartment building. It was part of his plan, one Tex had called stupid just three hours prior, but Pierre knew it wasn’t. You loved Christmas, and as much as you tried to never show it, you did always get a little bummed out that the tree in your apartment wasn’t real - something that not even the prettiest decorations could fix. So, Pierre decided he was going to fix it, and he was going to give you the best holiday you could ask for.

Pierre buzzed up to your apartment, the tree in his hands while he made his way up to your floor, holding up on his end of the promise he made to stop being a Grinch and help you decorate, “Special delivery.”

The snowman mug, undoubtedly filled with coffee and a tiny bit of sugar because that’s how you always drank it, slipping right out of your hands and onto the floor. The handle snapped off, but that seemed to take second place to the scene in front of you, “Is that-”

“A real tree? Uh yeah,” Pierre nods slowly, trying to not let the grin growing on his face show, “I know you say it’s not a big deal for your tree to be fake but-”

In all of the time you’d known Pierre, you were always his softer side. To the rest of the world, you almost seemed too sweet for the tattooed hockey player who wasn’t afraid to back down from a fight, but it wasn’t entirely true. Pierre had a softer side, one you’d seen shine through when he saw his mom or when a kid could stop him for an autograph, but they were never just random acts of kindness. You wrap your arms around his waist, taking a big sniff of the fresh pine scent that was sweeping through your apartment, “This might be the nicest thing anyone’s ever done for me.”

“This is the nicest thing I’ve ever done for someone,” Pierre jokes, pressing a kiss to the side of your head, “Where are we putting this thing?”

Once you had the tree in the stand, it was time to get to work. The real reason you waited for Pierre wasn’t because his lack of holiday cheer was a crime, even though it was, it was because then you could hang up decorations using a ladder. Pierre was keeping the smile on his face, not because he was happy that he had a Santa hat hanging from his head or that he was untangling string lights for you while he wrapped them around the tree, but because you would show him every ornament you had with some sort of story as to why you bought it.

“Do you have a favorite ornament?” You ask, snapping a picture of Pierre’s confused face while he untangled the lights. He looked silly, the hat that you placed on his head was hanging off, his tongue poking out the side of his mouth while he tried to untangle the lights. He looked up at you, and you could see him thinking for a moment before he answered you.

“I do actually, I had this little Canadians skate that I used to steal off the tree to play with as a kid,” Pierre finally settled on, smiling to himself when he could practically see himself at seven trying to steal that ornament off the tree. His mother would scold him, and tell him there’s a million other things to play with but it just wasn’t that stupid plastic skate, “My mom used to get so mad at me for taking it but, I loved it.”

“So you didn’t always hate Christmas?” You tease, a giggle escaping through your lips.

“I don’t hate Christmas, I’m just not obsessed with it,” Pierre defends, “But maybe I liked it more when I was a kid.”

“Well be more like seven year old Luc, and get decorating,” You joke, tossing an ornament at him.

Three hours and two broken decorations later, the tree was propped up in the corner of your living room. It looked perfect, because there was nothing that could stop you from decorating that tree flawlessly, but Pierre was sincerely proud of himself for how much he’d actually helped. You were happy, standing in front of it with the gold star that went on top in your hand, “Well put it on.”

“Shouldn’t you do that?” Pierre asks before you shake your head no and try to hand him the topper. Pierre stays planted in his spot, knowing if he looked at you for just another minute you’d explain yourself.

“I’m too short to get up there and I don’t feel like getting out a ladder-” Pierre scoffed before you could finish your sentence, ducking down and hooking your legs over his shoulders without a second thought. You squeal, latching your hands on any part of him you could to stop yourself from losing your balance, “You could’ve just done it.”

“Hang up the star before I drop you,” Pierre teases, loosening his grip on your thighs like he was going to let you fall. Your laugh filled your apartment, and Pierre knew that had to be his favorite sound in the world. You place the star on top of the tree, Pierre stepping back so you could admire your work.

“Perfect?” You ask, your eyes scanning over the twinkling lights that seemed to just hang from the tree flawlessly. Pierre didn’t look at the tree before he answered, his eyes still trained on you.

“Yeah it’s perfect.”

***

The first snow in Columbus could not have come at a better time. Pierre had an afternoon game, and by the time he’d been out of the arena on his way back to his place, the snow was starting to just cover the ground. You had been at his place all afternoon, baking away pieces for a gingerbread house because you told Pierre buying one was unacceptable. You practically destroyed his kitchen, the counters covered in flour and pieces of gingerbread dough. You had Christmas music blasting over the speaker, lost in your own little world until you heard the door open.

“What happened in here?” Pierre asks, his suit jacket slipping off of his shoulders while he took in the sight in front of him. His kitchen was a mess, the dishes piled high in the sink while the entire place was flooded with the smell of gingerbread, “Did you rob a bakery?”

Pierre picked up the candy that was neatly placed in different cups on the counter. He looked at you with an amused smile on his face, “I didn’t come here to fuck around, and neither did you.”

With your words came a bright green apron for Pierre, he unrolled the fabric taking a deep breath and reminding himself that if he wanted you to know he cared about you, he was going to have to suck it up and build the damn house.

As it turns out, building the damn house was harder than Pierre thought. The cookie kept crumbling, the house kept sliding apart and Pierre couldn’t construct a roof to save his life. You, on the other hand, were working tireless at the most well constructed gingerbread house he’d ever seen. You were lost in your own little world, mouthing along to the Christmas music playing in the background. It would have been cute, and at any other time Pierre probably thought you were downright adorable, but not while another cookie broke in his hands.

“I can’t do this anymore,” Pierre growls, a pout on his face while he swiped the cookie crumbs from his hands.

You laugh at his disgruntled state, his back was hunched and his face was red. It was what he looked like after a bad game, except your friend who prided himself on acting like a tough guy was absolutely defeated by a simple gingerbread house. You drop the pastry bag that was in your hands, “You need to relax.”

“I am relaxed!” Pierre yells, stepping back in frustration, “It’s the house it won’t-”

“Luc, listen to yourself for a minute, it’s not the house’s fault,” You explain gently, you walk behind him and place both of your hands on each of his arms, “Try again and calm down.”

Pierre didn’t want to finish the house, but if your hands were on him he wasn’t going to tell you to take them off anytime soon. Your hands were wrapped around his arms lightly, your chin resting on his back while you peeked around his arm.  He grabbed the bag and you rolled your eyes at how tense he was, “Do you hold hockey sticks that tightly, jeez.”

Pierre turns around, giving you a glare and raising his eyebrows. You stifle a laugh, trying your best to keep it together despite how hilarious you found his mood to be, “Quit making fun of me and help me.”

“Okay, okay,” You nod, running your arm along Pierre’s arm while you watched him try and squeeze the frosting out of the bag, “Slower Luc.”

Don’t get a boner. Don’t get a boner. Don’t get a boner.

Pierre’s mind was racing, trying to drive his focus in the direction of the house, and not the fact that you were standing behind him. The air in the kitchen was thick, the same weird sexual tension that seemed to creep up when the two of you were alone for too long was back and stronger than ever. Your fingers ran along Pierre’s tattoos absentmindedly while you whispered simple directions that were turning Pierre’s brain to mush. He couldn’t think of anything else beside the fact that all he wanted was turn around and press his lips to yours, but he couldn’t just do that.

Your heart was beating out of your chest, while your logical side told you that you were simply telling Pierre how to build the silly little house and this shouldn’t feel so sexual - but it did. Pierre touched you all the time, a hand on your back while you guys were out, a kiss on the forehead whenever he hugged you and you never thought anything of it until you realized he didn’t do that with everyone. So you panicked, ignoring the little voice in the back of your head that reminded you that you wanted him, and pretending like it never happened. That wasn’t easy, and every minute you spent with Pierre you could feel yourself falling into him like it was the easiest thing in the world. 

The moment was ruined by the sound of a cookie sheet hitting the floor, and the sound of a scared puppy’s feet running away in fear. You both jumped, your hands flying off of Pierre when the realization that you were doing it again washed over you. You were letting yourself pretend like this could lead somewhere and that one day Pierre would choose you and it would all work itself out. Except that was just hope and hope wasn’t going to stop your heart from getting broken.

“You should shower, I’ll start cleaning,” You offer, moving around the kitchen to clean so you could hide the blush on your cheeks.

And a cold shower was probably what Pierre needed.

***

This wasn’t part of my Christmas activities.

You were whining while Pierre drove down to the arena, the Blue Jackets family skate was that afternoon and he insisted you went. It wasn’t that you didn’t want to go, but you couldn’t  stop yourself from reading into things. He’d never brought you to the skate before, so why now?

“Isn’t this on that silly list of Christmas activities?” Pierre reminds you, tapping your leg lightly with his free hand, “Or do you just not know how to skate or something?”

“Well…” You start, Pierre’s eyebrows raising while he focused on the road ahead of you, “I don’t-”

“You eat Christmas cheer for the entire month of December but you don’t know how to ice skate? When were you going to tell me?” Pierre teases, chuckling while he shook his head at you.

“It never came up!” You defend, crossing your arms at him for teasing you, “And I didn’t tell you for this exact reason.”

Pierre made fun of you for the rest of the ride, teasing you that you should skate with his teammate’s kids who were practically toddlers and were probably better than you were. You walked into the arena behind Pierre, immediately smiling at the familiar faces of his teammates and their families. You made your way to his stall, Pierre telling you to sit he could get your skates laced up. You bit your lip, watching his hands work at the laces as delicately as he could. You were sure he was rougher with his own, but Pierre’s touch was always light as a feather with you.

“Too tight?” Pierre asks, breaking out of your trance from his too big veiny hands.

“No it’s fine,” You squeak out, and you could hear Tex snickering to himself next to you.

Pierre wasn’t a bad teacher for someone who almost tossed a gingerbread house across his apartment just a week prior. He was slow, his fingers laced with yours while he pulled you along and tried to help you skate on your own. It was a failure, and you looked like a baby deer trying to walk for the first time, but Pierre refused to believe you couldn’t get better. 

“You guys disgust me,” Tex chirps, hopping onto the bench next to you while you watch Pierre play tag with Savvy’s kids. You raise your eyebrows, waiting for an explanation, “You’re both so disgustingly in love with each other why won’t you just admit it?”

“Because Pierre’s going to find someone else who won’t be me,” You sigh, picking at your nails. You told Tex this once before, when you were wine drunk and sad about the date Pierre was on, “He’s just my friend.”

Tex wanted to scream, lock you both into a room and force you to talk about your feelings. He wasn’t going to do that, because he didn’t want to be the demise of what he thought might actually be something, but god did he want to. You both were frustrating the hell out of him, and if Pierre didn’t nut up soon he was going to take matters into his own hands by New Years.

“You don’t know that, if you told him-” Tex tries his hardest to reason with you, make you see that it’s worth the jump because Pierre was on the other side waiting for you.

“So he can flat out reject me and never speak to me again? Really I’m good,” You huff out, swinging your leg over the boards to get back onto the ice. You were doing okay, until you started to push yourself forward. Two steps later, you were on your way to face plant into the ice until you felt two arms wrap around your waist.

“Easy there,” Pierre laughs, stopping you just before you fell, “You’re not an expert now.”

“You’re such a bully,” You tease, avoiding Tex’s gaze when Pierre intertwined your fingers to pull you across the ice. Tex watched you both, the shared laughs and longing stares were just proof to him that if people did have one person for them, you were it for each other.

Only if you could get it through your heads. 

***

The Savard’s threw a bigger Christmas party than you’d ever seen before in your life. You loved David and his wife, given Pierre introduced you to them as his adoptive parents the first time you ever came over for dinner with him. It was your favorite version of Pierre, the one who let David’s kids paint his nails and color the black and white ink on his arms. You walked up the well decorated driveway, your heels clicking against the pavement while you made your way inside.

“You need to go see your boy in the kitchen,” You hear Seth call over to you, grabbing your attention as soon as you walk into the house. You wave hello first, making your way into the kitchen to see a sight that you were most definitely not expecting.

Pierre was sitting on a candy cane throne, a big Santa hat on his head and equally as red suit to match. He had one of Nick’s kids on his lap, listening to the little boy about the train set he’d been writing to Santa about since Thanksgiving. Your heart grew about four sizes at the sight, you walked over and tapped Pierre on the shoulder, “Can I borrow Santa for a minute?”

“Are you Mrs. Claus?” The question was a simple one, and the two big brown eyes that were looking up at you were the only thing that didn’t stop you from saying yes.

“Mrs. Claus huh?” Pierre teases, pulling you onto his lap while you watched Nick’s son make his way back to his mother.

“I wasn’t about to ruin his Christmas,” You shook your head, running a hand over the white fur on the jacket Pierre was wearing, “How’d you get sucked into this?”

“I was going to say no, but then I knew you’d at least laugh at me,” Pierre admits, a blush creeping up his neck. His hands were wrapped securely around your waist like for a moment he could just pretend like he had you, “Wanna tell the big guy what you want for you Christmas.”

“Hmm, nothing,” You settle on, “And you won’t know until you finally tell me what you want.”

The sound of cheers flooded the kitchen, and when you went to look at what all of the ruckus was about you realized that you were the ruckus. Seth had a shit eating grin on his face while he held the mistletoe above your heads. You knew you were flush, the heat on your cheeks made it clear while Pierre looked like he was a pale as a ghost. He planted a kiss on your cheek, telling Seth to fuck off before you pushed yourself off of him, muttering an excuse about needed to use the bathroom. 

You had your palms against the sink while you tried to catch your own breath. This was the reason you never made a move, because you knew it wouldn’t end in some sort of heartbreak. It was clear Pierre didn’t want to kiss you, and that was enough for you to let him go forever. You wiped the tears that were welling up in your eyes, deciding that when you walked out that door Pierre was your friend and your friend only.

“Where are you going?” Pierre caught your arm when you tried to leave the party, the idea of going home for a good cry was far better than a rowdy holiday party. He looked insane, his eyes wild while he panted to catch his breath after he searched the house in a panic for you.

“Home, I’m just not feeling well-” You come up with an excuse fast, hoping the quicker you spoke the quicker you could get out of there.

“Is this about Seth? I’ll kick the shit out of him,” Pierre promises, latching onto anything that would fix your mood.

Your feelings were something Pierre was an expert at, probably because he never seemed to take his eyes off of you. He knew when you were upset just from your body language alone and you were definitely not happy. Was it from Seth trying to force the idea that you should be together or was it that he didn’t kiss you? It had to be the first, because if it was the latter then Pierre fucked up his entire plan to make you see that he loved you.

“No it’s fine, really I just think I should go,” You were begging Pierre not to fight you on this, so he wasn’t going but he was going to be damned if he let you slip through his fingers.

“Stay, Tex and I were about to sing Christmas karaoke,” Pierre offers, dragging out his words, “I’ll let you pick the song.”

Pierre and Tex ended up serenading you with the worst rendition of All I Want For Christmas Is You you’d ever heard. Their dance moves were a crime, and they were definitely the two most tone deaf people you have ever met, but their heart was in the right place. The mistletoe incident was forgotten for the moment, your attention directed at the silly drinking games you were playing with your friends. You sat on the kitchen counter in the Savard’s home, your head leaning on Pierre’s shoulder after you’d taken your fourth shot in the span of an hour. A hangover was definitely on the horizon, but for the time it wasn’t going to kill your buzz.

“I hate when you do that you know?” You poke Pierre’s side, grabbing his attention from the crowd of people in the kitchen.

“Do what?” Pierre asks, a bold hand landing on your thigh.

“Make everything better somehow, it’s pretty fucking annoying Luc,” You tease, taking a look at his face for a moment. Pierre smiled before he answered you, the kind where his teeth would show and you could see his little vampire teeth you loved so much.

“I’ll always make it better Y/N.”

***

You’re coming over right?

Pierre sighs at your question, your voice flooding the speaker in his car while he drove home from his game. It was December 23rd, and he wanted to sneak in a nap before his middle of the night flight to Montreal to see his parents for Christmas. He’d just finished an afternoon game, one where the team lost and Torts lost his mind on them before he shipped them off to Christmas break tired and angry, but he wasn’t going to miss out on seeing you before Christmas. He made a promise to himself he’d tell, come clean once he felt like you knew he loved you. Maybe you did, and if you didn’t you were in for one hell of a surprise.

Pierre took a quick right in the direction of your place, deciding you couldn’t wait any longer. His brain was switched to autopilot and when he opened your apartment door with the key you gave him forever ago, he realized what this was. You were sitting on the couch, a gift box in your hand that was undoubtedly for him and it hit Pierre like a freight train.

He didn’t get you anything.

Pierre could’ve punched himself, calling out every name in the book because he was an idiot. He spent so much time focusing on spending time with you, and going along with all of your silly little Christmas things that he didn’t even realize he forgot to get you a gift at all. Pierre just knew whatever was in that bag was thoughtful and perfect, and he was walking in empty handed.

“Open it!” You exclaim, your excitement couldn’t be contained. Honestly, you were surprised you made it this far without spilling the beans about the gift. 

You hand Pierre the box, and he opens it slowly, pulling the top of the box off and gasping at what was inside. The skate ornament was the same as the one he mentioned when you were decorating your tree, the blue and red Canadians logo faded a bit, “Is this…?”

“I called your mom and asked her for it,”  You admit sheepishly, a little embarrassed to admit just how often you did talk to Pierre’s parents. He didn’t call often, mostly because he simply would forget, so his mother would start just calling you instead, “I know it’s silly but I thought maybe it’d remind you that the holidays aren’t all bad-”

“I love it, it’s perfect,” Pierre whispers, letting the ornament dangle from his large hand, “I fucked up, I uh, shit, I forgot to get you something.”

You laugh, practically falling to the floor while the giggles take over your body, “Luc, you sucked it up all month for me that’s enough.”

“It’s not, I did all of this so you’d know that I loved you and when I told you it would make sense,” Pierre starts to ramble, pacing around your apartment, “And I couldn’t even be bothered to remember to get you a damn gift.”

“You love me?” You repeat, just to make sure you’d gotten clear what’s been up with him since the start of the month. You felt the shift, the extra acts of kindness that just weren’t normal for him, but you knew if you read into it you might end up disappointed.

“I’m hopelessly in love with you, like one of those romantic Christmas movies you love so much,” Pierre admits, looking at you with the softest eyes you’d ever seen. You stood in front of him, dumbfounded that your best friend just told you he loved you, “Please say something.”

“Do you know what I want for Christmas?” You ask, taking a bold step forward and wrapping your arms around Pierre’s neck, “This year I want you alone.”

Pierre closed the gap between the two of you, and it felt like the entire world had stopped. The bustling city outside didn’t matter, Pierre’s flight in a few hours didn’t matter, and the brutal loss he’d taken hours later was on the backburner. Right now, Pierre’s hands were wrapped around your waist while your lips were pressed against his and he would have rather died than let go of you in that moment.

“So I don’t have to get you a gift right?”

“No you still do, but you can kiss me again first.”

[multiplefandomsblog]

your roommate hcs are so cute, can i request for naib, demi, tracy, andrew, kurt, patricia, and victor?

:0 holy crap yes! I’m so glad you enjoyed the roommate hcs!! Me and the other mods hope you enjoy these! Thank you for requesting :))

(i added melly because why not? lmao hope you don’t mind.)

Part 1!

Naib Subedar

This man deadass didn’t know you were living with him

Even when people told him about it, he wasn’t rlly paying attention and didn’t rlly care

Your stuff in his room? He thought it was his or someone just broke into his room and left it there

When he saw you on the toilet however, he just freaked out.

“Why the hell are you shitting in my room!?” “Your room? I’ve been living here for 2 months!”

Once he found out you lived with him, he made sure you knew what was his and what was yours

also, since he’s very protective of his things-- you being one of them-- he would totally get jealous if he caught you tallking to someone that wasn’t him.

he would probably give you the silent treatment and act like a pissy baby

He hates it when you touch his stuff

especially his photos, the photos were special to him because they were of him and his army friends.

You’d sometimes catch him looking at the photos with a longing in his eyes, it was highkey sad.

having you live with him meant lots and lots of training

he made sure you were always prepared for matches and that you don’t get downed early

when you got downed early however, He would scold you but he would still rescue you anyways because he’s soft

“You’re such an idiot, you’d better do better next time! Or else I’ll kick your ass.” 

one time he got cocky while kiting because you were watching him

he forgot to turn on his elbow pads and face palmed into the wall.

“...You saw nothing.” He turned around, a bit woozy from hitting his head on a wall. He flipped the hunter off before stumbling wooshing away

When you first get to know naib, he’d probably come off as intimidating and menacing

but once you get to know him--the real him--, you start to understand that even though he may be tough on you, its because he wants you to be the best

he has good intentions

During matches he’d let you handle yourself and made sure you didn’t rely on him too much

One time you needed to shower but you ran out of your shampoo so you used his.

When he questioned you, you simply responded “What? You don’t need it anyways, you’re bald!”

He didn’t rescue you the next round.

should’ve seen that coming

though he forgives you when you braid his luscious long existent hair for him

Kurt Frank

The amount of times you almost stepped on this man is astronomical.

he would constantly be in his tiny form because he would lose a lot of his things

his tiny form helped him find his things easily

Though when you first moved in with him, you had no idea what his ability was

so when you first saw a tiny version of your roommate you thought he was just a weird doll

until you heard him say a tiny, “Hey can you move your ginORMOUS foot? You’re stepping on my book.”

You fucking screeched and took off your shoe to try and kill him

“AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH”“AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH”

After he explained to you about his ability you calmed down a bit and spared this tiny man but only this time!

Frank loves books, he probably filled your shared rooms with stacks on stacks of books

You’d often see him tiny, waving at you while you’re decoding

Once you overhead Kurt arguing with First Officer over who was the rightful owner of some sort of treasure map

They fought for days,

kurt would constantly complain about it to you

turns out it was just a game on the back of a Cereal box.

sorry this is short like kurt

Tracy Reznik

Would be a little awkward at first, but the awkwardness slowly fades away when you both make bad jokes

she gives me childhood best friend vibes

Has her doll sitting in the corner of your shared room room, it’s lifeless eyes scare the living shit out of you in the dark you try not to make eye contact, afraid it’ll curse you or smth

if she was mad at you she would move the bot in a way that looked like it was flipping you off you off in your direction before you went to bed.

Always making little robot things that are super fun to play with

Loves sharing her things. Has no problem with it

you wanna wear her clothes? sure

you want to wear her underwear? evEN BETTER-

Pulling all nighters, trying to get her machines to work like how she wanted it to work.

Would live off of kraft Mac n cheese and junk food in the modern day

Pretty hyper, chugs pink monster energy drinks while pulling all nighters, also, in the modern day

would probably be a bruh girl

Her room is a mess, covered with blueprints and scrap metal

her room is practically a safety hazard

Sometimes she dresses her doll up a bit, putting wigs or her old clothes on it (which scares you half to death)

Once she made her doll dress up like her

and you almost went up to it to ask what it wanted for dinner.

Has a photo of her and her dad

You never wanted to bring it up, worried it might make her upset :(

Sometimes she’d feel really guilty about being downed in the first 30 seconds

please comfort her, she feels super bad

She always relies on you to rescue her

She gets really happy and thankful when you body block for her but she still gets a bit concerned when you do it randomly

“i wasn’t even kiting-” “Protecc the mecc.”

Demi Bourbon

Always out at the bar

Smells like alcohol constantly

tipsy 24/7

she’s never 100% sober

You have to hold her hair out of her face when she comes back to your shared room to hurl

Likes bringing back hard vodka or weird flavoured alcohols back for you guys to get wasted try together

Room is bit cluttered, but she doesn’t have much in her room since she’s always out in bars or matches

Usually latches onto you like a parasite when she’s drunk.

it gets a bit awkward when her face is a bit close to yours,

“Are we about to kiss right now-? BLeurghgrhgherrgh.”“...*audible sigh*”

You’d go to her expecting her to heal you like a normal person but no

instead she shoves dovlin down your throat

She likes to do your makeup, and always adds a matching beauty mark

unless you don’t wear makeup, then she’d ask you to do hers 

always loves how she looks afterwards

more than sometimes demi would get into bar fights, 

so you know she’s about to throw hands when she starts takes off her earrings-

10/10 would fight for you <3

She’s gives me cool wine aunt vibes

Probably a lesbian too (check out our Demi smut fic ;))

Or bi, idk

Just straightn’t

She’s really good at hyping you up, especially when you’re taking shots

“CHUG CHUG CHUG CHUG-”

Andrew Kreiss

Would be very shy at first, opens up a little when you get to know him

Totally a night owl, can’t sleep at night from all the guilt and “what if’”s

if you see this baby awake at night, hug him, he really needs it

You’ve never seen the other side of his face

How does he see with hair in his eyes?

He’s albino, which is super dope

Sometime you fear he’s thinking about burying you

You always see him thwacking Luca with his shovel

Barely talks

Room is moderate

He doesn’t want you to find out too much about him

He may seem bland, but he loves sweet food

You’d bake him cookies and other sweets

He’d act as if he’s not embarrassed and brush it off

“Are you blushing?”“No, I-I’m sunburnt.” “On your face?” “....I stare into the hot red sun sometimes because it eases me.”

to keep his lie going, every time he catches you staring at him he would fry his eye balls by staring into the sun until you left

partially the reason why he can’t see well

When he’s not looking, you stare at him while he’s eating the stuff you made because he looks so happy :’)

One time you found him down in the dumps so you made him a cup of coffee, and when you handed it to him you said-

“Depresso espresso?”

*sniff* ”..are you oka-” “IM NOT CRYING, YOU ARE”

he actually cried

it was such a nice gesture(?), that he started ugly crying

You’d ask him if he wanted hugs during matches when you see him get stressed

He’d be flushed and kinda confused

hug... him? why tho lmao

he’d definitely agree tho, to be fair, with some hesitation 

if y’all ever cuddled in bed, i feel like he’d be a little spoon

poor boy needs the comfort, he wouldn’t mind if you wanted to be little spoon tho

he just wants to be close to you

Victor Grantz

You love playing with his dog, Wick

Super nice and polite, but a little guarded

The type to be too afraid to call people out when they do something wrong but would totally trash them in his head

You write him little letters everyday and leave them on his bed to make him happy :))

He’d a be a little spoon

Wick would always join you guys while cuddling

Kisses would be soft and gentle

Usually sends you the first letter in matches

Loves to cuddle

He bb 🥰

You always get him a birthday present AND a Christmas present

You also get a gift for Wick

He loves giving you surprise hugs

Likes to read with you while cuddling

Literally a cinnamon roll

Once he was eating a cinnamon roll

And you whispered

“C a n n i b a l i s m .”

He was very confused

and kind of scared- were you going to eat him?

Patricia Dorval

Room always smells like herbs

She could literally smoke weed and you’d think it’s some magical healing herb

it magically makes you feel better

Always there to stun the hunter when you’re ballooned

The mature one

Her room is organized, with boxes labeling what herbs and magic stuff that are in them

You were cooking dinner for the day and you accidentally used one of her fancy herbs in your soup

She didn’t realize until she tried the soup

She wasn’t mad just disappointed

She lectured you on how you shouldn’t touch her stuff or use it for cooking

Gotta admit tho, the soup was pretty good

she acts like the mom everyone wishes they had

totally the type to be like, “dude we should think this through.” before doing something risky

and then five seconds later, “cowABUNGA MY DUDES”

one time she caught kreacher leaving the mens washroom without washing his hands

seeing as she was the mother of this manor, she had to protect her children from diseases

so she yeeted her monkey skull at kreachers head, cleanly knocking him out

and everybody cheered.

Melly Plinius

When you heard melly was going to be your roomie, you couldn’t have been more excited.

you finally had a victim for the many insect pick up lines!

So you decided to make some good first impressions by waiting for her in your room.

so when she arrived to your room and greeted you, you happily greeted her back, and slipped in the pick up line.

“Hello, my name is Melly. I believe I will be your ro-?”“Yeah nice to meet you too, say, what do bees make?”

She kinda thought you were a bit rude so much for first impressions

“...Erm, honey?” she replied hesitantly

“YES DEAR?” 

... okay maybe you weren’t thaaaat bad.

after that she kind of developed a teensy crush on you 

so it was hard living with you because of her crush, since she was constantly flustered 

you loved her reactions, she constantly got red.

it was funny watching her try to keep her cool and fail.

[beerecordings]

Okay, here is part three of the latest Marvin's Cage story. Find the whole story so far here Let me know if you enjoy! Thanks for reading. Tws for mentions of possible cannibalism, mentions of past torture, panic attacks, and imprionsment . Light through the side of his box. “Marvin, Marvin,” he mouths, soundless, tears in his eyes. “Brother, brother.” Marvin does not come. “Jameson,” the soft voice is calling. “JJ. We won't hurt you, I promise."

