#to the point where knuckles is barely even in the second half of the show

[sonknuxadow]

i hate being overly negative about a new sonic project because. while im not against criticizing them and will criticize them when i see fit. i still try to find the positives in everything sonic even the games that are widely labelled as irredeemable garbage. because i love sonic and i hate it when sonic is the punching bag of the internet and i do genuinely believe that every piece of sonic media has at least some good qualities but like. the knuckles series really isnt very good im sorry people are right about this one . and i say this as someone who likes the sonic movies and thought knuckles was awesome in sonic 2 . where did we go wrong as a society

[thankskenpenders]

The Knuckles show

The announcement of a live action Knuckles streaming miniseries was surprising, to say the least. I mean, what would such a show even be about in a version of the Sonic universe with no Angel Island and barely any characters from the games around? Is he gonna go treasure hunting with the gang from Montana or something? Would a streaming miniseries have the CGI budget to squeeze in any new game characters, even briefly? Rouge? Amy? At least one member of Team Chaotix? Anyone?

Now the show is finally out, and it turns out what they actually made was a comedy show about bumbling deputy sheriff Wade Whipple, the minor comic relief character played by Adam Pally who you might not even remember all that well from the first two movies, with Knuckles as his sidekick. While, yes, Knuckles does get a decent amount of screentime and opportunities to punch bad guys and do cool moves from the games, large stretches of this show focus on Wade's personal life, to the point that a couple times I almost forgot I was watching a Sonic-related show. If you're judging it purely by the metric of how well it adapts and engages with its source material, this surely must be one of the worst adaptations the Sonic franchise has ever seen.

So then, despite some huge complaints... why do I kinda like it?

(This will contain full spoilers for the Knuckles show.)

A brief summary of what the show is actually about because I know half of you aren't going to watch it

The show picks up not too long after the end of the second movie. Knuckles is now living in Montana with Sonic, Tails, and the Wachowskis out of a sense of debt to them, though he doesn't really see it as his home. He doesn't feel like he belongs on Earth, and his life currently lacks direction. After communing with the ghost of Pachacamac, though, Knuckles is instructed to keep his culture alive by teaching "the ways of the echidna warrior" to a new apprentice: deputy sheriff Wade Whipple, who's currently more concerned about winning a bowling tournament in Reno than anything else.

Things are complicated by the interference of two rogue GUN agents - Agent Willoughby, played by Ellie Taylor in a bad wig, and Agent Mason, played by Kid Cudi. (Yes, the artist behind the second movie's credits song is one of the bad guys in this.) They want to steal Knuckles' power and sell it to a former associate of Robotnik's played by Rory McCann (The Hound from Game of Thrones), who now works as a black market arms dealer. Yes, they're still doing the thing where Sonic and friends' quills radiate some kind of super-energy that the bad guys all want. No, I don't particularly love this element of the Paramount Sonic continuity. Anyway, they go after Knuckles and Wade, complicating their straightforward road trip to Reno. Antics ensue.

The Wade show

So here's the thing. While the first episode focuses largely on Knuckles, the entire rest of the show is very much the story of Wade, and by extension the other original human characters invented for this miniseries.

Episode 2 is about Wade having to rescue Knuckles from captivity after the GUN agents get him. Knuckles spends most of the episode in a cage.

Episode 3 is about introducing Wade's Jewish family, including his slightly overbearing mother and weird sister, so that Knuckles can learn about their family traditions and have Shabbat dinner with them (and then save them from bounty hunters that the GUN agents hired).

Episode 4 only features Knuckles at the very beginning and very end of the episode, probably for less than a minute total. Wade is captured by a bounty hunter he personally knows, and Knuckles decides to let that be a trial for Wade to overcome on his own.

The last two episodes feature the climactic showdowns with the GUN agents and their arms-dealing ally, who comes in with a mech for the obligatory final boss fight. You'd think this would be Knuckles' time to shine, but really, these episodes are mostly about the bowling tournament in Reno where Wade encounters his estranged father, wrapping up his own personal arc. While Knuckles does get some fights, a lot of the finale is spent on lengthy bowling scenes where Knuckles isn't in the room or even mentioned. It frequently feels more like a spiritual successor to '00s sports comedy movies like Dodgeball, Talladega Nights, or Blades of Glory than it does a part of the Sonic franchise, and the presence of ESPN 8: The Ocho commentary in the finale only drives those Dodgeball comparisons home. They get so immersed in the bowling stuff that it's genuinely hilarious when the show suddenly pivots and remembers "oh shit we still need to do the final boss fight"

Throughout all this, Wade is the protagonist. He's the character we spend more time with, he's the character who drives most of the major events, he's the character who gets more of an arc. The emotional core is Wade's journey. Knuckles is still present - sometimes, at least - but he's there as Wade's wingman, and also just as the excuse for there to be some fight scenes.

How much Sonic stuff is actually in this show?

Honestly? Not much.

Sonic and Tails are only in the first episode. Sonic gets some good scenes, but Tails gets a grand total of five lines. I counted. Unsurprisingly, Jim Carrey is absent as Robotnik, though he does get mentioned a fair bit. (For that matter, basically the entire established human cast beyond Wade is absent, even including Tom, though Maddie is there in episode one.)

GUN is involved in the story, which helps it feel slightly more connected to Sonic, but it kind of feels like it's GUN in name only. They don't use any recognizable GUN tech, and they don't call in the military. It's just two agents in suits. They might as well be the Men in Black.

The Master Emerald is mentioned as something Knuckles has to guard, but it's never seen. Angel Island is pictured as a drawing during the show's intro, appearing exactly how it does in Sonic 3, but it's never referenced at all beyond that.

I guess the climax taking place in and around a Reno casino is a reference to Sonic's many casino-themed levels. That's something. I'll give them that.

Oh, and if you're wondering if this is the point where we finally start to get actual music from the games: no, it's not. The soundtrack consists of a lot of '80s needle drops, many of which are generic Hollywood picks like "Holding Out for a Hero" for the billionth time, thought it at least has some slightly less obvious picks than the Mario movie. The theme song is '80s rock song "The Warrior" by Scandal. You'll hear it many times. You'll hear the Adventure era Knuckles raps zero times in this. You'll briefly hear classic A Tribe Called Quest song "Can I Kick It?" before Knuckles takes the question too literally and breaks the radio in Wade's car.

Beyond a handful of surface level references for nerds (one of which is admittedly wild - we'll get to that), this is probably the least an officially licensed adaptation of Sonic the Hedgehog has ever tried to actually engage with its source material. I struggle to think of another Sonic adaptation that has less to do with Sonic. For as much shit as I and countless others have given Penders for seemingly ignoring the content of the games in favor of building his own convoluted mythos, his Knuckles comics honestly included way more elements from the games than this show does.

Somehow, the one new(-ish) Sonic character introduced in this is the ghost of Pachacamac of all characters. Not even Tikal! Pachacamac! A very minor character nobody has particularly strong feelings about! You can't even use the excuse that they already had the character model, because they completely redesigned him compared to his cameo in the first movie to better match his Sonic Adventure design. And he's voiced by Christopher Lloyd! Honestly, so many of his lines are strained that it sounds like he's on death's door here, but then he'll surprise you with a more casual line like "just do it, man" and it catches me so off guard that I can't help but laugh.

Pachacamac here has basically nothing to do with the game character he takes his name and appearance from. Where the game character was a cruel warlord who kicked off a 3000 year cycle of violence, Paramount Pachacamac is now just this chill old man who gives Knuckles (and later Wade) advice in two episodes of the show. Hell, he also feels completely disconnected from his established role in the movies, where he's literally the guy who shot Longclaw. The show will not grapple with this contradiction at all. He's just here to be a thing fans like me will recognize from the games. Again, if that's all they wanted, it's kind of baffling that they didn't just use Tikal.

I don't love Knuckles in this

But what about Knuckles himself? Well, he doesn't feel all that much like Knuckles to me. Ironically, he sometimes feels like one of the weaker elements in his own show.

Back when the second movie came out, I noted that Knuckles' characterization seemed to be pulling heavily from MCU Thor as a gallant warrior from an archaic alien culture who doesn't really understand modern day Earth stuff. That worked for me in that movie. It was just there for spice. Just a little extra flavor for the character in what was otherwise a very faithful adaptation of Knuckles' storyline in Sonic 3 & Knuckles. Without those familiar elements grounding him and with a much higher reliance on comedy, Idris Elba's Knuckles becomes a pretty one-note character in this.

In damn near every scene with Knuckles, he's going to say something about being a proud, honorable echidna warrior, or brag about his glorious feats of strength, or be confused about some Earth thing and call it sorcery, or act like every other character is also a member of some noble warrior clan. He still has his moments for sure, but this schtick kinda gets old fast, and it just doesn't feel like Knuckles to me. His entire character feels derived from the scene in the diner where Thor smashes the cup on the ground and goes "Another!" Sure, I can picture game Knuckles smashing a radio to turn it off and being a little too gung-ho about busting holes through walls. That's Knuckles behavior. But building a barbarian combat pit in the living room so the Wachowski family dog can fight the mailman? Nope. That's some other guy now. It really does just feel like them taking a broad character archetype from something popular that kinda sorta fits Knuckles and just running with that, rather than trying to actually adapt the character.

Oh, but don't worry, he wears the OVA hat for like two minutes! AND he loves grapes! See, Sonic nerds? We read the wiki! That's his favorite food! Grapes! This is gonna come up like five times!

Knuckles kind of gets an arc here, but not as much as Wade does. I think the stuff about him starting to feel at home on Earth thanks to Wade's mom and the way he connects with their Jewish family traditions is oddly sweet. This arc is kind of let down, though, by the fact that Knuckles' heritage is treated as a complete joke. He's a cartoonish pastiche of various historical warrior cultures stuck together in a blender and used mostly for comedic effect. When Pachacamac's ghost appears, he's reading a newspaper and bemoaning the fact that the Mets lost again. This is not the place for a serious examination of Knuckles' feelings on being the last of his kind.

This is far from the only time the show undercuts itself with its jokes and attempts at self-parody. In the first episode, for instance, Knuckles clashes with GUN Agent Mason and his tech-enhanced punches, leading to an extremely on-the-nose inversion of the "Do I look like I need your power?" scene showcased in the trailer for the second movie. Except this time, Agent Willoughby butts in and points out how stupid that line is in this new context, since they're literally trying to steal Knuckles' power. The fight can't just be cool, they have to get cute with it. A lot of stuff like that happens in this show.

Given all these complaints, the first two episodes left me thinking I'd be fairly negative on this show overall. This seemed like the version of the show from the fandom's collective nightmares, one that undoes all of the progress the movie series seemed to have been making towards faithfulness to the games. Like, just look at these cast posters. Is this what you want out of Sonic? Do these excite you?

But then, something strange happened. Over time, I just kind of let the jokes and shenanigans wash over me and basked in how fucking weird this show is.

And I started to actually enjoy it.

Look. The Wade & Knuckles Show was never going to be peak Sonic. But that sure as hell doesn't mean it can't be entertaining.

This show is so fucking goofy

Here's the thing.

The show is funny.

Unlike a lot of other people, I didn't hate all the wedding stuff in Hawaii in Sonic 2, because I thought a lot of it was funny, both in its actual jokes and in the ways in which they tied everything back to Sonic. Tom looking wistfully at some bodybuilders doing Top Gun shit and spraying each other with beer and being like "I wish Sonic had that" is weirdly funny. The twist that those muscle bros are all agents of the newly formed GUN, who orchestrated the wedding as an elaborate scheme to catch Sonic, is funny. Mr. Olive Garden becoming the fucking GUN Commander is VERY funny. Are any of these elements of my dream Sonic movie? No, of course not. But my dream Sonic movie was never gonna happen in live action.

The Knuckles show follows up on the comedy of the previous films by being probably the funniest live action Sonic release yet. Did every joke land for me? God no. There are some stinkers in there that made me roll my eyes. But enough of them landed that it worked out for me overall. A big part of this is the fact that they've got a good cast of actors and/or comedians here.

Adam Pally is funny as Wade, and I found myself liking him more and more as a character as the show went on. He becomes an oddly endearing loser, with some sweet moments in his personal arc that made me feel for the guy. I like Wade more than Tom now, thanks to this show. I will now be happier to see Wade in Sonic 3 than I would have been previously.

The supporting cast is frequently great, too, many of whom are playing completely cartoonish, over-the-top characters. They took a cue from how exaggerated Carrey's performance was as Robotnik and decided to just abandon all pretense that this is the real world. Stockard Channing as Wade's mom is funny, and carries some of the more sincere parts of the show. Cary Elwes as Wade's very British dad who abandoned him as a child to run off and be the world's most egotistical professional bowler is funny. Edi Patterson as Wade's sister Wanda is... well, she's kinda trying too hard, but she has her moments. The Mighty Boosh co-creator Julian Barratt(!!) as a scenery-chewing bounty hunter, who was also somehow Wade's former best friend and bowling partner, is VERY funny. I love this guy.

(Honestly, they should let more people who were on Garth Marenghi's Darkplace be in Sonic stuff. Where's Matt Berry)

This is kind of a stacked cast for a bunch of stupid side characters in a live action Knuckles show! And honestly, that just makes it funnier to me. Even when they're not funny, the fact that this exists makes it funny. They somehow convinced Paramount to give them a bunch of money to make a spiritual successor to Dodgeball about a schlubby guy who wants to beat his dad at a bowling tournament... except also Knuckles the fucking Echidna is there as his personal life coach. My life is richer for the fact that I can say that sentence. I think about all the little kids who are probably watching this show this weekend, going in expecting a show about Knuckles the Echidna and having to sit through extensive bowling scenes and lore about Wade's family, and sorry kids, but I just have to laugh. Wade isn't even on the poster! The poster is just a picture of Knuckles!! They punked those kids!!!