No. This is not right, not right! This has never happened! He clutches at his hair and bites down on the collar of his shirt, tears racing down his face. They need to go away! They're not supposed to be here! They're not supposed to know! Marvin will be so, so, so angry! He can't do it again, can't go back to being alone alone alone alone. His skin so untouched it hurts, so he scratches at it, at his lonely skin, his lonely bones. Marvin will not touch him hold him call him little brother. He can't go back. Makes his brain so numb and then so crazy. Can't can't can't. “Jamie, breathe, Jamie – ” “Give him space, dude! He's scared of us. Jameson... just... he's really just – ” “Marvin did this to him!” He flinches at the loudness of the voice, biting his collar til he feels thread tear. No, no, no. This is Marvin's worst nightmare. His brothers know about him, and they're angry at Marvin. Angry at Marvin who was just protecting all of them, who takes care of him and loves him. This can't be happening. They need to understand. How does he make them understand? How does he even try to explain when his heart is beating so hard it hurts all the way up to his throat and he can't stop crying? This is why you can never fight Anti off, sneer an old pair of hands in his head. You're the most pathetic little creature ever to walk across the earth. Of course Marvin locked us away. Him and Anti are both right. “I'm sorry, I'm sorry,” he signs desperately. “Brother, brother, M! Please! I want M!” “It's been so fucking long since I took that BSL course. I'm the worst brother.” “Don't start, Jackie, shit. I don't think I ever bothered trying to learn for more than, like, two Youtube videos. Schneep would know. He learned it in about three days and he doesn't forget things.” “Brother – that was brother, I remember! Yeah, JJ, we're your brothers, dude. I mean, if you want us to be. Can you just – please, breathe.” No, they don't understand. These are not JJ's brothers. These are Marvin's brothers. It's a term of endearment more than anything technical: the relationship does not transfer. Marvin always made that very clear and JJ understands. Chase and Schneep and Jackie are not dangerous like he is. Chase and Schneep and Jackie do not have to live in cages, and they get to come find Marvin whenever they want, and they can have things like their own money and lots of friends. They can walk around the city at their leisure. See the sky. Have jobs. Walk around stores and talk to girls and make friends. They pick out their own food and books and toys. They're nice people who have never killed anyone or stabbed each other or made Marvin so upset that he burned their faces on accident and left them alone for days at a time. Schneep is even a doctor who saves lives, and Jackie is a real-life superhero, and Chase has babies who love him. Of course Marvin had to keep them safe from JJ. He's just grateful that Marvin never listened to him when he would beg to get out. Marvin even took care of him when he could have so easily left him to rot like he deserves. “JJ, JJ, please. You can trust us. Didn't you say you remembered me? Please, please, I'm begging you – come here.” Yes, of course he remembers Jackie – remembers the warm voice trying to calm him for hours, and the gloved hand in his own, and the presence watching over him as he drifted close to sleep, the safe and loving presence. How could he forget it? Some days, it is all he thinks about. But it's not something he can have. No, he won't come out. He won't risk making Marvin angry, and he certainly won't let Marvin's brothers get hurt because of him. He will stay here alone like he has to. He is a good boy like Anti told him, like Marvin told him. He is good and he is not hurting anyone ever again. He is staying right here. “Fine, I'll go to him,” comes a vehement voice, and then someone is pushing at the broken wood around his door. Jameson sucks in a wheezing scream and darts behind the curtain over his little bathroom, shoving himself between the wall and the toilet

and squeezing himself into as tight a ball as he can manage around his little stuffed dog, the first present Marvin ever brought him. Jackie can't come in here – neither of them can! Anti will kill them! “Jackie, he's freaking out, stop, stop!” There's a low howl of frustration, but no one comes any closer. His box falls quiet again with nothing but soft murmuring from Marvin's brothers as JJ sobs, biting at deep scars in his palms, the result of being possessed on repeat by a demon with a passionate love of any kind of blade. His hands raise the knife – no hilt. The blade goes down, goes into his palms, goes down, goes into his palms. Goes into her chest. He can hear her screaming. Can hear himself laughing. There's blood in his mouth that isn't his. His birds are already picking at her as she suffocates around the silver of the knife. The bugs are creeping onto her flesh and crawling up his shirt. No, no, no! If Marvin would come – if Marvin would quiet the memories like he always does – But Marvin does not come. Marvin does not come find him. Alone, alone, alone. “JJ, JJ,” they are calling to him, begging at him, but this is not something he can let himself have. He'd rather die right here. No, no, no, no. He is not going anywhere. Ever. His little stuffed dog is licking at his face. He closes his eyes and rubs its fur til the panic fades. His good dog, good boy. He drifts in his head. He's playing with his dog in the yard. Marvin is on the porch reading. The sun is warm. His dog licks his face. He is staying right here... everything is okay... there you go, JJ. There you go. There's a good little brother. You know how much I hate to see you cry. Cut it out, okay? I don't want to hear that anymore. Be good and I'll come back tomorrow. Be good and stay right here. Yeah, he's good. He's good. And when he's good, Marvin comes back again. Marvin will come back. . The soft scrape of cardboard on wood wakes him. He sits in the darkness behind his privacy curtain. Things are quiet again. “I wish he would just...” “I know. But you can't stay here all day.” “Well, neither can he!” “Shhh, keep your voice low. He obviously does, I mean...” The voices devolve back into incomprehensibility, too soft for him to understand. He wipes at his ruddy, weary face and sniffs, curled up against the side of the toilet. He's a little germ freak, as Marvin says, but he doesn't have to worry. He cleans everything every morning so Marvin will not think he's messy. The decorations are always dusted and straightened. He wipes the toilet and his little mirror down, and the sink too, so it's clean when Marvin comes in to shave him on Wednesdays. He isn't allowed to have a razor in here – Anti will try to cut him up again – but Marvin takes care of him anyway. The bathroom smells like their shaving cream and the lemon scent of his cleaners, stacked neatly on the shelves in his back-left corner next to his laundry: Marvin's clothes and some old t-shirts and sweatpants. He isn't allowed to wear anything that isn't Marvin's. Marvin has to be the one to put it through the wash, and if his brothers saw it, they would ask why he was washing things that did not belong to anyone in the house. JJ lets out a tired sigh, a little soothed by the quiet and the reminiscing. Marvin takes care of him. Still, he wants to know what that sound was. When Jackie and Chase's distant voices stay distant, he squeezes his dog for courage and creeps out from behind the curtain, blinking at the light of his sun lamp. The leaves of his plants and the lead in the drawings on the walls gleams quietly in the yellow glow. His place, his things, his presents from Marvin and pictures of Marvin and his shared space with Marvin. Maybe when he comes to see him, they can lie down on the mattress and have a nap, or play some games, or watch pictures on Marvin's magic screen together. Yeah, he feels better. Yeah, there's my tough guy. Stop crying, JJ, I mean it. He gets to his feet and sneaks over to the sill of his box where Marvin sometimes leaves him

things. There's a little pad of paper on his shelf, the sort of book you might use to make grocery lists or notes to pin up on the fridge. He pulls it towards himself, looking right and left for one of Marvin's brothers to leap out at him, but nothing happens. Hi, JJ,reads the first page, in messy, crooked handwriting. My name's Chase (I'm the one in the grey shirt) and Jackie is the one in the red hoodie. He doesn't know what a hoodie is. He glances down the way Marvin usually comes from and can still hear them talking. I'm sorry if we scared you. We're still figuring out what's going on. You don't have to get close to us if you don't want to (but I promise we won't hurt you if you do). I thought it would be easier for you to have a pen and some paper. Is there anything you need? Or anything we can do to show you we are on your side? Do you remember us? I also left some food by your door. It's perfectly safe, I promise. I will eat some with you if you want. Please don't be scared. We aren't with Marvin right now, or Anti. We are not going to let anyone hurt you. If there is anything we can do to help please tell us. I hope you do remember us a little bit. If you don't, though, we want to say hi! Maybe you can write me back? The paper is all for you. - Chase There are some smiley faces and even a little drawing of the plate of food on the paper. JJ glances over at his door. A dish with rice and meat is tucked on the plate alongside fat slices of oranges, a neat line of bright green cucumbers with ranch drizzled on, and a big sweet-looking roll with pecans. His mouth waters. He listens for Marvin's brothers one more time, and when they're still far away, he steps over to pick up the plate and brings it back to his mattress, sitting down and eating with relish. It's hot and fresh and home-made, better than he remembers food tasting. Most of the stuff he gets is take-out from a restaurant or leftovers. Not that he minds! It's just a lot of tasty food. He's eating faster than he means to, scooping the rice up with his plastic silverware and tearing the soft bread of the roll between his teeth. Meat between his teeth – hot flesh, red blood – Anti's smile is crimson and beaming, his own eyes are wild with delight – cannibal – No, no. He hugs himself for a few minutes and goes through the breathing exercises Marvin taught him. He's okay. He does not eat all the beef, but he eats everything else, scooping up the leftover ranch with his spoon and licking his fingers clean of the orange juice and sticky frosting from the roll. His stomach hurts with how full he is. It's a good feeling. “Jameson?” He jerks upright, pupils blown. A figure leaps back from his window. “Sorry! I just – I was just checking if you wrote me back or – sorry, I'll give you some space...” He backs away again. Jameson grabs at his chest, shuddering. Sudden voices in his box only ever mean Anti until today. And Anti – Anti hurts him. Even when they're playing. He doesn't think Anti ever learned how not to hurt someone. He thinks that's why he plays like that – testing his limits. Interested in human suffering as a primary characteristic. He plays with the edge of Chase's note, trying to think. He hasn't talked to anyone but Anti and Marvin in so long. What would Anti say? Pet, look, he's almost as pretty a present as you were. Oooh, but already a scar in his head. Who wants a scar on him I did not put there? Hm. Still pretty though. He looks like my master. Tell him to come over here and snuggle with us, Jameson. I will wrap my hands around his throat and see if he chokes the same way Jack does. Jameson chews on the end of his pencil, sighing. They need to stay away. What would Marvin say? Who, Chase? He's my baby brother. I guess I was always pretty attached to him. I was all jealous when Jack added Schneep, and I do snap at Jackie a little when he ticks me off. Chase, though, he's my – he's my little brother, you know? He's a special person. Well, anyway, it was him you stabbed the night I had to lock you up. Within about five

minutes of finding you, you stabbed one of us. I started to imagine what would happen if we just let you roam free and... you get it, right? Why I had to? Yes. Of course he does. This is what he needs to express. He clears his throat and sets his pencil shakily to paper. Dear Chase, Thank you for my dinner. It was very tasty. You are a good cook. I do remember a little of that night you all found me, but not much. I was rather unwell. I am dearly sorry for stabbing you and I hope your shoulder has healed well. I should not like to stab you again, but I do not always have a choice. Unfortunately, despite Marvin's best efforts to find a way to help, I still fall victim to possession against my will. Please leave me alone so I do not stab you or your brothers. If you will get Marvin for me he will know how to fix the box. I am not bothered by your presence but the thought of what might happen to you is very alarming. It would be in the best interest of you and your family to kindly exit this place and leave me to my own devices. There is no need to be concerned about anyone hurting me, though I appreciate your worry on my behalf. Thank you for your time and understanding, and, again, for the food. Sincerely, Jameson Jackson There. That's okay, isn't it? Maybe? P.S. I would like to see Marvin very much. Is he all right? Thank you. Okay, there. Then he will not have to wonder. Hopefully everything's okay and Chase can go bring Marvin for him. Then things will go back to normal. Things will go back to... To normal. Normal is good. Normal is... His box is quiet. The light gleams on the leaves and the lead. There are scratchmarks in the wood where he has tried to claw his way out during breakdowns. He closes his eyes. Things will go back to normal. He can never leave. He lets himself drift off in his mind again, walking in circles around his box with his eyes closed. He's on a beach with his dog and a big family... little kids come running up to him and he picks them up and plays with them in the ocean, yanking them back from the waves or ducking them under the water while they shriek in delight. The sun is so warm and the sand is hot between his toes. Marvin is suntanning on the beach while Chase and Jackie play in the sand beside him, and everyone is laughing. His box is dead quiet. Not even the wind to keep him company. Alone, alone, alone. . “I'll kill him, I'll kill him.” “Jackie. Breathing.” “I'll – oh, he – I'll tear him to pieces, look at this, he – I'll kill him, I'll destroy him, how could he...?” “Jackie. Jackie.” Chase is so tired he doesn't even get to his feet to try and calm Jackie down. He's slumped across the couch of the living room with Queenie on his stomach, kneading her claws into his t-shirt and purring. Her belly's all swollen with kittens, but instead of becoming more reclusive like a normal cat mother, she has decided she wants to be on top of someone twenty-four hours a day. Chase scratches her ears and sighs. “How could he do this?” groans Jackie, for perhaps the hundredth time today. Chase still doesn't have an answer. Jackie is clutching JJ's note in his hands tightly enough that he's definitely torn a hole or two in it. “He made him think he has to be – he has to be in this box. He – he won't come out to me. He won't come out to me.” Chase reaches for Jackie's jacket, catching his sleeve, and tugs his brother down onto the couch beside him. “Jackie. This note – it could be good news.” Jackie looks at him like he's finally lost it. “Hear me out! I know it's... not great that he seems to think he really does have to stay in there. But Jackie, look, he's not scared of Marvin! What if we jumped to conclusions about how this went down?” “He locked my little brother in a box,” says Jackie flatly. “But what if JJ asked him to do that?” Jackie blinks and looks down at the smudged note. “He... does seem to think he's dangerous.” “And, well, he is, isn't he?” “Don't say that.” “Jackie, it's just facts. Er, not JJ, I mean. Anti is the dangerous one, but he uses the

little man like a weapon. That's not his fault, but it's the truth. He did stab me that night.” “Anti stabbed you!” “Yes. But he used JJ's hands. Jackie, is it so wild to think that maybe JJ was just so scared by the things Anti has made him do that he actually asked Marvin to help him protect us from him?” Jackie's eyes water. He shakes his head. Chase sighs and touches his brother's shoulder. “It still wasn't right of Marvin to do what he did. He definitely should have talked to all of us about it and not left us thinking something terrible had happened to him. But if JJ really came to you and begged you to keep him away from us – well, maybe, as a temporary solution, you might take him somewhere safe and secluded, and take care of him yourself, right? Maybe not a little locked box, but... somewhere. It's not – Jackie, it's not unthinkable.” Jackie just shakes his head, staring down at that note. “What's wrong?” asks Chase softly. “Wanted to make him feel safe,” croaks Jackie. “I should have – if I had made him feel safe, he wouldn't have thought he needed to be locked away. And Marvin – yeah, should have told me. Even if JJ did beg. My baby brother.” After a long day, the tears are finally coming dripping down Jackie's face. “I know, man,” whispers Chase. Jackie falls against his shoulder. Chase wraps his arm around him. Queenie nudges her way into their laps and sits contentedly down, purring like a little motorboat. “Maybe JJ and Marvin really were just working together to protect us,” mumbles Jackie. “Maybe he did take good care of him. If he had told us, maybe it is... thinkable.” “I shouldn't have told Marvin we weren't brothers anymore.” Chase rubs at his face. “I was too quick to think it was the worst scenario.” “No, it's not your fault,” replies Jackie softly. “It's his for not telling us, so it really did look like the worst scenario – and my fault, for exploding on him instead of listening. I should have been calmer.” “I honestly think you were surprisingly restrained for the situation,” says Chase, a little amused. “If it were true that he just locked JJ up against you will, you oughta have kicked his ass.” Jackie snorts, rubbing at his face. “Yeah. I guess. I don't know, though. There's just... there's something really off about that box. The kids' toys and the – I don't know. I get a really bad feeling. It's hard to describe.” Chase hums and nods. “Well, what we need to do is talk to JJ more, right?” Jackie perks up, glancing over at him. “Right. Figure all this out.” Chase smiles at him. The weight on his chest is so much lighter than it was a few hours ago. This – this makes so much more sense than what they thought before. Of course it was unimaginable that Marvin would lock JJ up like a prisoner against his will and abandon him in there, unloved. What he did was still wrong, but this alternative is so much lighter than that one. Maybe they can still fix this. Marvin could come back with Schneep, and once they were all on the same page Marvin would apologize for leaving them out of the loop. Together, they'll all be able to find a better way to keep JJ safe from Anti. Then they can all be together like they're supposed to be. Yeah. He can see it now. Marvin and Schneep will come back home, and JJ will come out of the box, and everything will be wonderful. Just a few hours ago, that seemed so impossible. “You're crying again,” says Jackie, touching his face. “Chase?” “No, it's okay,” chuckles Chase, wiping at his face. Happy tears. He's so relieved it hurts in his chest. For a few hours there, he really thought Marvin might have done something that cruel. But not his brother. Not his Marvin. No wonder it didn't make sense. It wasn't true. He should have known Schneep was right. Schneep is always right. Chase chuckles, shaking his head. “Just a rollercoaster day, that's all.” “No fucking kidding. I'm going to go write back to JJ. Do you want to come with?” “No, no, I think I'll get started on dinner.” Chase has already moved on to their reunion meal in his head. He'll cook

something Marvin loves and make JJ so much good food they can't even eat it all. Bread, ice cream, pasta, casserole... there's so many options. Maybe he'll just make everything. His heart is light again. It's going to be okay. “Okay, then,” says Jackie, heading back towards the mirror. “I'll be in there with him if you need me.” “Got it,” Chase replies, getting up to head to the kitchen. “Oh, um – Chase?” “Yeah?” He turns back towards his brother. Jackie smiles at him in the evening light. “I'm really glad you're here.” Chase smiles back. “Me too,” he says.

Things are going to be different. But surely, surely - they have to turn out okay. Just this once.

. Dear JJ, I don't really know how to right to you. This is Jackie. I'm glad you remember me a little. I'm your older brother. You don't want to come out of the box? When did that start? Was it your idea to be locked up like that? I guess I can see how you would think you could be dangerous. Trust me, I've encounterred Anti enough times to get it but if you give me a chance I promise I will keep you safe. JJ there has to be a better way then you being locked up like that! I don't even care if you and Marvin thought it was a good idea it's terrible. You do not have to be a prisoner you are my brother. I really want you to come stay with me. What can I do to get you out of there? I will do anything to make you feel safe, JJ. I promise I will keep you safe. Marvin is okay. He's just staying at another house right now. He knows I am talking to you. I'm worried about how he might have treated you, can we talk some more before you talk to him? Tell me about how he treats you. I want you to be able to make your own choice. Don't worry about him, okay? Who decided you should be in that box? I want you to be here with me. I really want you to be here with me and I promise I will keep you safe. Maybe we can talk face-to-face? Even though I'm bad at sign languge. I have wanted to see you for a really long time. I love you. I don't care if you hid from me or if Anti has used you, that doesn't matter now, none of us ever blamed you for Chase's shoulder. I've been looking for you, JJ. I've been looking for you this whole time. I thought about you every day. I would have looked forever if I had to. Every day of my life. If you think you have to stay in that box, please tell me why. I need to understand. I won't lose you again. You won't lose me too. I'm your big brother and I really want you to be here. I promise I will keep you safe. JB . Dear Jackie, Please, just go. You weren't supposed to know. I will be in trouble and I will hurt you. It is my fault. I'm not like you. I can't fight Anti. I'm not what you think I am. I'm sorry. I'm sorry you looked. He said maybe he would tell you I was dead, but he knew you would not stop looking unless there was a body, so he couldn't even though he wanted to. He loves you. He didn't want you to be in pain. But he didn't know how to stop it either. He cried over it so much. Maybe now that you know, you won't have to worry about me anymore, and you and Marvin can be happy again. I'm happy here. Marvin has taken such good care of me. He treats me very well. Please go home to your brothers and don't think about me. I'm sorry I made you all so sad for so long. Sincerely, JJ There are patches of wetness on the pages. . JJ, who decided you should be in that box? Tell me. . This time, there is no answer. Big blue eyes look up at Jackie from the corner of the cage, and all he wants is to go in there with him. But when he moves forward, JJ flinches and flees back to the bathroom, and all Jackie can do is sink down beside the cage, hold his head in his hands, and try not to think about the words he wanted to tell you I was dead. . Chase: Schneep you ok Schneep: Yeah. We're at Stacy's Chase: Did you tell her Schneep: Kind of. Still not sure really what happened Chase: Us either dude. Marvin say anything more? It sounds like maybe he and JJ both decided he should be locked up or whatever Schneep: He is all freaked out still. I gave him something to calm him down and he fell asleep. I am worried though. He insists the Jameson must be kept in the box. I think Anti is pulling strings Chase: I don't have any idea what's happening at this point Schneep: How is he? Chase: Very shy. Scared of us. He also thinks he has to stay in the box Schneep: Healthy? Chase: He kind of hides. Won't let us in to see him Schneep: I come by tomorrow and check on him Chase: Ok, sounds good. Tell me if anything changes? Schneep: Yes I will Chase: And say hi to the kids for me. Maybe not a good idea for me to have them this weekend after all Schneep: No worries. We will figure everything

out, my friend. Take care of JJ for me Chase: You take care of Marvin. I think it's going to turn out alright. Schneep: Yes, it will. See you tomorrow, love you Chase: Love you . There's blood in his mouth. JJ circles his cage, using a rag to clean the walls and wipe down the boxes and sink. When it's clean, he sits down again, reaching for his violin. There's blood in his mouth. He gets up again and wets the rag. Circles the cage and wipes down the walls and boxes and sink. He sits down and rubs at his face, exhausted. There's blood in his mouth. No. The box is clean. He's not going to clean it again. There's blood in his throat. He covers his face in his hands. Stop imagining it, JJ. Distract yourself. His dog licking at his face, warm sand between his toes, Marvin is holding him – Blood in his throat. In his teeth. He picks flesh out from between his molars. Copper tang against his tongue. He feels the weight of the blood settle in his stomach. He bites into flesh. Jameson. I am not going to listen to this story again. That's fucked. Anti isn't here. Stop crying, okay? The corpse is going cold beneath his fingers. Anti is laughing. The blade swirls around in his hands. He is torn between hoping Anti will stop possessing him so he can have even a minute alone in his own head and praying that Anti never leaves again, because when he does, that is when JJ becomes the victim of his curiosity. There's blood in his mouth. JJ gets up and wets the rag. Circles the cage and wipes down the walls and boxes and sink. “Jameson,” murmurs Jackie. “Are you okay?” He's standing just outside the box, looking at him. JJ avoids his gaze, scrubbing the clean right wall with vigor. Jackie doesn't seem to want to hurt him. He supposes that makes sense. It's not Jackie JJ should worry about – it's what Anti might do to Jackie that's concerning. He wishes Marvin's big brother would leave. “Can you show me your stuffed animals?” asks Jackie. “Or your puppets? Why do you have all those?” JJ pauses, chewing on his nails as he glance at his animals, arranged neatly on his mattress. The finger puppets are in their box by the barred window. They're just for fun. For distraction. He knows each of them intimately. All the puppets have names and families and jobs and aspirations. All the animals have their own place in the world in his head. It's just a game. It's just a game he plays for hours at a time. He tells the same stories on repeat. The important part is that he knows they're not real people right now. Marvin was so relieved. There's blood in his mouth. He circles his cage. Cleans the walls and boxes and sink. It's already clean. He knows it's already clean. “Do you play the violin?” JJ pauses again, eyes flickering over to Jackie. Yes, he does. For hours a day. “Would you show me?” asks Jackie gently. JJ hovers. He's not sure he should. But he never gets to show anyone except Marvin and the toys. It would be nice. He never got to show anyone Marvin's birthday song. It's not going to hurt Jackie. It's just his music. He picks the violin tentatively up. Sets it back down again. Jackie is looking at him uncertainly from the window, smiling a faint, confused smile. Fuck's sake, he's – he's weird, isn't he? Not Jackie – JJ. He turns away from Marvin's brother, biting at his nails again. It's been so long since he interacted with anyone other than Marvin and Anti. What must he look like to Jackie? He's treating him like he's so fragile. Maybe he is. But this is how he lives. This is how he has to live. He used to fight. Does Jackie know that? Does Jackie know that there were days that he would come out of possession kicking and striking at Anti, spitting at him and writhing before Anti could stuff him back into whatever hiding place he had found to contain him? Does Jackie know that JJ used to curse at Marvin and demand to be let go? That he eventually crumpled beneath the isolation and the monotony and just collapsed in on himself, sitting mindless for days at a time no matter how much Marvin begged at him to

get up? Does Jackie know that he hates this? There are tears dripping onto the violin set beneath his chin. He can't think like this. This is where he has to stay. He can't go. He can't leave. There is blood in his mouth. This is what he has to do. He can't tell on Marvin, can't tell Jackie that Marvin dragged him into this box and locked him up while he cried. This is what he deserves because he's done so many bad things and he will do so many more if he is released. Oh, there is blood in his mouth. He can't get out. He has to be a good boy – he has to stay – he has to – “Major freak-out,” he signs to himself. This is what Marvin calls a major freak-out. Yeah. Okay. “Have to stay calm, JJ, you can't come out of your cage. “Come hold me, Marvin, please! “If you calm down I'll come in there. Okay? “Please can I come out just for a few minutes? Oh, God, I want to see a priest. Are you going to keep me here my whole life? I'll die here! I'm going to die here? I can't take it anymore! I can't take it! Oh, God, I want to see the sky, I want to hear birds, oh, God, our father, who art in Heaven – “JJ, be good. Penguin, stop that. You know you can't come out. So be calm. I'm working on finding a solution. “But you never do, you never do!” “JJ.” And now the voice does not sound like Marvin's. JJ isn't sure why. He keeps signing to himself, circling his cage, chewing on his collar. He talks to Marvin. Marvin isn't there, but he knows what he will say. Yes, Marvin is here. They're talking and hugging each other, yes, Marvin is making it better. Marvin isn't here. “Jameson, hey. Jamie, can you look at me? Jamie, can I come in there with you?” Yes, yes, he wants that! He hates to be alone for freak-outs. They last hours and sometimes he slams his head against the wall so hard the light hurts his eyes for days. Sometimes he scratches at the wood til his nails split. Sometimes he clings to Anti and begs him to take him away from this place, because even the torture and the killing would be better than sitting in this same – fucking – spot – for the rest of his miserable existence. He hates to be alone. Alone, alone, alone. “Please, please,” he begs. “Please, please.” “Okay, I'm coming, Jamie, I'm coming.” Marvin doesn't call him Jamie, but it doesn't matter, because a moment later, there are arms around him. There's no torture quite like the touch-starvation, and JJ is someone who knows torture. When Marvin started touching him and hugging him and sitting with him, it changed everything. And the most wonderful part about it is how those months of his skin crawling and his brain going numb and foggy with a bizarre and visceral sort of insanity as he rubbed at his own skin and rocked and day-dreamed about being touched til he could hallucinate it – they all just fade into the background when someone puts their arms around him. He latches on like a cat in a tree. Octopuses himself around their body. And in return – joy of joy, he is being squeezed back, squished against their body and rocked. He is scooped all the way off his feet, making him giggle. He buries his head in their shoulder and shakes, pressed so tightly together it's a little hard to breathe. “My little brother, my little brother,” someone is singing. “My JJ. Here you are. I have you back again, I have you.” He's grabbed by the waist and spun in a circle before he's drawn back to their chest. He laughs weakly and hears them laughing back. “Here you are. Chase was right. This is all that matters. You are everything that matters.” Kisses along the side of his head. Hands on his back and cupping his head. He's rocked back and forth, back and forth. Steady and strong. Gloved hands. A red hood. The smell of rain and sweat and coconut on the jacket. And that feeling – that feeling of safety... Yeah. He remembers. How could he forget? When this was what he dreamed about for so long? Jackie is holding him. His awareness comes back to him in pieces as he comes down from the second or third panic attack of the day. Jackie has crashed down onto the

mattress with him. He's being held like a little kid, but Jackie doesn't seem bothered by his weight or his neediness. Jackie just clings to him. Clings to him as tight as he's clinging to Jackie. JJ cries quietly as he comes back to himself. Jackie wipes at his face and hums to him, nonsense music in the air. “My JJ, my JJ.” He doesn't seem bothered by the crying either. “I missed you, JJ.” His voice breaks. Jackie coughs and kisses the side of his head one more time, his voice fading away. “Have to go,” signs JJ, crying into his chest. “Have to go, before he hurts you!” “I'm so sorry, James, I never really got to practice with the sign language, I should have worked harder...” “Go, go!” He points to the door. “Go away!” Jackie shakes his head at him. JJ should push him away, but he just – he just can't. Marvin will kill him for this. Anti will kill Jackie for this! “Nothing's going to hurt you anymore,” whispers Jackie. “Never, you're never leaving my sight again. I'm never going to let anything happen to you ever again.” And he wants it to be true so badly it hurts. He just clings to Jackie, shaking. “Oh! He let you get in there with him!” A new voice in the expanse of the mirrors. JJ feels Jackie nod. “Do you guys... do you want some space?” “Yeah, please,” whispers Jackie. “Maybe he'll let you come in too in a minute, but if we could just... just get a minute...” “Just text me if you need anything.” And it's just him and Jackie in the quiet of his box again. “Nothing matters but this,” sings Jackie, brushing at his hair. “My baby brother. I love you.” Love, love, love. He closes his eyes and holds to Jackie, and just for one moment of weakness, he lets himself have this.

[builder051]

Whumptober 2021 day 5: Misunderstanding

Nat on fire

Small mentions of drug use, sickness, emeto

___________________________

Nat gets the call to action a few minutes past five on Wednesday morning. Her phone, stashed in the bed and still on its charger , begins to blare loudly, as does the pager she’s long since thrown into the depths of the closet. Once she answers one, they’ll both stop. It’s usually convenient, except that today she’s nowhere near either of them.

On a normal morning, Nat would still be in bed. Probably still in the dregs of REM, but lately, she’s just been drifting off at this hour, the drink and drugs in her system wearing down and leaving her to catch a short rest.

That’s not today, though. It’s the middle of the week, and Nat’s not stupid. She hasn’t shot up in two days. She hates to think that small of a break would put her in withdrawal, for she can’t be that addicted, can she? But that’s about the only logical cause Nat can think of for her sudden and desperate urge to leap out of bed and spill her guts into the toilet.

She’s been at it since…midnight? Maybe two. There was definitely a two showing on her glowing digital alarm clock when she dashed past it and skidded on her knees into the tiny bathroom. Hours have passed; Nat can tell without turning around to look at the clock. Her abdominal muscles have begin to hurt from heaving. She’s distinctly lightheaded, even perched up with the support of the toilet seat. Everything tastes like sour tropical fruit and salt and sweat. And Fury has a general rule about not calling before don’t-be-a-dick o’clock.

There’s a pause in the loud ringing from the bedroom behind her, then it all starts up again. Someone’s hit redial. Nat sighs and leans away from the toilet bowl, testing herself before leaving it completely. She’s fine, though shaky, and her throat seems both abraded and extra wet. “Ok,” she says, trying to push out speech without having to cough first.

Nat reaches around in the now-cold bedclothes and finds her phone, lit up and flashing Fury’s name.

“What?” Nat groans, almost before she has the speaker to her ear.

“Well, good morning to you,” Fury says in a clipped, annoyed tone. “What took you so long?”

“I was asleep…”

“Yeah, well, speedy reaction times are still a thing.”

Nat rolls her eyes, but but the movement brings back full-on nausea, so she stops, presses her shaky, slightly damp hand to her forehead, and takes two steps back until she finds the closet door against which to ground herself.

“Romanov?” Fury seems mildly concerned about her. Or maybe the connection of the call.

“Yeah,” Nat answers. “Here.”

“Briefing at 6:30. Trouble’s come up,” Fury explains shortly. “In country, so at least the flight’ll be short.”

“Urgent, uh, stuff…?” Nat hazards, her head more than her stomach telling her she’d be more comfortable back in the bathroom. She’s sure she’s emptied out, but that doesn’t mean the urge to retch is gone.

“Do I call you in for anything else?” Fury asks, as if she’s stupid.

“Well, um—“

“Briefing. 6:30,”. Fury shores up. “We still have a coffee machine.”

“Oh—“. Nat has to move her hand down over her mouth. “I’m really not feeling—“

“You’re up to it,” Fury says. “I promise. You’ll be finished by lunch, and you can all go and have your little celebratory hamburgers and what all.”

Nat’s going to explode. She presses what she hopes is the red button to end the call and throws her phone back on the bed. Then she turns on the spot and runs the three or four paces it takes to re-enter the bathroom. She bends at the waist and violently heaves, bringing up absolutely nothing except a dribble of foamy spit.

“Fabulous…”. Nat wipes her mouth on the back of her hand, then tries to force her fuzzy brain into motion. She needs to go into the office, there’s really no choice there. Then things are largely up to fate; she can sit seasick through a PowerPoint and bum along on a mission where she may or my not throw up on a jet, or she can get to the office and experience things going downhill from there. Nat can’t visualize an outcome where everything goes well.

Once she’s feeling steady enough, Nat gets back to her feet and turns on the bathroom light. She ignores the pale yellowish ring she’s made in the toilet and grabs a brush to see to her hair. Under the sink there’s a dusty gallon jug of distilled water, probably meant for the steam iron left untouched on the top shelf of the pantry. Fluids are fluids, though, and Nat has no Gatorade at the moment, so she unseals the lid and lifts the heavy bottle with both hands in order to take a drink. The water tastes like plastic, but anything’s better than the horror currently festering behind her molars.

Nat wore clothes to bed, a pair of faded black sweats and a SHIELD academy t-shirt, so she doesn’t bother getting dressed. She shoves her feet into tennis shoes without socks. Then she nabs a plastic grocery sack that’s listlessly floating across the kitchen tile opposite the window unit AC and stashes inside a pair of rolled up jeans and her phone. Nat takes her keys from the hook beside the front door, then takes a last deep breath and steps out into the hazy dawn.

It’s humid, and Nat’s car is covered in soft condensation. The moisture in the air settles on her upper lip, making her feel artificially hot and sick all over again. It’s only for a second, though, for once Nat’s in her vehicle, she blasts the cold air until she’s thoroughly chilled. Her hand shakes as she adjusts the temperature again to something more moderate, and it takes nearly the entire ride up the highway for her body to settle.

Nat’s fine, apart from a few hard swallows and intent breaths, until she gets to the side streets leading up to the SHIELD building. Half of them are one-way, and with cars illegally parked at intervals where she’d like to be driving, rather more attention is required than she’s prepared to give at the moment.

Nat’s stomach groans as she manages to squeeze past a crooked PT Cruiser with one tire attached to the curb. She swallows quickly a few times, but her mouth waters, and she isn’t sure anything is actually going down.

The next turn puts her at the entrance to the parking garage. Nat’s grateful that her full-time status lets her whiz past the barrier without having to stop and take a ticket. She loops around the first level, then the second. She’s about to go up the third and park on four, which puts her closest to the correct set of offices and locker rooms, but she’s beginning to taste bile again, and she knows she won’t last.

There’s a cluster of parking spaces in front of Nat, the weird angled ones that are most likely to get backed into by other cars as they escape at the end of the day, but, hey. She needs a spot and she needs one now. Nat means to let the car coast forward into the space, but it stagnates, and she hits the accelerator lightly. She has to slam on the break to keep from plowing into the blockade, and the jolt sends pure agony through her head, which then feeds down her spine, and into her abdomen.

“Fuck,” Nat mutters, trying to open the door and escape without first taking off her seatbelt. She hangs out of the car door, gagging for a moment, then her nausea dispels long enough for her come to her senses, disengage the seatbelt, and completely exit the car.

Unsteady on her feet, Nat clings to the door and hangs her head. Her breaths come fast and light perspiration forms on her forehead. Her throat feels gunky and sore, and she’s unaware of what or how much she’s expelling until she hears the splatter agains the garage floor.

A car horn honks suddenly behind Nat, and she starts, whipping her head around. Headlights nearly blind her, but Nat can make out the silhouette of an open door and someone moving toward her.

“Nat?” A familiar voice calls, and she can see him pick up his pace, running now to close the gap between his car and hers.

Nat curses under her breath, then spits and shakes her head. There’s no real hiding the evidence, not at this point. Best she can do is come up with a convincing lie and hope her body can roll with it.

“Are you ok?” Steve asks, approaching her with arm outstretched. He goes to touch her shoulder, but changes his mind at the last moment and places his palm atop the roof of the sedan.

“Um. Yeah.” Nat clears her throat a little, which burns and brings on a secondary desire to turn her insides out, but she clenches every muscle esophagus to colon and manages to keep it down.

“Are you—?”

“Coffee.” Nat tries to find her voice. “Didn’t quite agree with me.”

“Uh…”. Steve shakes his head. “That’s not coffee.”

Nat turns her head a micrometer and sees him looking at the hideously yellow bile running downhill toward her tires.

“Why are you so interested in looking at my…” Nat accuses. “You know. And why’d you honk at me?”

“That was a mistake.” Steve looks mildly ashamed. “I just traded in for a newer model…” He trails off.

“No matter what year it is, you shouldn’t leave it idling like that,” Nat snaps. She gets a swipe in at her face while Steve’s looking backward at his inappropriate high beams.

“You seem like you’re in trouble,” Steve says abruptly, still turned away. “You’re really sick.”

The flickering fluorescents overhead can’t be doing anything good for her complexion. “Eh. Everybody gets hit sometimes.”

“You shouldn’t have had to come in.”

Nat’s laugh comes out more like a weak, hitching sigh. “Try telling that to Fury.”

“You downplay things. Hard. You know?” Steve’s free hand comes out of nowhere and the backs of his fingers rest lightly below Nat’s cheekbone.

“Get off, you creep—“

“Relax. I’m just checking your temperature.” Steve’s smile looks placating, but his eyes are wide and honest.

“Hm.” Nat sniffs and waits for him to be done.

Steve drops his hand back to his side and nods conclusively.

“What?”

“Just what I thought. You’re warm.” Steve doesn’t waste time. “C’mon, I’ll quit idling my engine and take you home.”

“Nah, I’ll probably ruin your new upholstery.” Nat gulps, disgusted by the possibility of new car smell filling her lungs and sinus cavities. “I don’t know. I’ll just…”. Nat looks into her vehicle, dreading the journey back to her apartment. She shifts her eyes back to Steve. “And I’ll have to beg out to Fury first, anyway.”

“I’ll do it for you,” Steve says. “On my word.”

“You’re not going to take pictures on your phone, are you?” Nat asks weakly. “You’re going to need proof to get past that guy…”

“If you can’t ride in a car, you need to be in medical.” Steve seems to realize he hasn’t broken it to her gently, so he backtracks and says, “With beds, you know?”

Nat wants to disagree. Even if she’s not fit for a mission, she can at least be independent. Take care of herself. But what’s she even thinking? She’s barfing in a damn parking garage, getting rescued by a coworker because she can’t even get up to the right floor.

“Fine,” Nat practically growls. “But no needles.” The nurse babysitting her doesn’t need to see the baby track marks dotting her inner elbow. She’ll keep those to herself, thank you very much. “No IVs. Bed. Bin. That’s all.”

“I’ll make sure that’s clearly communicated.” Steve nods , then jerks his thumb over his shoulder. “Let me go park that thing, and I’ll walk you in.”

“Sure…”

Steve vanishes, and a moment later, the offensive headlights dim to something more manageable. His car moves forward and comes to a stop a few places down from hers.

Nat could vanish, too. Run into the building. Jump into her driver’s seat and speed off.

She doesn’t need the help. Or the charity. Or the friendship, really. She isn’t quite sure why, but she stays.

[mediocre-writerr]

how not to [dani clayton]

Dani Clayton x fem reader

Requested: Dani request where they know about the readers past struggles with drinking and one night they get home to see her trying to hide what’s happening (no relapse but a lot of struggle on trying not to) she doesn’t want them to know she’s in that mindset again. Please something hopeful. 

hello! i have to say your request and the message you left me really touched my heart. and i know i’m just a stranger on the other side of the screen probably miles and miles away from you, but i am so proud of what you have accomplished. i know it can be tough sometimes, but i am one message away and i can help you through it. stay strong! xoxo

*trigger warning*

*not my gif*

There you were at your weekly AA meeting, listening to one of the regulars Joe talk about his life and how far he’s come. 

“Hi, my name is Joe, I’ve been sober for three years and four months now and I just got a promotion,” he states and you smile softly at the accomplishment of your friend, “Thank you, I appreciate that. I couldn’t have done it without the help of all of you. So I really appreciate that, thank you.” 

Everyone gives a soft round of applause for him as you pat him on the back, “Y/N would you like to go next?” 

You look at Tim in surprise before nodding, “Yeah of course.” 

But how are you supposed to tell the AA group you’ve been going to for almost a year now that you’re trying so hard to not give into this disease? How are you supposed to tell them that you went to the bar and just stared at a drink you ordered before ‘accidentally’ spilling it? So so so tempted to drink it, but knowing it wouldn’t end well. 

“Hi, I’m Y/N. I’ve been sober for about seven months now and my life is going well!” you say plastering a fake smile on your face, “I recently moved in with my six month girlfriend Dani. She’s been there for me through it all and I’m getting ready to become a year of sobriety.” 

There was another soft round of applause, but this time for you. Little do they know you’re struggling. No one does. Not even your best friends Hannah, Owen, and Jamie. Not even your girlfriend Dani. 

You haven’t had the best life. Well that could be the understatement of the year. Long story short: dad was a deadbeat and mom was a drug addict. What could possibly go wrong for a child of that sort? 

Moved around from group home to foster homes with shit foster parents who were probably as equally as bad as your regular parents. Then you got into some trouble after running away from your foster parents. 

You entered the small gas station store, desperately trying to find something...ANYTHING to take your mind off of things. The cashier greeted you and you nodded, but you can tell already that he was suspicious of you, but you didn’t care. 

Drinking, you knew was a terrible idea, but you found out soon after moving in with your foster family that it makes you feel numb for a second. And that’s all you needed. 

You immediately grabbed a beer six-pack, opening up one of the bottles and drinking it before letting the rest of the pack shatter on the floor. Trying to down the whole bottle at this point. 

“What are you doing?” the cashier asks in disbelief.

“O’i fuck you mate!” you yell and immediately feel anger overcoming you. 

You push him back as he continues yelling at you. He was scrawny and you were built to be strong. You knew bouncing around the system you needed to keep up your physical strength for protection. 

Some other guy came and broke up the confrontation before it could get any worse. You sit down against the cooler continuing to drink the rest of the bottle. As you saw the blue and red flashing lights come closer and closer. 

“Any plans with the Mrs today?” Joe asks pulling you out of horrid flashback and you laugh shaking your head.

“Um, not that I know of. She’s working today, but it’s getting late so I think she’ll be home soon. Probably a dinner or movie before bed.” you reply with a shrug and he nods. 

“Well tell her I said hi.” he says before giving you a hug.

“Of course, I’ll see you next week!” 

Well your little dramatic gas station convenient store breakdown led you to juvie. For petty theft and disrupting the peace or some bullshit like that. And that’s where you met Jamie. 

After that and sharing stories about the terrible system, she stood by you. She protected you and you followed her everywhere. Jamie was the first stable thing you had in your life. It may have not been a family, but hell she was more of a family than your actual family was. 

You got into your car and placed your head down on the steering wheel. Angry with yourself more than anything. How could you feel this way? You were doing so well so why is this happening now? You want to turn to Dani, but you can’t. 

Why can’t you turn to Dani? Because she has been so proud of you for how far you’ve come. And if you tell her that even a part of you is thinking about falling deep, you know it’ll break her. She’d think that she’s been a terrible girlfriend and that she needs to do more. 

But it’s you. It’s really you. You have something wrong with you, you are the terrible girlfriend. 

“AHHHHHHHHHHHH!” you say screaming into the steering wheel. 

After regaining your composure you make your way back to the small apartment you’ve both shared together. It was small, but cozy and felt like home. Something you never quite felt before. 

You unlock the door of your apartment, kicking off your shoes before you can, “Dani? Darling?” you yell out. 

But all you hear is complete utter silence. You throw your jacket against the wall in anger. You had hoped that she would’ve been here already. You would just tell her that you had a rough day and she would hold you until it faded away until morning. But of course the universe let you deal with this on your own for awhile. 

Something you are terrified of doing. 

There was a point where you were actually doing better before you met Dani. You had a stable job helping Jamie in the gardens of Bly. She helped keep you sober, the children helped keep you sober, Owen and Hannah helped you get on your feet. 

That was until Peter fucking Quint. He manipulated you and played you just as well as he did Rebecca and Henry. You became his best friend and said the classic ol’ “Come on, one drink won’t hurt!” 

Then began your downfall...again. 

Drinking with Peter became an every night thing. No longer one drink, but almost ten each night. Jamie, Owen, and Hannah were disappointed. They warned you, they saw how Peter acted with you and Rebecca. But neither of you listened. 

He disappeared and you both paid the price. 

Rebecca got the worst of it. And you were the unlucky one living with that burden.

Before you started work you poured an empty water bottle with vodka. It was clear like water. And Rebecca’s ghost seemed to haunt you forever. Every corner you turned there she was.

You put her in that relationship, you encouraged it when everyone discouraged it. Now she’s dead and you could’ve stopped it. That’s why she’s still here! That’s why she’s still haunting you!

You went out to the gardens with Jamie sipping on your water bottle. 

“I hope that’s water.” she pointed out and you knew she was gonna say that so you brought a real one out hiding the other one in your handy belt. 

You hand her the bottle and she sniffs it before taking a sip herself. She gives you a nod and a soft smile. 

After some hard labor in the garden you went to the kitchen to have a sit down. Too much vodka for one sitting especially in the warm summers of Bly. Everything was spinning. 

You passed out on the table until you felt someone’s hands on your shoulders waking you up. You groggily opened your eyes and saw Owen, Jamie, and Hannah standing there. Owen looked at you in pity, Jamie in disappointment, and Hannah in anger.

She was holding you infamous water bottle, “What is this?” she asks waving it in front of you, “And don’t you dare lie or give a bullshit answer because I can smell it.” 

A headache and hangover already brewing in your head, “Shit.” you whisper closing your eyes and shaking your head. 

“Look Y/N we get it, you’re struggling. Peter fucked you over and brought you back into this hole, that I helped you out of. That we helped you out of. But this isn’t the answer this isn’t right.” Jamie ranted to you and you let out a heartless laugh.

“You think I don’t know that? Do you think I want to disappoint you guys all over again?! But do you know how hard it is? How hard it is when I see Bec’s ghost everywhere I go?! How hard it is to know that the guy who did this to me and Rebecca is still out there a free man probably lying on some kind of fucking beach?!” you yell flipping a plate that was on the table onto the ground causing all of them to flinch back, “You don’t know the guilt I’m going through. You don’t know what it’s like to be me! None of you do!” 

“Y/N...” Owen begins and you shake your head.

“I don’t need some kind of fucking pity or lecture Owen.” you scoff. 

“Do you wanna know how this wasn’t water?” Hannah asks and she looked like she’s calmed down, but she’s furious, “Flora got into it and drank some because she was hot. Then called Jamie when she said it tasted funny. You put these children in danger and I can not stand for it! So until you get your act together you are terminated from your position!” 

Jamie still had you around the manor with her. You weren’t doing anything, but lounging around because she didn’t trust you enough by yourself. And that’s how you met Dani. 

Dani Clayton, the women who turned your world upside down. She saw you. She saw the real you. Past all of the brokenness and the damaged bits and saw the you everyone knows you can be. She offered to help and you let her.

“Jamie! Please just let me go home! I’m tired, it’s hot and I’m just following you around the garden like some sort of lost puppy!” you yell as you enter the kitchen. 

“A lost puppy is what you are.” Jamie replied booping your nose, “And I mean that in the best way possible, but no you can not.” 

You look around to see the rest of the house sitting at the table partaking in their lunch of bangers and mash. 

“Yeah sit and stay awhile Y/N!” Owen says as he hands you a plate of food. 

Your eyes land on the new au pair. You’ve seen glimpses of her and God only knows what she’s heard about me in the past couple days. Probably terrible things, so there goes your shot. 

“Hi, I don’t think we’ve met. I’m Dani Clayton.” she says with a smile and you smile softly. Probably one of the first genuine smiles I’ve had in awhile. 

“Y/N Y/L/N, it’s good to meet you.” you respond before starting to eat. 

“Do you wanna go home now?” Jamie whispers in your ear before sitting down next to you to start eating.

You got out of your dirty clothes that still had a little bit of dirt on it from work earlier. You let the shower run until it got warm before undressing and getting in it. 

You sat on the shower floor as the water hits you softly. All of the terrible memories just start flooding your memory. You couldn’t take it anymore and you want to talk to Dani, but you feel like you can’t. 

Tears began to flood your eyes and you couldn’t take it anymore. The tears poured down your cheeks, but it was hard to tell how many were actually coming down when the water was hitting you. 

After a few moments you finally decided to get up and actually wash yourself off. You dried off and put on one of Dani’s shirts just so you can have her scent on you. Plus you love wearing her shirts and this one in particular was one of your favorites, her pink shirt. 

The blonde hair beauty sat next to you on the barstool of the diner in America. You both decided to take a small little trip back to her hometown so she can introduce you to her family. She ordered you her favorite burger with chips and a milkshake. 

“I still don’t understand how you guys call fries, chips!” she exclaims and you laugh at her as she grabs a bag of crisps, “These are chips! These are fries!” she yells. 

You release another hearty laugh before dipping a ‘fry’ in ketchup and feeding it to her. She tries to push your hand away by grabbing your wrist because she can’t stop laughing. But you persist. 

“Come on Dani! Here comes the chip plane!” you say making airplane noises and she laughs loudly before finally eating the chip, “Now was that so hard.” you add on.

You lean in towards her before capturing her lips in a soft kiss, “Mmm ketchupy!” you say and she laughs again. 

“Let’s play a game! Eddie and I used to play it all the time as a kid.” she exclaims grabbing your hands in excitement and your smile widens.

You weren’t the only one in the relationship who had demons. She did too, the guilt of Eddie. It was nice knowing someone felt the same way you did, the weird chilling feeling of seeing someone who has passed on. I guess it was one of the reasons you guys clicked. You just understood each other. 

You helped her overcome her guilt of Eddie. Eddie wasn’t a hard thing to talk about it. The memories they shared, the jokes, the hardships...it wasn’t so hard for her to talk about. You helped her in more ways than you could possibly know. 

“Okay what is it?” you ask after taking a sip of your milkshake. 

“I’m going to throw fries into your mouth and we gotta see how many you can catch!” she exclaims and you laugh at her excitement. 

The two of you start playing the game which resulted in laughter and many many fries on the floor. Along with many ketchup stains on your shirt. Both of you toppled over in your seats in laughter. 

You both look at each other before she leans in. You meet her halfway and she kisses you softly. And at the moment you just knew that she was the love of your life. 

The apartment was still quiet and you let out a sigh. She still wasn’t home, what was taking her so long? 

The landline in your apartment began to ring just before you were going to sit down at the table. You made your way into the kitchen before answering. 

“Hello?” you ask.

“Mrs. Poppins!” you hear Jamie exclaim on the other side and you roll your eyes playfully.

“Jamie what’s up? Is Dani okay?” you ask, the scariest of thoughts filling your mind.

“Yeah of course! She just wanted me to tell you that she’s sorry for being late, but she headed out about fifteen minutes ago and went to stop to get food before she gets home. I forgot to call you when she left, but I remembered so just pretend you got this call fifteen minutes ago.” she responds and you smile. 

“Alright thank you for telling me on time,” you respond. 

“Anytime you little shite!” she jokes and you laugh softly, “Are you doing alright? How was the meeting?” she asks. 

“The same as usual, but yeah I’m doing alright. Look I gotta clear the table before Dani gets home. I’ll see you at work tomorrow! Love you!” you say.

“Love you too Y/L/N, stay safe!” you hang the phone back up onto the wall as you put the mugs from this morning into the sink. 

Dani held one of the many bottles of alcohol that you had in your apartment in her hands. Both of you standing in front of the sink. She was wearing her pastel pink shirt and smiled at you softly. 

“Are you ready for this?” she asks and you nod taking in a deep breath.

You let out the breath before looking at the bottle opening it, “Yeah I’m ready.” 

You flip the bottle over as the clear liquid poured down the drain. A sense of relief and peace filling your body. Then the next bottle and the next and the next. Once all the bottles were gone she looked at you. Her arms snaked around your waist as she smiled at you softly. 

“I’m so proud of you Y/N.” she whispered before kissing you softly.

You smiled at the thought before sitting down on the table. Pulling out a lighter from your pocket and the cigarettes you carried around, you lit the cigarette and smoked it. 

A small habit you picked up whenever you were nervous or your anxiety kicked in too much. A small habit you picked up from Peter Quint himself. It’s like the bastard follows you everywhere. 

The door unlocks as Dani makes her way in with a bag of food in her hand. She kicks off her shoes, “I am so sorry! I know it’s late! The kids were just running around everywhere and I couldn’t get them to bed and it was just a big mess!” she exclaims before coming over to the table. 

She comes over to where you’re sitting before placing a quick chaste kiss on your lips, “It’s no worries at all, love.” you say. 

Tell her! Tell her that it’s actually a problem. Tell her that you really need her and you’re so scared. Tell her! 

“Why are you smoking? Are you okay?” she asks as she finally notices and probably tastes the cigarettes. 

Tell her Y/N! Fucking tell her!

“Yeah I’m okay! Just a little anxious today that’s all.” you lie and she knows you’re lying. 

She knows. Dani knows you’re lying Y/N so tell her. Tell her! Keep lying and she won’t ever trust you again! Do you want that do you really want that?! Do you want to lose the girl you want to spend the rest of your life with?!

“You’re lying. What’s going on?” you put out the cigarette as she moves her chair closer to you taking her hand in yours. 

You let out a small sob and she immediately takes you into her arms. You bury your face into her chest as you sob. She rubs your back softly up and down while whispering sweet nothings in your ear. 

“I can’t Dani. I’m trying so hard, but I’ve had so many temptations to relapse and I wanted to. I want to. And I’m trying to stay strong. I’m trying to stay strong for Hannah, Owen, Miles, Flora, and Jamie and you. It’s so hard.” you let out and you sob louder.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were struggling love?” she whispers soothingly.

“I didn’t want to disappoint you! I didn’t want you to think you were a terrible girlfriend because of it. Because you’re not. You’re the best thing that has every happened to me and I’m so difficult and I’m so-” you start to rant.

“Hey, hey, hey none of that. You are not difficult. There is nothing wrong with you, okay? You have your flaws and that’s okay. I love you for them. I love all of you. You are so strong Y/N! So fucking strong! And you could never disappoint me. Never, ever. Especially for struggling.” she explains taking your face in her hands and you stare into those piercing blue eyes that you fell in love with.

Those piercing blue eyes that saved you. Those piercing eyes saw you and saved you, they really truly saw you.

You hold her close for a hug as you begin to calm down, “It’s okay love. I’m right here. I’m always gonna be right here.” she says repeating herself over and over again. 

She picked you up bridal style and placed the both of you onto the couch. You curl up in a ball, your head resting on her lap. You’re playing with one of her hands, fiddling with her fingers quietly as the dry tears were stained on your cheek. Her other hand was running through your hair and you let out a sigh of comfort.

“Do you wanna know something?” she asks breaking the comfortable silence and you hum in response, “The statistics of kids who go through what you went through and ending up just like their parents are high. What’s even higher is the same statistic, but instead of ending up like their parents, they end up dead. And you are beat all of those statistics.” she whispers.

This time it was her turn to cry as tears brimmed her eyelids. Some fell softly onto her perfect skin.

“You are not like your father or your mother. You’ve been through so much shit and you’ve come out of it even stronger. I am so grateful and happy that you are here with me. You’re alive and with me. So stay with me, fight with me and we’ll get through this together.” she lets out more and more tears falling.

You reach your hand up and wipe away the tears, “Always and forever.” you whisper.

5 m o n t h s l a t e r

Dani and you get out of your car after you park in front of the beautiful manor. She was wearing your favorite pink shirt of hers along with her jean jacket. Her hair down in her natural blonde curls. 

You guys make your way to the kitchen hands intertwined. You open the door and there’s a bunch of streamers and a banner hanging in front of the counter.

“Surprise!” they all shout in unison. 

Jamie, Hannah, Owen, Miles, and Flora were standing there with party blowers in their hands. The kids start blowing making the loud squeaky noise. You smile and look at Dani, she’s smiling sheepishly.

“You did this all for me?” you ask and she shakes her head.

“No, we all did this for you.” she whispers wrapping an arm around your waist and leaning into your side. You smile at her before placing a kiss on the top of her head.

“Y/N! Look at this cake Owen baked for you!” Flora exclaims running towards you to grab your hand and pull you towards the counter, “It’s strawberry and lemon flavored! Oh my it’s perfectly splendid!” 

“Yes it is. Thank you so much Owen.” you say and he engulfs you into a brotherly hug.

“Anytime Y/N! I am so proud of you!” he exclaims, “Muffin-compares to you!” 

“Oh my god!” Dani says and you laugh. 

Hannah is next to engulf you in a hug and she squeezes you tightly. 

“You know why I was so hard on you right? Because I’ve seen the person you can be. I’ve seen the person you are. This is you and it’s so beautiful. She was just there waiting to come out. You had to let her out.” Hannah says before kissing both of your cheeks softly. 

Lastly, Jamie. You stood in front of her waiting for her to do something and she just smiled widely. 

“Oh for fuck’s sake come here!” she says which causes you to laugh. 

Both of you hold each other in an almost bone crushing hug. Jamie was there from the very beginning and you couldn’t be more grateful to have someone like her in your life.

“I love you long time Y/N!” she says patting your back.

“I love you more Jamie!” you pull away and put your hand on her shoulders as you can see tears forming in her eyes.

“You fucking did it mate!” Jamie yells again before punching your shoulder in excitement.

They lit your cake that had your favorite colored icing around the border with a big “Happy 1 year sober!” in the middle of it. All of them stood across from you as they look at you with proud eyes and wide smiles.

You smile at the sight of your family before blowing out the candles yourself.

Dani came back and wrapped her arms around your waist and you placed your hands gently on her neck. Before wrapping them around her neck and smiling at her.

“You know I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for you.” you tell her and she smiles.

“We wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for each other.” she explains and you smile widely.

She parted her lips and felt you washing over like a wave of warmth. The flutter in your chest only intensified. You have kissed Dani a thousand times before, but this feeling never stopped.

The feeling of home and safety.

If someone were to ask you a year ago if you thought you’d make it this far, the answer would be no.

But here you are. 1 year sober and getting better each day. There’s bumps, but you can get through it.

“Keep fighting with me?” you ask her and she smiles.

“Always and forever.” 

[thewhumperinwhite]

The Kennelmaster's Boy (Part 1)

@marseny since you asked so nicely 😌 here's What I Did To Andry. This is several years prior to the events of WKW. I suspect this little flashback will be three parts.

TW for: parental abuse.

Also: Andry worries about it, but you don't have to: no dogs are harmed in this piece.

----

The first time, Andry really does sneak down only to see the puppies.

Sometimes people tell him that as a Prince, he should have no need to sneak anywhere. And it is true that no part of the palace is expressly forbidden him, except for the Lady's Mouth in the courtyard, where he would be frightened to go anyway. And no one in the castle has the authority to send him away from wherever he wants to be, with one obvious exception.