In a franchise where every single aspect is so carefully micromanaged these days, it feels truly special to get an adaptation this bonkers. It frequently appeals to the same part of me that enjoys the fact that there's an officially licensed Knuckles comic in which Charmy Bee's best friend (also a bee) dies of an accidental LSD overdose from a drug-laced chili dog. Or like, everything about the original 1993 Super Mario Bros. movie. Or the fact that they made seven direct-to-DVD sequels to Alpha and Omega, one of which is half a retread of the adventure from the first movie (with more annoying supporting characters in tow this time) and half a literal clip show of the first movie. The sheer absurdity of the fact that these things exist is charming to me. Except, with the Knuckles show, it has the added benefit of frequently being funny on purpose! This is why I'm not sure I'd call it "so bad it's good." Like, it's not amazing, but there were a lot of parts that I enjoyed in the exact way I was supposed to enjoy them.

Look. Here's a list of real lines of dialogue from the Sega-approved Knuckles the Echidna streaming show that they're billing as a pillar of the Paramount+ lineup, to drive this point home. Let these marinate for a minute:

"I only eat grapes, and Cool Ranch Doritos™."

"Annihilate this little girl, Wade. Crush her spirit. Humiliate her so badly her parents won't even look at her again." "Doesn't that seem like we're going a bit far?" "Not far enough."

"So is he Jewish?" "Half, I think."

"I had a friend who when he listened to Alien Ant Farm he could lift a Toyota Corolla over his head."

"I'm in dire financial straits. Due to my lawsuit against an unnamed rainforest-themed restaurant franchise, I don't have two pennies to my name."

"We're here in sunny Reno, Nevada, which is so close to Hell you can smell the sparks."

"You can't threaten me with your Jewish karate chops because I am a federal agent."

"I will say, regardless of how you feel about child abandonment - and I'm against it! - the deals at TJ Maxx can't be beat."

This is a Sonic show in which they got Paul Scheer and Rob Huebel to appear as ESPN 8: The Ocho commentators.

This is a show where Wade's mom insists upon pronouncing "Knuckles" with the throaty Hebrew "ch" sound, and declares that Knuckles is basically Jewish. Later, they watch Pretty Woman together while enjoying a nice slice of key lime pie. Knuckles comments: "I don't understand. This young streetwalker with a heart made of gold, why do the others treat her with such disdain? Is it so wrong to walk the streets?"

This is a show where the fourth episode is directed by one of the guys from The Lonely Island and features a hallucinatory low budget rock opera stage musical put on by the ghost of Pachacamac. It recounts Knuckles' life story, with Wade playing Knuckles and the "evil" Longclaw played by the bounty hunter guy who's played by the Mighty Boosh guy.

Look at this.

And also, Knuckles' singing voice is provided by Michael Bolton, which they proudly announce in the middle of the musical.

And also...

Also...???

IBLIS IS IN IT????????????

Yes, Iblis!

From Sonic '06!!

Knuckles is said to have looked for a mythical power called the "Flames of Disaster" to avenge his clan, which ended up being the power that was within him all along that lets him do fire punches yadda yadda yadda. As part of this, he apparently fought Iblis off-screen at some point, as conveyed with the giant singing papier-mâché Iblis in the musical.

...Then Iblis sings about hitting up Facebook Marketplace

How? How does any of this exist? Why reference '06 of all games? How did Iblis get into the live action Sonic movie universe before Amy and Metal Sonic? Why are they using Iblis and the term "Flames of Disaster" in such a goofy way that completely disregards their original context?

I don't know. I don't know how any of this happened. But I love it. We got a Knuckles miniseries in which Michael Bolton sings the phrase "the Flames of Disaster." The world is a beautiful place sometimes.

Some people will tell you to skip episode four. "Knuckles is barely even in it," they say. "It's dumb and pointless," they say. "They clearly just ran out of special effects budget," they say. These are people whose opinions you should disregard. The episode with the least Knuckles in it is somehow the most entertaining episode of the show. I would, in fact, go as far as to say that if you only decide to watch one episode of the Knuckles show to see what goofy bullshit they get up to, it should be this one.

I cannot be mad at this show. It's so dumb, but it completely owns the fact that it's a dumb and unnecessary spinoff. Inferiority is baked into its very DNA. It's very self-consciously redoing the premise of the first movie, but stupider. It's about The Other Cop from the movies, instead of the competent one. Instead of being into a "cooler" sport, his life revolves around professional bowling. Instead of going to Vegas, he goes to Reno. Even his tragic backstory that shaped his entire life sucks. He was abandoned by his pro bowler dad in a TJ Maxx. Not even a nicer department store. A fucking TJ Maxx. This whole show is a Dril tweet.

They put a ton of effort into making it dumb in an occasionally spectacular way. So much effort was put into that joke rock opera that fans will just write off as stupid filler. They put their whole pussies into it. This is not a poorly made show. This has better production values than half the shit made for Disney+. This was made with love. Maybe not as much love for the Sonic the Hedgehog series of video games as we'd like, but it's love nonetheless.

Maybe this show broke me and these are the ramblings of a madwoman. Maybe I'm just really nostalgic for the '90s and '00s comedy movies all the Wade stuff is modeled after. Maybe the Alan Wake fan in me just really loves it when a story pivots to a silly rock opera for no real reason. I won't discount any of these possibilities. This isn't high art. This isn't something I would recommend to anyone with zero interest in Sonic, and it also isn't going to sway Sonic fans who hate the Paramount universe. I really can't blame them for being bewildered by this show. But for a specific type of person, this is the absurd three-star Sonic-adjacent comedy miniseries of your dreams. It's a mid masterpiece.

Again, I just have to step back, realize the fact that this shouldn't exist, and smile. Sega's too afraid to do stupid bullshit with the franchise like this these days. And I can't blame them, after years of Sonic being a treated as a laughingstock. But part of me misses some of the goofy shit. No matter how much I tore some of the Archie comics apart as I was reading them for this blog, I just look back on stuff like Cal and Al or the Many Hands issues and laugh. And that same part of me looks at this show about Knuckles being the sidekick to this fucking guy, and just goes...

"We're so back."

In conclusion, I genuinely think this was a more enjoyable TV show than Sonic Prime.

I wouldn't go back and rewatch Sonic Prime anytime soon, aside from maybe, like, a couple of the Shadow-heavy episodes. Huge stretches of that show bored me to tears. The writers squandered all of that show's potential. But I would rewatch the Knuckles show, which takes a terrible premise and has a lot of fun with it, in a heartbeat. Even the bowling parts. The bowling scenes in the Knuckles show are more engaging than 70% of the fights in Sonic Prime. I am not trolling. I mean that sincerely, with all my heart. Don't @ me.

Stray observations

There is effectively zero meaningful setup for the third movie in this, unless Wade's family or the two GUN agents come back or something. Project Shadow is not mentioned in this. There is no secret post-credits scene with Gerald

The CGI in this is pretty good. Not quite on par with the movies, but pretty good. Sonic's weird forehead wrinkles are distracting in his scenes though. Please fix that

I wouldn't say I liked this as much as the second movie, which obviously gets a ton of points for, you know. The Cool Sonic Shit. But I had more fun with it than the first movie, which I still feel is a painfully generic family movie that was only saved by Tyson's redesign

"Grapes are an interesting choice for someone who doesn't use his individual fingers."

Agent Willoughby was apparently the one at GUN who had to buy the Olive Garden gift cards and set up the fake wedding. Her origin story is that she hated doing shit like that and wanted to go fight aliens

This miniseries contains another Keanu namedrop because Wade's childhood bedroom has a Speed poster on the wall. I swear, if Sonic doesn't say Shadow sounds just like Keanu...

Knuckles is familiar with Paul Blart Mall Cop

Near the end the ESPN 8: The Ocho commentators say that the 1974 Reno bowling championship was also interrupted by an extraterrestrial, and given that was exactly 50 years ago I can't write off the possibility that that was Shadow. Please for the love of god give us a sequel series after the third movie where Wade takes Shadow the Hedgehog bowling. I need this more than I need air

[novantinuum]

Fandom: Steven Universe Rating: Gen Words: 2.8K~ Summary: Not too long after making peace with Homeworld and sparking the start of Era 3, Steven wakes up one morning to discover some... notable changes about himself.

AKA: The one where Steven finally hits his growth-spurt. All at once. Because of course the half-Gem kid could never experience such a human thing like puberty in a "normal" way.

[Part 1 of 2]

Just a few seconds later, knuckles rap against the door in answer to his perturbed cry. 

“Yo Steve-o, that you in there?” Amethyst calls. 

“Y-yeah?” he stammers. His brows threading inwards, he delicately runs his fingers over the ridge upon his throat, very much thrown off by the distinctly lower tenor of the sound coming from his own mouth. He swallows hard, pushing himself to speak again. Come on Steven, he berates himself, think of something lighthearted. This doesn’t have to be a bad thing. No need to completely freak out over this yet. “Who else would I be? It’s not like the whole town uses this bathroom…”

“I mean, I do sometimes. For fun.”

“Okay, fair point, but—”

“Dude, what��s wrong with your voice? Are you like, sick or somethin’?“

“No, it’s just—” 

He squeezes his eyes shut, blocking out all the nebulous, spinning distractions of his mind and the world beyond. Deep breath. It’s okay. Tons of things about his form may be entirely different right now, but like… he seems fine. Right?? Nothing about his body feels tangibly wrong like it did when he willfully stretched himself out on his 14th birthday, or when he changed all his fingers into cats, or when he lost all control of his aging and morphed into an anciently old man and almost died, it’s just… 

New.

New and wholly unfamiliar.

So what now? How can he bravely move forward with all this? What does he need to know? 

“Have, uh… have you ever shapeshifted by accident in your sleep?”

“Not that I‘m aware of,” she says, and he can practically hear the shrug in her tone. “Shapeshifting is a conscious thing you do. It’s a choice, y’know? It doesn’t just happen.”

A good long moment passes as he drinks this information in. He runs his hand through the short curls at the back of his neck as he stands there in the pair of too-small banana yellow pajamas he fit in just fine last night, musing.

“Huh… I guess that makes things pretty simple, then.”

“What d’ya’—”

“Amethyst, I think I’m finally older,” he says, still absolutely mystified by this prospect as he gawks at himself in the mirror. 

She gives a fond laugh. “Ch’a, right? You get older everyday, bud. Wild.”

“No, I mean I’m actually, physically older! Look!”

Steven whirls around and swings the bathroom door wide open to show her. Amethyst’s jaw drops.

“Whoa—! Dude!”

Chuckling nervously, he steps a few feet out, wriggling his bare toes against the wood floor. “I know, right?”

“What the heck, you weren’t kidding!” Before he can even move to say anything else, she spins on her heels and cups her mouth with her hands, hollering towards the temple door. “HEY, PEARL! GARNET! You gotta get out here and see this!”

His brows shoot towards his hairline, his heart hammering in his chest all the while at the thought of all the dumb show-and-tell he’s gonna have to deal with now. “Aww, come on, did you really have to—”

“Amethyst!” Pearl cries, scrambling through the still opening gap in the doorway with Garnet striding mere steps behind. She summons her spear from her gem and swings it to fighting stance with an artful flourish. “What happened? Where’s the threat? What do you need us for??”

Steven darts towards them, hands held up in a placating plea.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa! There’s no danger! We’re fine. I just—”

“Oh, my stars—!” she gasps, allowing her spear to dissipate in a glittery flicker of light. “You’ve grown!”

“Nice look, Steven,” Garnet nods, a supportive smile gracing her lips.

“And you’re sure this is real this time? You’re not—?”

“No, no, I’m not stretching myself out, I promise. I just woke up like this.”

“B-but—” Pearl taps her fingers against her chin, appearing thoroughly puzzled— “I thought humans were supposed to age gradually, not all at once.”

Steven’s shoulders slump. “Well… that’s what I assumed too, but—”

“Come, sit with me,” Garnet says, walking around the warp pad to enter the living room. She sets herself down on the couch, patting the cushion in open invitation.

With a heavy, far too weary for his age sigh, Steven shoves his hands in the pockets of his too-small banana pajamas and plods his way over. The rest of the Gems follow suit. He settles himself right next to Garnet, with Pearl perched opposite to her and Amethyst happily lounging on the floor, leaning on the coffee table with her elbows. 

“Steven’s aging hasn’t aligned with the norms of humanity for a very long time,” she observes, a glint of morning sun that’s beaming through the window catching on the edge on the edge of her star shaped visor. Then, turning to him: “I’m curious why you think this is.”

He hums, considering all the chaotic happenings of the past few years. Despite the rare query she poses, he gets the sense that… in her vast wisdom… she already knows the answer. Or at least, a small sum of it. It should be noted that her future vision— as far-reaching as it otherwise is with the vast possibilities of existence— can’t ever touch any knowledge that she won’t be conscious for or present to receive, let alone retroactively scry into the past.

(And honestly? Thank goodness for that.)

“I’m not sure,” he says, a half-lie.

He can think of one reason he might’ve started aging again. Though, it’s not something he’s ready to talk to the Gems about yet. It’s… far too delicate a topic to risk bringing up so soon after the start of peaceful Era 3. But after spending a whole childhood being constantly compared to and mistaken as various versions of his mom… let’s just say, having his gem torn from his body and getting to see it reform into a version of himself (and not her) was simultaneously the worst and the best thing that could’ve ever happened to him. While undeniably traumatic, this experience served as the ultimate proof that he doesn’t have to waste another second of his existence chewing away at some burgeoning identity crisis, that he can live his life however he wants. As Steven. Not as Rose, or Pink Diamond, just… Steven.

He’s not exactly sure how all this mental weirdness translates into him staying stuck looking like a little kid for like… six or so years, but after he returned home from his latest escapade on Homeworld, he could sense that— despite all the messed up stuff he and Connie went through— his spirit was lighter, somehow.

So maybe, he thinks, he simply had to peel away at all the damaged layers of his identity to ready himself to move on to the next stage of his life. Maybe he had to stare death in the eye and pass through the heart of the storm in spite of all these hardships before he could piece the foundational truths of his story back together and learn to finally live again.

To start shifting his hopeful gaze towards the dawn of their bright, sunny future…

“I mean, I always kinda thought he stopped aging because we never did,” Amethyst says then, laying her cheek on the table. “Like, it happened around the time you moved in with us, yeah?”

He purses his lips, scanning his memory. “Uh… I think so? It might have been a year before. Two, even. But I was definitely hanging out with y’all a lot by then.”

She leans over and playfully slugs him in the arm.

“See, there you go! You always wanted to be just like us when you were a kid, so much that you even wore that same ol’ star shirt every day to match ours, ha! You must’ve wanted to be a Gem so badly that you subconsciously stopped becoming older at all.”

“That’s actually a pretty solid theory, Amethyst,” Pearl chimes in. “Good thinking!”

“We have seen you shift your form in response to your perception of others around you,” Garnet says with a nod. “This has caused you to temporarily age and shapeshift in the past, but for you to age in a stable way now, your perception of self must have stabilized, too. I’m very happy for you, Steven.”

She tousles his mess of curls with her gold ringed hand, a welcome little offering of affection that he eagerly leans into.

And then, out of nowhere, Amethyst starts cackling.

“Dude,” she blurts out between her peels of laughter, nudging his foot with her elbow, “I just realized— Greg’s gonna totally lose his shit when he sees this…”

Pearl’s expression scrunches inwards with prickly displeasure. “Language!” 

“What, it’s true!”

He waves Amethyst’s comment off. “Pshhh, my dad’s seen way weirder,” he says, rolling his eyes. “Like, did I ever tell y’guys how the cat fingers incident ended?”

“No!” the quartz exclaims with intensive fervor, and leans forward in anticipation. “Gimme the juicy deets, m’man!”

Garnet adjusts her visor then, her features falling into a dutiful line. “Speaking of Greg… story time can wait until later. Steven— if you want to see your father this morning, you need to head over there now… or there’s a good chance he’ll fall back asleep until one and you’ll miss your window.”

Amethyst’s lips fall into a pout as she slumps back against the foot of the couch, her arms crossed. “Awww, phooey. Spoil sport.”

He swallows a grimace as he internalizes Garnet’s prediction. Yeah, that sounds about right. That’s become a bad habit for his old man lately, staying up super late and then sleeping in almost half the day on weekends. Ever since he received that ten million dollar residues check it’s nothing that can hinder his financials anymore, thank goodness, but then again…

“Yeah… I should probably go make sure he wakes up,” he mutters, pushing his tired body off his seat. “I’ll need his help finding new clothes, anyways.”

The second he’s up and moving again, Amethyst darts around him and snatches his spot with such swift and viscous drive that one might believe this ploy were her sole quest and purpose in life. She stretches out against the seat back with a big, dramatic yawn, crossing her arms behind her head as she speaks. 

“It’s too bad you can’t just… I dunno… summon whatever clothes you want out of light, like us. That’s like the biggest bummer of humanity, if you ask me.”

“And when do you ever experiment with your outfit enough to have a strong opinion about this?” Pearl prods, crossing her arms. “It took you almost a decade to fix that asymmetrical shoulder strap.”

“Well, P… I like to think of myself as a Gem who would experiment with my outfit. One day. If I’m ever really, really bored. Consider it an Era 3 aspiration.”

Steven rocks back and forth on his heels, absentmindedly fiddling with the fraying bottom hem of his pajama top.

“Okay, uh… well, I’m gonna dress to leave now, so—”

“Yeah, see ‘ya.”

“Send a text if you need anything!” Pearl says with a casual wave.

“And don’t forget…” Garnet begins, the ellipses in her tone practically visible with the naked eye.

He pauses in his dutiful march to the stairs— (a somewhat unsteady march… as it turns out, shooting up about a foot and a half in height overnight tends to impact one’s sense of balance for the worst, go figure)— turning back to intercept whatever life advice or future vision she’s prepared for him this time. 

She grins, flashing him a quick heart with her hands instead. “We love you!”

~~

Steven trudges across the hot sands to his dad’s car wash sans his favorite flip flops, trying his very darnedest to wipe away the developing grimace on his face all the while. 

A small segment of him felt overjoyed when he first saw his reflection this morning, eager to look his age and finally grow up alongside his human friends. But after struggling to find anything that fits him even halfway right in his wardrobe, his good mood has rapidly spoiled. There’s a decent few reasons for this.

Reason number one: his old sandals are at least two sizes too small. His heels stick out over the end now, and the plastic thong digs into his toes something terrible. He literally can’t wear them without giving himself blisters. Ergo, his bare feet right now. 

Reason number two: none of his jeans sit right around the waist anymore, plus they make him look like he’s waiting for a flood. (Though thankfully, he found a stretchy blue skirt buried in one of his drawers that will do the trick for now.) 

And perhaps worst of all… reason number three: with his newly increased height, every single one of his treasured star shirts have been turned into ill-fitting crop tops, putting his gem on full display. He’s not against the concept of a crop top, but it sure ain’t a look he’s passionate about for everyday wear. It just feels… too exposing. Like, what about winter?? He can’t bear his whole midriff in winter, he’d freeze, and like… get hypothermia, or something. And not only that, but the longer he’s awake this morning the more an inescapable, thrumming ache starts to settle within the deepest core of his body, like even his bones themselves— the stubborn things— dare to object to this abrupt growth spurt.

Just… ugh. What an annoying hassle all these changes bring.  

“Stupid shirt,” he grouses, tugging at the too-tight collar, “stupid sandals, stupid Gem puberty! Why, oh why can’t I ever go through human stuff normally?”

His bare foot catches upon a sizable stone hidden amongst the beach. On any other day he would’ve successfully broken his fall, stumbling forwards a few awkward steps before regaining his balance and continuing on his way. But with his body now so different, and his center of gravity entirely off from what he’s used to, he head plants straight into the ground.

Wow, he thinks, spitting sand out of his mouth and pushing himself back to his feet. How elegant. Truly the shining paragon of coordination and grace.

Thank goodness no one was watching. Next time he’ll just have to remember to float.

He arrives at his dad’s van with no further incident. The rear doors are— following Garnet’s prediction- cracked open. Dad’s awake, at least for now.

“Daaaaaaaad,” he hollers, cupping his hands around his mouth to project. “A really, really weird thing happened, and I kinda need your help!”

A few spare seconds pass, seconds filled with the rustles of shifting blankets, the sound of a book being shut closed, and his dad’s low murmurs. The doors swing wide, though not as wide as Dad’s eyes when they wander around their bright, sunny surroundings and eventually land square on him and his new look.

“Wh— Steven, holy smokes! Look at you!”

With an awkward chuckle, he scratches away at an itch at the nape of his neck. “Heh heh, I know, right?”

“You’re almost as tall as your old man! When did this happen? How did this happen?”

“Some point last night, I guess,” he shrugs. “I just woke up like this. But Dad—” he clings onto his arm with mounting desperation— “I need your help to find some new shirts. Don’t you have like… whole boxes of your old tour merch stashed away somewhere? I don’t wanna have to get rid of my star, I just— I just need a bigger size, or something.”

“Hmmm…” Dad muses, scratching at the scruff of his beard. “Well, maybe, but…”

“But what?”

“But if any of it’s still around, then it’s probably in Amethyst’s room. All of the stuff from the storage unit ended up with her, remember?”

“Oh…” he says, brows furrowed, not quite able to parse this fact within his memory yet. And then… 

Ugh. That’s right.

Two New Years’ ago. The huge mess of crates and mattresses and long forgotten belongings. All that ridiculous Little Butler nonsense. Amethyst’s fight with Dad.

“Oh,” he mumbles, crossing his arms. “Right. Well, then let’s go find it!”

“R- right now?”

“Yeah, why not? I need new clothes, and you could see if there’s any old junk in there you might want to keep!”

With that, he grabs his dad’s hand and yanks him along, spirit filled with renewed purpose and vigor.

“And you’re sure you need my help for this?” Dad asks, lagging a step or two behind him as they march back across the beach together. “The Gems, they… well, they don’t usually want me going into the temple—”

“Oh, Amethyst will be fine,” he says with a wave of his palm. “She never cares when I go in there to check out her trash piles. ‘Sides, I need your help to find the right box! I have no idea what your old band stuff was stashed in.”

His dad flashes a tight smile, the sort he always serves up when he’s nervous, but also too timid to tell him that he’s nervous.

“Well… if you think she’ll allow it…” he relents, and picks up his pace to match his.

~~

[End Part 1... more to be shared later.]

[mustangbby]

Being in a relationship with Yelan, but she works soo much you barely see her </3

However, whilst out browsing stalls in the harbour, you two cross paths. You looked so cute, Yelan couldn’t help but steal you away to have you all to herself, even if it’s just for a moment.

A quickie with Yelan x fem!reader

I’m so whipped for her 😩

-> break time!

synopsis -> yelan finds you when shes on a quick break. she can't help herself, so she takes you behind a building for a quickie.

a/n -> THINKING ABOUT THIS SO HARD OOOH.... thank u for this request my brain gears are turning so fast rn

warnings -> smut, (semi?) public sex, fingering, quickies

w/c -> 470

it was a fine evening in the harbor, so you took this as an advantage to get some fresh air and some grocery shopping done. 

little did you know, your wife, yelan, was approaching you in a rather slow pace. she was on her work break, in which she had approximately an hour to herself. 

she was admiring you from afar, watching the way your eyes lit up whenever a vendor brought out something new to show you, your polite smile and a rather generous tip for taking their time making her want to pounce on your right there.

but she couldn’t do that, it’d ruin her facade. so, she calls your name, motioning for you to come to her with two fingers before a mischievous grin dances across her face.

“hey love, how was work?” you said, your smile contrasting hers. she nods, going on a small rant about how her day was, and how she has to go back again later. she saw your face flip into a frown, your sigh ringing through her ears. 

all of the sudden, she grabbed your wrist, leading you behind a building in an unpopulated area of the city. there weren’t many passersby, which was good.

“i need you,” she whispered in your ears, heat rising to your face. “please.” 

you nod, and she starts undressing your bottom half, leaving your panties on. she pushes you into the wall, your back facing her. she’s got a hand under your shirt, cupping and playing with your soft breast, while the others already found their way into your undergarment.

you were taken off guard by how quick it started, just ten seconds ago you two were walking side by side to this location. 

“yelan,” you moaned lightly, making her put another digit into your soaked hole. 

“so wet, so desperate,” she smirked, grinding against your ass and putting yet another finger in. “so needy f’me.”

you whine a little at the pressure, gripping the walls to the points your knuckles turned white. she kept pumping in and out of you at a fast pace, curling her fingers into your gummy walls.

“‘m gonna cum-!” you moaned, the pleasure of release running through your body as you made a mess on her arm, the rest dripping down the wall and onto the floor. 

she helps you clean up and redress yourself, letting you keep her coat for the night to not draw attention to how soaked your bottoms got, even though they weren’t even on you. 

“shit, i’ve gotta head back to work now,” she kissed your forehead, putting the jacket over your waist. “i’ll be home late tonight. we can pick up where we left off if you stay awake long enough.”

you nodded, sharing a passionate kiss on the lips before parting ways.

[ghcstao3]

second time i'm putting ghost and tommy in a band just because

but them being pretty big in the underground punk scene but never straying from that local-band vibe even after they've attracted a decent following. their plan had never been to go big, just to make music, so that's what they do.

johnny's a frequenter of underground shows, and he just so happened to catch word of one when he's in manchester for whatever reason. so of course he goes, uncaring if he knows any names, because music is music, and he's just there for a good time.

when simon and tommy's band comes onto the stage, johnny is absolutely enamoured with the band. somehow it's just about everything he likes all meshed into one act, and while the frontman is energetic, and has seemingly perfected that line between professional and amateur in his sound, and the drummer and guitarist all the same—johnny's eyes are on the bassist the entire time.

his smeared eyeliner and half-obscured face, his messy hair and bloodied knuckles like he'd just come fresh from a fight before playing. his casual stance and dark eyes and—it's no wonder johnny subconsciously worms his way to the very front just to gaze up at the man from up close.

shame johnny hadn't caught the band's name when it had been announced. he feels a sudden need to follow them along all of their shows.

which, speaking of—once the set is over, johnny does the stupid thing of trying to find where the band heads off to. he'd done it once or twice before, and usually shows like this lend the acts to spend time with the crowd as a part of it at some point, so it's not... so difficult.

he doesn't end up finding the band—at least, not all of it.

because in the alley of the venue, johnny finds the bassist smoking, face now fully exposed as he brings a cigarette to his lips.

with nothing to lose but his dignity, johnny sidles up to the man as casually as he can manage, as if he hadn't just become a big fan.

"great gig," johnny says. "how long have you been playing?"

the bassist barely spares him a glance. "few years now. s'there somethin' i can help you with or what?"

his voice is a pleasant rumble in johnny's chest, as low and steady as the bass itself. his tone is indifferent, though, and johnny thinks to change that.