But Andry sneaks lots of places—to the kitchens to beg treats for Asher, or the Salle d'Armes to train on his own when his fencing lessons are done. It feels better, safer, to go unseen in the castle where he's lived all his life, every once in a while. Otherwise, he can't ever be sure who will tell his father where he's been, out of malice or ignorance. And he can't ever tell what will make his father angry, if he does hear of it. An excursion that earns him nothing but a roll of the Lion's eyes this week might get him boxed ears or worse the next. Better to go quietly, if he's at all unsure.

Truth be told, he isn't unsure about this one. The King has made it very clear that he doesn't want Andry near the Royal Hounds, anywhere but on a hunt. "I don't keep lady's lap dogs, boy," the Lion has told him, more than once. (The last time his fist was tangled in Andry's hair and he shook him by it, hard.) "I catch you coddling them again, I'll toss you in the kennels with a roast around your neck, and see how softly you can stroke them then."

But Brunie's been huge and sluggish with the weight of a huge litter for weeks, now, and Andry wants to see if she had the puppies alright. So he tucks his long gold braid under the collar of his plainest tunic, and creeps down the servants' stairs to the kennels.

Brunie thumps her tail tiredly on the straw-littered floor when she sees him, her belly clustered with a dozen fat gray puppies, crawling over each other to reach her milk, occasionally toppling over as though unsure what to do with their chubby little limbs.

Bombur is sitting next to her, looking very pleased with himself, and Andry can't resist reaching into the pen to scratch behind the wolfhound's silky ears.

"You had the easier job, old boy," he says softly, while Bombur rolls his big dark eyes back blissfully and lifts his chin for scratches. "No need to be smug."

At this moment one of the pups, belly full of milk, tumbles and lands in a heap at Bombur's feet, and Bombur lowers his head and noses the pup closer to the bars, looking up at Andry expectantly.

Andry should be getting back, now. But Bomber pants and wags his tail, and the little pup blinks sleepily at the uncomprehensible world around it, small and round and unafraid, and Andry relents, and bends to scoop it carefully up, tucking its warm weight in the crook of his arm and stroking its velvety head with the one finger and the utmost gentleness.

The puppy yawns enormously and immediately rests its tiny head on Andry's arm and goes to sleep. Bombur pants up at him, looking pleased and softly foolish, as though Andry the Lion's Son is as easily trusted as anyone else, and Andry is blinking embarrassed tears out of his eyes by the time he hears the sudden voice behind him.

"Hell are you doing in here?" the voice says. There's no real rancor in it, but Andry still spins on his heal, cradling the puppy against his now-pounding heart, with a nonsensical instinct to shield it against the intruder, who almost certainly belongs here far more than Andry does.

A boy is standing in the doorway to the cellar proper, paused in the act of propping an old straw broom against the wall, surveying Andry with curious dark eyes, below a mop of dark hair cut in a working-man's short crop. He can't be more than a few years older than Andry, though he is several inches taller.

His homespun tunic doesn't cover his arms, and Andry can see that they're corded through with wiry muscle. Andry feels his own face suddenly heat up, though he isn't sure why.

The boy puts his long-fingered hands on his hips and—almost smiles at Andry. "Well," he says. "I was about to holler for the Master, but you must be someone, for Old Lord Bombur to watch you holdin' his pup without a show of teeth." Andry looks dumbly down at the wolfhound, who is still wagging his tail, the new boy apparently included in his good mood. "Who are ye, then, boy?"

Andry stares, stupidly. The puppy in his hands makes a grumpy little huff, hurt that he's stopped scratching its head, but Andry's hands have gone entirely numb and won't respond to his commands.

"I," Andry says, his voice crackly and too high. "Um," he says, and that seems to be all he can manage now.

"...right," the boy says, and he takes a step forward; Andry, entirely without meaning to, takes a matching step back, his hand still curled protectively around the wolfhound pup.

Bombur stands, and snaps his teeth once, to warn Andry to stop backing away with his puppy. The boy raises his dark brows, presumably for a similar reason.

"You're not—stealing one of the King's Hounds, are you?" the boy says, but his tone makes it clear that he doesn't believe that Andry is capable of making off with the pup.

Andry lifts his chin, feeling obscurely offended. "What if I was?" he says, feeling stupid as he said it; he should be glad not to be thought a thief, he should be putting the pup down and making his exit, he should be being as unmemorable as possible.

The boy grins, and steps closer again, and Andry realizes (with muffled horror) that he doesn't want to be unmemorable.

"I'd stop you, obviously," the boy says, and he steps easily into Andry's space—Andry lets him, feeling sweaty—and lifts the puppy easily out of Andry's relaxing fingers.

The boy sets the pup neatly back in the pen, where Bombur sniffs it loudly to make sure nothing's amiss. The boy does not step away from where he's standing, really quite close to Andry.

"What's your name?" the boy asks him. He's properly smirking now, his voice teasing and inviting, and looking Andry right in the face—like it's a face he doesn't know, but likes.

Andry stares up at the boy. He wants—to lie, or more than that, to change, to say a different name and have it be the truth. But that isn't how it works, and suddenly Andry has forgotten every name except his own.

So instead he turns on his heel and runs.

Andry can't sleep that night, too busy making lists of names to give in place of his own. He's thought of and rejected almost fifty different names before he even realizes he's decided to go back.

----

The Kennel Boy's name is Marten, and he's been the kennelmaster's apprentice for nearly three months. He thinks Andry is a lesser Noble's son named Aiden, and also, an idiot.

Andry hates looking stupid, normally. He more than hates it—it frightens him. He hates to do things wrong, even in front of people who won't hit him for it.

But on his third or fourth visit, when Marten insists he's holding one of the puppies wrong, the older boy pushes into Andry's space, rearranged Andry's hands with his own warm calloused fingers. Marten sees Andry's answering blush, and laughs, but doesn't move back.

Andry holds the puppies wrong on purpose. Never in a way that would hurt them—he's very careful; always just barely wrong enough. He offers to help sweep the kennels clean on the next trip, and misses large swaths of dirty straw, until Marten puts his hands on his hips and asks him if he's ever held a broom in his life.

"Maybe you should show me how," Andry says, cheeks burning with his own boldness, and Marten grins, transparently pleased, and does.

It can't last, of course. Andry stands on the balcony, almost a month later, still and straight beside his father, and sees Marten's face in the crowd—pale with shock and then looking away, half-running from the courtyard.

Andry knew he was doing wrong, a little, from the beginning; Marten's easy smile always made the lies sit heavy in his stomach. But he is still surprised at the force of Marten's anger when he learns that Andry is the Lion's son.

"You lied to me," he says, in a voice that shakes, his warm calloused hands in fists at his sides. "How could you, how could you not tell me you were—you liar!" The dogs shift in their pens at Marten's raised voice, and he squeezes his eyes shut, turns and will not look Andry in the eyes. "Get out," he says.

Andry reaches for him, wants to turn him around, wants to pull the boy's hands open and twine their fingers together, wants, wants things he doesn't even have words for yet.

"Get out!" Marten yells at him, and Andry takes to his heels again, tears in his eyes.

----

Andry stays away. If there are tears shed in the privacy of his bedroom, that is his own business; Asher kindly keeps his mouth shut, let's Andry hide his whimpers under his sheets and doesn't remark on his red and puffy eyes in the mornings. Andry is a Prince, and while he sometimes sneaks, he will not beg.

He doesn't need to. He wipes sweat from his eyes in the sparring ring by the guard barracks and when he looks Marten is there, leaning against the ring's fence and watching him with wary eyes.

"You hold a sword a lot better than a broom, Your Highness," Marten says. His voice is carefully neutral. He's standing only a few feet away, and the farthest from Andry he's ever been. "Come on," Marten says after a moment, his voice a fraction softer. "Old Bombur keeps on howling; no one babies him like you do." He meets Andry's eyes, nervous and angry and sorry, and Andry crosses the ring to stand before him, unable to do anything else. "Come back to him, why don't you."

Andry does not spoil the moment with tears; only follows Marten back down to the kennels. Marten lets him hold the broom again, and the next day when he calls Andry "Your Highness," he smiles, like it's a joke and not a curse.

Andry has never been more relieved; too grateful, really, to think clearly. When Marten asks, the following month, if there is space in the Lion's retinue, and when they next go out on a hunt, and who will handle the Hounds, Andry does not notice the boy fails to meet his eyes.

[blackhakumen]

Mini Fanfic #849: Nightmare Comfort Buddies (King of Fighters)

Flashback

Kula: (Sitting on the Living Room Sofa While Hugging the Pillow in Tears) ('Sniff') ('Sniff') ('Sniff')

??????: Kula?

Kula looks up to see Shingo staring at her on the other side of the room, with concern with his eyes.

Shingo: Is everything okay?

Kula: (Stares at Shingo for a Second it Two Before Lowering her Head Back Down at the Pillow) ('Sniff') No........

Shingo: Oh......(Gets Himself Up From the Chair He Was Sleeping On and Made his Way to Sofa to Sit Next to the Girl) I'm guessing you had a really bad dream just now, didn't you?

Kula: (Nodded Somberly)

Shingo: ('Sigh') Yeah......(Chuckles Very Lightly) It can be real pain sometimes. And I should know.

Kula: ('Sniff')

Shingo: B-But uh Anyways! ('Clears Throat') You.....wanna tell me what you dreamt about a while ago?

Kula: ('Sniff') Candy.......

Shingo: (Raised an Eyebrow in Confusion) You.....dreamt about actual candies?

Kula: ('Sniff') Noooooo!.....Not candies. ('Sniff') CANDY.

Shingo: (Starts Putting Two and Two Together) Ohhhhhh..... You mean someone who's name is Candy, right?

Kula: (Nodded Somberly)

Shingo: (Nodded in Understanding) Okay. Gotcha. So umm....Who is this Candy person, if you don't mind me asking.

Kula: ('Sniff') Candy.....('Sniff') Looks up at Shingo With Tears in her Eyes) She....She was my best friend......('Sniff') Who's....('Sniff') Not here with us anymore......

Shingo: No here with- (Eyes Widened Once He Put Two and Two Together Again) Oh......Kula, I am so sorry....

Kula: Why are you apologizing, Shingo? ('Sniff') You didn't do anything wrong......

Shingo: O-Oh no. It's not that kind of apology, Kula. I'm apologizing for your loss.

Kula: Loss?

Shingo: Yeah. See, when a person loses someone important to him or her, people usually apologizes to them for their loss. You get what I'm saying?

Kula: Yeah. ('Sniff') I think so......('Sniff') I....I MISS CANDY SO MUCCCHHH! (Burst Out Crying)

Shingo: (Frowns Sadly at the Sight of Kula Crying) She was really important to you, wasn't she?

Kula: She wasss!....('Sniff') We've been friends forever ever and ever and ever! ('Sniff') And then.....(Starts Remembering the Death of her Fallen Friend) A-And then....WHY DID HAVE TO GOOOO!!? (Cries Loudly Once More Before Turning to Shingo and Hugs Him)

Shingo: (Taken Aback From the Sudden Hug Before Sighing and Hugging her Back) Oh Kula....I can't imagine what would it feel like to lose someone close to you like that. Your friend seem like a nice person from your perspective.

Kula: (Starts Calming Herself Down) ('Sniff') She was. ('Sniff') She was the nicest robot I've ever known....

Shingo: (Eyes Widened in Genuine Surprise) Woah... Your friend was a robot. That's so cool.

Kula: (Giggles a Little) Yeah. ('Sniff') Candy was the coolest.

Shingo: (Chuckles Lightly) I say. Hey, you wanna tell me about her?

Kula: (Eyes Widened a Bit) You.... wanna know about Candy?

Shingo: Yeah. Her and how you guys met in general. I know isn't much, but I'll sure it could help make you feel a little better if we talk for a bit, you know?

Kula: (Stares at Shingo for a Brief Before Pouting at Him) You promise you won't get bored if I tell you?

Shingo: (Happily Nodded) I'm promise you 100%. I'm all ears.

Kula: (Finally Smiles Brightly) Okay!~ So, it all started when I was back when I was still in N.E.S.T.S at the time. I was an agent! Oooh! And Diana and Fixy were there too! And.....

And with that Kula continues to tell Shingo more about her past with NESTS and Candy before the duo themselves eventually fell asleep shortly after.

Present Time, at the Beach House.....

Kula: (Yawns While Making Her Way to the Refrigerator) I need some water.....And maybe some sweets along the-

'Sniff' 'Sniff'

Kula: Huh? (Turns to See a Very Familiar Face Crying on the Sofa) Shingo?

Shingo: (Eyes Widened Once He Heard Kula's Voice) Ooh! Uhh...(Turns to Kula With a Sheepish yet Sad Smile) H-Hi, Kula. H-How's it going?

Kula: Shingo? (Makes her Way to the Sofa) Why are you up so late?

Shingo: Oh uh...(Chuckle Very Lightly) It's no reason really. I was..... enjoying the night air, you know?

Kula: But.... we're in inside?

Shingo: I mean, yeah you're right, but...you know, with atmosphere and the... uh...('Sighs In Defeat') I can't lie to you like this......Kula, I-

Kula: Had a bad dream?

Shingo: Yeah. ('Heh') Guess that was already obvious to you wasn't it.

Kula: (Sits Down Next to Shingo) Kind of. What's the dream about?

Shingo: (Takes a Deep Breath Before Speaking) Well........Do you remember the 11th KOF Tournament Me, You, K', and Kyo participated in? And the time when I told you guys about what happened to me and Kyo afterwards? With Iori and everything?

Kula: Yeah. I remembered. (Frowns a Little) You seemed really sad about it.

Shingo: Yeah....I was. But anyways, I had a dream about all of that. Except..... Weren't so lucky.....(Tears Starts Falling Down his Face) And.....('Sniff') I wasn't strong enough to protect Kyo.....('Sniff') or myself......

Kula: Shingo.......

Shingo: ('Sniff') I get it. Okay? ('Sniff') I know it was all in the past and I shouldn't have to keep worrying about all of time. But.....('Sniff') It's just so hard to forget about it entirely, you know?....I mean....('Sniff') If I wasn't strong enough to endured Iori's attack for much longer at the time....('Sniff') And if Ash wasn't there to save us at the neck of that, for.... whatever reason he came here for in the first place, then I....I...I-I-

Before Shingo could finish speaking, he suddenly felt Kula's arms hugging him lovely and a teensy bit tightly.

Shingo: K-Kula, I-

Kula: Shhh..... Hush now, Shingo. It's okay.

Shingo: ('Sniff') Is it really though? ('Sniff') I hate this!.....

Kula: I know you do. But it'll be just fine. You did everything you could to protect that jeckface, Kyo. You should proud.

Shingo: (Chuckles Very Lightly and Watery) Come on. ('Sniff') Kyo isn't that much of a jerk.

Kula: (Pouts at Shingo) Oh yes he is! He always thinks he's better than everyone and he keeps being mean to you!

Shingo: Yeah, but....('Sniff') That's a kind of person Kyo is sometimes, you know? Cocky, Brass, and occasionally Obnoxious.

Kula: (Giggles Softly) Occasionally Obnoxious~

Shingo: (Chuckles Lightly Some More) Yeah. Don't tell him I said any of this, buuuuut he can be a real brat sometimes. (Shrugs a Bit Playfully) I guess that's to be expected since he still hasn't finished high school.

Kula: (Giggles Some More) That is sooo true!~ What a dork!~

Shingo: Yeah. Dork.

Kula: (Calms herself Down With a Sigh Before Turning Back to Shingo) Are you feeling better now, Shingo?

Shingo: (Sighs While Wiping his Tears Away) Yeah. I feel a lot better now that you're here. (Smiles Sheepishly While Rubbing the Back of his Head Back and Forth) Sorry you had to see crying my eyes out like that.....

Kula: (Happily Hugs Shingo Again) It's okay!~ We all get sad from bad dreams sometimes. It happens. I'm just glad I was able to help you be happy again. (Gives Shingo a Kiss on the Cheek)

Shingo: Hey! What was that for?

Kula: Seirah and Diana always give me kisses to make sure I feel all better. (Smiles Brightly) I hope it makes you feel better too.

Shingo: (Heart Begins to Melt in Genuine Happiness) It does. (Hugs Kula Back) Thanks, Kula.

Kula: You're welcome, buddy. You're feeling sleepy yet?

Shingo: Actually.....No. I guess I cried so much that I don't really feel tired right now. What about you?

Kula: Huh. I was a few minutes ago, but....(Shrugs) I'm not really tired anymore.

Shingo: Odd..... Wanna watch some TV before we fall asleep?

Kula: Can I eat cake while we're at it?~

Shingo: Kula, I don't know if it's a good idea to eat it during midnight-

Kula: PLEEEEEASEEE?~ (Gives Shingo the Puppy Dog Eyes While Wobbling her Lips)

Shingo: ('Sighs in a Bit of Defeat') Okay.....You can eat cake. But JUST one slice, alright?

Kula: Yay!~

@illyrilex

@theweebmaster31

@keyenuta

@caleb13frede

@ma-lemons

@albion-93

[restmyheadatnightcontent]

until we dream of life and life becomes a dream

hello! i know it’s been a while but i’m back with my next fill for @witcher-rarepair-summer-bingo​

a little yennefer & ciri fluff with some pre-relationship yennskier as well as a treat (set early on in this verse)

Prompt: Soothing their fear

Relationships: Yennefer & Ciri, minor Yennefer/Jaskier

Rating: T

CW: mention of nightmares

Summary:  Ciri may have calmed down enough to sleep, but Yennefer cannot seem to. There is something  humming beneath her skin. She had pushed aside her fear to help Ciri but now it has come flooding back along with the thoughts that make her wonder if she is cut out for this, if she is doing any good.Or if, despite everything, all she is doing is making things worse.

until we dream of life and life becomes a dream

She is sitting on the sofa, scrolling mindlessly through Instagram when she hears the shout. She startles and drops her phone beside her, before rushing up the stairs.

Ciri has been with her for almost two months now, and although they don’t happen as frequently, she is still woken by nightmares often and Yennefer’s heart still drops every time, knowing that Ciri is hurting.

Anxiety washes through her as she makes her way towards Ciri’s room, wondering if this will be the time where she puts a foot wrong, says something or does something that will mean losing Ciri, wondering if this will be the moment the girl realises she doesn’t want to be here anymore, that she wants to live with someone else. Someone who is a natural parent, who is easily affectionate, who knows what to do, who finds it all easy.

Someone not like her.

She pushes those thoughts aside as she makes her way into the room. It is filled with the warm light of her nightlight which they had bought so that if the girl woke up in the night, she would not wake up in darkness, they hoped that the light would be comforting.

But right now, it does not seem to be comforting at all.

The gentleness of the golden light filling the room is in stark contrast to the girl tossing and turning in the bed, whimpers and shouts falling from her mouth.

Yennefer sits on the bed next to Ciri, and carefully reaches out to place her hand on Ciri’s forehead. Often Ciri’s nightmares can be violent and leave her waking up with a swinging arm, and Yennefer has learnt the hard way that sometimes she has to try and wake Ciri carefully from a distance. But thankfully, tonight seems to be one of the calmer nights so she take the opportunity to be closer.

“Ciri,” she says, quietly but loud enough that it will hopefully penetrate the chaos in the girls mind. “Ciri, it’s ok. It’s just a nightmare, but you need to wake up.”

It takes a few minutes for Ciri to wake up, but it feels like hours as she sits there and strokes her hand through the long, blonde hair, waiting for the cries to stop, being able to do nothing but murmur comforts to her, until she wakes up.

Ciri’s eyes fly open as she wakes with a gasp, and Yennefers heart breaks as she watches the girl sits up and frantically search the room for the family she knows she saw in her mind only moments ago.

“Hey, its ok. You’re alright, it was just a bad dream. It’s ok,” she soothes. She doesn’t bother to say it was just a dream or it wasn’t real because they both know that everything Ciri is seeing was real, and her nightmares are just twisted version of her memories.

Ciri seems to come back to herself, her blue eyes clearing as they settle on Yennefer.

“Sorry if I woke you up,” she sniffs, wiping the sleeve of her pyjama top across her nose, voice still thick with tears.

“I wasn’t even asleep yet,” Yen replies. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Sometimes after a nightmare, Ciri wants to talk about it, or wants to talk about her family, telling Yennefer stories about funny things her grandparents, or the few things she can remember about her parents. Sometimes they look through photos, replacing the images of her family Ciri saw in her dream with the smiling faces that look back at her from the pages.

Ciri shakes her head, before asking in a small voice. “Could I – could I maybe have a hug?”

“Of course you can. You can always have a hug,” Yennefer says, before enveloping the girl in her arms. Normally, during the day Ciri is free with her affection and will come bounding up to hug Yennefer whenever she feels like it, but here in the aftermath of a nightmare, she becomes shy and tentative with it.

Yennefer doesn’t say anything as she feels her jumper grow damp with tears, just rubs soothing circles onto Ciri’s back as she cries quietly into Yennefer’s chest.

After a while, as Ciri’s tears lessen Yennefer asks “Do you want to go downstairs? Watch some TV with a hot chocolate? Or do you just want to go back to sleep?”

Sometimes, Ciri finds it hard to go back to sleep after she wakes from a nightmare, so they spend the night wrapped in a blanket on the sofa, watching some nonsense on TV until eventually Ciri will slump against her shoulder and she will carry her back up to bed. And Yennefer is sure that there are people that would say that giving a child hot chocolate in the middle of the night was a bad idea, but it never fails to put a smile on Ciri’s face, so frankly all those people can fuck off.

“I think just sleep, if that’s okay?” Ciri says.

“That’s fine. I’ll stay here until you fall asleep,” Yennefer says as she tucks the blanket up around Ciri.

Ciri’s eyes eventually slip shut and her breathing deepens, and Yennefer sits next to her stroking her hair until she is snoring softly. Then she makes her way out of the room, closing the door quietly behind her and leaning against the door and takes a deep breath. Ciri may have calmed down enough to sleep, but Yennefer cannot seem to.

There is something  humming beneath her skin. She had pushed aside her fear to help Ciri but now it has come flooding back along with the thoughts that make her wonder if she is cut out for this, if she is doing any good.

Or if, despite everything, all she is doing is making things worse.

She makes her way to the kitchen, pours herself a glass of wine and sits on the sofa. She picks up her phone from where she had abandoned it before running up the stairs to check on Ciri. There is a new message, and she unlocks her phone to see it is from Jaskier.

Jaskier: I swear if I get one more email from a parent telling me to cast their child as the lead I’m just going to play all the parts myself

She smirks and types out a reply

You’re up late

I could say the same about you

 Ciri had a nightmare.

Is she ok?

She’s asleep.

That’s good.

Are you okay?

She goes to type I’m fine but she hesitates, and she’s not enitirely sure why. Maybe it’s because she isn’t fine, not really, she still feels nervous and . But it’s not like she is going to tell Jaskier that, she barely knows him, but yet she still hesitates. It would be so easy, to type out the lie and move on but she can’t quite bring herself to do it. Maybe it’s because she thinks he might understand. Because they are more similar than she will ever admit. That he knows that it is hard to be kind sometimes, when you learnt that being selfish was the only way to get what you wanted.

No-one else would understand.

Not Triss, who only knows kindness, wouldn’t get it. Triss who is kind without hesitation or thought and doesn’t have a selfish bone in her body. Triss who finds showing kindess as easy as breathing, Triss who always seems to know the right thing to say to make feel better, who seems to just understand how someone is feeling, without them having to say anything at all.

Not Renfri, who sees no point in being kind. Kindness has no place in Renfri’s world, she sees no sense in showing kindness in a world that has been nothing but cruel to her. Being kind holds no use for her and so she simply isn’t. Honestly, Yennefer can’t blame her for it. Renfri cares about people in her own way, and Yennefer knows that the other woman cares for her, but she wouldn’t go so far as to describe her as kind.

She certainly can’t talk to Tissaia about it. Although the woman is legally her mother,she always felt that Tissaia cared more about the idea of her than about her. She cared but she wasn’t affectionate or kind, she was strict and honest which Yennefer did respect at the time and no doubt needed,  but it doesn’t put the woman at top of her list for those she goes to for emotional advice.

Not that there are many people on that list.

And somehow, Jaskier seems to have made his way on to it.

Later she will blame it on the wine, but she accepts the call.

“Well hello there Yennefer what a pleasant surprise this is!” he cheers, sounding far too alert for this early in the morning.

“You’re the one that rang me,” she points out.

“I know, but I wasn’t actually expecting you to pick up,” he replies, and something flashes through her, a feeling she can’t quite name. Before she can think about it anymore, he asks “So are you?”

“Am I what?”

“Okay. Because it’s alright if you’re not, you know. It must be tough, looking after a child all by yourself.”

“And what would you know about it?”

She doesn’t know much about his relationship with his parents, aside from the odd comment from Renfri, and given how the man has a tendency to say every incessant  thought that comes into head out loud, and the fact that he hasn’t said anything about his parents, tells her everything she needs to know about the relationship he has with his parents.

“Do you get weekly phonecalls from the poor mothers of all the bastards you’ve left behind all over the place begging you to come back and help them raise your spawn?”

“No, I’ll have you know that I am always incredibly careful about things like that and there are no little Julians running about the place,” he says.

“Thank the gods,”

“Anyway—” he continues, as though she hadn’t said anything “--what I was trying to say was that any sane person would find it hard to raise a child alone, and it’s only natural if you’re scared.”

“I am not scared,” she says bitingly, but she knows a little too quickly for it to be true.

“Well good for you then but still, I think it’s fine if you are. From what I’ve heard, almost all parents worry about something. I don’t think being scared makes you weak, and in all honesty I think it makes you a better parent. If you’re scared of making a mistake, then you’re less likely to make one.”

“And if I do make a mistake?”

“I’m sure you’d be able to figure out a way to fix it,” he says.

There is a moment of quiet, a moment where Yennefer can end the call and stop herself before she says something incriminating, before she reveals a part of herself that she can’t take back. She is used to doing things alone, she can figure this out by herself.

Or, she could let him in.

She could tell him, tell him about how terrified she is by the prospect of being a parent, knowing that she wants to do it so well, to give Ciri the chances she never had, but she is so scared of doing it wrong. Ciri is depending on her, so she has to do it right.

Otherwise she risks ruining everything.

Again, she isn’t sure why she feels the need to say it to Jaskier of all people, but she needs to tell someone about the thoughts running through her head before the voices become too loud and she’ll be unable to hear anything else, before the doubts that are swirling around her become too much and she starts drowning.

She just has to take the leap.

This is for more than just her, this is for Ciri, and she deserves better than Yennefer trying to muddle through it on her own.

So she leaps.

“It’s just – she – she’s so vulnerable. She’s seen so much and been through so much, and she’s hurting and I just want to help but I can’t help but wonder that I’m making it all worse,” she admits. “I have no clue what I’m doing. I never know what to say and I’m worried that everything I do say is wrong. Everyone else makes it look so easy, and I feel like I’m barely staying afloat.”

“Welcome to being a parent. I’m pretty sure everyone feels the same. Everyone is just like a duck, looking all calm and then paddling like hell underneath,” he replies flippantly.

She can feel her anger rising. He doesn’t get it, of course he doesn’t, and she is tempted to just hang up. But now the gates are opened, and the words keep coming.

“But I’m not like every other parent, and Ciri isn’t like every other child. This is different, so I have to be different and I have to do it right,” she barks. “I cannot let her down.”

“In what way are you letting her down? You took her in, you gave her a home. You hold her, you make her laugh, you let her cry, you sit with her when she has nightmares. You care about her. You are there for her when she needs you to be. You’re trying. You’re making the effort. Isn’t that all you can do?”

“Is it that simple? Isn’t there anything more? More than just trying?”

“Maybe, but it’s a lot more than some people seem able to manage,” he says quietly, voice pained and she has no doubt he is speaking from experience. “I think that right now all she needs is time. She needs someone steady, someone who will be there, an anchor to help ground her when the seas get too rough, and somewhere to land when the chaos subsides.”

She sighs. He’s right. Or at least he sounds right enough to have calmed her worries, at least for tonight.  That it will just take time, and that it will be all be alright in the end. And if it’s not, then she’ll figure something out. He’s right, and she thinks that even when she sleeps on it, he will likely still be right tomorrow.

Not that she will tell him that.

“You’re mixing your metaphors.”

“Well it’s 2 o’clock in the morning so excuse me if my poetry isn’t perfect,” he argues.

“Why are you up so late anyway?”

“Ah well, you know us tortured artist types darling, no stranger to a sleepless night,” he says easily, but there is something else in his voice. He sounds tired, more tired than she has ever heard him before and she’s sure there is more to it, but she doesn’t ask. She probably could, she has shown him a vulnerable side of herself and knows that he would probably show the same in return, if she asked.

But she doesn’t.

For as open as he is, for as much as he talks, there are many things that Jaskier doesn’t say, there are things he keeps hidden away. There is a lot that he hasn’t chosen to share with her yet, but she is happy wait. He has wormed his way  into their lives, but she finds that she doesn’t mind. He intrigues her, he is loud and cheerful and annoying, a seemingly simple person, but she knows that there is more beneath the surface, more to him that meets the eye.

And surprisingly, she finds that she is ready to wait He is intrigues her, in a way that no-one has in a long time and she can be patient. He doesn’t seem to be going anywhere soon, so she has time to figure him out.

Until then, she can keep teasing him.  

“You’re a primary school teacher who plays a silly little guitar, you’re hardly a tortured artist.”

“It is a ukulele, how many times do I have to tell you? And art comes in all forms, Yennefer, don’t be such a snob.”

“It’s not being a snob if you are genuinely terrible,” she retorts.