"only lookin' for a name." johnny shrugs, leaning perhaps a bit too close.

the bassist finally looks to him, a mild confusion written into his face. up close, his eyes are impossibly darker, voids johnny thinks he could gladly sink into.

"simon," he eventually supplies. "that it?"

johnny grins. "maybe. you have other shows coming up? haven't heard you guys before, and i have a bit of a thing for live music."

simon stares at him a moment. if johnny watched close enough—which he certainly does—he'd notice the subtle upwards quirk of simon's lips.

"we have gigs planned, yeah. you have a pen? i'll write the date for you."

johnny frowns, just a bit, before searching his person for something to write with.

the best he manages is an eyeliner pencil, but apparently it's good enough for simon to take johnny's arm to write on his skin. the drag of the pencil across his skin is harsh, though it's hardly simon's fault.

johnny watches simon's face the entire time, the lit cigarette dangling from his lips. he never once questions why he couldn't have just been told the date.

"try not to rub it," simon advises once he's finished, straightening his back and offering the pencil back to johnny. "see you around..."

"john," he says. he tucks the pencil away, never bothering to glance at his arm.

"johnny," simon decides instead, taking one last drag of his smoke before snubbing it out on the brick wall and flicking it to the ground. he brushes past johnny and disappears back inside through a door johnny hadn't previously noticed.

it isn't until much too late that johnny looks down and sees that a date had not, in fact, been written on his arm—but rather, a phone number.

cheeky bastard.

the worst part is that johnny still doesn't know the band's name.

[amhrosina]

Feelings are Fatal (Javier Peña x f!Reader)

MASTERLIST // JOIN MY TAGLIST

A/N: omg whatttttt amhrosina writing a fic about someone not in a marvel show/movie???? whatttt???? the people who know me in person (& one of my fav mutuals) knew this was coming. what can I say? it’s pedro fucking pascal and i've been in love with him since GOT lol enjoy this angst fest!  

request: rosi i noticed that you added pedro pascal to your writing list so im requesting a fic with javi comforting dea reader after a family member/friend dies. soft javi, maybe reader is drinking and theres an established but secret relationship. feel free not to write it if you dont like it but i saw your authors note about pedro and figured i would ask

Summary: Javi comforts reader after she gets terrible news and is forced to confront the depth of his feelings for her. Steve confronts Javi about his secret relationship.

(Warnings: angst, mentions of death, grief, minor injuries, alcohol, Javi is a grump but is a soft!boy w reader, cursing, lots of cigarettes lol, feelings are hard for javi)

The second you heard the receiver click on the other end of the line, the bulky phone slipped from your hand and tumbled to the floor. The booming crack of the plastic smacking the tile, followed by the trinkle of the pieces cascading across the floor, were the only sounds you could hear in the bullpen. You tried to find something to focus on, eyes glazing over as your heartbeat pounded in your ears. You scanned the area around you, skipping over Murphy’s concerned gaze and landing on Javi’s empty chair.  

Mierda. (Shit.) He was still chasing a lead in Cali, and he wasn’t supposed to be home until early tomorrow morning. It’s not like he would be able to do anything for you right now anyways, considering you were surrounded by people who would out your relationship in half a second if it meant their career might be boosted because of it, but his reassuring presence was something you sorely needed at the moment.  

Your chest tightened as you processed what your dad had just murmured through the phone. You had been sitting when you answered the phone, but at some point, you must’ve stood, because you were currently white knuckling the back of your chair.  

Murphy rolled his chair into your eyeline, waving his hands in the air. Everything around you sounded muffled, almost like you were under water, and you couldn’t focus on anything for longer than a few seconds. You ran through the tricks you knew off the top of your head to stave off a panic attack. You tried to take a deep breath, you counted the tiles on the floor, hell, you even tried to find five things you could see, but the rapidly rising pace of your heartbeat, and the shallow breaths you could barely manage told you your panic attack was in full swing already. 

A gentle presence on your wrist sent a shock through you so prevalent that you snapped to attention and the world suddenly got very loud. Murphy was standing in front of you with wide eyes, murmuring your name, while the lucky few agents that happened to be in the bullpen when your phone rang stood a few feet back, observing you with keen interest. You weren’t stupid enough to believe they cared about your wellbeing. Nosy fuckers.  

Your hands clenched into fists, shaking slightly. The indent of your nails pressing into your palm was a steady ache, one that you absolutely needed if you were going to walk out of the office without incident. And you knew that was where you needed to go. Away from here, away from the DEA’s bullshit bureaucracy, away from Pablo Escobar and his sicarios. You stumbled away from Murphy, turning on your heels when you reached the lip of the bottom stair. You would explain everything to everyone later, when you could think again. ‘If you still have a job later, pendeja (asshole/idiot),’ you thought miserably. 

You barely remember jumping into your front seat, nor starting the car, nor pulling out of the police headquarters lot. You had a vague awareness that you arrived home when you unlocked your front door, but you were stuck in autopilot, and couldn’t bear to think about why you were stuck in autopilot.  

You eyed the bottle of liquor Javi had left in your kitchen the last time he was here and sighed. Yes, you thought, that’s perfect. 

- 

Javi was driving like a maniac, and he didn’t give two shits about it. When Steve had called earlier, he hadn’t been able to give any details about their partner’s bizarre behavior, other than her hasty departure from DEA headquarters after a strange phone call. Steve was puzzled, but otherwise not too concerned about her. Javi, on the other hand, had carefully untangled himself from his business in Cali and hopped on the next available and inconspicuous flight home he could manage.  

He could feel in his gut that something was wrong, and he couldn’t leave his girl hanging, job or no job. He wasn’t any closer to capturing Escobar anyways and had already determined that his trip to Cali was a colossal waste of time and resources before Steve had called him.  

He’d been pulled away from DEA headquarters for long enough, and this was the perfect excuse for him to high tail it out of Cali and come home. He was tired, and he missed his conejita (bunny – term of endearment), and even though he’d never admit it, he missed Murphy’s early morning grumblings too.  

He peeled into the nearest parking spot he could find to the apartment building and hurdled himself out of the driver’s seat. When he entered the building, he eyed the door at the top of the stairs. Dark – either Murphy was still at the office, asleep, or sitting in his apartment in complete darkness. His apartment was also dark, but a soft glow emitted from under his conejita’s door, and he breathed a sigh of relief.  

He considered using the key she had given him for emergencies. Did this count as an emergency? He sure thought so, but he didn’t want to startle her, so he knocked on the door with anxious trepidation. He waited, straining to listen through the door for any sign of life inside the apartment. There was nothing, and then there was the loud crash of something glass hitting the floor, and Javi was through the door before she could let out a yelp.  

She was on her hands and knees, hunched on the floor by her couch. Broken glass was all over the floor around her, though Javi couldn’t tell what she’d broken. He was more concerned for her palms and kneecaps, all of which were being pushed into the broken glass shards with little resistance on her end. He rushed to her side, lifting her off of the glass and into his arms.  

“Javi?” She slurred, raising her chin in a defiant gesture.  

“Cariño (honey), what happened?” He noted the way she slurred her words and the fact that her cheeks were tinted pink. “Have you been drinking?”  

“Have you been drinking, Agent Grumpy?” She pouted, trying to mimic the way Javi’s lips would poke out when he was upset about something.  

Clearly, she’d been drinking, but Javi couldn’t figure out what might’ve spurred this behavior. Out of him, Murphy, and her, she was the most levelheaded of the trio, and the least likely to drown her sorrows in a bottle of liquor. Dread coiled in his gut. Something awful must’ve gone down while he was gone, and he couldn’t help but feel like the idiot that couldn’t keep up. 

“Baby,” he murmured, carefully navigating through the millions of tiny glass shards all over her living room floor, “¿Que paso (what happened)?”  

“I dropped the bottle.” She breathed, clutching onto his shirt with her bloody hands. He didn’t care. He’d use a hundred of his shirts to stop her bleeding. He carefully set her down in a kitchen chair, untangling his limbs from hers. She seemed more alert now, more awake than when he’d busted through the door moments before. The cuts on her hands and knees were probably to blame for that, but Javi couldn’t breathe a sigh of relief yet. First, he had to find a first aid kit.  

Every agent was trained in basic first aid, and if they felt like being kiss-asses, they could take classes to get certified in trauma response. Javi hadn’t felt like being a kiss-ass, but he knew he way around a first aid kit. As he poked around her kitchen and bathroom cabinets, he stuck his head in the hallway every few seconds, checking on her. She was waiting patiently at the kitchen table where he’d left her, but she’d adopted a look that could only be described as “far away”, and his concern was growing by the minute.  

Javi couldn’t figure it out. When they’d talked on the phone this morning, she was fine, chipper even. She was excited that he’d be home soon, and he had promised that he’d make up for the nights they’d lost while he was working in Cali. When her voice had dropped to a whisper, and she revealed that Murphy had just walked into the bullpen thirty minutes early, his breath had hitched in his throat as he almost let the words “I love you” slip from between his lips.  

Javi wasn’t inexperienced with women, but he was sure that she was the only woman in the world that could get him that tongue tied. When the receiver clicked, indicating that she'd hung up, Javi had spent entirely too long staring at the phone in his hands, listening to the dial tone drone on and on as he searched his brain for wherever the hell that had come from.  

But that couldn’t be what was bothering her. Steve had mentioned a phone call, but she’d hung up the phone with him before 8am, and she didn’t start acting weird until almost ten hours later. There had to be someone, something bothering her, and Javi’s chest ached with rage about it. The only person allowed to bother her was him, and he took that job very seriously. 

“Bebé (Baby),” he sighed, propping the medical kit open on the kitchen table, “Will you tell me what’s going on?” 

She swallowed thickly, sighing as he pulled up a chair in front of her. He gently lifted her hands to the light so he could see the cuts. They were shallow, but hands always bled a lot, so both of her palms were stained a deep crimson. She watched him as he began to remove pieces of glass from the cuts, and he waited patiently for her to explain herself. He’d wait for as long as she needed him to. 

- 

The stinging sensation hadn’t left your trembling hands, but you wanted to be tough in front of Javi, so you watched quietly as he wrapped your hands in thick gauze. He’d lit a cigarette two minutes ago, puffing smoke in the air at regular intervals as he worked. When he finally moved on to your knees, which had stopped bleeding ten minutes ago, you tried to figure out exactly what to say to him.  

It wasn’t every day that your significant other’s mom suddenly and inexplicably dies during an evening nap, leaving everyone, especially your significant other, baffled and choked by her loss. His mom had quietly passed away earlier the year before, and he was only gone for two days before returning to Colombia. He hadn’t broached the topic since then, and you weren’t as comfortable with him then as you were now. You could confidently say that you had no idea how this was going to go. 

You took a breath, and before you could talk yourself out of it, mumbled the same words your dad had spoken hours before, causing your world to crumble around you. 

“Mi mamá está muerta. (My mom is dead.)” 

Javi sucked in a breath, lifting his gaze towards yours with a pitiful expression. Tears welled in your eyes, and for the first time since you’d heard the horrible news, you allowed yourself to cry. Javi dropped the gauze on the table and wrapped his muscular arms around your neck, pulling you into his chest.  

“Oh, Cariño,” he cooed, kissing your hair as you sobbed into his shirt, “Lo siento, bebé. (I’m sorry, baby.)” 

His shirt was sure to be irreparably stained now that your blood and tears were soaked into it, but he didn’t seem to mind. He stroked your back, kissed your head, and held you close while you cried and cried into his chest. He’d never seen you so vulnerable before, and a rush of fear shot through you at the thought of him scaring away because of that, but every time you tried to push away from him, he’d tighten his hold on you and urge you to let it out. 

When you finally got a handle on your sobs, Javi pulled back, searching your expression for any further breakage. He’d weather it, this awful storm, for as long as you needed him to. You knew that, and even still, when he began to put the pieces of you back together again, your heart melted at the thought of him.  

Javier Peña was not the guy that women came crying to in the middle of the night. He was the guy you picked up for the one-night stand, the one you’d talk about for years afterwards, the one you’d think about as ‘the one that got away’ until you were too old to remember his name and where he came from. That was Javier Peña, and yet, he was in your kitchen, cleaning up your wounds, healing the part of you that was inexplicably broken. If only Murphy could see you guys now. 

“Cuando es el funeral? (When is the funeral?)” He asked, blotting at the scabs on your knees.  

“Next weekend.” You murmured, wincing as he taped gauze over a particularly deep cut. 

“When mi mamá died,” he started, and you stopped breathing, unwilling to be the one to fuck this conversation up before it even started, “I didn’t let myself mourn the way I should have. I tried to sweep it under the rug, ‘ya know?” 

You nodded, remembering the weeks after his return from Texas. He had thrown himself into his work, which made yours and Murphy’s lives a little easier for a while, though neither of you preferred it that way.  

“Let yourself mourn, Cariño. It’s my biggest regret.” 

“Okay.” You nodded, though you weren’t sure exactly what he meant by that. You spoke before you could stop yourself. “You can still mourn her. There’s not a time limit on grief.”  

It sort of felt like the air was sucked out of the room. You’d never said something so bold to Javi, especially not about his personal life. You were five seconds away from blaming your brashness on the alcohol you’d consumed, even though you’d sobered up fairly quickly once he’d arrived, when he nodded. 

“That’s true, Cariño.” 

You blinked. You must really look like shit if Javi wasn’t actively building walls around himself. Sure, he’d opened up a little throughout the relationship, but he was still working on being vulnerable with you, and he had a lot of work left to do. You knew he was plagued by nightmares – you were too, and who, working this job, wouldn’t be? – but he wouldn’t talk about them with anyone. Instead, he’d pull you closer, kiss you harder, and make you forget why he’d woken in the first place. It was a coping mechanism that both of you recognized as ‘not actually coping’ but neither of you had the resources or the energy to work through that trauma. At least, not yet. 