He makes an undignified noise on the other end of the phone. “How dare you, I’ll have you know I am an excellent ukeleleist! And I am also proficient at playing many other instruments.”

“’Ukeleleist’? I’m pretty sure that isn’t a thing.”

“Oh shut up! It’s 2am, it’s allowed to be a thing,” he grumbles.

A sense of quiet lulls over them, and suddenly Yennefer has to bite back a yawn.  All her fear and anxiety has left her now, leaving only tiredness behind. She can hear him tapping the keys of his laptop, probably working on his next song.

“Jaskier?” she asks, her eyes now growing heavy.

The tapping pauses. “Yeah?”

“Thank you. For tonight, for this. I needed to hear that,” she says.

“Anytime,” he replies earnestly.

They say their goodbyes, and she makes her way up to her own bed. But before she does, she stops at Ciri’s room and peers in at the girl, who is sleeping softly, mouth open slightly as she drools on the pillow, far more peaceful than she was earlier.

It hasn’t been easy for either of them so far, life changing so suddenly for both of them, but they’ll figure it out. There will no doubt be mistakes, and people will get hurt, but she cares for this girl, more than she has cared about anything else before, and so she will make it work.

And it will be easier, because she knows she doesn’t have to do it on her own.

[munofsilver]

Stuck In-Between Chapter 5

@gaalee-bingo may be over but this fic isn’t. I know I can still post and let them know. Just no more badges. That’s fine with me. This chapter was for injury. Ao3 link.

Summary: We get to learn more about Gaara and Lee, along with the yokai world a bit. Shukaku is still a tricky tanuki bastard. Trigger warning: Mention of rape.   

The two yokai race across the marketplace. Akamaru runs as fast as the wind as he tracks Lee's scent. They passed through the marketplace, the training area, farmland and heading towards the forest where all animal yokai like to live. All tanukis and kitsunes are there with their human spouses if they have one. Even though humans say they don't, tankuis and kitsunes get along very well. 

Akamaru stops in front of a house on the edge. Gaara knows this house. He slides off Akamaru's back, and the canine yokai runs off, howling, "My job is done." 

Gaara knows he will have to return home with Lee without Kida's help. Lucky for him, Shukaku is a friend and might help. It's hard to tell what that tanuki will do. Moving closer, Gaara knocks on the door. After waiting a few minutes with no answer, he knocks again harder. Still nothing, so Gaara lets himself in. 

Lee starts, unable to stop even though he wants to, "My father never fully healed from an injury he received when he encountered a kitsune, seven years ago. We both were hungry and had no money since I couldn't go out to fish or hunt as much anymore. Father's health was getting worse, so I did something I never wanted to." 

Lee takes a sip of the sake, not knowing it will make things worse for him. Shukaku smiles, knowing that with each sip, more truth will come out. While enjoying his own sake Shukaku also enjoys Lee's story as he continues. 

"Six years ago Princess Ino was on another shopping trip with Hinata, her lady in waiting. When Princess Ino dropped her fan, knowing how much it was worth, I took it and ran. Unfortunately, I was seen and caught." 

"By a guard?" Shukaku asked. 

Lee only shakes his head, "Princess Ino." 

Shukaku laughs, "A guard would have been better." 

Lee nods in agreement. If it was a guard, he would have been locked up in prison instead. Thinking back, it might have been better if it wasn't for the fact that he would never have been able to see or help his father while in there. Lee continues when Shukaku "asked" him too. 

"She said she will let me have the fan and not go to prison if I agree to be her personal slave. Like an idiot, I took her offer and sold the fan. I bought food and medicine for my father. The next day three guards came and dragged me to the palace. Until I escaped about four days ago."

Shukaku grins that is quite a tale, but he feels there is more. Being a tricky tanuki, he had to find out more. Lee takes another sip, not liking to taste. Each sip tastes differently. Thinking this is something to do with being in the yokai world, sake is different here. 

"Can you explain about being Princess Ino's personal slave?" Shukaku leans forward. 

Lee looks down at his sake, "Like with her servants, I couldn't look at her face. She made me feed her peeled fruit, rub her feet and shoulders, brush her hair without touching her face; I had to hide from her father. She didn't want him to know I was there. I could only leave her room to visit my father once a week. I couldn't say a thing. I had to sleep on the floor with no covers or pillows." 

"That doesn't sound too bad," Shukaku pours himself more sake finishing the bottle. 

"Those are the things she made me do during the day. At night she forced me to," tears form in Lee's eyes, "At night, I was forced to pleasure her," he whispered. 

Shukaku spits out his sake, "You were that type of slave."

"I don't mean sex. That only happened once when she forced herself on me on my eighteenth birthday," Lee wipes the stray tear from his eye, "Her pleasure was my pain."  

Shukaku had enough. He got what he wanted. Now he is going to even things up, "Would you like to know anything about Gaara?" 

Lee wipes away his tears and smiles, "I would like to know more about yokais in general. It seems everything I learned about them was wrong." 

Shukaku laughs, "I will tell you anything you want to know about Gaara. If you want to know more about yokai, walk around the marketplace." 

Lee thinks for a moment before he decides, "How did he become a guardian?" 

Shukaku sighs as he leans back, "That is not a happy tale. I'm not sure if Gaara will be happy if I tell you. Then again, I am a tanuki of my word, sometimes. Gaara was forced to be the guardian between the yokai and human world by his father, a real jackass," Shukaku opens his third bottle of sake. 

"Gaara's mother was a human that his father loved dearly. Sadly it's hard for a female human to give birth to a yokai child. Most times, yokai that are married to humans will never mate with them or do so with safety measures," Shukaku winks like he was hinting at something.

"Unless it's a female yokai and male human. Then it doesn't matter if they have cubs. When a human bears a yokai child, she will have about a 50-50 chance of not dying during birth. I'm sure you know where I'm going with this." 

Lee nods in understanding while he feels bad for Gaara. Lee also lost his parents when he was a baby. Gai adopted Lee when he found Lee in the forest with no shoes or clothes on. He takes a final sip of sake, and Shukaku pours him another cup. Nothing added in the sake this time. 

"His father, Rasa, blames Gaara for his mother's death. He knew what could happen if his human wife had his cub. I told him, his mate told him, Chiyo herself even told him many times," Shukaku growls. 

Shukaku never got along with Rasa. He thinks Shukaku and him are friends. In reality, Shukaku only likes Gaara and his siblings. He just lets Rasa think what he wants. The tanuki doesn't like talking about Gaara's father, but he does finish the story. 

"As punishment for "killing" his mother, Gaara is banned from the yokai world unless he has permission from Rasa. He rarely gets that. He has to guard the in-between, we call it. If a human should enter without permission, Gaara will get in trouble," Shukaku chugs down half the bottle of sake. 

Lee looks down at his own cup. Shukaku can see the sadness in his eyes. Shukaku does think Rasa overacted; then again, Rasa always overacts. Shukaku ears twitch, and he sniffs the air. Looking back at the human, he sees guilt on his face. 

"Don't worry, Rasa doesn't know you're here. He will never come here. Scared of the forest. Not that he will ever admit it," Shukaku laughs. 

That did help Lee feel less guilty. Taking a sip of his sake, Lee noticed it tasted sweeter than the other cup he had. 'Yokai's sake is weird.' He thinks. 

"Anything else you would like to know about Gaara?" 

"You told him enough already." 

Both look to see Gaara standing in the corner of the room, arms folded and deep glare aimed at Shukaku. Shukaku was surprised he didn't smell Gaara, only Kiba. He may change his name in his yokai form but not his scent. Finishing the bottle of sake, Shukaku tosses it away with the other two. 

"You're lucky I found him first. You're also stupid for coming here, Gaara. You know what will happen if your father finds out," Shukaku shows Gaara his deep glare. 

Gaara ignores the older tanuki; right now, he only cares about Lee. He sees that he was crying, and based on what he heard, Lee says, Gaara can understand. Now some things make more sense to the young tanuki. Why Lee was running away, how he ended up in the forest, why he was wearing a palace guard uniform? Gaara uncrosses his arms and walks to Lee. 

"Are you alright?" Gaara looks into Lee's eyes. 

"I... I'm fine. How long have you been standing there?" Lee, all of a sudden, found himself feeling embarrassed and shameful. 

Gaara wonders if he should tell Lee the truth that he knows or lie and act like he doesn't. He was about to say something when both tanuki's ears raise up and turn like they hear something. Shukaku growls as Gaara runs outside. Lee stands up, wondering what's going on. Should he be worried, hide somewhere, is everything going to be fine? He starts to panic. 

Gaara enters and shares a look with Shukaku. Gaara points towards the front door with his head and nods. 

"I know what you are thinking, boy. We can get this human out of here without that stupid fox help," Shukaku huffs. 

"He's only here to warn me. My father knows about Lee and me being here. He's not stupid, Shukaku," Gaara growls, warning Shukaku. 

He only huffs again and crosses his arms, "Then we better get you both out of here fast. Your father hates this forest, but he will come here to get him," he said, pointing his claw at Lee. 

Gaara knows what his father would do if he gets Lee, and Gaara will never let anything happen to his human friend. Gaara grabs some leaves from Shukaku's pocket and places one on Lee's head and the other on his own. Gaara closes his eyes, and two female yokais are standing there. Lee can see Gaara now has pure white skin, pale blue lips, dark blue eyes, long silver hair. Wearing a white and silver kimono. Lee has long black hair tied in a bow at the end, with no skin or eyes. Only a skeleton wearing a pink and red kimono.   

"Are you sure this will work?" Lee asked. 

Gaara looks at Shukaku, "We will need an escort." 

Shukaku smiles, "I'm better at transforming than that fox." 

With a snap of his claw and a leaf on his own head, Shukaku is now a male human wearing workers' clothes. Perfect for escorting two lovely female yokais around town. It's a common sight in the yokai world. Lee did see it during his short time in the marketplace. He just didn't pay much attention to it. 

Everyone is ready, and they head to the marketplace. Once there, Gaara will be able to open the way out and leave without any trouble. On their way, a kitsune runs back into the forest while transforming into Shukaku. He's going to buy them as much time as he can. Gaara will thank him later, knowing he will be at the cave to see if everything worked. They crossed many yokai and humans on the pathway.  

Lee wonders why some yokai stay in their human forms in the yokai world. When he noticed that the ones that are doing that are with humans. Maybe their spouse and they stay in human form for them? It seems that all the yokai in their human forms look like regular humans except the eyes. Being half is why Gaara gets a tail, claws, and ears of a tanuki. Lee does think Gaara's ears and tail are cute. They reach the marketplace, and Shukaku stops. The two "ladies" stare at him. 

"Stay close young pup. This will be tricky. Human opens this fan and looks down towards it," Shukaku hands Lee a fan. 

Lee takes the fan and does as Shukaku says. The fan matches the color of his kimono and sparkles in the sunlight. Shukaku hands a fan to Gaara that's the same as Lee's. He opens it but doesn't look at it like Lee. Instead, he uses it to cover the lower half of his face. They continue onwards. In the marketplace, they slowed their walk. If they move too fast, they will draw unwanted attention. To blend in, they stop at a few stalls. Lee watches everything while keeping his head down at his fan. With his eyes, he sees all. 

The trio stops at a stall that seems to have species and herbs. Mostly humans are there with a few yokai. The merchant looks like an ordinary house but with two tails and smoking a pipe. They move to the next one. This one is selling scrolls, some blank, some with writing Lee can't seem to read. Gaara "purchased" a few scrolls; it seemed to be more of a trade. Gaara gave the merchant what looks like a dried burn lizard skin for each scroll. That the female looking human with eight eyes merchant seemed to desperately want. Shukaku stood behind them the whole time they looked at a stall. Looking around to make sure no one is watching or following. They walk past the next few stalls and stop at one selling fabric.

Matsuri is there, and Gaara had to stop Lee from going towards her. She is working right now, and they need to keep blending in. They walk past quickly, leaving Shukaku behind as he drools over some rare sake. Neither one noticed the other wasn't there. 

"You can't mask your scent, Gaara," a booming voice calls out close behind, "You might have been able to if Shukaku or that fox was with you." 

That's when they both noticed their escort was missing. Gaara turns around and pushes Lee behind him. Now that their cover is blown, the transformation disappears as Gaara prepares to defend Lee. Standing more like floating above them is a tall human with pure black eyes and hair. Wearing a sleeveless grey rode and black pants. His four arms are folded across his chest. A snake-like tail swishes behind him as he lands in front of them. 

"Is that your father?" Lee gulps. 

Gaara narrows his eyes as he glares, "No, it seems my father sent one of his human controllers instead. Stay behind me." 

Lee doesn't move like a statue. The controller unfolds his long slender arms that don't match his body. What should be fingers are only bones until he moves them. Then flesh covers them, grey-colored flesh just like his tail that is very plum. Gaara's own tail grows, as does his claws. Even the ones that are supposed to be Gaara's toes grow. Both yokai begin to growl at each other. Others in the marketplace stop what they are doing and prepare themselves for the fight that's about to start. Yokai's are closing stalls, others are getting their human companions out of the way. Some even take bets. Mothers keep their kids out of danger but let them watch if they want. 

The enemy leaps towards Gaara as his claws pierced into the controller's arm. Gaara clubs his attacker in the head with his massive tail. Causing him to crash into the ground, but it didn't stop him. Raising to his feet, the controller's eyes are bright red as he smiles. Showing two sets of fangs. Gaara keeps pushing Lee back out of the way, towards the crowd. If he can get Lee there, then the tricky tanuki can use it to escape. There is more than one way to get to the in-between gate, then the main one. 

The enemy seems to know this plan and rushes past Gaara towards Lee. It seems Gaara is faster as he was able to grab Lee and defend them both with his tail. Letting out a hiss, he attacks with the claws on his feet, hitting the other yokai in the shins. The collector falls on his back. Gets up into a sitting position to look at his blood, running down his legs and dripping off Gaara's back claws. 

Lee sees blood dripping off of Gaara's tail. He can't let him fight this guy on his own, but what can a human with no magic do against a yokai? By the look of it, a rather strong one. Trying to remember what he saw from the kitsune attack. Gai did fight back and was able to scare it off if only Lee knew how. Now is not the time to get lost in the past; he needs to act now. Without thinking about himself, Lee rushes past Gaara towards the controller, still sitting on the ground. With some dirt in his hand, he blows it into his eyes, making the controller unable to see as he rubs his itchy eye. 

It took more than enough time for Gaara to grab Lee with his tail and make a mad dash towards the in-between gate. Trying to trick the controller, Gaara takes a different path through the crowd that is now going back to their own business. Now that the fight is over and bets need to be collected. Gaara doesn't let go of Lee until they reach the other side of the way. Out of breath, Gaara takes the bell out and places it back in the tree branch. 

"What the hell was that!?" Gaara roars, "You could have been killed. Controllers are made to hunt down and kill humans." 

A look of pure guilt took over Lee's face, "I'm sorry. I just didn't want you to fight him on your own." 

Gaara sighs, and his tail returns to normal size, "I appreciate the thought, but next time try to have an escape plan." 

Lee smiles and nods. He stands next to Gaara as the tanuki opens the portal. Lee enters first before Gaara. Once in the cave, Lee turns around and can see through the portal. Gaara's back is towards it, and he seems to be looking at something or someone. Lee sneaks back out and is pushed back in by Gaara being sent flying in the portal. It closes, and Lee helps Gaara onto the still transformed bed. 

Lee can see more than Gaara's tail is bleeding. Blood is soaking through his clothes, running down his arms. Lee carefully yet quickly takes off Gaara's haori and unties the yukata. Lee slides it off Gaara's shoulders. The tanuki was hissing in pain the whole time. Soon the portal opens again as Shukaku enters. He runs to Gaara shoving Lee out of the way. A huge wound is on Gaara's chest and some small ones on his shoulders and upper arms.  

"Do something to stop the bleeding. I will return," Shukaku hissed and went back through the portal and closed it.

[softbiker]

Steve Rogers Oneshot

Warnings: mentions of character death, cursing, haunting, spooky stuff, angst

Word count: 7.1k

Summary: Steve Rogers is a man out of time. He knows more ghosts than people. One of his ghosts has come home. 

A/N: This is waaaay longer than I normally write, but I just wanted to do it justice. This is my submission for @barnesrogersvstheworld​ AYAOTD writing challenge! Sort of an Endgame AU, also features an appearance from a rather obscure Marvel comics character. The prompt I had was “Don’t look behind you.” - it’s highlighted in bold. This is also really sad. I’m sorry for that...but please let me know what you think! 

His tastes have changed.

Most people wouldn’t have known that - wouldn’t have seen anything abnormal about a 100+ year old man reaching for minute oatmeal and Folgers at the grocery store. There had been a few articles, before, in health or men’s interest magazines, about the ‘Super Soldier Diet’. They were much more colorful than this - full of sugary cereals and peanut butter and seasonal frappuccinos. The articles always ended with reminders that a normal human should reach for more nutritious foods.

Steve pulls his oats - plain, made with water, no sweetener - from the microwave, and stirs just a little. Not thick enough; he replaces the bowl and adds another 30 seconds to the microwave timer. On the counter, the Mr. Coffee drips away, slowly filling the pot.

He eats quietly, perched on a stool at the island; he never uses the table anymore. A few news highlights appear in the notifications on his phone, and he scrolls through them, eyes scanning as he spoons his tasteless breakfast into his mouth.

New York Nears Completion of Relocation Program he reads, letting his thumb swipe down to read more of the article.

“Almost three years after the globally devastating event in which Earth’s population was reduced by half, the people of New York City are finally seeing a light at the end of the tunnel in their relocation efforts for residents whose homes were damaged or destroyed in the aftermath of the Decimation. The project, one of the last proposals by Tony Stark before his retirement from the Department of Damage Control, is expected to end-”

He closes his phone.

**********

There are three support group meetings that he attends each week - two as a leader, one as a participant.

“You should come, Nat.” He’s a broken record, but he just keeps spinning. Like the planet, like the solar system. If he falls out of orbit- “Just once. You might be surprised…”

“Some of us still have jobs, Steve.” She raises a still perfect eyebrow, now back to its natural red. He finds a little comfort in that.

“They’re not mutually exclusive.”

“Maybe not. But don’t wait up for me.”

The Tuesday meeting is the hardest, though it was the first one he ever lead. It caters to a specific group, a group that looks to him because...well, because he lost what they lost. He wonders if they know, if they realize, that it’s all his fault.

“Jackie was...she was my rock, you know?” The new woman, Elsie, sniffs as she continues. “We went through a lot together, and I remember thinking all that time ‘God, what would I do without her?’ And now I know the answer - spiral and-and become an alcoholic.”

“You can’t blame yourself for all of that.” Steve shakes his head. “There was so much more going on - the world was practically in flames, and you were trying to cope. What matters is that you’re here now, trying to get better.”

Elsie is nodding, accepting a tissue from the man sitting next to her. She gives a shaky little smile and settles back in her chair, done sharing for now. Steve glances around the circle, waiting for someone else to speak up.

It was such an odd reversal for him, especially at first. When he first wandered into one of Sam’s support group meetings, he had felt out of place and alone - and that feeling was exactly why he belonged in a place like that. Sam could see it. It was one of his gifts; he was better at reading people than anyone Steve knew, except maybe Natasha. Even when Bucky came along, and Sam played the tough act, he could see all of that fear and pain, and knew exactly what to do with it. Over the years they were in hiding, Sam would secretly reach out to Bucky - during their visits in Wakanda, Steve found the two of them sitting at the lake behind Bucky’s hut and talking, low and intense.

“You know, sometimes-” It’s a man on the opposite side of the circle, dark-skinned with a greying beard. “I don’t know about all of you, but sometimes...I wonder if they can see us. If they know what we’re doing. Does that make any sense?”

He gets a few nods and murmurs from the group, so he goes on.

“I mean, after my old man died, my mom used to say he was watching over me.” He swallows thickly. “She was on her own, tucking a 9-year-old boy in at night, and telling me that Daddy could see me from heaven, that he was looking out for me. And I just think....well, I wanna know - where are they? Are they in heaven? Is that even possible?”

He turns to Steve, several of the people in the circle do. It’s always like this - whenever the sessions turn to specific questions or musings about what happened, they look to him. Because shouldn’t he know? He had lead them, he failed them, he was there when their lives went up in dust.

“Well, I don’t think I’m qualified to offer religious advice,” he starts with a rueful smile. “And, from everything I’ve seen, I don’t think we even know what’s possible. All I know is, we can’t live in the past...even if they see us, wherever they are, we have to accept that they’re really...gone.” He crossed his arms. “They’re not here with us anymore.”

The group has gone quiet, reflective. Most are staring at their hands rather than him, each lost in their own haze of memory and ashes. He wishes he could offer them more, but he knows grief like this, and Steve Rogers is honest to a fault - he won’t lie, even for the sake of comfort.

“We’re on our own now.”

**********

He goes for runs alone now.

No Bucky to keep up with him, pushing the pace and trying to trip him. No Sam to complain about his hamstrings and insist on coffee afterwards. Not even music on those weird tiny headphones she had gotten him. Just his sneakers and pavement and the sound of his own breath. Sometimes he hated that - how he never got winded anymore, never sounded hurt and tired, the way he would wheeze through his asthma attacks with Bucky holding him up and reminding him how to pull in air. The machine of his body was too efficient for that.

In his apartment, he takes short showers, cold and fast, like in the Army. The soap is blue, with a generic smell that is clean and reminds him of nothing. He turns and tilts his head back under the spray, allowing a few more seconds to rinse and-

He nearly jumps when a burst of heat runs down his back.

The water has suddenly turned hot, a steamy, balmy, sultry hot that turns his soft Irish skin pink. He had never had this problem with his showers before - never run out of cold water certainly. Maybe something was wrong with the…

When he turned around, he saw the hot water knob turning slowly clockwise, centimeter by centimeter, untouched.

He shut off the water and got out.

**********

“I’m gonna have to call a plumber sometime.”

“Oh yeah? I thought all you old guys were handymen.”

“Ha ha.” He watches Nat scoop some spaghetti into bowls for the two of them. “I was the artist type. Not really handy around the house.”

“Guess that means Barnes was wearing the pants?” She’s smirking, and he feels like he’s seeing the real Nat again, so he goes along with the joke.

“How could he not? Who’s gonna let a 90-pound asthmatic wear the pants?”

“So what’s wrong with your plumbing?” Nat peeks over the fridge door as she grabs some parmesan and a bottle of wine. Steve, under strict orders not to help, is watching from the kitchen table.

“It’s my shower, something happened the other day. The water turned hot while I was in the middle of showering, even though I had it turned cold.”

“Hm. Weird.”

Steve comes out here at least once a month, or as often as he can. He sees the way that Natasha would rather slip into her work, lose herself in the business of holding the pieces of the world together, let go of her own life. The pantry, open and visible from where he’s sitting, is stocked with the bare minimum dry goods and canned foods; the fridge isn’t much better. He’s seen her on missions, seen her at home in her mismatched socks; he knows that she’d barely feed herself, surviving on a sandwich a day, if the thought or the hunger struck her. So he comes and threatens to cook and she saves the compound from being burned down by making a meal for the two of them.

It’s a far cry from normal. From pizza nights with Sam and Wanda at the compound, the two of them taking turns introducing Steve to movies he missed - all the “classics” he hadn’t heard of. They were missing their monthly family dinners, too; Tony always made room in his schedule to attend, dragging Pepper along from the office, and Steve sat at the head of their long dining table watching this strange, funny little family he had share and eat and laugh with each other.

Now he sits across from Natasha at a table otherwise occupied by her scattered files and reports, a pair of pointe shoes laying in the chair next to her. He didn’t come often enough to expect her to clean for him. She had enough on her plate.

“You know, I was talking to Carol last week,” Nat says, twirling her pasta around her fork. “And she said she might make it to visit us next month. It’ll depend on that trafficking case she was working in the Pegasus galaxy.” She shrugs a little.

“That’s good.” Steve chews, sips his wine. “It would be nice to see her.”

They don’t talk much throughout their meal; there isn’t much new to share. Through the floor-to-ceiling windows along the wall of the compound, Steve watches the early sunset fall over the grounds, shadows reaching and reaching, as quiet as it was empty.

**********

Sometimes, sometimes, when he’s feeling more stupid than usual, he opens the drawer.

That drawer. The lower one in his bedside table. With her box inside.

The box isn’t really anything special - just plain black, with her name written on the top. He got it at the suggestion of the team’s - his - therapist, Dr. Rajan. She recommended that putting some things away, rather than leaving them around his room, might help him move on, realize that his life had changed. He thought about putting the compass in the box, too, but it felt wrong. She wouldn’t want that in there. Somehow it mostly ends up in his pocket, and he stares at it from time to time, at the picture inside, thinking about words like should have and what if.

He’s staring at the drawer now, remembering the night before, when he thought about getting the box after he shuffled in from support group. When he was halfway through his flask of that Asgardian shit he kept under the bed. Steve had shuffled out of his clothes and fallen asleep in his underwear instead, flask still clutched in his hand, just sober enough to turn down the bad idea.

So why was the drawer open?

**********

“Have you thought about getting back out there? Dating again?”

His laugh is humorless.

“Doc, come on. I think we both know I’m not the type.”

“All we know is that you’re a serial monogamist.” She smiles. “And a very eligible one.”

“Sure, but…” Steve pauses, rubbing his palms against his jeans. He looks around the office, trying to find something to focus on. “I feel lucky...really lucky, to have had the kind of love I got. I mean, I never really expected to have it, not after I woke up in this century. And then, with her, it just sort of happened so naturally...well, lightning never strikes twice, as the saying goes.”

“It seems like, for you at least, it did,” Dr. Rajan raises her brows. “Two great loves in one lifetime? More rare than lightning.”

He runs a hand through his hair, still long on the top.

“I-I guess so. But it won’t strike a third time.”

“Because you’re not going to give it a chance?”

“You know me too well, doc.” His smile is apologetic, kind.

**********

At night, he sweats through dreams of her. His legs tangle in sheets where they used to twist and curl around her. The pillows smell only of him, his blue generic soap, but in his mind, locked somewhere far and sweet, her scent fills the air. Fills him up until he tastes it.

He tastes her, too, in dreams; under him, around him, pressed close in that intimate haze only lovers can know. Her lips chase his and smile into his mouth, following the curve of his jaw as he tucks his own face into her neck. It’s in his veins now, her smell and taste, ripe and alive on his tongue and oh, he’s swimming in it. She sighs, blissful, and sinks her teeth into that spot at the base of his throat-

Bedsheets fly off him as he bolts upright in bed, chest heaving, the sweat rolling in little beads down his temple. The smell is fading, drifting away from the room even as he tries to hold on to it; she was here, right here, and it had all felt so real, having her in his arms again. But now he’s wading back to consciousness, unwillingly, the tide of his dream pulling away from the shore and tugging at his ankles, carrying her with it. He wants to drift out to sea on it, drown in it, never resurface in this half-empty world.

Always so dramatic, Rogers.

Something nags at the corner of his eye, and he turns to the bedside table. In the pre-dawn light of the window, he can see the second drawer open. Her box is pulled forward to the front of the drawer with its lid propped up, asking, begging to be seen. He feels himself almost chasing the tide, diving back in as he leans over the side of his bed…

He slams the drawer shut.

Steve blows a harsh breath past his lips and swings his legs out of bed, tugging the sheet from between his thighs. His bare feet brush the cold wood and he arches up on his toes, tight muscles protesting the stretch. Palms scrub at his heavy eyes, brushing away what he can of his sleep. He has no plans to go back to bed, not now. He’ll just get an early start on his run. Maybe put in a few extra miles. He runs a hand through his hair, fingernails scratching absently at his scalp.

Stumbling into the bathroom, he turns the cold water tap in the sink and splashes his face a few times, feeling the two-day stubble on his cheeks. The shave can wait until after his run, he thinks. He stands straighter and reaches for the towel next to the sink, patting his face dry - he leaves his eyes closed, buried in the cotton for a moment before meeting his own gaze in the mirror. Immediately his eyes are drawn down to - what the hell is that?

At the base of his neck, just where it meets his shoulder, is a small red mark. A love bite. He presses it with a finger and hisses at the tenderness of the skin. Unbidden, the wave of his dream crashes over him, rolling him under, and he can almost feel her lips again…

The hair on the back of his neck and arms is standing straight up, his body gone cold all over. He thinks, maybe, he should go back to bed after all. Somewhere deep in the back of his mind, he hears his own name. What if...what if she’s waiting for me? He almost turns around, almost looks at the rumpled bed, almost expects her to be in it, rolling over in that tangled mess and smiling past the curve of her shoulder…

He yanks on a hoodie and running pants, toeing into his sneakers without socks, and leaves the apartment unlocked. Hardly knowing it, he clocks 50 miles, the sun high overhead before he can force his legs to stop, even his enhanced muscles starting to twitch. His sweat is still cold.

**********

There’s a memorial. Lots of them, actually.

All the major cities have at least one, and New York has built theirs, unsurprisingly, in Memorial Park. It’s huge, a sprawling garden of sculpture installations covered overhead by a soft white canopy. A retaining wall, approximately 3 feet high, lines the garden beds and holds in the dark rubber mulch, its outer white brick etched with the names of the lost. Even Steve could admit that it was beautiful, and so different from the solemn obelisks and walls of names he had expected when the memorial was announced.

The city had commissioned a team of artists, led by the famous Chihuly, to create blown glass sculptures using...well, as much of the collected ashes of decimated people as they could. “Cremation glass” it was called. The concept was morbid; though symbolically beautiful, most hadn’t imagined a stunning art gallery, more suited to the Met than this mass grave of the unknown.