He lit another cigarette, and you watched him breathe in the smoke deeply. He lifted it toward you, and you eagerly parted your lips, taking a much needed drag. Before Colombia, before Javi, you hadn’t touched a cigarette in your life. After being assigned to team Murphy-Peña, you felt like you had a perpetual cloud of smoke hovering over you at all times.  

Javi brushed his hands together and threw the remaining unused gauze back in the first aid kit. He gently pulled you from your seat, and the slight movement sent a sting through your legs. You were already regretting the alcohol and your hangover hadn’t even started yet. 

“Let’s sleep at my place tonight, Cariño. We’ll clean this up tomorrow.” 

You nodded, teary eyed again. You didn’t want to think about tomorrow, or next week, or any time in the future that didn’t include your mom. If Javi noticed your tears, he didn’t say anything about them, and you were grateful for his wherewithal. He always knew exactly how to handle you, and that was part of the reason you’d fallen in love with him.  

Love. You blanched. Nope. Not thinking about that right now. 

You shrugged the thought away as Javi lifted you bridal style in his arms. Javier Peña didn’t fall in love, and you certainly weren’t going to be the woman to challenge that. 

- 

Bonus Scene: Steve confronting Javi about his secret relationship with you. 

“Are you fucking stupid? You’ve got to be, to pull this bullshit.” 

Javi watched Steve pace across his living room. Again. He’d been walking a hole in the rug for half an hour, and Javi wasn’t sure Steve would be stopping his rant anytime soon.  

Technically, Javi deserved this. Everything Steve was saying was true. He was jeopardizing not only his career, but hers too. The integrity of the investigation against Escobar would be questioned if word got out that two of the three agents assigned to his case were fucking each other. Not to mention how quickly procedure would be thrown out the window if either of them were in danger. There’s a reason why those rules existed. 

But like most things, it wasn’t that simple. Javi hadn’t been able to offer an excuse for when Steve caught him carrying her into his apartment, taped to high hell with gauze and tipsy as all get out. He’d simply shrugged, unlocked the door, and carried her through the frame without a second glance. 

Now, Steve wasn’t stupid, but he chalked up that incident to her being overwhelmed with grief. What friend wouldn’t offer their couch up to their drunk, mourning partner when she needed it? What he didn’t know was how often she slept at Javi’s already. She even had a toothbrush in his bathroom and a stack of books piled on one of the nightstands in his bedroom.  

Steve’s suspicions might’ve grown a little the weekend that she went home to Oceanside for her mother’s funeral. Weekends meant little to the DEA agents working Escobar’s case – every day was another day they could possibly learn information that may or may not give them someone who might know something about Escobar, or not – but Javi was especially fidgety the two days she was off on leave. 

Steve finally demanded to know what the hell was bothering Javi when he caught him staring at her empty seat for the third time in an hour. Javi brushed it off, claiming he hadn’t been sleeping well, but Steve wasn’t so easily persuaded to look the other way again.  

The final straw, the one that prompted the yelling and the insults and the pacing, made Javi’s relationship with her so obvious that there wasn’t a chance in hell he could talk his way out of it. Steve, being the hero best buddy that he was, had heard an alarming thump from Javi’s apartment, and taken it upon himself to investigate. What he hadn’t been expecting to find was his two partners, tangled in each other’s limbs, going at it on the kitchen counter like rabbits.  

Hence, the yelling. 

“I mean, seriously Javi? You could fuck any woman in the world, and you chose the one woman that’s off limits!” 

“Listen, man. I-” 

Javi tried again to interrupt Steve’s rant, to explain himself and what he felt for her. Steve was missing the bigger picture. Javi wasn’t just fucking her, he loved her. He couldn’t figure out if that would make Steve more or less angry about it. 

“You what, man? You what?!” Steve threw his hands in the air, beckoning an excuse that might help him understand why his partners would be such idiots. 

Javi struggled to translate his feelings into words. He hadn’t even told her yet exactly how he felt and saying it now felt weirdly similar to a trial run. He searched his head for the right words to describe what she was to him. 

“I’ve been sleeping.” Javi rested his hands on his hips and sighed, eyes flickering across the ceiling as he realized how incredibly stupid that sounded outside of his brain. “I know I love her, because I can sleep after I’ve talked to her.” 

Steve studied Javi, searching for any signs of deception. He narrowed his eyes when he couldn’t find any. 

“What do you mean you ‘love’ her?” 

“I mean, I fucking love her, man. I don’t know what you want me to say.” Javi was growing restless, tugging at the neckline of his button-down shirt. Conversations like these always made him antsy, and he could feel the temperature in his cheeks rising. 

“You.” Steve cocked a grin, “Javier Peña. In love? I’m not buying it man.” 

“Well, I’m not going to try and convince you.” It was Javi’s turn to throw his hands in the air in distress. He lit a cigarette and inhaled deeply. 

“You actually care about her?” Steve’s expression morphed from disbelief to genuine shock. Javi wished he could take a picture to savor the moment. 

“Are you going to say anything to anyone?”  

Javi would normally never be so obvious about his fears, but he was thinking about her, back in her apartment, probably walking a hole into her rug as she waited for Steve and Javi to hash their shit out. The look on her face when Steve started yelling was enough to make Javi panic, and he was not above begging if it meant keeping her out of trouble. 

“Nah, man.” Steve shook his head, plopping down on Javi’s couch. Javi sagged with relief. “Just don’t make it so obvious. I was suspicious before I walked in on you two.” 

“Yeah, man.” Javi took another drag of his cigarette.  

“Have you told her?” 

“Told her what?” Javi couldn’t keep the bite from his tone. 

“That you love her.” 

Javi envied the ease that Steve managed when he talked about love. Before she’d been transferred to Colombia, Javi had never, in his life, been able to understand why anyone would choose to fall in love. He recognized the signs of it from the years of watching his parents interact, but he’d never experienced it before. When Steve talked about Connie, whether it was a complaint or not, there was always an underlying tone of love in his words. When she showed up, everything Javi had ever thought about love was scrambled, and it terrified him. 

“No.” He blew out a slow trail of smoke. 

Steve nodded slowly in understanding. If anyone in the world could comprehend Javi’s mindset right now, it was the guy he’d spent hours and hours with every day for years. 

“Maybe you should.” 

“Yeah, maybe I should.” 

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

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[pluto247]

The Four Mistakes - pt 2

Thinking about doing a part 3...

Katie McCabe x Reader

Warnings: Mentions of Injury

It seemed like every step was a chore, even with Katie supporting your entire body weight. You groaned with every step. Katie was basically dragging you, at least that is what you felt was happening as you could barely lift your feet. 

“I know y/n, I know it hurts but we are almost home.” Katie would reassure you, although you were pretty sure she was scared shitless and trying to keep you calm. Fun fact, you were anything but calm. 

The 10 minute walk back to Katie's house felt more like 2 hours with how slow you felt you were walking, but you have to give Katie credit, she can most definitely drag a 60 kg 17 year old like there is no tomorrow. When we did get back to the house, Katie practically threw you in the back seat and jumped in the driver's seat. Driving like a mad woman to the nearest hospital, you took notice of her right hand. It could have been broken, it was swollen with dried and fresh blood flowing down her arm. It seemed as though she hadn’t really taken notice, it was the least of her problems to be fair. 

“Don’t fall asleep on me back there, ya hear?”

“I’ll try my best” you whispered. Gosh, even talking hurt. 

“You’re going to be just fine y/n. Ya gotta be.”

Katie pulled right outside the emergency doors and threw open her door to grab you from the backseat. Once you were safely tucked into her side, the both of you made your way to the entrance of the emergency room. Surprisingly, the emergency room seemed to not be as chaotic as they portray in drama shows. So a nurse was on us the moment we came through the doors. 

“We will take her from here ma’am” she said while getting on my other side, “Tell us everything you know.” 

“Um.. I.. He..” Katie stuttered out, as they transferred me to a gurney and wheeled me away.

“Ma’am, your hand. You are hurt, let me help you.” She said gently grabbing Katies right hand,

Katie recoiled a little bit, hissing at the contact, finally realizing that she in fact was in a great deal of pain. Her pain only became relevant now that you were in the hands of people capable of helping you. 

“Ma’am, do you know who you brought in? Do you know who we can call? Can I please help you? I think you broke your hand” The nurse asked

“Um, she's my kid. I am the one who you would call.” She responded shakily

“Ok, good. Is there anyone we can call for you? You don’t seem to be doing ok.”

Katie thought for a few seconds before fishing out her phone and handing it to the nurse “Uh, yea me best mate. And yea me hand hurts help would be appreciated, if ya wouldn’t mind. Is she gonna be alright? What are they going to do?”

“We will not know until the doctor comes back, but we will let you know as soon as they come back. Now let's go over here and take a look at your hand.” The nurse said while leading Katie back into an examination room. She began to look at the hand in more detail before reaching over to grab some cleaning supplies and clean her knuckles.

“I’m Nancy by the way, what’s your name?” The nurse said after starting to clean Katies wounds.

“My name is Katie, do ya think my hand is broken?”

“Straight to the point I see. Well, we will need an x-ray to say for sure and what kind of treatment would be needed, but I am 80% sure you indeed have a broken hand Katie,”

“Damn, I was hoping you wouldn’t say that. Do I at least get a cool cast?”

“Of course, in any color you want. But let me go and put in for an x-ray and check up on the status of your child. What's her name? Nancy said while standing up

“Her names y/n, y/n McCabe” Katie responded tearfully

*****

A half hour had passed before another person burst through the emergency room doors. 

“I’m looking for Katie McCabe? Where is she?” Viv asked the front desk

“She is just about to come back to the waiting room, looks like she just got her cast done so the nurse will send her your way if you will just have a seat ma’am.” 

Viv nodded and turned around to look for an open chair perfectly positioned to see everything but not be so far away that she couldn’t hear if the nurse called your name. In the middle of her consideration, she felt a pair of arms wrap around her torso. She looked over and saw Katie, so she wrapped her arms around her shoulders. 

“Hey, are you ok?” Viv spoke after a minute

“I don’t know, I will be once I see her. Viv… she was in bad shape… I …” Katie said before being caught by a wave of emotion. 

“Hey. Look at me, she is going to be fine. She’s a McCabe, you all are a stubborn lot. Now lets sit down and tell me what happened”

*****

Katie was currently tucked into Vivs side, her leg bouncing in anticipation, impatiently waiting for the doctor to say your name. 

“So, why did you have them call me instead of Caitlin?” Viv wondered out loud 

“Well, Cait is out with Steph and Kyra. I didn’t want to ruin her night, and ya were the next person I could think of to help me.” Katie confessed. “Where's Beth? Ya guys are attached at the hip.”

“Ah, Steph called like 10 min before I got the phone call. She got invited to hang out with the Aussies.”

“God, that's trouble.”

Finally, your name was called, “Family of y/n McCabe?” 

Katie  and Viv shot up and made their way to the doctor.

“Hi, yea that’s us. Is she ok?” Katie rushed out 

“Yes, y/n is alright. If you follow me, we will go back and see her. She is a little out of it because we gave her some strong pain meds, just a warning.” They said while walking down the corridor. They walked past a few more doors until the doctor turned left and went through the door.

“y/n, how are you feeling?” The doctor greeted you.

As they walked in the room, Katie was finally able to see you. You were sitting up and looking at the door with a dopey look on your face. She took note of all the physical injuries she could see, you had a black eye, a few stitches around your eyebrow and a cut adorning your lip. As well as a bandage around your right hand. 

“I’m okayyyy. The funky juice ya gave me is makin me feel fuzy, but its all goooood becuz ya brought me Mum. Oh! And Auntie Viv!”

The doctor chuckled a little bit, “Mhmm, I sure did. They are gonna take you home soon, I just need to tell your mum a few things, is that alright?”

You looked flabbergasted, “pfffttt, of course. She already knows everything about meee”

“Alright, so I am sure you can see most of the damage. She has a few stitches in her face and quite a few in her hand. We have it covered so that nothing gets into her… incisions. You will have to come back to get all the stitches removed in about 2 weeks. We checked her torso area, and found that she has no broken bones, she did however have a few fractured ribs and severe bruising. That is the reason for the strong pain meds. I imagine she will be in quite a bit of pain for about a week or so because of that. Any questions?”

“Um, is there a way I can get you to send both my report and hers to our work? And I can take her back home tonight?” 

“Yea, that shouldn’t be a problem. Just need a medical release so that we can send those over and those can be there by the morning. Yes, you can take her home tonight. We don’t need to keep her for observation, but if anything changes please do come back and we can take a look.” 

“Ok, thank you very much.” Katie replied and then turned to you. “Hey kid, ya really gave me a scare there.” She continued, gently cupping your cheek.

“I’m sowry, I didn’t mean to” You replied looking tearful

“Hey, no. It’s alright, I… I just hated to see you like that, but you are alright now. Auntie Viv is going to take us home” She softly smiled before leaning in and placing a light kiss on your forehead. You leaned into her touch, closing your eyes briefly. 

*****

You all had arrived home far too late for Katie’s pleasure. It was nearing 3 am when you stumbled through the front door.

“Hey, careful there kid. Lets not have to go back to the hospital, alright?” Katie said, worry laced in her voice

“I am like sooo careful, ya don’t even know. Now where is the boi??? I am in need of cuddles” You retort back, head swiveling in search of cooper. 

Viv chuckled, as she grabbed your arm and pulled you into her side “God, she’s so high.”

“C’mon, we need to go to bed. Ya can sleep in my bed with cooper too.”