Steve was there when it was dedicated, as was Tony. He was asked to say a few words, and he did; he has no idea, now, what he read from those cards handed to him by the administrative team. A black suit stretched around his shoulders, no shield in sight, his tie more like a noose as he watched the somber faces of the attendees. Loved ones and friends of people he had failed. A living memorial. Tony stood next to him, year-old wedding band still shining as he crossed his hands in front of him and declined to speak.

There are a few locations he has memorized around the park, the Lost Garden, as it has been named. A blooming blue hydrangea bush, sculpted white flowers and leaves pressed between the green, with the name “James B. Barnes” carved a few inches below. Across from it, red and yellow globes hang from a white tree, the round shadows falling over “Samuel Wilson”. Two rows over, an exploding tower of tangled green and blue spirals, surrounded by bushes, guards the name “Wanda Maximoff”.

Hers is carved neatly - block letters, plain font - into the white brick near the entrance of the memorial. Above it, a cherry blossom tree blooms sweetly, the pink flowers joined by purple and pink glass stems sprouting up from the ground around the trunk of the tree. Soft green bushes hem in the sculpture, as though keeping the glass from growing too far. It’s whimsical, charming. Elegant.

He fucking hates it.

He hates how this is meant to honor her - the vibrancy of her memory, the slyness of her smile, the passion of her love, the ferocity of her anger. She was more solid and real and hard than the delicate stems of glass that stood for her now. It wasn’t even her ashes in there anyway - he knows that for certain. He knows because he felt her drift through his hands under a hot Wakandan sun. He had watched the dust float and settle and knew that all the parts of her he kissed and held were under his feet and in his mouth and Jesus God it made him want to scream.

He doesn’t know whose ashes are here, in the glass above her name. But he wants to smash it. Put a fist through it. Hear that tinkling glass shatter on the ground the way she did. It would only be right.

As he stands there, staring at the falling cherry blossoms scattered around the sculpture, he feels the air go cold around him. His whole body breaks out in goosebumps and the little hairs on the back of his neck start prickling. He shudders, looking around, but no one else is nearby. It’s a late spring day, warm and getting warmer, with the sun beaming through scattered clouds. He shouldn’t be shivering.

The wind picks up, light breeze growing stronger, and the long stalks of glass begin to vibrate. A low hum builds as the wind carves its way between the sculptures, a plaintive, lonely noise that he feels low in his belly.

Steve…

He whips his head around, looking up and down the row, but he’s alone - no one else is here. That whisper, his name, it was so close…

Steeeeve

He’s turning a full circle, looking for a microphone or a drone or something tiny like Scott’s suit.

“Hello? Who’s there?”

Stevie …

A cloud of cherry blossoms billows into his face, making him jump back. The chill sinks through his skin, slips down his spine bone by bone with each breath. His heart is hammering hard and fast. That name, that voice - it’s been three years. They’re gone. It’s not possible. He closes his eyes as he feels a presence close beside him, right at his shoulder, and he knows, he knows if he turns his head she’ll be-

“Captain Rogers? You alright?”

He jumps again, startled, and looks over to see a policeman watching him, eyes wary and concerned. The officer was young, like all of them now - mass recruiting in public services has been going on for a couple of years, with things nearly falling into chaos after...everything. The military, the police, trying to swell their numbers enough with what was left of the population to keep the world in check. Not like the Avengers were doing a very good job.

“Captain?” The young officer asks again, inching a half-step towards Steve. His hand, unconsciously, twitches towards his radio.

“I’m fine - really,” Steve shakes his head and offers a smile. “Everything’s fine. Just...remembering someone.”

The kid nods; Steve wonders if he himself ever looked so young in a uniform.

“I understand.” He’s tugging at his uniform jacket. “My, uh, parents - they’re over there.” He points at a patch of lilies, not far from Wanda. “And my brother.”

“I’m so sorry.”

That’s all he ever says these days. I’m sorry. Sorry. Sorry. Everyone pretends that it’s enough.

He walks the kid - the officer - back to his patrol car, shakes his hand; the boy has to crane his head back to look up at him, and he stares up at Steve like there’s still hope in this world. Steve doesn’t have the heart to tell him.

**********

The chill follows him into the summer. Even with the sun high and New York sweltering with heat, Steve shivers in his apartment, cold biting at him until he aches with it. He cranks the heat on his thermostat, yet still finds a harsh breeze blowing through his apartment somehow. He allows the shower faucet to continue turning hot - blistering hot, the way she liked it - now that this chill won’t let him go.

Despite that, he finds himself staying in more than ever. He was never exactly a social butterfly - Bucky could testify to that. It tumbles him into memory: Bucky, slicked-back hair and spit-shined shoes, a rose tucked into the lapel of his jacket; Bucky, chin thrown back and ready to laugh at the world, an arm around Steve’s shoulders as he drags them on yet another double date. “Ya gotta get out more, Rogers,” he’d say, cigarette tucked behind his ear. “I’m a piss-poor excuse for real company.”

The only people he sees now are Dr. Rajan and the members of his support groups. Occasionally Nat, but she’s been traveling more lately, following the crumbs of Clint’s trail. Their emails are few and far between, containing only the bare bones.

It’s a Friday night - or maybe it’s Saturday, Sunday. He sits on the edge of his bed, turning the little thing over in his hands. The compass stays in his pocket most days. He flips it open, stares at the portrait inside, the one he’s had memorized since ‘43. He could draw it with his eyes closed, probably.

Suddenly, the compass snaps shut, unbidden, in his hand. It shakes, the mechanisms inside rattling violently, and grows hot to the touch. He yelps and it falls from his palm, dropping to the floor between his feet. The skin of his hands is red, scalded, and he flexes his fingers, watching the trinket warily. It lies on the floor, perfectly still.

Behind him, he hears the second drawer of his dresser roll open.

**********

More dreams come to him, sweet ones, and he sinks into them without protest. He falls into his bed at night happily, searching for the smell of her somewhere behind his eyes. She’s always there, always smiling for him, reaching and pulling him further down into their own special hiding place. She’s there in her uniform, in her sweatpants, in his t-shirt, in nothing at all.

“C’mere, Stevie baby,” she nuzzles his nose, and he’s close to tears but he doesn’t know why. Then she’s tugging at his own clothes and he’s not thinking about it at all.

The ache in his throat returns when he wakes empty-handed and alone. Beneath his jaw, a line of hickeys leads down his neck and across his shoulder. His breath puffs in small clouds as he pants and tries not to cry.

**********

“You don’t look so good, Steve.” Nat’s tone is worried, her voice tight. She watches him stare at the wall with a cup of coffee in his massive hands. “Have you been sleeping?”

He nearly chuckles at that.

“A little too much, I think.” He goes quiet then, mouth turning back down, carved sadness in that larger-than-life face.

“I think...God, Nat,” Steve slumps forward, elbows on his knees. “I think I’m losing my mind.”

“Join the club.” She sits down next to him, sliding a soft hand across his back. Her voice is just above a whisper. “We’re all still struggling. You know that. You’ve seen it. Sometimes it feels...it feels like...you’re just holding on by a thread.”

He’s shaking his head before she finishes.

“Have you - do you dream about them? Ever?”

“Of course.”

“No, I mean…” Steve rubs his eyes. “I mean...do the dreams feel...when you wake up, does it feel like it really happened.”

Nat frowns.

“I’m not following you, Steve.”

He sighs, heavy and resigned.

“No, I know. I’m not making any sense.” He leans into her embrace a little. He likes the contact of it. Hasn’t had that in a long time.

“Listen, Nat. I know S.H.I.E.L.D. used to keep a lot of records of...enhanced individuals…”

“Sure. Everyone that pinged on their radar,” she nods. “So, pretty much anyone with abilities.”

“I need to have a look at them.”

“Anything in particular you’re looking for?”

“Yes. But if I told you, you’d have me committed.”

“Yeah, that really makes me want to help you.” She leans her head against his shoulder, fingers squeezing his bicep. Her voice still soft and low. “Tell me what you need.”

**********

They meet in a public place. It’s not hard now, with the world half-dead, to go about their business as though they are two men with nothing to hide. A bright, hot July sun beats on their heads, and Steve adjusts his sunglasses as a bead of sweat slides down his neck. On the street, traffic grumbles along, bikers and street vendors and tourists darting between. The hard metal chair of the café presses into the soft underside of his knees, leaving little dents in his skin.

“It is nice to finally meet you, Captain,” the man across from him smiles. The white symbol on his forehead stands out starkly against his dark skin. “I understand we move in different circles.”

They’re sitting outside a small restaurant in Port-au-Prince, only coffee on the table in front of them. The heat is sweltering, oppressive, different from the New York heat that Steve knows. Part of him wishes they were near the beach, with the wind coming off the ocean. She would have begged him to go to the beach.

“That we do,” Steve raises his eyebrows. “Even with everything that’s happened, aliens, Thanos...things like magic are still...hard to believe.”

“Hm.” Jericho Drumm leans back in his chair, steeples his fingers. “I think you are here because...it’s not so hard anymore, yes?”

He grits his teeth. There are fingernail scratches on his back and they chafe against the sweaty cotton of his shirt.

“You’re a smart man, Jericho,” he sighs. “And I think you might be the only person who can help me.”

Jericho Drumm nods.

“Yes, I think so, too.”

According to the S.H.I.E.L.D. files Steve spent all his free time digging through, there were only a few enhanced individuals with supernatural abilities. And now half of them were gone. Some, like the sorcerer Tony told him about, had managed to stay under the radar for thousands of years. With precious little to go on besides an alias, Steve commandeered a quinjet and packed a bag for Haiti.

“What you are asking me...communication with the spirits…” Jericho shakes his head. “It’s not what you think. Or what it looks like in the movies.”

“Then tell me,” Steve presses, leaning his elbows on the table. His coffee is half full. He can see his reflection in the oily surface of it.

“I’ve served as a houngan for many years; I’ve served as Sorcerer Supreme. In fact, with Stephen Strange gone, they may ask me to serve again. But inviting spirits into this world is a dangerous practice - not white magic.”

“But it can be done?”

Jericho narrows his eyes. The white streak in his hair is bright in the noonday sun.

“When Thanos tore a rift in this world, in this universe,” he speaks slowly, choosing his words with careful consideration. “He tore through the other side as well. The things he’s done affect us all, the living and the dead. It is possible, the things you describe, are caused by this. A ripple effect, if you will. A door not closed.”

“A ripple.”

“Yes. However,” Drumm raises a finger, leaning forward to speak in a low voice. “I will say something else. I may have years of experience with the supernatural, but I studied psychology as well. My time in America was mostly in a university, studying the human mind, how it works…” He pauses for a moment, giving Steve a look that is on the suspicious side of apologetic. “Our minds are powerful. When a person wishes for things, even terrible things, the mind can give them what they seek.”

Steve closes his eyes, jaw tightening.

“Believe me, I know how I sound,” he sighs. “I know. My therapist says the same thing. But if anyone’s going to believe me, it’s you. This is not in my mind.” His fingers are shaking and he curls them into fists. “This is real. She’s...it’s real. It’s her.” Haunting me.

Dr. Drumm nods, sympathetic and quiet. He watches this captain, this legend, the age showing in his young man’s body. With the sunglasses propped up on his head, the dark circles beneath Steve’s puffy eyes are on full display. His shoulders curl in, posture defensive, small. His knee bounces under the table, and his jaw ticks every so often, teeth clicking in his mouth. There is a bruise visible at the base of his neck where the collar of his shirt has shifted to one side.

“Very well, Captain. I will do my best to help you.”

**********

He sits cross-legged on the tile floor of the bathroom, surveying the items in front of him. According to Dr. Drumm, he would need only a few candles, items that belonged to her, a circle of salt to protect himself. Incense, too, burning in the corner, the smell of sage and smoke floating around him. The lights are off, only the flickering candles illuminating the room.

He feels a little silly, setting all of this up. When he was a boy, vampires and werewolves and ghosts were all just stories - hiding under the covers with Bucky and scaring themselves silly. No real monsters hid under his bed. All of that came later.

Under his shirt, the amulet rests against his chest, growing warm with his own body heat.

“If you must do this alone as you insist,” Jericho had said, shaking his head. “Then wear this. Bene gris-gris. It is the best I can do to protect you from dark magic.” His steel grip closed around Steve’s arm. “And this may be a dark thing, Captain. Her coming back to you. It doesn’t feel like white magic.”

Steve had only nodded, his hand closing around the amulet. He was beyond light and dark now, beyond counting costs. He had chased ghosts for so long after he woke up. It’s only right for him to chase her, too.

Here, in the bathroom, toes pressed to cold tile, he digs two more items out of his pockets. Dr. Drumm said to bring something that would ground him to himself, something special. He turns the compass over in his hand, flicks it open, and sets it on the edge of the circle. From the other pocket, he fishes a black velvet box. His fingers twitch, feeling the soft fabric; he doesn’t want to open it. He hasn’t opened it, since he took the ring off their nightstand in Wakanda and put it back in the box. She hadn’t worn it - didn’t like wearing it on missions or in fights. Afraid of scratching it. She had wiggled it off her finger, smiling at him, leaving a kiss on his bearded jaw-

He leaves the box closed for now, and places it in the center next to the other tokens - a photo of her, a necklace with a small silver pendant she used to wear whenever they went on dinner dates, a little jar of seashells from a beach vacation she took in college. All the little things he had packed away in that nightstand drawer. Memories he had put into storage.

Safe inside his little circle, he reaches in his shirt and grabs the amulet tight in his fist. He closes his eyes. Breathes deep the incense and soft curling smoke from his candles.

He says her name softly in the dark.

In his mind, he shifts his awareness down the plane of his body, piece by piece. He learned meditation techniques during his therapy sessions; now he has another use for them. He says her name again.

“I want to speak to you.” He says, voice low, a lover’s intimacy. “I call on your spirit.”

Her name. Her name. Her name.

He’s not sure how long he stays there, curled on the floor, but the chant of her name lulls him into a trance. His eyes are half-open, the candles wavering in front of him, casting long shadows on the walls. He licks his lips, calls her name again.

One by one, the candles snuff out.

He goes quiet. Smoke curls up to his nose, but he can’t see - the only light is coming from underneath the bathroom door. That familiar chill trickles down the back of his neck, raising the hairs. His flesh is covered in goosebumps; his muscles tense up, coiled tight, ready to spring. His tongue lies dry and thick against his teeth.

“Hello?”

Steve?

He sighs her name. “Sweetheart, is that you?”

A cold breeze passes over his face, rumpling his shirt.

“Are you there?”

The compass flies up and smashes against the wall.

Steve…

Her voice is harsher. Sadder.

“Baby, please,” he’s begging now. He can feel how close she is, she’s in the room, he knows it like he knows his own body. Like he knew hers.

For the first 25 years of his life, he lived with asthma - any little trigger could set him aching for air, his lungs betraying their purpose and seizing up on him, his whole body trembling in relief when he managed to pull in oxygen. He feels that ache for her now - acute and sharp as it was the day he first lost her, a physical pain and its cure so close, so close, if she would only let him - let him breathe-

Oh, Steve.

“Honey, I’m here, I’m right here.” He stands in his little circle, spinning around, though he still sees nothing in the darkened bathroom. He feels the tip of his nose go numb in the frigid air, his body shivering slightly.

I’m here, too, Stevie.

“Where, baby? Where are you?” He’s desperate, so desperate. He’s going to cry if she doesn’t-

I’m here. Look.

He feels, thinks he feels, cold fingers brush down his cheek, and he turns. The mirror above the sink is frosted over, he can see it now that his eyes are adjusting to the pale dark, and he stumbles towards it. Pulls a sleeve down over his hand and wipes at the fog, the remains of his body heat melting it away in streaks.

“Oh...oh god.” He grips the edges of the sink.

Hi, baby.

There she is. There she is. Standing right behind him, over his shoulder. His eyes sweep over her face in the mirror, scanning the details he never forgot, not for a moment. Her lips quirk a sad little smile, tilting her head.

You don’t look so good, Rogers.

His laugh comes out as a sob, and he nods. Fingers curl tighter over the edge of the sink because it’s all that’s holding him up right now. In the reflection, he sees her take a step closer to him - feels her presence, her smell is right behind him and if he can just turn and take her in his arms then everything will be alright again…

NO DON’T!

The force of it is loud in his mind, sends him reeling forward against the sink. Her lips are trembling in a soft frown.

Don’t look behind you.

It sounds so soft. So sad. And he knows, knows in the marrow of his bones, that this is it, this is all they can have. This halfway, this inbetween, this ships in the night barely seen as they pass - it’s all he gets. All he has left.

He presses his hand to the cold glass of the mirror, tips of his fingers stroking the image of her face. His chin feels weak, jaw slack, his hip leaning against the sink. She’s crying, too, tears shining against her soft cheeks.

“Where are you? Do you know what’s happening?” He manages to ask. It’s the question, the question everyone would ask of their ghosts. She shakes her head a little.

I...I don’t really know. But I know I’m not with you.

He nods, tries to swallow around the thick lump in his throat.

Wherever I am, I’m not with you. And I miss you, Steve.

“I miss you - God, honey, I miss you so bad-” his breath hitches, and he wonders in the back of his mind if he’s going to have another asthma attack, his first in 70 years. “I-I need you, sweetheart. Jesus Christ, I miss you. I don’t know what I’m doing without you and-and-”

He’s hyperventilating, breaths stuttering in his chest. The hand that’s pressed to the mirror has gone numb with cold but he won’t move it, not if it’s the closest he comes to touching her face. He watches her come closer to him, behind him - her smell fills the room, no smoke, no incense, only her. His teeth are clattering in his mouth even as he tries to grit them together, lungs stuttering and he’s so so cold but he only half feels it; the muscles in his back jump and twitch as he feels her, really feels her, right behind him. And then-

I know, baby. I know.

Her forehead presses between his shaking shoulder blades. Icy hands creep up beneath his shirt, pressing right over his heart. Her arms lock around his ribs and squeeze, squeeze, squeeze - as if she could brand herself there. In the glass, Steve’s lips are blue and his sobbing breaths come out as little frozen clouds. The mirror is starting to frost over again; the goosebumps on his body won’t lie down. His eyes slip closed, tears chilling in their tracks on his cheeks, and he presses his hand over hers at his heart.

I’m right here.

The ache in his chest sharpens, then dulls, slow and familiar. Something he always carries. His breaths are slowing now, the trembling in his muscles calms a little. She traces a frozen circle over his heart.

I’m right here.

He sighs her name before he blacks out.

**********

Natasha watches Steve in his kitchen, her green eyes sharp and narrow. She hasn’t been to his apartment in a long time, but three days of no answered phone calls, texts, or emails and the Black Widow will investigate. He seems...fine. As fine as Steve has been since it all happened, when he went clean-shaven and cropped his hair, like girls do after a break-up. He smiles over his shoulder while stirring the pot in front of him.

“It’s the one thing my ma made sure I knew how to make for myself,” he says. “She knew I’d need this soup every time I got sick.”

“That’s sweet,” she says. And it is, though she’s never heard him mention it before.

They eat on barstools at the island, sharing little bits of conversation, small talk, mission updates. Sound bites of friendship. Still no explanation for his radio silence.

“Can I use your bathroom?” She sighs as he scoots back his stool, scooping up their bowls to take to the sink.

“Of course - you don’t have to ask, Nat.”

She slips down the hall. Doesn’t go to the bathroom - turns right instead.

On the floor of his bedroom, she sees the candles. The circle. The pictures. A little jar of seashells on his nightstand. While they were eating, she had seen something new - a little chain around his neck, the shape of something underneath, suspiciously like a ring.

Natasha leaves without saying a word, maybe hugs him a little tighter at the door.

She won’t begrudge him this.

[that-one-girl-behind-you]

Illicio 4/?

Part 3

Trigger warning for some very lightly mentioned domestic abuse and sexual assault (molesting of a minor). During the first POV.

“Come on now, don’t go picking fights with any more entities.” Gerry gives his shoulder a little push as the bus rolls to a stop. Jon complies, but he turns to face Gerry as soon as he hops on the street with him.

“Excuse me? I don’t pick fights with-” Jon’s massive lie fades off into indignant blustering when Gerry wraps a hand around his right wrist and brings his hand up to eye level, giving it a little shake with a raised eyebrow. “W- well that’s different, have you met Jude Perry?”

IV

Nighttime at Jon’s flat is a strange ritual.

The first variable is whether or not Gerry will be staying, which has been happening more often lately. On those nights, Jon usually grabs the first thing that catches his attention from his bookshelf and sits on the coffee table or the carpeted floor -all of Gerry’s teasing about his ‘old lady sofa’ doesn’t stop him from hogging it for himself- to read aloud.

“I thought you didn’t sleep anymore,” he says whenever he looks up from the pages and finds Gerry stretching out mid-yawn.

“I don’t need it.” Gerry’s voice gets hoarser and more relaxed after these naps. “But the experience is still nice.” Which must also apply to the many times Jon’s seen him picking at a bag of crisps or sipping a cup of coffee.

Jon doesn’t mind. He enjoys his reading, and it’s nice to see Gerry at ease; Jon doubts he had many chances to just sit back and take a nap before, and it’s… it’s nice to feel like he’s a safe space for someone.

“If you’re going to doze off anyways, we could move to-” Jon stops himself a moment before finishing the thought, after catching the arched eyebrow and the amused glint in Gerry’s eyes. “Nevermind.”

“No no, by all means ask me to your bed, Jonathan.”

Jon sighs, “I don’t know why I even bother, Gerard.” Gerry scrunches his nose at the name and Jon rolls his eyes, but he’s smiling. It never feels like Gerry’s making fun of him, and it makes him miss Tim -the Tim from before, when Jon hadn’t ruined everything yet- a little less.

On the days Gerry’s not around, though, Jon has to find other ways to keep himself distracted from the hunger.

It took him a while to notice, probably because the statements were all he needed for a while. The warehouse worker had been an anomaly, something Jon tried not to think about. He’d been out purchasing some groceries, compelled another random shopper on accident, and it had been just his rotten luck that the man had a story to tell.

Then, the day after Melanie’s… impromptu surgery. Jon had read statement after statement trying to relieve the ache of the wound on his shoulders, but each had brought only the feeling of a cool breeze on a burn; enough to lighten the pain but not doing anything to heal him.

He’d thought the stroll would clear his head and it had almost done so, until he’d seen her. Long brown hair falling over her shoulders in loose ringlets, a wrinkle of worry on her brow and a birthday card signed by all her co-workers wishing her a great day tomorrow.

The scalpel wound had been covered in new skin by the time he’d gone back to the institute, and Jon knew he’d be seeing Zaida Mossen in his dreams.

Sometimes he watches TV, picks a documentary and tries not to Know the next piece of information before the narrator says it on screen. One time he tried looking at old photos on Facebook, but he ended up Knowing his primary school best friend is now trapped with three kids and a woman that beats him every other night, and that his secondary school teacher got away on a technicality after he was found molesting a student. He closed the app before he could come across a picture with Georgie or Tim in it.

Overall, he avoids sleep.

The nightmares were just that, before the Unknowing. He could focus on the fact that he didn’t want the visions and he’d wake up soon enough, to try and drown out Naomi Hernes’ screams. To ignore the resigned, sad gaze of Karolina Gorka when she lay down next to the old man crushed by the chair. He can’t do that anymore.

Tonight Jon is tired after days of Knowing little details unwillingly, and sustaining himself only on old, stale statements. He sits on the edge of his bed and looks through the window to wait for the sky to lighten outside, because he knows if he lays down he will sleep, and if he sleeps he will See.

Dr. Elliot’s fear tastes of desperation. He’d been respected, an expert on his field, he’d only taken the class as a favor. Now he holds out an apple spilling endless teeth around him, begging for someone to take it. He knows they all think he’s mad.

Helen Richardson -the real one, one of Jon’s biggest screwups- has an aftertaste of madness, which makes sense considering the entity that claimed her. She’d been so scared of losing her grip on her mind, because she’d always been so sharp, so… consistent. Sometimes she looks at him over her shoulder before she opens the yellow door.

Tessa Winters has a flavor Jon recognizes well. She regrets clicking the link and downloading the file, and she’s scared she started something without an end, something that will keep tormenting her forever. She has never watched the video again in real life, but every night she tries to turn off a screen in which Sergey Ushanka’s gums bleed around the chewed up glass.

They know he’s watching them. The new ones scream at him for help, the older ones have given up. Both reactions bring Jon a feeling of bliss before he looks up at his patron and the cycle starts again.

“Hey,” comes Gerry’s voice as Jon’s bedroom door creaks open. “Ready to- oh. Didn’t know you were sleeping, I- are you alright?”

Jon blinks up at the ceiling, confused. The pillow is soft below his head, he feels replenished, and he Knows of at least three other people between here and the Institute that he could hunt down and add to his archive.

The edge of the bed sinks beside him, and a curtain of Gerry’s hair shields Jon’s face from the rising sun as he leans over him.

“Jon?”

“I’m- it’s alright.” Jon’s voice is hoarse from sleep too, but where Gerry’s is pleasant and calming, his sounds like he’s been gargling on gravel. “Just nightmares, is all.”

The corner of Gerry’s lips twitches into a side smile, but his eyes are sympathetic.

“That’s our bread and butter, isn’t it?” he asks. The punishing sunlight hits against Jon’s eyes when he stands up, the bed bouncing back a little at the lack of pressure. “Let’s get you to the Institute, some statements will make you feel better.”

The bedroom door closes behind him, and a long, tired sigh blows past Jon’s lips.

————————————————————————————————————————

Gerry counts seven members of the Church of the Divine Host on their way to the Institute. Funnily enough they stand out like sore thumbs in daylight, even without him using his Sight. The closed eye pendant makes something in his stomach coil with irritation, but he ignores it. He knows perfectly well by now that this is the Beholding rearing up at the perceived slight. For larger than life beings of cosmic horror, the entities are pretty much just angry cats swatting at each other very ineffectively.

Jon gives off a little grunt; he’s much more ensnared in than Gerry, so he supposes it makes sense.

“Come on now, don’t go picking fights with any more entities.” Gerry gives his shoulder a little push as the bus rolls to a stop. Jon complies, but he turns to face Gerry as soon as he hops on the street with him.

“Excuse me? I don’t pick fights with-” Jon’s massive lie fades off into indignant blustering when Gerry wraps a hand around his right wrist and brings his hand up to eye level, giving it a little shake with a raised eyebrow. “W- well that’s different, have you met Jude Perry?”

“Yeah, and she gets along fairly well with other avatars. Even Gertrude never went around looking like she stuck her hand in a deep fryer and Perry hated her guts.” The burn scars on Jon’s hands are silky smooth when Gerry runs his thumb along the skin. They feel like his own. “If she did this to you, I’m going to go out on a limb and say-”

“I did not compel her,” Jon interrupts him with the most pompous, offended voice. Gerry gives his wrist a little squeeze, grinning. Jon sniffs, and Gerry can see the corner of his lips twitching. “But I did try a whole lot.”

“I wouldn’t expect anything less from you,” Gerry cackles, letting go of his hand. “But you’re right about the Dark. They’re growing bolder, I think we’re going to get a visit sooner rather than later.”

Jon gives him a side look with a curved eyebrow.

“We?”

“Well yes, who else is going to lull me to sleep with his dulcet tones and extremely specific facts about the Russian Revolution?” Gerry rolls his eyes. “If the Dark comes for you, they come for me.”

Jon doesn’t say anything to that, but he looks extremely pleased for the rest of the walk to the Institute. It’s very endearing, Gerry thinks with a smile as he watches him descend the stairs into the Archives.

“Oh my God.” Gerry turns at the sound of the voice, and finds Melanie shaking her head at him.

“What?” Gerry figures if anyone here is going to get offended at his lack of manners, it’s definitely not going to be the woman that was a death away from becoming a physical incarnation of violence.

Melanie rolls her eyes. “Nothing. You’re going out?”

“Yeah?”

“Okay. I’m going with you, you’re going to explain some things.” She doesn’t wait for an answer, moving towards the front doors instead. Gerry blinks a couple times, trying to process the turn of events, before he follows after Melanie.

They end up at a little park a good way away from the Institute, and Gerry can’t help but notice that with every step Melanie takes away from the building her posture relaxes, and so does the ever-present frown at her brow.

“So… What is it that you wanted me to explain?” Gerry asks after they’ve sat down against a tree trunk, away from any passersby. They must make a terribly stereotypical sight, a cute little couple out on a date instead of a woman on a mission and her hostage.

Melanie looks up at him, her dark eyes especially striking behind her brightly colored bangs.

“What am I?” She asks. Then, like the thought just occurred to her, “I’m not like him am I? I mean, I didn’t- I can’t heal from statements or make people tell me things or-”

Gerry shakes his head. “That’s an Archivist thing, and there’s only one of those.”

“So I’m what? The Assistant? Because that’s a pretty lame title and I don’t care for it.” Melanie gives him an unimpressed stare, and Gerry chuckles under his breath. Either she’s very likable, or he just has a soft spot for blunt people.

“Nah. If anything, you were going to become an avatar of the Slaughter,” he says, gesturing at the bandaged spot that he knows is under her trousers. “I call them wielders, but the Beholding is really the only one that has titles for its avatars. I think that’s why no one likes them, too presumptuous.”

“Them?” Melanie asks, “aren’t you one too?”

“Not really,” says Gerry, feeling a shudder run down his spine. No thanks. “But I’m marked by the Watcher, just like you.”

Melanie takes a deep breath, clearly trying to keep her patience. “Didn’t you just say I was an avatar of the Slaught-” she gives him a furious glare, when Gerry slaps a hand over her mouth.

He pulls it back before she can decide to bite a few fingers off. “Don’t go proclaiming that stuff. These things take that seriously and Jon didn’t almost get himself killed so you could invite the Slaughter in again.”

Melanie rolls her eyes. “Fine. What does ‘being marked’ mean then?”

“Well, just that really. It’s when an entity had a grip on you at some point, usually because you ran into an avatar or a monster,” Gerry shrugs, twirling one of his rings around his finger just to have something to do with his hands. He doesn’t like talking about these things too much; too many years playing database for the hunters has left him very wary of people who want his knowledge. “Some marked people get abilities, like me. Some grow into full avatars, some don’t. It really depends on the person, and whether or not the entity thinks they’re a good fit.”

“And the Eye doesn’t think you are?”

“I don’t really care about knowledge as much as I care about using what I know to help people. I’m also marked by the End, but again, not a match.” He gives her a disappointed pout, and her mouth twitches. “There’s really no limit to how many entities can mark you, other than your bad luck I guess. Jon has like ten marks on him.”

“Ten?” Melanie arches her eyebrows. “Why so many?”

“A week ago he only had nine,” Gerry gives her a pointed look. Sure, she wasn’t herself back then, but he still remembers the small, exhausted grunts of pain as he helped Jon peel the blood soaked shirt off.

Melanie looks forward and her lips purse in a way that could be either sheepishness, or an attempt at holding a smile back. Knowing Melanie, he doubts it’s the first one.

“Well, I couldn’t eat solids for two days after,” she says in the end, and Gerry rolls his eyes.

“You were going to kill him. For real.” He hadn’t even thought before throwing the punch, because the only thing in his mind had been getting her away from Jon.

“Okay, okay,” Melanie waves a hand as if trying to bat the topic away. “I’m sorry for stabbing your boyfriend.”

Gerry doesn’t bother correcting her, just like he didn’t that night at the break room. As long as they don’t figure out his relationship with Jon is truly parasitic, they can think whatever they want.

There is, however, a lie he will call out. On principle. “No you’re not.”

Now Melanie smiles for real, even letting out a little huff of amusement.

“No, but I know I should be sorry. That has to count for something, right?”

————————————————————————————————————————

Basira hates a lot of things about the Institute.

For example, how she can feel herself changing with every word she reads on the damned books she can’t put down to save her life. How she’s trapped inside the building, and the only time she really braves the outside is when she goes and outruns whatever monster of the week is waiting for her because she feels Elias has something to tell her. How the building seems to have been designed with the sole goal of making its inhabitants as unnerved as possible.

She hates every corner and every brick, every dark room where the light switch is placed just out of reach when you first walk in, and how it always feels like someone is watching-

“You were there,” says a rough accented voice, and Basira freezes on her spot. The light switch is three more steps to the right, she knows this room, she can-

A large hand wraps itself around her neck and pulls her away from the door. The door closes behind her, and Basira no longer knows how far it is to the light switch. She’s never been in this room- is this a room?

“You’re not doing that. We’re friends, you and I. We don’t need to see each other.” The voice evokes a sense of familiarity within Basira, but something inside her is screaming at her, a primal urge to fight or flee. “Don’t you remember me?”

“I do not know you,” Basira says dryly, and the voice laughs in delight. A man, she’s pretty sure it’s a man… unless it isn’t? Maybe it’s a woman. Or neither. She should- she knows this person.

But didn’t she just say the opposite?

There’s some steps behind the door, so there must be a door. If there is a door, and there are steps… Then there has to be other people. People she knows. People who are real. Is she not real? If she knows this person, and they’re not real, then maybe she isn’t either.

But… but no. She has to be real, because she opened the door. Doors are real. They go to real places -most of them at least- and that must mean this is a place, and it’s real. If it’s a place, then she can… Basira frowns, feeling like she’s at the edge of something, if she could just…“This is a plac-”

“Don’t say a word.” The hand tightens around her throat. It doesn’t feel like any human hand Basira has touched before, only Basira suddenly isn’t so convinced she has touched any human before. Or perhaps she has and they all feel like this. Does she not feel like this because she’s not human?

The door opens, and the tenuous light that makes its way into the room is enough to chase away the shadow of uncertainty in Basira’s mind.

This is the Institute, she’s Basira Hussain, and she’s in danger. That’s all she needs to get to work.

“Jon, don’t turn the light on,” she orders, her voice calm and steady. “Go and find Melanie, quick.”

It isn’t until she gives the order that she remembers Melanie no longer has the bullet, and Elias’s stupid voice comes to haunt her. You lost Melanie.

“It’s alright Basira. I know he’s here.” Jon’s voice is like she’s never heard it before. No warmth, no hesitation, no sign of the man that measures his every word to try to not hurt anyone, and ends up doing so anyways. She can barely see his silhouette where he’s profiled by the light behind him, but she can see his eyes emit the eerie green glow they had that night by Melanie’s bed.

“So what are you doing?” she asks.

Three steps. Click.

Jon looks at some point behind and above Basira’s shoulder.

“I imagine he’s here to deliver something.” Jon’s words are punctuated by a low thrumming static. “Let her go.” Basira can feel each word vibrate with power, and the hand around her throat starts trembling as the creature fights the compulsion

It’s enough for her to twist out of its grasp. She doesn’t go stand by Jon, but moves in his general direction until she’s closer to him than she is to the… thing.

It looks like a man. It has all the parts. Skin, face, hands. It is not a man.

“Is- the deliverymen,” she blurts out the realization as soon as it comes.

“Deliveryman,” Jon says by her side. Once again she’s taken aback by the coldness of his voice, and the way his eyes are fixed on the being. “Which one are you?” he asks, and the glow from his eyes pulsates once as the static rises.

“ ’m Breekon,” the thing says immediately, then takes a step backwards. Jon takes a step forward and vaguely in Basira’s direction, and she realizes he plans on stepping between them.

“And where’s Hope?” The static in his voice remains, and the thing squirms a little more, clearly uncomfortable.

“Hope’s gone,” says the monster.

'Tell me about it,’ thinks Basira, before she takes a deep breath.

“And what? Are you here for revenge?” Hope turns to face her as she speaks, and stays silent. Jon gives a tired sigh, and repeats the question. It takes a few more seconds, like the fact that Breekon isn’t holding eye contact -if it even has eyes- delays the compulsion. It’s not enough to stop it.

“Yes. Like when we- when I put the mutt in the pit,” it says, and gives something at his feet a little kick. It’s only then that Basira sees the rough wooden coffin with its rusted chain and the scratched warning on top. “It knew where it was going, I think. It was scared of it. Never seen a hunter scream like that.”

Breekon gives a dark chuckle, and Basira feels molten hot rage spilling from her stomach, prickling at her eyes. Of course Daisy was scared of the fucking thing, she saw it in her dreams every other night, Basira would know. Her hand itches for her gun, but Jon’s voice comes before she can even begin reaching for it.

“Easy, Basira.” It’s not compulsion per se, and his voice does get softer when he spares her the quickest glance, but Basira still bristles at the words. What right does he have to ask her to hold back and be reasonable, when he’s been trying to corral Martin into talking to him whenever he’ll stand still for long enough?

“Daisy’s in there?” She asks instead, just to confirm. She cannot go into the coffin, her mind’s clear enough to push the desperate thought away but… but she needs to know.

The monster turns to her again, and huffs in what she guesses is amusement.

“Answer her,” says Jon calmly, businesslike. Breekon shudders.

“Nikola should’ve killed you faster,” it says, and Basira gets the feeling he’s trying to stall for time. Probably just to get on their nerves, because what is there to hide when he’s already told them? “Sure. Whatever’s left of it at least. Go find it for all I care.”

“Why are you here?” Jon asks again, taking another step between Basira and the deliveryman.

“Hm. Dunno. ’S not much to do without Hope around,” the monster shrugs. Out the corner of her eye Basira sees Jon stiffen. She remembers Daisy doing the same at times, freezing like a hunting dog with prey in its sights. “We’ve always been together.”

“…Jon?” Basira reaches out to touch his shoulder, but he doesn’t react. The glow in his eyes is brighter now, and Basira’s pretty sure he’s stopped breathing. The static in the room gets louder, and she snaps her head towards Breekon, her hand now firmly on her gun. “Get out.”

“Make me.”

“Stop.” Jon’s voice reverberates all the way through Basiras’ bones, and she and Breekon freeze.

“Jon, what are you doing?” Basira doesn’t try to touch him again. His form appears too sharp somehow, like those pictures that are so high quality they seem unreal, and his eyes look glassy and green as Breekon squirms under his gaze.

“Wh- stop. Stop it.” Breekon moves strangely, like he’s trying to take a step back but he’s stuck to the floor. Basira has a flashback to the butterflies and moths pinned to cork boards at her secondary school, their wings spread wide and their bodies exposed for everyone to look. She shudders. “Stop looking at me!”

“No.” Jon’s voice echoes inside Basira’s head, and her vision goes white. She has the briefest sense of satisfaction as she hears Breekon scream and gasp, and she’s aware only part of it is bitterness over Daisy. The other is some sort of instinctive pleasure; she guided Jon here, the Archivist needed this information and she found Breekon for him to See, she- she scowls. That’s not her.

That’s not her at all.

The room reforms around her piece by piece as she shakes her head and her vision clears. She sees Breekon’s heel disappear behind the door, before Jon is stumbling towards the closest desk.

“Get me-” he starts to ask, but Basira’s already offering a pen with movements that aren’t entirely her own either. His eyes are back to normal, but Basira only stays for long enough to see him start scribbling on a notebook page, before it becomes too much.

She makes sure not to turn her back to him as she leaves.

————————————————————————————————————————

The thought is almost too weird for her, but Melanie finds herself enjoying the little excursion. She does wonder why no one -nothing- has targeted them yet, but she doesn’t get attacked when she’s out with Helen either, so maybe the monsters are just opportunistic bastards and don’t like to risk it when the odds aren’t in their favor.

Gerard is very easy to like, for someone so infuriatingly fond of Jon. Melanie finds herself thinking they could’ve been friends, if they’d met under different circumstances.

As things are now, she’s far too aware of the way his eyes keep drifting towards the Institute, even though they’ve walked far enough that the building is well out of sight and behind several twists and turns.

“Are you feeling him?” she asks when they finally climb to their feet after a few hours of fear talk. The question is somewhat awkward in her mouth; she doesn’t like Jon, but Gerard does, and she’s decided she likes him enough to not want to offend him. The desire to not hurt still feels foreign in her mind.

“Mm? Oh. Not really,” Gerard shrugs, looking down at her. “I don’t know? I just know where he is. Like the general direction.”

“Hm. That would’ve been useful last year, he got kidnapped like three times.” Melanie pats the back of her shorts to get rid of any dirt and grass that decided to come up with her.

“Did he now?” And yeah, the urge to maim someone is back with the fond little smile on Gerard’s face. “And he has the gall to say he doesn’t get into trouble.”

“Well, he does. What now?” she asks, opting to only bump his shoulder with hers instead of punching his arm. This guy can be as infatuated with a supernatural disaster as he wants, and she won’t feel any strong way about it. No violence here, no siree, Slaughter who?

“Well… we go back, I think? Unless you have more questions.” Gerard looks at her as he shoves his hands into his pockets. Melanie deflates a bit; it is a nice day, and she gets very few chances to leave the Institute.

They do end up going back, but Melanie makes a point of stopping for ice cream on the way back. Gerard gives in suspiciously quickly, and Melanie finds herself liking the guy more and more.

Her phone buzzing with an incoming text from Georgie as she’s handed her double caramel scoop only makes this an even better day.

“That’s a big smile,” Gerard comments as she taps away at the keys. She looks up at him disbelievingly, but there’s no indication he realizes how much of a hypocrite he’s being as he calmly sucks on his cherry ice lolly.

“The nerve.” Melanie rolls her eyes. “It’s my- a friend.”

Gerard bites off a chunk of the ice lolly, and it does more to convince Melanie that he’s not human than the fact that he walked back from the dead.

“Sounds complicated.”

“I’m trapped at Spook Central because of her ex boyfriend, it is complicated,” Melanie mumbles. Georgie’s one of the few good things left in her life, and she’s determined to keep her away from this horrible, horrible circus. “Besides, not all of us get wingmanned by an eldritch entity.”

“She’s Jon’s ex?” Gerard arches an eyebrow as he leans forward to try and peek at Melanie’s phone.

“Do you have selective hearing or something?! Get back!” She punches and shoves at his shoulder until he retreats with an amused smile. The act doesn’t leave a taste of metal in her tongue, she’s surprised to find. Or a craving for more, harsher action. It only feels… companionable. Almost playful.

Melanie had forgotten what it felt like to be friendly with someone.

She’d never say it aloud, but if she counts Georgie and this guy -and even Martin whenever he’s not being a bitch and a half because he’s on a Secret Mission- Jon doesn’t have terrible taste in people.

There’s a man coming out of the Institute, and Gerard’s arm shoots in front of her chest to stop her just as she realizes it’s not a man at all.

“Is that-”

Gerard nods. His frown melts away after he looks at the building again, head tilted as if hearing a sound Melanie can’t register.

“Fuck,” Melanie mutters under her breath. Of course this would happen now, after the bullet is gone and on the one day she decides to go out. “There’s another entrance at the back, let’s-”

“They’re alright.” Gerard sounds thoughtful as he watches the creature stumble its way into a side street. “Beholding marks don’t suit the Stranger well, it seems.”

She looks up, and the smile on his face looks dangerous, somehow.

“Jon?”

“Did a right number on it.” There’s a hint of dark pride to his voice, a polar opposite to the ridiculously soft demeanor he usually adopts when it comes to Jon, and Melanie finds it that she much prefers the absurd fondness to whatever this is. Basira’s words from a few weeks back play through her mind, and she remembers she still doesn’t know what Gerard is. Or why the Eye brought him to Jon. “Go check on them, I’ll finish it off.”

“I’ll come with you,” she decides in a split second. “I can still do it.”

Gerard turns to look down at her, and whatever it was that made her stomach knot in worry is gone so fast Melanie wonders if she imagined it in the first place. There’s a dubious frown on his brow, and his mouth, still dyed red by the stupid lolly, is pressed in a tight line.

“I don’t doubt you could,” he says after a moment. “But I don’t want you to. Don’t invite it back in, remember?”

She does, but she also doesn’t trust the shadow that passed over him not a minute ago.

“Then I won’t do it. But I- I need to watch,” she tries again. “Or I won’t be convinced it’s gone.”

Another long moment of Gerard measuring her up, before he finally nods.

“If you need it,” he says, leading the way into the side street the monster took. Melanie follows with careful steps.

She likes Gerard, but she’s not naive enough to forget she’s been wrong before.

————————————————————————————————————————

When Basira walks into the windowless room, Elias is reading a celebrity gossip magazine, and she wants to rip his eyes out

“Good evening, Det-”

“Drop it,” Basira interrupts, and Elias’ thin lips curl into a smile. Her hands curl into fists, to keep from wrapping around his neck. “Breekon came to see us yesterday. He brought-”

“The coffin, yes.” Elias nods. “I must admit it was quite pleasing to see you work with Jon so seamlessly, Basira. But I suspect you’re not here for my praise, are you?”

Basira advances on him until she’s looming over his sitting form, and she bristles at the calm look he aims at her.

“I hope you’re not so surprised to know Miss Tonner is alive?” He arches a carefully shaped eyebrow. Of course this bastard uses jail to catch up with his beauty routine. “Surely you know by now that the Eye rewards those who are loyal.”

So that confirms that.

“That’s what Keay is then? A reward for Jon?”

“Oh, he didn’t tell you?” Elias tsks in disappointment, shaking his head. “One would’ve thought he’d learned to be honest to his team by now.” His poison green eyes focus on Basira’s face again. “Well, I guess it can’t be fixed… Despite my best efforts, you never did bond.”

“Shut up!” Basira snaps finally. Bond. Like they’re a cute little group of misfits in a TV show instead of an armload of hostages. Her right hand digs into Elias’ hair, grabbing a fistful and tightening as she pulls back until his neck is twisted at a very awkward angle. “How do I bring her back?” Elias smirks again. She tightens her grip until she feels a few hair strands snap. “I am not in the mood for your games.”

“Always so direct,” he says in the end. “But as I said, the Eye rewards its own. Let me give you some leads, Detective.”

[jupitermelichios]

Jupiter’s Top 10 Fic Series of the Decade

In no particular order (and belonging to no particular fandom)

Honourable Mentions: Of Hunters & Hellblazers by KittyAug - Self Help by maskedfangirl - Bad Jokes by hahaharley - Doubtful Sanity by DustToDust - Wilton’s Bakery ‘Verse by machine_dove & sproings -  Sic Gorgiamus Allos Subjectatos Nunc by etothepii - New Favourite F Word by Polaris - little beasts by noctiphany & likewinning

drawn into something by Nonymos (Venom, Eddie/Venom, Dan/Anne, Eddie/Venom/Dan/Anne)

“Eddie, you… and him.”

“Yeah.” Eddie stares at the floor. “And… and look, Annie, I know it’s weird, but I can explain, I…”

His voice breaks, he’s damn near tearing up, panic rising again—and he jumps when Anne cups his face.

“Hey, it’s—it’s all right, Eddie.” She’s making a valiant effort to smile. “Don’t get so worked up. I’m not gonna run screaming.”

“No?” He laughs and sniffs. “Damn. Starting to wonder what it’s gonna take, at this point.”

This is not Nonymos’s only entry on this list. In fact they may just be my favourite fanfic author of all time. Drawn into something is everything everything I want from a Venom sequel, emotional, kinky, romantic, and poly.

OTP: Fight Club by MorganOfTheFey (Detroit: Become Human, RK900/Gavin)

"One hundred. Ten X," Nines says, voice flat enough it almost doesn't sound like bragging. "I would have been decommissioned otherwise."

"Ohhhh. Aw, that's sad. Just," She tries to snap her fingers and gets distracted for a moment when she can't. "Jus'like that?"

"Yeah RK, that's so sad," Gavin echoes. "Can you play yourself despacito?"

His own phone blares the song barely a second later. Gavin drops a few f-bombs fumbling to get it out of his jacket pocket and turn it off. Then as soon as he puts it back in his pocket, it starts up again.

"Thank you for the suggestion, detective," RK900 says. "This is making me feel better."

The fourth part of this is still coming out, and it’s the highlight of my week when the new chapter drops.

Dreams of the Waking Man by Lex_Munroe (Marvel Comics, Wade/Cable, Daken/Bullseye, Wade & Hope)

All at once, it hurts.  It hurts worse than the day Nate died (because Wade couldn’t accept it back then, insisted that Nate had managed to timeslide out, that the busted old telemetry circuit would only let him go forward and he was just lost for a little while).

He sits in the middle of the floor, ducks his head, cries.

She was smarter than he was—than he is.  She’d known all along.  Brave girl.

Timesliding doesn’t work right on Wade, never has, and their cobbled-together sliding module barely had power to take one stringy teenager for one jump.

She’d known she was leaving her parents, that she certainly wouldn’t see one of them again and quite possibly wouldn’t see the other.

Wade allows himself a moment more for grief and shame and humility.  Then he clears his throat and wipes his eyes and gets back to work.

This may be the cleverest fic I’ve ever read. Crossovers, theoretical physics, and the best love story Marvel never wrote.

The Mountains Are The Same by bonehandledknife & Primarybufferpanel (Mad Max: Fury Road, Furiosa/Max, Furiosa/Ace, Everyone & Healthy Coping Mechanisms)

“'Real isn’t how you are made’” Gilly said with the air of a quote, of a Remembering, “'It’s a thing that happens to you.’”

Rotor closed his eyes in a long blink, “A thing that hurts, innit it right?”

“Sometimes,” Gilly agreed, squeezing his hand, “That’s life though, when you are Real. We all become it bit by bit. But it doesn’t happen if you’re not strong, if you’re not soft, if you’re not sturdy.”

“ But how can y'be all of those at once ?” he wheezed out. It’s getting hard to catch his breath.

“You are all that right now, aren’t you?” Gilly asked him with piercing eyes, “No one else of all these Boys has had the strength to ask for me. And I will Witness you as I have kept all those of my sisters who’ve fallen these past days.”

This series is not always easy, it doesn’t shy away from the hard or the dark or the painful, but it is always worth reading.

The Unspoken Truth by Nonymos (MCU, Clint/Loki)

Barton glared at him like he was trying to decide whether he was being mocked or not, but the next second, his shoulders slumped. Loki was familiar with the feeling – that dreadful feeling of discovering something repulsive in one's own nature.

And then, he waited. He waited for Barton to think and connect the dots, to realize that an obvious solution was standing just before him, to remember how he had felt when waking up tied down, or being forced to drink down the water. The demi-god just stood there, hoping – almost praying for the first time in his life – that his enemy would look up at him with something else than hatred in his eyes.

No one writes kink quite like Nonymos writes kink, and this series is the perfect encapsulation of that.

The Stone Gryphon by rthstewart (Narnia, primarily Gen)

"Tools!" Richard was so shocked he was near speechless. He sat down heavily on the bench and began writing frantically in that strange code. "You are saying that you have observed ordinary crows use tools? Peter, that is… remarkable."

"Well, I've seen Beavers use fishing tackle and sewing machines, so it didn't seem that unusual at the time."

I’m not going to lie, this may not be to everyone’s taste. But, amateur theologian, lover of weird animal facts, and history nerd that I am, there are very few fics more exactly tailored to my interests.

Republic of Heaven Community Radio by ErinPtah (WtNV x His Dark Materials, Cecil/Carlos)

The greeting catches both her and Carlos off-guard. It's not wrong to talk directly to another person's daemon, but it's still a little weird. "Likewise," she stammers.

They're both waiting for the obvious next step, which is for Cecil to introduce his daemon. The fact that Carlos hasn't spotted her yet is understandable — a big community gathering in a small space, you get plenty of daemons breaking away from their humans to socialize directly with each other. Any of the dozen animal shapes currently within ten feet of them could be Cecil's. If his daemon has an unusually high range, there are even more possibilities.

What Cecil says instead is, "If you ever have any important experimental-theology news that you need to share with the town, call me any time! Everyone listens to my show." There's a touch of what Carlos hopes is nothing more sinister than smugness when he adds, "Everyone."

He steps out of the way to let someone else interrogate Carlos, and vanishes into the crowd. Carlos doesn't get a chance to see what daemon he leaves with.

This may be the most carefully thought out crossover I’ve ever read, and I’m a little in awe of ErinPtah’s skills.

The Soul in the Machine by missdreawrites & Troodon (Dishonoured, Corvo/Outsider)

“... Outsider?” Corvo asked, sitting down on the filthy floor. “In the published list of the people who died of the Plague… how many were registered Augments?”

<There have been a total of 231 dead in the past year. Of that group, 100% were Augmented individuals. This number has increased exponentially under Hiram Burrows’ “The Boldest Moves Are The Safest” law, allowing the execution of any individual infected by the Plague.>

“Son of a bitch, ” Corvo swore with feeling. “This is… look at this waste. We aren't even people to them, are we?” He looked down at the body next to him. “And I killed the one person who could help. I did this. I doomed an entire people to plague, and murder and…”

The cyberpunk Dishonoured AU I desperately wish I’d thought of, because it works so very well.

In Which Tony Stark Builds Himself Some Friends (But His Family Was Assigned by Nick Fury) by scifigrl47 (MCU, Steve/Tony)

“Do you know what the difference between a villain and a super villain is, Stark?” Coulson said, leaning his palms on the tabletop, looming over everything like a very snappily dressed gargoyle.

“Style?” Tony asked, pointing both index fingers in Coulson's direction like the gunslinger that he was. He added a wide grin to the gesture, but Coulson didn't seem to notice.

“A villain has a giant mass of robotic vacuum cleaners that he can sic on his enemies. A super villain gives them the ability to fly.”

“In my defense, I do not actually remember installing repulsor technology in the Roombas,” Tony said, choosing his words carefully. It had been a working theory, sure, but he still wasn't quite sure when he implemented it. Maybe sometime on Tuesday night... That one was a blur. “It was a very long couple of days. So I was as surprised by that as everyone else.”

This doesn’t really count as a rec, since everyone in the fandom has read it already, but it really wouldn’t be fair to draw up a ‘best of the 2010s’ list and not include this.

A Great and Gruesome Height by mokuyoubi (Hannibal, Will/Hannibal)

Bedelia lashes out but Will is quicker. He grabs her wrist, pressing hard between the delicate bones with his thumb, until she makes a soft noise of distress and drops the fork.

Hannibal purses his lips and leans in close to her ear. “Now that is disappointing,” he whispers, and Bedelia has the good sense to be afraid with that mouth so near her skin. He inhales her scent deeply and straightens. “I thought you and I were beyond such petty jabs.”

“Were it not for the fact that you required medical attention, I have no doubt I would have met a similarly crass ending at the hands of your pet,” she says, lip curling in disgust.

Hannibal smiles serenely and says, “Will is a creature entirely of his own making. It is not to me to guide his hand. Merely to share in the sublime perfection of his vision, when he allows it.”

There are many dark!Will stories out there, and most of them are a lot of fun, but few are quite at believable as this one.

[alittletournesol]

Kingdom Of Jinju - Bonus 2 : The Sparring Gods

Bonus 2 : “The Sparring Gods”

Or how two sleepy parents have to imagine a nice story to explain to their three four old daughter why storms are so loud and scary.

Kibum loves summer. He loves the way everything outside seems to shine with the brightest colours, the way his skin gets kissed by the sun’s warmth all day long. Summer means more trips to the river down the palace to enjoy the cold water, and more breaks spent under the huge weeping willow with his loved ones. There’s nothing wrong with summer, it even brings to his mind a few memories of the strolls he used to take with his sister in their hometown’s streets, running away from the manor’s coldness to embrace what they called real life.

Summer days seem to repeat themselves in this pattern he adores, putting him in a good mood as soon as he wakes up to the rays of sunlight piercing through the curtain of the royal quarters’ window. Minho was always asking for this same curtain to be closed during the night because of his need for enough darkness to sleep ; thus, it’s with great joy that every morning, the Prince leaves the bed to pull the fabric and let the sun bathe his naked body. The rest of the day would find him attend to his duties with a smile enlightening his features more than the sun would ever, while making sure most of the aforesaid duties happen outside.

Nothing was wrong with summer.

Or maybe there was this little, insignificant thing that shook him awake in the middle of the night.

Kibum could still hear the fading sound of thunder as he rubs his eye. The temperature has been  particularly heavy that day, so a storm naturally occurs now that the night has come. The heat was still tangible in the quarters, but it rarely bothers the man in his sleep ; unlike the loud noise of the sky.

“The first storm of the season.” A husky voice murmurs, catching his attention and making him raise his head from his pillow to look at the strong body lying next to his.

Minho has never been a heavy sleeper, even less since the assassination attempt that happened a few years before. The Prince smiles, bringing his hand closer to his husband’s sleepy face to caress his cheek while the latter shifts on the mattress to lie on his side, facing the other man.

“Yes, a belated one.” Kibum whispers, running his fingers through his own untied hair to free his face from any will strand. “You can go back to sleep, it’s still early in the night. The storm shouldn’t be long.”

“Hmm… Come here.”

Without opening his eyes, the King stretches his arm to invite his husband, the latter not wasting a single second as he comes closer. Minho’s skin is, as always, deliciously warm and it isn’t even a bother during summer nights. He still smells like soap from the bath he took a few hours before, but Kibum can distinguish the musky scent of sleep in his neck when he buries his nose there. They remain embraced like this, waiting to be in Morpheus’ arms again while the sound of storm is still present, shaking the quarters from time to time.

The silence between two claps of thunder feel like a pleasant break and both men relish it for as long as it lasts. They don’t keep count of the claps, too tired for that, but their ears twitch just as they’re about to fall asleep ; their door handle is moving, the creaking sound loud in the silence of the room.

Minho opens his eyes first, immediately alerted as his arm slides under the bolster to reach the sword he keeps hiding there. He doesn’t move, even when Kibum places his own hand on his wrist to prevent him from doing something without thinking. The black haired man props himself up on his elbow to look at the handle over the King’s body. It’s still moving and seems to struggle, making the man frown and sit up.

His husband looks at him and frowns in return, turning his upper body just enough to be able to see the door and keep his hand on his weapon.

“Listen.” Kibum whispers, raising his forefinger as he hears something from behind the door.

A cry.

As if he got hit, Minho stands up and jumps in the first pair of pants he finds before rushing to the door. Opening it, he discovers his daughter perched on tiptoes, one of her small hands still raised as she was trying to pull the handle, the other one strongly holding a plushie against her small body. Her cheeks are wet with tears and fear is easily noticeable in her eyes.

“Oh no, my little honeybun…” The King immediately crouches and opens his arms, the little girl running between them while sobbing. “There, there, come with daddy.”

The man stands up, holding Sooyun safe in his arms while he closes the door with his foot. The princess is trembling against him, her sobs slowly reducing thanks to the presence of her father but still audible. Her face is buried in Minho’s shoulder and her tiny arms circle his neck with her plushie hanging on his back, not planning to let go at the moment.

“It’s the storm outside, right, sweet pea ?” The King keeps talking with a soft tone, going back to bed and lying on his side with his daughter still holding onto him. “It was loud and it woke you up ?”