“Yayyyyy, now where is he??? And what about auntie Viv, where is she going to sleep?” you say, determined and confused.

Katie turned to Viv, “I actually did not think of that. We have practice tomorrow… Ya can sleep over obviously, I think Cait said something about spending the night at Stephs”

“Yea, that would be great. I can drive you both in tomorrow, you will have to talk to Jonas and the Physio. I can do that if it would make it easier.” Viv said while practically dragging you to Katie's bedroom.

“That would be great, I don’t know if I could talk about it again without breaking down. Would you mind taking us later, so everyone is on the pitch already, I don’t want the kid to be overwhelmed.”

“Yea, I will text Jonas now. I am in no shape to train tomorrow either, I am so tired.”

Viv helped you lay down in the middle of the bed, where you were now picking up cooper from where he was and placing him on your chest. Your quest of finding your furry friend now over. 

As Viv was sending a message to Jonas, Katie got into the bed and pulled the covers up. Cooper moving off y/n’s chest and onto her own. You however, were sad that cooper had left you so you moved to your side and cuddled into Katies side sighing contently as Katie wrapped an arm around you protectively. When Viv had turned around, she chuckled.

“May I join the cuddle pile?” 

“Of course, auntie Viv. Come on my other side, so that I am a sandwich!”

“What kind of sandwich?” Viv asked as she got into the bed, spooning you

“A love sandwich, silly” you said tiredly.

 “My bad, now go to bed kid, you have a long day tomorrow.” Viv said as she felt herself being claimed by the warmth of sleep. 

[softspeirs]

These Heartbeats Clear (4): Rosie Rosenthal x OC

A/N: You mean I was supposed to watch ep 7 and Rosie run towards a recently landed B-17 all heroically and not write something where he helps with the wounded? *laughs maniacally* These Heartbeats Clear Masterlist

four (loss & grief)

Heads tilted upwards, every stood-down pilot, crew member, and civilian on base counts the number of planes coming in.

It's always fewer than they expect.

The 100th is taking so many losses at this point in the war, Rosie is not surprised when two planes barely make the runway. Red-red flares, wounded aboard. Landing gear screeching, holes in wings smoking, and he's moving before he can even think about what he's doing.

The hatch is open and a slew of bullet casings come tumbling out, a crew member not far behind, dazed. Rosie reaches for him out of instinct, gripping his elbow to keep him upright.

"You're all right, son." He says, but the Captain either doesn't hear him, or hasn't processed it. Rosie lets go.

His attention is drawn, as it tends to be, to the arrival of Lieutenant Grace Fleming. Her face is pale, but set in grim determination.

She meets his eyes for a split second. If she’s surprised to see him there, she doesn’t show it, instead she focuses on the man in front of her, fallen to his knees. His breath comes in fits and spurts.

“Captain—“ She barks, eyes flicking up to Rosie’s once more. “A hand.”

It’s not a request. If he’s here, he has to make himself useful. Another nurse on her left, they’re lowering the man to the ground.

“Need him on a litter right away.”

“Count of three.” Rosie confirms, another member of the medical corps arriving at their side with a stretcher.

“Nurse—“ the man stutters, blood seeping from between his chattering teeth. “Miss Grace, please.”

Grace freezes for only a moment, but it’s enough for Rosie to see. Her jaw clenches. “I’m here, you’re alright. Try to slow your breathing for me, okay?” Her hands are gentle as she clasps his. She presses their interlocked hands to the man’s chest, leaning over him. “You’ve got a bad leg wound and some shrapnel elsewhere, we’re going to get you inside and take care of you.”

“Please,” he begs again. “Grace, I don’t want to die.”

Rosie is relieved when Grace looks at him, nodding once. “Count of three.” She says.

One, two, three, and they’re lifting. Into the ambulance the young Lieutenant goes, and Grace is right behind. Rosie helps her in, hands gripping around her waist and hoisting her inside before he can second guess touching her like that.

“Later.” She says to him quietly before shutting the door.

It didn’t need to be said - their sunset meetings on the hard stand have been a staple for the both of them since he came back from the flak house.

He turns back to the chaotic scene behind him, wanting to help. Scenes like this are becoming more and more common. It makes alarm bells ring in his head. Somehow, though, it makes him more sure about his next move.

.

He waits around on the hard stand for a half hour before a feeling in his gut has him turning back towards the barracks.

He goes to the women's hut first. Shaking his head at his sudden nervousness, he raps his knuckles on the door. Entering uninvited seems wrong, and when the door is opened in front of him, he hastily whips off his hat and clutches it between his fingers.

"Captain!" The woman says, and Rosie is embarrassed to admit to himself that he doesn't know her name.

"I'm looking for--"

"Grace?" Word has gotten around, then. "She hasn't been here. Still at the hospital as far as I know. She missed dinner."

Rosie frowns. That's not like her.

Following his gut, he thanks the woman at the door and turns on his heels, heading in the opposite direction. Not for the first time, he wishes he had a jeep or a bike at his disposal - he knows he could find someone to give him a lift, but he doesn't want to draw any more attention to his meeting with Grace than he apparently already has.

The hospital is eerily silent. He forces himself inside - he still hates the smell and the way everything is so blindingly white.

A few men he recognizes from the landing earlier are in bed, most asleep. Their wounds range from what appear to be minor to a man who is bandaged nearly from head to toe.

There is still blood on the floor.

He steps carefully past the last bed. Still no sign of Grace.

Water runs in a small room to his left, and he makes his footfalls a little heavier in hopes that he doesn't startle her if she is indeed still here, preparing to leave for the day.

He peers around the corner to see her, hands deep in the washing basin. She is scrubbing at her hands so hard, she sounds out of breath. A sick, sinking feeling hits him in the gut.

"Grace." He says her name softly. It comes out hoarse. He takes a few steps closer when she doesn't react. "Grace?"

She's still scrubbing at her hands. When he gets close enough, he can see the color of her skin - bright pink, the water so hot steam is rising from the tap. The soap running from her fingers is clean, not a tinge of any color that shouldn't be there running down the drain.

Her hands are shaking.

Without saying anything else, he reaches for the tap and shuts it off. She doesn't stop rubbing at her hands, her knuckles, her fingernails.

"Grace." His voice is firmer this time. His hands settle over hers. He almost pulls away because of how hot her touch is, but the shaking only gets worse in her long fingers, and he grips her tighter out of instinct.

"He didn't make it." She says, voice like he's never heard it before. Flat. Emotionless. "The Lieutenant from--" She stops, and it's not really a cry, but more of a strangled noise that leaves her throat. "His plane was called Borrowed Time."

Rosie's throat is tight as he watches her. He gently guides her away from the sink, hands still tight around hers. "Come on, sit down for a second."

"I can't-- I have to get the blood off."

"Gracie, you're clean, okay?"

"He-- he begged me." She looks at him then. There are tears in her eyes, but he knows her well enough to know she won't let them fall. "He didn't call for his mother, or for God. He begged me."

Rosie throws all caution to the wind. He pulls her sideways so she's half in his lap. His arms go around her, tugging her close, her head finding purchase on his shoulder. Her breathing is strangled, and he knows she's trying not to break.

"You did everything you could." He assures her. "I know you did everything you could."

"You don't know that. Not for sure."

He's shaking his head before she can even finish her sentence. "Yes, I do. There's no one better than you, Grace."

She's quiet for a long time before she pulls away from him. His arms open automatically, and he clears his throat as a sudden awkwardness lands between them like an anvil. "I need to get out of here." She whispers.

"Come on." He says, holding his hand out to her. It feels like an eternity waiting to see if she'll take it.

She does.

.

Lemmons appears at some point to hand over a hastily wrapped parcel of sandwiches and sodas. Rosie looks up at him gratefully, even more grateful when Ken doesn't say anything - he's gotten used to seeing Rosie and Grace out here together.

Grace's face is a mask of stoicism, but Rosie knows better by now. He can see the crease in between her eyebrows that only shows up when she's tired or worried.

He can see the way her shoulders slump downward, her posture normally ramrod straight from years of being shouted at by her parents.

When they're alone again, he watches her carefully for signs that she's knitting herself back together. He doesn't know if his more-than-forward touch in the hospital was wanted, so he doesn't try again, though his fingers itch with the urge to take her hand or pull her close so he can feel her warmth.

"Your twenty-fifth is coming soon." She says suddenly.

He frowns at her. "Why are you thinking about that?"

"You have to go home, Rosie." Her voice trembles.

He takes a step backward. "What? I--"

"Captain Rosenthal, so help me, if you go up there again, you're going to end up in a hospital bed, and if you make me have to tend to you like that, I'll never speak to you again."

His hands go to his hips as he weighs his words. He doesn't want to upset her, he doesn't want to pretend that everything is going to be fine -- hell, he might not make it back at all, let alone without a scratch.

"I can't promise you that."

She stares at him. "You're going to re-up after twenty five." It's not a question.

"The thought has crossed my mind."

She wraps her arms around herself, and he sees it for what it is, shielding herself for what she sees as an unavoidable blow coming her way.

He takes a few steps closer to her, unable to stand the distance any longer. "I'm going to come back." His voice is firm, full of the conviction he feels because he trusts himself, he trusts his men, and because he has something to come back for. He's tired of pretending that's not the case. "I'm going to come back, and I swear I won't have more than minor mending for you to do, all right?"

She looks up at him, the slight widening of her eyes the only indication that he's standing closer than she thought he was. But she doesn't back away.

Her arms fall from around her waist, and reach for him instead. He lets out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding.

Her touch moves from grasping his hand up to his elbow, and then she's tugging him closer, folding him into an embrace. This time it's him who finds a spot for his forehead on her shoulder, inhaling as he feels her grip him tight.

"Thank you." She whispers. Whether it's for the promise of coming back or for pulling her back from the brink today, he wants to tell her that she doesn't need to thank him, that he would be the one to pull her back a hundred times over if it meant he'd get to have these moments with her.

When they pull apart, arms still around each other, he watches the fading sunlight in her eyes and thinks he's never wanted to kiss someone so badly in his entire life.

How he restrains himself, he has no idea.

They walk back to the barracks hand in hand after he stares her down, laughing when she rolls her eyes at him demanding she eat some food in his presence before she goes to sleep.

At the door, he watches her shoulders straighten and hears her take a big, deep breath. He recognizes the motions because he does them too, every time before he hauls himself through the hatch again.

Once more unto the breach.

He's so proud of her. For fighting her way through the hardest day of the war for her so far, for getting up each day and finding a way to be a comforting touch, a healing hand, and a smiling face for these men. He wonders if she has any idea how many lives she's saved, and not just from medicine.

One day he'll have the courage to put into words what she means to him, too.

Today, though, he raises his hand in a farewell as he takes a few steps backward, and laughs under his breath as she blushes just a little.

Her smile plays on a loop over and over again as he falls asleep that night.

[valleydean]

Chapter 15 [Read Here]

CHAMPION Part III of Heavyweight a deancas boxing au by valleydean (emmbrancsxx0) read from the beginning | playlist

SUMMARY: Brooklyn, 1933. Dean Winchester, the number one contender, trains to become the next Heavyweight Champion of the World, and this time he won't let anything get in his way. Title holder Castiel Novak has second thoughts about retiring, especially when someone from his past arrives in New York and asks for his help. Meanwhile, a new contender rises to fame and threatens to complicate both of Dean and Cas' ambitions - and their relationship.

CHAPTER PREVIEW:

Dean and Cas had high-tailed it to the NBA office, where Bobby and Michael were already waiting for them. Gabriel showed up a minute after them, and then Sam, whom Bobby had brought in for “legal advice.” Crowley’s assistant sequestered them all in the conference room. They hadn’t been waiting very long before Crowley walked in, took one look at Dean and Cas, and asked them if they were “really that stupid.”

Since then, Dean had half-heard a lot of yelling and not a lot of solutions through the raging tinnitus in his ears. He repeatedly tried to pipe up, but his vocal cords were paralyzed. All he could do was sit there with his head in his hands. His eyes flashed to Cas, seated beside him. Cas hadn’t said much, either. He’d kept his gaze down and his white-knuckled fists on his lap pretty much since they’d entered the room.

He must have felt Dean’s eyes on him. His gaze swept up, blue and hapless and about as terrified as Dean felt inside his own bones. Dean reached over and put his hand over Cas’ fist, stroked Cas’ wrist with his thumb. Cas exhaled shakily.

“You’re out of your grapefruit if you think I’m puttin’ him on a radio show for this crap!” Bobby yelled, spit flying from under his mustache. His face was red with anger under the rim of his newsboy cap, which meant Dean would probably get his ass handed to him the second they were alone. He just hoped Bobby would tucker himself out screaming at Crowley before that happened.

“Then what do you suggest, Robert?” Crowley retorted from where he was standing at the head of the table, his hands flat on the surface as he leaned into them. His face was an even riper shade of tomato-red than Bobby’s.

“Something that don’t involve more media!”

“It may be inevitable at this point,” Michael pointed out.

Dean’s eyes stayed glued to Cas’. Cas shook his head slightly, his lips a pale, thin line of anxiety. Dean gave his hand a squeeze, trying to reassure him that at least they were in this shitstorm together. He barely noticed Sam’s empathetic expression as his gaze flickered down to Dean and Cas’ conjoined hands.

“Oh, come on,” Bobby argued. “You want this in every legitimate newspaper across the nation? We don’t have to issue a public denial every time one of them stubs a toe!”

“You call this a stubbed toe?” Gabriel said, snatching one of the magazines from the pile and holding it up to Bobby.

Crowley’s team had bought up all the magazine copies they could find, but it was too late. Too much of the public had already gotten their hands on it. And that was only in New York.