“Scared…” Sooyun cries and sniffs. “Nanny didn’t wake up…”

“Nothing can wake Nanny up, she snores louder than the storm.” Kibum smiles as he softly strokes his daughter’s back. “You ran here all by yourself ?”

“Hmm… the door was stuck but daddy opened it for me.”

“Ah, what a strong daddy he is, isn’t he ? Let’s get you some water to chase the fear away, how does this sound ?”

The little girl eventually raises her head to look at her other father behind her and she nods. Water it is then. The Prince leans on to press his lips against her temple before getting up — Minho notices his husband also got dressed with his night shirt while he wasn’t looking. The latter walks to the coffee table near the empty fireplace and pours some fresh water from the jug to a small cup. There also is a plate filled with cherries and he hesitates a bit before taking a handful of them.

When he goes back to the royal bed, Minho is lying on his side with their daughter sitting before him, leaning against his torso like a backrest. The man is gently wiping her cheeks with his thumb while talking to her, softly, his voice not louder than a whisper. Outside, the storm is still resounding and Sooyun gets startled every time thunder claps, but her fathers’ presence somehow eases her fear.

“Here, sweetheart.” Kibum sits on the bed close to the other two and gives the cup to his daughter who quickly starts drinking. “Slowly, or you will spill it.”

“Can I have some ?” The other dad wonders as he props himself up on an elbow, and he laughs when the little girl moves to prevent him from taking her cup. “Come on, it’s too big for you !”

“It is not, look.”

All fear disappears from Sooyun’s eyes, replaced with a glint of pride as she brings the cup back to her small lips and empties it within a minute. She exhales deeply once she’s done and offers a wide smile to her pouting father.

“But I was thirsty too…” Minho starts whining.

“Oh please Gods help me.” His husband sighs before cutting a cherry’s stem and shoving the fruit in the other man’s mouth. “There, you baby.”

“Daddy is a baby~” The princess repeats, tears replaced with laughter.

“The biggest baby ever.” Kibum smiles, handing another cherry to his daughter. “Have one too, but don’t swallow it whole, alright ?”

Sooyun nods and takes the fruit, looking at it and making it turn between her fingers before she eventually eats it. Her fathers look at her, all smiling despite the tiredness. She’s turning five years old after this summer but she can already express herself like she’s two years older ; Minho’s mother says it’s thanks to the way her parents always spoke to her with full sentences, not just random cute sounds and cooing.

Thunder claps once more, though it’s now further away and less noisy, and the little girl turns her head towards the window.

“Don’t be scared, the storm is going away now.” Minho says, pushing a strand of hair behind her small ear.

“Is it ? But why did it come here ?” Sooyun asks as she looks back at her fathers. “It was scary…”

“Oh, well… it’s because… how to say it…”

“You see how sometimes, uncle Jinki and his soldiers fight with their swords in the yard ?” Kibum intervenes when seeing his husband struggling with a way too realistic explanation, and the little girl nods. “It is called sparring.”

“Sparring.”

“Exactly. And sometimes, the Gods spar too. But it’s very loud.”

“Why is it loud ?”

“Because they are very very very tall, taller than us.” The King takes over. “So their swords are bigger too, they make more noise.”

“Are they fighting ? Are they angry like when daddy gets hurt and then daddy says big words at him ?”

Minho can’t help but laugh while Kibum scratches the back of his head with embarrassment. It’s true that the latter struggles to speak politely when the so called King comes back from a simple training with a cute here and a bruise there… and sometimes, he forgets he’s holding his daughter at the same moment he’s cursing at his husband with words full of imagery.

“You don’t have to be angry to spar, sweetheart.” The Prince replies. “Sometimes it’s just training. And when you hear the loud noise, it’s called thunder. It’s when the swords hit each other very hard.”

“But why do they fight at night ? Why don’t they wait for us to be awake ?”

So many questions from such a little mouth make Minho laugh more, until the other man slaps his arm.

“Answer your daughter’s questions instead of laughing.” Kibum says. “Why are the Gods fighting at night, Minho ?”

“Ah, well… it’s because…” The King thinks for a moment before clicking his fingers. “It’s because there is no night in their world !”

“No night ? They don’t sleep ?” Sooyun frowns, not noticing how the Prince is pinching the top of his nose behind her. “They’re not tired ?”

“No, no, they don’t sleep. They’re Gods, sweet pea. And in their world, it’s always day time because they have many, many things to do. See how your dads are busy all day ? The Gods are even busier.”

“Oh… so they don’t know we are sleeping right now ?”

“They don’t know, or maybe they don’t care, we can’t know what the Gods think. But when they train or fight, they’re so strong that it gets really loud when their swords hit each other. And do you want to know something ? When the Goddess of Light fights, her sword makes light, and this light is so bright that it tears the sky apart when she hits another sword.”

“Really ?”

“Really ! Come with me, let’s see if it’s her fighting tonight.”

Kibum fondly smiles, watching Minho stand up and carry the little girl on his arm to walk to the window ; he’s even more excited than her about his own made-up story, it’s incredible. Now the Prince just hopes there is lightning as well as thunder, so their daughter doesn’t get disappointed and upset.

“Okay, let’s wait a bit.” The King says. “Look at the sky.”

“But it’s too dark, where is the moon ?” Sooyun asks.

“It’s hiding behind the clouds, it’s afraid when the Gods spar. Don’t worry, if the Goddess of Light is here, you will see it.”

“Alright.”

Minho holds the girl standing on the window’s ledge and turned his head to look at his husband, the latter shaking his head with a smile as he makes the bed again. They wait like this for a few minutes and Sooyun starts losing patience. She’s about to whine when the dark sky suddenly lights up on a certain spot ; it’s really quick and she jumps with surprise, her father’s grip strong around her body.

“Did you see it ?” He asks. “The light that tore the sky apart ?”

“Yes ! It was quick !” The little girl enthusiastically says before she gets startled by thunder. “Ah !”

“It’s alright, it’s alright. It’s the other God who hits back.”

“Do you think she will win ?”

“The Goddess of Light ? Do you want her to win ?”

“Yeah.”

“Yes, Sooyun.” The Prince speaks in as he comes closer to them. “We can never know who wins, so it’s you who will decide.”

“Then it’s the Goddess, because she’s stronger ! That’s what uncle Jonghyun said.”

“Oh, did he ?”

“Yes, he said that women fight better than men but that men are jealous so they don’t let women fight.”

“I see.”

Both Minho and Kibum look at each other, silently agreeing to have a little talk with their friend one of these days.

“Uncle Jinki disagrees.” Sooyun keeps talking. “He says uncle Jonghyun is just saying this to annoy him because he fought with a woman and lost.”

“Your uncles seem to talk a lot.” The King says while walking back to his bed, the Prince following him close.

“Daddy, is it true that uncle Jinki fought with a woman and lost ?”

“Did he say it was true ?”

“No, he just kicked uncle Jonghyun with his foot.”

“Somehow I can picture that. And no, uncle Jinki didn’t lose to a woman, because there is only one person he loses to.”

“Who ?”

“Me.”

“Daddy you’re lying.”

“What ?! You ask uncle tomorrow !”

“Yes, yes, tomorrow, not tonight by screaming.” Kibum hushes them both. “Now come to bed, both of you, it’s still night and we should get some sleep.”

Just like the big kid he is, Minho sticks his tongue out at his own daughter, who complains to her other father. The Prince just has to stare at both of them and they immediately lie in bed, Sooyun taking her place between her parents. It takes a moment for her to calm down after such an intense conversation, but sleep eventually gets the best of her and she rolls to her side, cuddling up to Kibum and asking for him.

The latter smiles and slowly strokes her hair, lulling her to sleep with this simple gesture. It’s only when her calm breathing turns into a soft snoring that both men allow themselves to rest. The Prince stretches his hand on the mattress, over her daughter’s body, and the King takes it to press a kiss to his palm. With their fingers interlaced and one last smile, they eventually go back to sleep, hoping that the little princess won’t wake up to early…

_______________

“And when the Goddess of Light fights and she hits the other God, there is light in the sky.” Sooyun says. “And it’s like the sky gets a scratch.”

“Oh, I see.” Jinki nods. “So the Gods fighting, huh… and you believed that ?”

“No, but don’t tell dads. They will get sad.”

“Mum’s the word. One day I will tell you the truth, but for now you’re still too little.”

“Alright.”

The General hides a smile as he walks between rows of soldiers training in partnerships, holding an umbrella above the princess’ head… the latter sitting on his shoulders. It has become quite a routine for the little girl to come to him when he was working outside, and even if he used to tell her to go back to a safe place, he now considers she’s old enough to at least stay by his side if he’s careful. For sure, his recruits had looked at him with a weird stare the first time, but they’re used to it by now and even go along with her when she play the second General.

“Park, you will never beat Jung if you keep placing your feet that way.” Jinki stops in front of a duo, using his own foot to pull the soldier’s ankle. “There, this is your standing foot, don’t forget about it.”

“Uncle, he is laughing.” Sooyun says when the soldier named Jung smirks at his opponent being scolded.

“Ah, is he ? How many push-ups should he do as a punishment then, your Majesty ?”

“Hmm… Six !”

“That’s a lot. Do you think you will survive, Jung ?”

“I’ll do my best, Sir !”

The young soldier salutes and positions himself, doing the first two push-ups easily and pretending to struggle for the next one. Sooyun is counting out loud, not seeing how the General and soldiers around them are holding their laughter back as their fellow fakes whines and even lets himself fall before he finishes the last push-up.

“I’m a disgrace, Sir !” He says, going on his knees to fully bow. “Six was too hard for a bad soldier like I am !”

“Only the best soldiers can manage six push-ups in a row, Jung.” Jinki says, his voice clear though it’s difficult to remain serious in this situation. “What do you think, your Majesty ?”

“He can go, he is pretty.”

“Oh, is he now ? Jung, you’re pretty, now get up and train.”

“Yes sir !”

“But he’s not pretty like uncle. Right, uncle ?” The girl says as the General starts walking again.

“Right. Uncle is the prettiest.”

Jinki smiles for real this time, ignoring how his own recruits are beaming whenever their Princess compliments or punish them — she’s so strict !

A whole hour goes by like this, Sooyun eventually asking to walk alone and holding Jinki’s hand all along. At some point, they’re back to their starting point juste at the moment Jonghyun enters the palace’s yard with a few scrolls under his arm. The little girl screams and let go of the soldier’s hand to run to her blonde uncle ; the latter catches her on the way with only one arm — he trained a lot — and laughs as he kisses her cheek.

“Were you tormenting uncle’s soldiers again ?” The teacher teases her. “You’re the real General.”

“Uncle said you’re coming to teach me, is it true ?” The princess asks, clapping her hands. “He said you can teach me to count more so the soldiers can do more push-ups !”

“Oh no, do you want them to die ? How many did you ask them to do today ?”

“Six ! But I know seven and eight and nine and ten, so I was nice.”

“The nicest. What about counting to twenty now ? It’s like taking the ten numbers and add ten more.”

“Is that a lot of push-ups ?”

“Even uncle Jinki can’t do twenty push-ups.”

“Don’t tell her lies.” The General reaches them with his arms crossed on his chest. “I can do hundreds of push-ups.”

“What is hundreds ?” Sooyun asks.

“Way too many numbers, don’t listen to him.”

Jonghyun laughs and smiles at his boyfriend while the latter discreetly places his hand on his back as a greeting. He pretends to give him a report of everything the princess and him have done this morning, the little girl nodding to everything.

“That’s a lot of work for one single morning !” The blond man gasps. “So I’m stealing you for a break, your little Majesty. Let’s go gather some cherries and head to lunch, how does that sound ?”

“Sounds good !” Sooyun exclaims. “Oh, but I forgot to ask a question to uncle.”

“I’m all ears.” Jinki says, approaching his ear when the little girl beckons to him.

“Is it true that you don’t win fights against dad ?”

“Did he tell you that ?”

“Yes.”

“It’s not true. And you wanna hear another secret ?”

“Yes !”

“He doesn’t win against your other dad.”

“Really ?!”

“Really. But that’s our secret, alright ?”

“Alright.”

Jonghyun rolls his eyes and puts Sooyun down, asking her to go look for Heechul while he’s talking with the General. Once she’s out of sight, he gives a disapproving stare to his partner.

“What ?” Jinki shrugs.

“You’re rising her up against Minho.” The teacher states.

“I’m just saying the truth, what is wrong with it ? Not my fault if the truth hurts his Highness.”

“You’re unbelievable.”

“Sure, love. What did you want to talk about ?”

“Tonight when your shift ends, let’s go to the river together. I’ll bring dinner.”

“This sounds really nice. Don’t go in the water without me.”

“I can swim now, thanks to you, so I’m not risking anything. I’ll be waiting so don’t be late.”

Casting a glance at their surroundings, Jonghyun steals a quick kiss from the General and pats his cheek before leaving to join the princess. As expected, she finds her on the gardener’s shoulders, trying to catch the highest cherries on the pretext that they’re shinier. The teacher fondly laughs and looks up when he hears a whistle.

Leaning on their quarters’ window ledge, Minho and Kibum quietly wave at him. No need to wonder what they were up to since there is no trace of clothes on their upper bodies… Jonghyun smiles and nods towards them, before he goes to Heechul’s rescue when a certain girl wants to stand on his shoulders.

From above, the King and Prince laugh, making sure not to be heard, and go back to their bedroom. This is something they can never worry about, their daughter is always in good hands and for sure she will always be… well, unless Minho learns that his own childhood friend damages his fatherly reputation on a daily basis.

Hope you liked it!

[sian22redux]

A Puppy in the Family-ch 2

Finally!  @theycallmebecca  has been so patient.  Travelling for work this month is done and I can concentrate.  This has taken so long it is consolation for her and @nomadicpixel ‘s Bosox and my Indians being out (:( how many injuries can one team take).  Here you go my dear.  Fenway and Dodger await the big day!  Boy are they in for a surprise. 

You can find Chapter 1 here.  Rated G--for gooey tooth-rotting fluff.  (Don’t say you haven’t been warned) and real warning:  Mild description of labour pains.  Jealousy.  Vague comments about new baby poop. 

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

It’s really puzzling how they don’t know.

The sloppy ‘brella weather has turned to sunshiny and mostly fair and we’re out for a long, slow waddle as the warm sun rays kiss my fur.  

Dodger is trotting on ahead at the end of his bungee leash. I am circling Chris and Y/N stealthily as they walk hand in hand, trying my very best to trap them with my lead because if I do they'll have to kiss.  It’s the law.

They kiss twice before we make it back to Lorel home and as I bound indoors I take a good long sniff.  

Still happy. Still expecting.  Really expecting in fact.  Y/N is pink-cheeked and pretty and even, I think, a little rounder in the tummy.  She is working from the household today. Usually my mission is to allow as little wurk as possible, but not these days.  Chris is home and she wants to be ‘fficient’, keep wurk quick while he reads a top secret Superhero script (for a superhero he sure gets banged up a lot).  

I am good. I give her time, and though she says she’ll  “stop soon” her wurk must be fun.   She talks excitedly on the phone a lot, tapping on the ‘puter.  Dodger, who says it’s boring, sneaks up on the big white couch to keep Chris’s bare feet warm.   I do have a strategy.  I flop over to show my better side and think < I love you> really hard.  

But still she doesn’t get it.

For some weird reason when her smell gets strong it makes her sleepy.  Dodger and Chris catch her snoozling after wurk and Chris stands there, hands on hips, brows crashed together.  “Babe, you ok?”

Y/N yawns and sleepily pats my head.  “Yeah. It’s just a little bit too much right now, you know?”

Chris isn’t sure he knows.   He worries. A lot.   It’s the job of the alpha dad.   “Maybe,” he frowns, sitting down on a sliver of couch to put a hand on her head.  “You sure you aren’t getting sick?”

Sick???   Good grief. <Expecting!!!!!!>  I yip, a bit louder than maybe I should but its making me crazy because they don’t know!

This goes on for weeks.  Y/N snoozles at funny times and Chris frowns and frets and sometimes he completely forgets to throw Dodger’s frisbee.  I don’t know how much Dodger or I can take but finally, finally, Y/N goes into the bedroom bathroom and comes out through the screen.  

She’s waving a little white wand (it’s far too small for cooling much) and trying hard to speak through tumbling tears and then Chris is crying too.  

“For real?” he asks. He’s brushing the tears off her cheeks and I can smell him panicking and happy and well, everything.  

“A baby?”

Y/N just nods cuz her words are watered out.  Chris is crying and laughing and hugging her so hard.  “A baby!   Oh my god this is best birthday present ever!”  

It is his birthday-- I know cuz there is cake where I shouldn’t touch.   Both Y/N and Chris are talking quick and excited and he spins her faster than even a duper hug before setting her down so gentle and apologizing.

She says it is ok.   Dodger and I wag our tails but we are most definitely ignored.  

<That’s how it is going to be.>

<You sure, Dodger?>

<Yup.  Bitch gets all the attention and extra food.>

He’s right.  In the weeks to come it seems they talk super fast all the time.  It’s a little exhausting.  And mysterious.    

I’m not sure why this is, but now there’s a picture of a tadpole on the fridge.

****

Then, we wait.  

Growing human puppies takes a really, really long time.

Chris is happy and stressed and angsty a bit like me.  Y/N is happy and sleepy and a little loopy.  The best thing I can do is watch. I set the perimeter threat to grey and investigate every little thing that moves. Or doesn’t.  The grape under the fridge stays there for weeks getting drier and smaller each time I check. It hasn’t moved so I think that it’s ok, but the big yellow floppy moth that infiltrates the household is another thing.  It doesn’t seem to want any trouble and I think it may be lonely, so I follow it around, slowly and carefully, waiting to make friends.  

Much of the next hot months are spent outside by the pool.  I decide that petting lazily with a foot only counts as half so I try to climb onto Chris’s lap (not Y/N’s. I don’t want to squash the puppy).

“Fenway! You great big oaf.  You don’t fit!”  Chris laughs but I do!  It’s magic.   Dodger corners a red squirrel in the tree and it chitters down at him from halfway up.  I race over to help but I am too big to leap so high. I wave my frondy tail while Dodger almost gets it.  

These are mostly good times.   The great thing about puppy waiting is that we get waffles more. And ice cream.  And cinnamon bunds.   The not so great thing is that the hoomans feel angsty and a little confused at times.

Sometimes I will go outside only to realize it is inside that I wanted all along.  Y/N’s like that, she doesn’t know what she wants or not. Those nights we are out in the car late at night with Chris.  The days she knows—she really knows.  

Ice cream is good but not coffee. Or orange juice.  And definitely not eggs.  

Puppy waiting is Not Quick.   68 days. So many X’s.    Y/N gets wider and tireder.  She’s sick, and grumpy, and weepy, and there are days we (and Chris) just didn’t know what to do.   Dodger and I try to pretend we need to tell a secret and when Y/N leans in close, we lick her ear instead.  That makes her smile, but only for a while. Sometimes my snuggles help and sometimes I make her too hot and sometimes I make it worse.  I may be bigger (almost full grown!) but my desire to be held is constant.

<I love you> 

“Fenway.”

<I love you>

“Fenway!”

<I love you>

“Fenway!!”

When Y’N’s weepy I put my snout upon her lap and wuff out warm happy breath while she strokes my fur.  I will look up to be sure it’s working and get confused because it makes her cry more.

<What did I do wrong??!!>

Dodger sighs and thumps his tail on the carpet. <Don’t worry, Fenway. It’s ‘mones.>

Oh.   The things that Chris says (when we have snuck away to the park) make her grumpy too.

They are very powerful.  When she’s grumpy I bring her my squeaky hotdog, and blanket, and then, cuz I am getting really worried, my comb.  She brushes all my fur hard and sleeks the feathers in my tail but it never works for long.

I don’t get it and Chris doesn’t either but he keeps trying 

I don’t always work but neither do the duper hugs.

One time she even barked at him.

***

The too too hot summer, becomes just hot fall.  I have toasted my coat enough.  It’s the time of parties and mmmm pumpkin and TIFF (whatever that is).    

At the Hello ‘Ween party Y/N the Witch bumps into Jeremy’s back (he’s just himself cuz time) with her tum.  She blushes red like a tomato and Jeremy laughs and says

“You’re just like Fenway.  He doesn’t know where his body is either.”

(I yip ‘oopsie’ but secretly I am proud.)  

***

After that things change really FAST.

Y/N and Chris go out for ‘classes’ and sometimes when they get home, Y/N goes right to bed (it takes energy to make a puppy) and Chris takes his fancy glass and fancy yellow water and sits down on the ‘ounge chair.   He looks kinda scared and kinda worried, sighing a little bit, just looking at the moon 

I sit down beside and lean in hard as I can,  thinking <everything. is going to be alright. Because guess I love you.>

“Thanks pal.”

The second office gets made over into the puppy’s room.  It’s white and bright and has lots of small colours everywhere.    I knock over a packing box—<oopsie> that holds a  tall thing that looks like a robot.

“Yikes,” says Chris. “Better you do that now than when it’s full. 

Full? Of what?!

No one answers. Dodger doesn’t know.  He’s trying to help by biting at the packing tape and I take the other end.  

Y/N is exasperated. “FENWAY you are NOT HELPING!”

I go lie by the door and supervise, crossing my paws cuz i’ figure feeling fancy will make the moving faster.

The Baby’s room has SO MUCH STUFF.  There’s a sleeping jail and a travel sleeping jail;  bouncing things that make noise, rattles that make noise (but nothing squeaky like my hot dog), cupboards for tiny clothes, tons and tons of tiny sausage covers.  I am not sure why Chris and Y/N want their puppy covered like a sausage but they are there, white and green and I think <oh well, maybe it makes them feel comfy like my crate?>  

The little socks won’t fit even on my nose.  

I wander later all through the piles of stuff getting a little worried.

<Relax, Fenway> says Dodger, where he lies on his side upon the floor in front of the hallway mystery hole.  (It’s our favourite place to flop cuz it blows cool air over us.  It won’t be not-hot until Santa time.)  

<You aren’t worried, Dodger?  Will they remember we exist, even notice us in this?>

< oh yeah.> he says, scritching a sudden scratch.  <A puppy can’t howl like I do with Lion.  It can’t give licks like you.  We’ll be teaching them everything we know.>

<Right.>  

Right. I feel better and go back to watching the grape all shrivel up.

-------

Fri Nov 23.

It’s Y/N’s birthday month and we have good times.  Chris takes us for lots of walks. Y/N sits everywhere, puppy is heavy and she has no lap. Lots of friends visit and slip us treats—its hard but somebody has to do it 

One morning we wake up and there are few X’s left on the fridge.  The circled big red X is days away and oh boy Y/N seems extra, extra fussy cause she washes EVERYTHING 

(I hide, out of the way under the big front bush.  My hotdog tastes like soap.)

Dodger is not too concerned.  We trot in from the yard to find Chris pacing, hair sticking straight up and looking really stressed.

“Mom, oh god, do you think this could be it?!”

Whatever Lisa says, it helps.  He waits, carefully, while Y/N cleans around and I go sit beside The Bag that’s been waiting excitedly by the front door.

<I’m ready too!>  I think to them both but nothing happens.  

Two more days. Ugh, two more of soap, and then, Y/N just doesn’t get up??  

??!!

I follow Dodger out. Chris is in the backyard and we are pacing with him, round and round,  but he’s nearly shaking, talking to everyone on the telephone and not seeming very happy.

Y/N isn’t either. We check.  She’s whining sometimes, sitting in the big bed and kinda looking hot but she doesn’t want us near so we go back to the living room.

<We need a distraction.> says Dodger watching Chris pace.  He hasn’t stopped and the phone may be growing into his beard.

<I could spin in circles. Or blow bubbles in my water dish again?> I offer.  

<Naw.. too short.>

<Frisbee?>

<Naw, too tricky.>

Dodger settles for bringing him the slobbery Bosox ball.

“Sorry pal, not now.”

Hoo boy, this is serious.  

By the time I get back from burying the ball below the hedge, Y/N is up and they are walking around the back yard-- Y/N in front, Chris behind.    We waddle along.   I am patrolling in front for intruders and spiders cuz Chris hates them and Dodger has the rear.

We do five circuits and then we are walking shower on the path (even it is really clean)  and suddenly Y/N is gasping, bending right over to her knees.  (This is really hard with a big puppy up in front).  Chris murmurs soothing noises and presses his big warm hands on the center of her lower back.  I have no idea why, but it must help because Y’N’s  whining is a little less at first, but then it changes.  She’s whining and growling and keening.

Whelping sounds like it hurts.

The crisis ends. Y/N flops down on the ‘ounge chair panting hard and I lay my muzzle along her thigh, whining helpfully in sympathy, licking at her hand.  I hate to see her in pain.  So does Dodger.

“You’re both good boys,” she says through a small half smile.

This happens—walk-gasp-keen-flop—lots of times.  We’re getting tired.  Chris is getting tired. Y/N is more tired than I’ve ever seen.  

Finally the two-bell sounds 

Scott and his new boyfriend come right in and the friend (Dirk? why is he named for a knife?) bounces up to us and says hi while Chris carries Y/N through the hall. Scott takes The Bag and puts it in the trunk.  Y/N sits up front with the seat pushed way far back, eyes closed and concentrating.  She whines and Chris, who is standing in the driveway, whines too, before trying to sit down.  

Scott blocks the driver seat, hand out, shaking his head.

“Nope.  Give me your keys, man.  You are waay too freaked out to drive.”

<You are> adds Dodger, wisely from the front step 

Scott glares at Chris until he shakes himself, opens the back door and folds into the tiny backseat.

Y/N would laugh but she’s too busy gasping

** 

Finally the biggest, most leaping, exciting day arrives.  

The puppy is coming home.

My feets are a tippy tappin’.  I am bouncing and so is Dodger.  We know not to trip Chris up but still our hearts are way too full.

“Dodger, Fenway, down!”

We both sit at once.   Y/N steps in and she looks very, very tired but so, so happy to be home.  Chris has a special puppy seat and is holding it like a glass.  There’s a pink blankie, and a cover and we can’t really see.  

He sets the seat on the floor and crouches down, one hand in our furs to keep us back.

“Hey guys, say hi to Lily.”

What kind of name is that?

<A flower name> whispers  Dodger, <because the puppy is a bitch.>

Ohhhh.  It’s hard to see much of anything but pink hat and nose and wrap.  I tip toe everywhere, hushed and quiet like a Good Boy, but inside I am all excited.  Chris says MomLisa is coming soon, but for now it is our time.   

“Hey baby” says Y/N.  At the couch Chris lays her ever so gentle on Y/N’s lap lengthwise.   I sniff and wiggle in excitement.  She smells new and happy and good and…

then the wrappings come off.

Wut?

She’s bald.  

And tiny.  

And looks nothing the little person next door at Gina’s.

<Is there something wrong?> I ask Dodger anxiously.  I would  HATE for there to be a problem.

He thinks carefully and cocks his head.   <Human puppies look a bit like Hairless Cats.> 

They do?  Weird. < How do you know?>

<I looked in The Book.>

Oh. Ohhh.  The Book. It is part of Y/N these days.  

<For long?>

<A while.>  

I am thinking maybe even Dodger doesn’t really know but it’s ok because when she gets bigger she will be our fren, and throw sticks and balls and…   

It’s hard to imagine because in the weeks to come she smells milky and poopy and sometimes both.

Chris is being super careful.  His hands are big. He trips over Dodger twice; loses where his feet are and we see that he is tired.  

Midnight and early morning snacks for all don’t give the hoomans enough rest.  

Chris gets so tired one morning he puts kibble into my water.  (Actually it wasn’t so bad…so I didn’t say anything.).

Y/N never seems to put Lily down and it makes me angsty.. a bit like she doesn’t want me anymore.  Dodger gets to be closer—he’s better at holding himself safe.  I watch from a body length away, trying to be soo good, her big brother, littermate, but it feels a little sad.

(I did, when Y/N wasn’t looking, lick one of her little feets.)

Dodger tells me not to worry.  They are so happy.  There’s soft music and tons of visits and tons of presents and Dodger and I get a picture proudly sitting by her jail-bed.  

Sometimes she cries and sometimes she toots and sometimes we go hours without a pat.  

I am sad.  And worrying.  What if she doesn’t like me?  What if I can’t hold still?  What if she never gets big enough to play?  

One day when Lily lies (just like a sausage) on a blankie (and I am near, within what Chris calls the ‘blast radius’??) I can’t take it anymore.

I Woof.  Not loud, but real, because I’ve been sooo good and quiet for so long.

No one scolds.  

Lily is wriggling like a wriggly worm and giggling and she smells new and fresh and I want to get a better look.  I shuffle forward on my tummy, stop near her blankie’s edge where if I stretch my neck I might be close enough to lick.    

I woof again. She turns her (bald!) head and looks at me. Blue eyes a little blurry, frowning as she focuses.  Y/N and Chris giggle when a little (strong!) hand bops me on my nose, and I blink in surprise.  

Pink wriggle-worm fingers have grabbed a hank of fur.  

She holds me. Hard. Smiling and cooing.  And then I know it.

I am gonna be her fren.   Her fren and best protector and biggest brother.  And now I am grown and better at remembering I am just right.  I will give rides and warm cuddles and snuggles and…  

be her everything.

I think that I’m love. 

 -------------------

tagging:  @theycallmebecca @nomadicpixel @pegasusdragontiger @arizonapoppy @mycapt-ohcapt  @3Dsaunt  @heather-lynn @neutralchaos1