“I call it a story that’ll blow over by Sunday if we don’t feed it,” Bobby answered.

“This wouldn’t have happened at all if you kept Winchester in line,” Gabriel said, pointing a finger at Bobby. Dean winced slightly, because Bobby didn’t deserve that. This was all Dean’s fault.

“You wanna talk about which one of us is bad at our jobs?” Bobby said, steam practically coming out of his ears. “You’re the one who was supposed to kill the story.”

“I did!”

“Apparently all you did was stun it.”

“Hey!” Sam shouted, interrupting before there was any bloodshed. “Fighting isn’t getting us anywhere.”

His eyes flashed warily toward Dean and Cas. He breathed out heavily and ran his hand through his hair. “The story’s out. We need to talk about a solution, not—not point fingers at each other.”

“Now I see why people call you the smarter one. Although it isn’t hard to come out on top with this lot,” Crowley commented, earning himself a scowl from Sam. “I couldn’t agree more. We need to find out who exactly is to blame for leaking this story.”

“I think that’s fairly obvious,” Michael said. “It had to have been my brother and Mr. Webb.”

Dean gnashed his teeth at the mention of Lee’s name. A few weeks ago, he would have defended Lee, said he’d never do something like this. But now, he wouldn’t put it past the guy. The only problem was, Dean hadn’t told him what had happened in Kansas City.

“How would he have known to go after that?” he asked.

Cas wrinkled his face in a cross between annoyance and disbelief. “You’re still defending him?”

“Hell no,” Dean answered quickly. “I’m just saying, he didn’t know what happened.”

Sam said, “Yeah, but Dean, it’s not like he didn’t know about you two. Luc, too. They could have—I dunno—put some feelers out to see what kinda dirt they could dig up.”

“Exactly,” Michael agreed. “They had the means, and the motive. The timing of this is too coincidental. We just announced Webb would fight Castiel next month. If I know Luc, he means to discredit Castiel and turn the public against him.”

“Who knows how long they’ve been sitting on this,” Gabriel added ominously. It made Dean sick thinking about what other stories Lee was willing to take to the press. And it made him furious knowing this was the one he’d picked.

Making the world think Dean was some kind of cheater was one thing, but this? Him and Cas? It was just about the lowest thing Dean could think of. Maybe Lee had been hoping Dean would slip up somehow when he’d first given him that cocaine. Dean had let himself get out of control, get sloppy. He’d given Lee the perfect ammunition.

Cas shifted, turning his eyes on Crowley. “You didn’t have anything to do with this, did you?” he asked, tone threatening.

Crowley’s eyebrows shot up like he was offended. “I beg your pardon? Have you lost it? Have you any idea how much money I sunk into that tour of yours so you could remain heavyweight champion?”

“Wait, you’re doing what?” Bobby spat.

Cas looked down again, like a kid being punished. Dean huffed, because now wasn’t really the time. “We’ll talk about it later,” he told Bobby.

“Like hell—”

“We got a little more on our plates right now, Bobby,” Dean said, voice louder. He should have told Bobby about Cas before, but in his defense, Bobby had kicked Dean out of the gym every time he’d tried to go in. And part of Dean was still unconvinced that Cas would go through with it, even after everything.

Luckily, Bobby dropped it with little more than a disgruntled murmur about not trusting anybody with a college education. In response, Michael only tilted his head to the side, unamused.

“The point is,” Crowley cut back in, “I have to protect my assets. That’s you two morons. Particularly Castiel. The priority is to ensure that no damage comes to his reputation—and, in turn, the NBA’s.”

Dean scoffed wetly, affronted. He pulled his hand off of Cas’. “And what? Mine isn’t?”

Crowley cocked his head at a sharp angle. “Do I have to teach you arithmetic, you ape? This problem involves both of you. Meaning, the solution will benefit both of you.”

That wasn’t totally true. Dean had still been accused of throwing his last fight. But Crowley wouldn’t lift a finger to help there, seeing as he’d been the mastermind behind it. None of this was for Dean. It was to make sure Cas stayed at the top.

Dean drummed his thumb on the table and glared back at Crowley.

“I still say we need to put out a statement,” Gabriel said.

[tragidean]

siren [2.6k] (ao3)

This is wrong.

Something is definitely wrong.

Somewhere across the fabric of space and time, someone threw him across the cosmos and dumped him off in the first available reality, then the second, then the fifth. By the time he lands here—wherever this is, either in a television show or an alternate universe, or maybe even the past or future—Castiel can’t tell up from down, a couch from a yawning chasm in the ground. Music catches his attention at first—then the bright lights of fluorescent lamps spread around the corners of the room, and the orange glow of candles perched atop mantles, tables, a bar top, the coffee table. The latter of which seems ill advised, considering the sheer number of bodies circling the room.

Half-naked bodies, in fact.

Castiel swallows and fights to avert his eyes, purely out of modesty. He can’t help but stare, though, at the women—and men—seated on every possible surface throughout the living area, some chatting with scantily clad, voluptuous women in black leather one-piece suits, others fondling them on their laps, knees around hips, arms around shoulders, lips to necks, to ears. Some of the men attend to their female companions, donning a black vested shirt with cut-off sleeves and shorts that leave nothing to the imagination. Stockings and garters, cufflinks around bare wrists, small plush tails resting over tailbones, rabbit ears donning their heads—

I’m in a brothel, Castiel thinks. Someone dumped me in a brothel.

Not just a brothel, though, but something out of one of the pornographic films he found on Dean’s laptop, once. Granted, that was on a computer screen and not close enough that he could feel the heat from the bodies, feel the bass from the speakers pulsing through his skull. Women laugh, men croon—a set of hands come to rest over his shoulders, and Castiel jerks upright in a panic.

“Whoa, easy, hoss,” a man’s voice says at his back. The hands return, offering to massage his shoulders and relieve the apparent tension in his vessel. He slips his gloved fingers just beneath Castiel’s coat collar, then his suit jacket, where they begin to kneed into his clavicle just above his button-down. “You’re so tense.”

“I don’t know why I’m here,” Castiel says, shaking his head.

The man chuckles. “You’re tellin’ me. You’re so tight.” Slow, he runs his palms up Castiel’s neck, cradling the back of his head. Castiel’s foot twitches, unexplained. “Must be a coach. Never seen someone so uptight.”

“I’m not uptight,” Castiel remarks, but the man laughs.

“You’re so uptight. See, I can take your mind off it.” He steps away, his warmth gone, and Castiel, for some reason, laments the loss. At least, for a moment—because in the next, Dean of all people walks around the side of the couch, dressed just like every other man in the room, but about a decade younger, all lithe muscle and freckles, his eyelids darkened and his lips an inviting shade of red. He straddles Castiel’s lap and loops his arms around Castiel’s neck, sidling close. Ankles crossed; his heels click.

Castiel gasps, soft, to Dean’s apparent amusement. “See?” Dean whispers into his ear. “That’s better.”

This can’t be real, Castiel thinks. But Dean kisses his neck with those honeyed lips, and Dean whispers words into his ear that he’s never heard before, and part of him wants to believe it. Some desperate, hedonistic part of him wants to strip the garters off Dean’s legs, wants to rip open the front of his vest to reveal just how deeply his freckles run. This is the man he raised from Hell—with the same scars on his knuckles, the same bullet wound in his shoulder, the same scent lingering in his hair. A memory, then. An accidental hurdle into the past, thrown into an event that at one point happened, and never once involved him.

I’m changing the present.

“I shouldn't be here,” Castiel says. Dean cocks a brow at him, lips pouting. Inexplicable, Castiel feels his groin swell.

“So soon?” Dean asks. He sits up straighter, letting his hips ride further down Castiel’s thighs. “Look, I’m paid up, so it’s up to you. I’ll move onto someone else, or…” Again, he kisses Castiel’s neck, nibbling just beneath his ear. Castiel closes his eyes, fighting back a noise. “You can take me upstairs.”

I need to leave, he thinks. I need to find the real Dean, but this Dean is all warmth and flesh, lust and endorphins, and Castiel can’t deny him.

continue reading on ao3

[sleptwithinthesun]

a personal (and very extremely late) fill for the🤞and 🥰 prompts on the spring prompts list, written for t/im d/rake from d/c c/omics. yes, i'm aware it's summer. however, i started this fic over two years ago and it needs to be done.

2K words, next part of the t/imber college au. hope you like it!!

"Look at me for a second?" Bernard asks, tapping the eraser end of his pencil against his notebook a couple of times, just to ensure that he has Tim's attention. It lands just to the right of his half-finished sketch of his roommate, who's typing a lab report up on his laptop on the other side of the library table. 

Tim complies, glancing up and making brief eye contact to show Bernard the slowly-emerging freckles scattered over his cheeks and the ever-present, bruise-like bags under his eyes. They've been getting worse lately, probably due to the arrival of the spring season and its various allergens, even though Tim started taking Benadryl towards the beginning of March. They're now a week into April, with allergy season in full swing.

Bernard's gaze sweeps over Tim's face, and then he squints down at his drawing. After a moment of deliberation, he goes back over Tim's lash line and carefully shades a touch lower and darker than he was previously. "Thanks." 

"No problem," Tim replies, coughing quietly into a fist a second later. It sounds chesty, same as it has been for the past few weeks, and Tim just keeps going, like someone's scratching at his lungs. Which, to be fair, is probably how he feels about the whole thing. He's been getting worse at night recently, waking both himself and Bernard up at early hours in the morning with coughing fits. 

There's not much either of them can do about it, though, and Bernard's not been sleeping well, anyway. Not to any fault of Tim; he's just been… wondering. About some things. Regarding Tim, sure, but not because of him. Nevertheless, he's been staying up with him until his roommate manages to fall back asleep congested snores emanating from his side of the dorm. 

Not for the first time since they'd arrived at the library, Tim suddenly drops his chin towards his chest, eyes pinching shut tightly before his shoulders give a minuscule jerk forwards. He barely manages a shallow inhale before the motion repeats twice more, and then blinks a few times, sniffling quietly into his sweatshirt sleeve. Also not for the first time, Bernard murmurs, "Bless you."

"Ugh, sorry, I don't think I'm dohh—" He cuts himself off with another silent double, and then a third pair for good measure. "Oh, fuck me," Tim mutters, a bit breathless. 

"Christ, bless you times... how many even was that, seven total? They're so quiet; it's hard to tell." Tim nods to confirm the number, his eyes bleary from sneezing as he rubs a knuckle against the side of his nose to quell the remaining itch instead of responding verbally. "Bless you times seven. Why do you sneeze like that, anyway?" 

Tim blinks at him, clearly confused. "Like what?"

"Like… you're completely stifling to the point where they're silent." Bernard fumbles to explain, trying to find the right words without sounding insane. "I don't know anyone who can do that without using their hands or something. It's kind of... uh, impressive, to be honest, but can I ask, why do you sneeze that way? Is there a reason, or is it just...?"

"I don't know," Tim says, then shrugs. "I never really thought about it. It's polite, I guess, to make them quieter. Doesn't bother anyone else."

And Bernard-of-several-months-ago would have simply been content to have even gotten an answer out of Tim in the first place, would have accepted his word without a second thought. But Bernard-of-now can see the little flicker in Tim's eye, the one that means he's lying to him, which makes no sense, because what does Tim have to lie about?

It's a sneeze. There's no backstory to it, as far as Bernard is aware of. It's simple, it's thoughtless, it's inherent. Sure, he knows that people can hold back their sneezes if needed, but at it's base, it's a reaction, and one that's hard to control. The level to which Tim can manipulate his own, though, speaks to something far more complicated than Bernard can even begin to form connotations to.

For now, he has to let it go. Everything about Tim is a mystery, and the code to deciphering him is written between the lines of Dick's offering of his and Jason's phone numbers. So, unless Bernard texts one of them to ask why Tim sneezes weirdly, which is quite possibly the most bizarre question he could even raise, he's on his own.

Don't let it be said that Bernard Dowd doesn't love a challenge.

-

Over the remainder of the week, Bernard keeps an eye on Tim as if he's a sentry assigned to stand guard over him. He does feel weird about it—almost stalkerish, which, honestly and a bit embarrassingly, isn't exactly new to him—but it's not like Bernard's trying to learn anything he didn't already know about Tim's personal life. He lives in the same room as Tim, for crying out loud. Objectively, he's not doing anything wrong. At least, that's how Bernard justifies it to himself.

He's aware that he's being all Bernard about it, looking too deeply into it when, in reality, it's probably nothing more than Tim preferring not to draw attention to himself. At the same time, Bernard can't help but feel as if there's something more to it. After all, Tim decided to hide the fact that he was missing a whole-ass organ for a semester; he truly wouldn't put it past Tim to somehow have a buried trauma about sneezing. It would only make sense for him.

To be perfectly honest, though, Tim is boring.

Bernard didn't notice it in their fall semester, when Tim was being avoidant for the most part and didn't trust Bernard enough to reveal anything about his personal life. Apparently, he wasn't missing out. Tim studies more than anything, and even when he's not studying, he's doing homework or reading or something equally uninteresting. It makes his observation of his roommate very dry.

Until the moment where he invites Tim to sit outside.

They're moving through the quad together, Tim having just attended his linguistics class and heading into a free period while Bernard's done with classes for the day. The April weather is gorgeous, with a nice breeze cutting through the heat of the day. It's so nice, in fact, that Bernard asks—

"Want to stay outside for a bit?"

Tim's steps pause for a moment, hesitating. "Why?"

Bernard can barely stop himself from staring in shock at him. Sure, he grew up in the city, but he spent every moment that he could in the park. "it's... nice?" he ventures. "Plus, you could use more sun."

"First, rude. Second, if you insist." Tim sighs, glancing around for a place to sit. "As long as we're not directly in the sunlight."

Bernard rolls his eyes. "Sure, whatever. Vampire."

Tim scoffs at him, following Bernard as they move to take a seat in the shade underneath a tree. He only seems vaguely annoyed, meaning that he does actually care, at least a little bit. They're not at the point yet where Tim's comfortable being jokingly annoyed or mad with Bernard, since Bernard did it to Tim once and ended up sending Tim into a spiral for the next day over whether he was actually upset.

So. His annoyance here is at least vaguely interesting.

"hn'x! ngt! hnk'tt!"

"Bless you," Bernard murmurs. Tim shakes his head and immediately goes to sneeze again, sitting up with his head tipped back slightly, eyes half-shut, mouth partly open as his breath hitches quietly.

"hh...hi'h? hHhh—" He's trying to hold it back and is failing miserably. "—hk't! hxxt! hn'gt! h'hHn'gt-sh!"

"Bless you."

"Why'd you want to be out here?" Tim asks, voice nasal. His head immediately bobs down toward his chest again, nose pressed into the crook between his thumb and pointer finger to at least give himself a semblance of modesty. This set is even more numerous than the first, each sneeze coming in rapid succession.

Bernard sits up straighter in alarm. "Uh... exactly how allergic are you to pollen?"

Tim's response is another rapid set of sneezes.

"You need to get better at putting your foot down," exclaims Bernard, grabbing Tim by his free wrist and hauling him upward as Tim sneezes again and again, each perfectly stifled and barely making any sound. The only reason, Bernard reflects, that he can hear them is because Tim's sneezing too much to fully have control.

"You're—gxt'sh!—telling me," Tim gasps out. Mockingly, he attempts to add, "You could use more su'h'nxt! hxt'ch!"

"Okay, Sneezy, let's get back to the very climate-controlled indoors," says Bernard, hastily dragging him toward the building.

-

Tim's lying down on his bed when Bernard walks into their dorm, three days after the incident, absently staring up at the ceiling. There's nothing taped up there—Bernard checked.

"You okay?"

"Fine," replies Tim. "Just... thinking."

Bernard sets his backpack down next to his bed, placing the binder in his hands down on top of his comforter to ensure he doesn't forget about the homework in it. "Anything in particular?"

Tim shrugs, which is his way of saying Yes, but I don't want to talk about it. Bernard had given up on trying to interpret all of Tim's nonverbal signals on his own and reached out to Dick the day after Tim's allergy attack; Dick had informed him that reading Tim was like learning a new language. He wasn't very communicative at best, even with members of his own family, and it took Dick years to figure everything out. Jason is still struggling, apparently, which Dick attributes to Jason being in college while Tim was adjusting to living with the Waynes. He's gradually been passing tips onto Bernard, trying to make his living experience a tad easier.

Uncertainly, he walks over to Tim's side of the room, stopping just short of sitting on the bed with his roommate. Looming over him feels like an equally terrible option, and Bernard just stands there for an awkward moment.

"This is a little creepy."

"You're one to talk," Bernard says before having the chance to properly filter himself. He's trying to get Tim to open up, here.

Tim huffs out a laugh, then sniffles quietly. "Just sit down."

Bernard does. Neither of them say anything for a long minute, with the silence frequently broken by Tim's soft sniffles as he continues fighting off the pollen in the air.

"You know you can sneeze, right?" he blurts out. Tim doesn't blink. "Like, around me. I don't mind, I promise."

When Tim doesn't respond, Bernard keeps rambling. "It's just that, every single time I've seen you sneeze you're stifling. No matter what. Even if you're alone in the room, you don't make any noise, and, like, it's worrying me. It's not, um, normal. Not that you're not normal, obviously, but—"

"Bernard."

"Yeah?"

"Shut up."

Bernard rolls his head to look at Tim. His roommate is still looking at the ceiling instead of at him, but he's talking.

"I was..." He pauses, starts over. "My parents very much believed in the adage of children being seen and not heard. To them, my silence wasn't an expectation, it was a strict necessity for me."

"Tim..."

"For whatever reason, they included normal bodily functions in that." Tim scoffs, but it's devoid of any feeling, as if he's making the noise only because he's expected to show disapproval toward his parents. "Coughing, sneezing, anything like that was taboo. So, I learned to keep quiet."

"You know that's not okay, right?"

"I've heard that nearly a thousand times from Dick and Jason." Now, he turns to face Bernard. "I'm aware."

Bernard sighs. "Do you believe it?"

A moment of silence. Three different emotions pass over Tim's face, too quickly for Bernard to parse through them all, but something sad is certainly there. "I'm working on that," he says eventually.

"That's good," replies Bernard, and they fall back into silence before Tim sneezes adorably, much like a baby kitten.

"hk'sh'iew!"

"Oh my God."

"Shut up!"

[rainbows-fanfics]

All'inzio (Chapter 29) EPILOGUE

Summary: A  soldier-in-training, Valerie hopes to join the Valencian Army to avenge  her father’s death under the wing of General Rooke. But when she happens  to catch the attention of Commander Kane, her plans take a different  turn.

Human AU of the Armada from Pirate101, where Kane meets his Queen.

Pairing: Kane/Queen

–

Note: The title translates to “at the beginning”.

–

A figure trailed down the dark corridors of King Casimir's castle. At this point in the night, the rooms were illuminated by candles and lanterns carried by the Valencian guards stationed on duty. The colors from the flames shone on the woman's silhouette as she passed by two men guarding the doors, who dipped their heads in her presence. The only sounds were the steps of her heels pressing against the gray marble flooring. Things were silent otherwise, as others were reasonably long into their slumber. 

Queen had to slow down when she found herself exhausted. She held onto a nearby wall for support as her other hand came to her stomach. Her fingers lightly pressed against the area just above her belly button before slowly trailing down the small curvature that formed within these weeks. Beyond her palm was the source of fatigue, sickness, and worry  she kept bottled up for two months. She managed to hide it through careful planning and sheer luck. But the inevitable time this secret would show in a physical form was one she hadn't exactly prepared for. 

She continued on until she arrived at the last door of the long hallway. She practically collapsed on its surface and removed herself before any more noise could be made. She lingered a few seconds for any activity. Hearing silence, she knocked her knuckles a couple of times gently. A muffled voice replied from the other side: 

"Enter." 

Her small hand pushed the door open. While such a task would normally be done with ease, she was short of breath. She darted in the small space and stepped into the room. She was surrounded by stacks of paper and miscellaneous machinery sprawled out on the floor. Her brown eyes found a figure of a man hunched over his desk, his face obscured by a small prototype his gloved hands were currently tending to. Queen stepped forward and hesitated to speak. Rarely would she enter one of her husband’s work rooms and interrupt him for trivial matters.

Normally, she would be in their proper bedroom right now, waiting for Kane’s eventual return to the mansion. But he informed her he’d be working late tonight. And she so desperately wanted to spend time with him. He’d been so busy lately - cooped up in his work again, even though she scolded him countless times before for sacrificing his sleep….

She took a long breath, attempting to not sound as exhausted as she truly was. "Darling, I was wondering when you'd come to bed..? It's awfully late." 

He acknowledged her with a wave of his hand. "-Shortly. I'm nearly finished with this for the night." 

She bit her tongue. He had a habit of getting absorbed in things when the time became late. She grew lonely the longer he remained away. She was unusually restless tonight. It was becoming more difficult to hide her showing through her nightgowns - their transparent layers doing only so well at concealing her stomach. Even the one she wore now, a golden garment with white trim that loosely came to her ankles, effectively covered only half her abdomen. A long slit in the middle created an opening that would reveal the long curve of her tummy if one stared too long. She discreetly brought her arms down to cover the region as she approached his desk. 

"Kane, it's getting colder the longer you're not beside me. You barely got any sleep the other night, amore mio. I think it's time for you to rest." 

Kane paused in what he was doing and laid down a piece he planned to glue. He stood in his chair and her hands quickly came over her stomach again. She caught this habit and allowed her arm to rest while the other uncertainly found its way to the edge of his desk. He turned and fixated his eyes on hers. She was thankful his gaze did not wander any lower, and whimpered when his gloved finger found its way to her face. He used his thumb to stroke his wife's chin lightly.

"I apologize, cuore mio. I've spent too much of my time here again. I hope you'll forgive me for not remaining by your side when you most need me." 

Her chest grew warm when his face came closer to hers. She could feel his mask press against her cheek while they kissed. She enjoyed every second until he pulled away. Her hands naturally reached for his own, but he passed by her to approach the door. She followed and found herself tired by the time they were in the doorway. Her legs grew weak as she rested a hand on his back. She looked at Kane with pleading eyes.

"Would you mind carrying me back to our room..? I'm tired staying awake for this long. It's so far way..." 

He didn't pry, much to her relief. Without a word, he swept Queen off her feet and carried her bridal-style. Her hands came to the ends of her gown and layered them to hide the bump. Kane was too busy closing the door to notice.  He started the trip back to their temporary bedroom. Queen closed her eyes and relished this moment where she didn't have to say anything. To enjoy his touch after all these hours of being alone...

She snapped back into reality when she was gently laid on the bed. Her eyes followed him as he changed out of his uniform. She chewed on her lip, thinking how she could uncover the news to her husband. She wondered if he would even be happy to learn they were…expecting. She imagined how the situation would transpire if the news wasn't taken so greatly. She reasoned with herself that he wouldn't get upset. She took a deep breath and prepared to tell him...

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

Kane had a lot on his mind tonight. He was so swept up in his work that he hadn't realized how much time passed. He was thankful Queen interrupted the process, otherwise he would've worked himself into the morning. He didn't fancy missing an entire night with her. How could he have been so neglectful? He grew disgusted with himself just thinking about it, and decided tonight that he would not spend another moment away. He realized how fatigued he was the longer he continued to sit still. It was for the best they'd sleep now, and another night he could make it up to her...

When he climbed into bed, he found a strange look on Queen's face. There was something on her mind. She edged closer as her hand fingered its way to his chest, where it remained as she pressed herself against his side. He usually grew touch-starved after not seeing her, but the reasonable part of him was somewhat wary at the coy gesture. He knew his wife well after being married to her for years, now. 

"Before we sleep, I have something important to tell you. Some news I've keeping from you..." 

"-From me?" He asked. It was unusual for her to keep any secrets. "What for?" 

"I didn't exactly know how to tell you. I was a little afraid you wouldn't be too happy about it-" 

She knew he wanted to question her on this, so her finger went to his lips to hush him down. He was about to ask what unfortunate news she was about to deliver. But seeing her insist on continuing kept him quiet. He allowed Queen to gather her thoughts. She was hesitant to relay whatever it was, confirming Kane's suspicions that this was serious. He attempted to think of anything unfavorable that happened between them lately. 

"Honey, do you remember when we went to the King's masquerade party months ago?" He nodded. "And that night, when we...celebrated such a good time?" 

The dots were beginning to connect, but to what, he didn't exactly know. He motioned for her to continue despite the long pause. She began to fidget, toying with the tassels on his clothes and looking away from him. He passed this moment by taking a proper look at her figure. She positioned herself differently than usual, and wore a gown that was loose on her. Before his eyes could wander any further, Queen decided to cut to the chase and inhaled sharply.

"Kane...I'm carrying your baby," Those words left her lips bluntly. "I have been, for a couple months now. At first I thought I was ill, but when it prolonged, I...I realized-"

He felt too astonished for words, but to his surprise, they slipped right off his tongue: "-You're... pregnant?" 

She winced. "I am." 

Now the dots were connected. He had an answer to the questionable habits of hers lately. They never went unnoticed with him, but he hadn't pried, as he trusted she would've let him know if something was wrong. All the times she politely declined alcohol, how long it took her to get dressed in the mornings, the extra trips she made to the restroom, and how easily she grew tired....they made sense.

He rested his hand on his chin as he absorbed this news, his eyes quickly darting over to her stomach. Queen realized what he was looking at and slowly moved her arms so he could see. That's when he found the small baby bump she'd been concealing this entire time. 

"I thought," He began quietly. "I thought we were careful…" 

"We drank a lot that night, remember? It was the only way we could cope with the night," She sighed. "We weren't really thinking…"

He continued to stare at her stomach with widened eyes, trying to imagine his child growing inside of her. It had been many years since he experienced the expectancy of fatherhood, but it was... different, now. This was his wife. Granted, he ceased taking certain precautions at times...But he never imagined receiving this news - not with her. And now that he was, he wasn't exactly sure how to respond...

He was taken aback when he found his hand being led to her stomach. He fought against her grip, but stopped after he saw the look on her face. He was mesmerized when his palm touched its surface. He was left to carefully trail his fingers over the small curve that existed on her abdomen. His baby was there beyond his touch - in the woman he loved dearly...

He felt an usual moisture in his eyes. He ignored it until it crawled down his cheek. He stopped to rub his eye and found a teardrop on his bare finger. He froze, attempting to comprehend the sight. 

Queen gaped at him. "Kane...you're crying… "

"Ah," Was all he could manage. He clenched his jaw and attempted to control the sensation, but failed as another one fell. He rubbed it off with more insistence this time.

She placed a hand on his shoulder. "Are you alright..?"

"I'm fine," He insisted. He tried to understand why this was happening. He changed topics in the meantime. "Are you keeping it?"

"The baby?" 

He nodded. 

She looked down at her stomach and felt the small bump again. His words repeated thoughtfully in her head. This question hadn't been on her mind so much as it was just spilling this news to him. She was ashamed she hadn't put much thought into it prior to this moment. After a moment, she stopped moving her hand and smiled.

"I want to. Darling, I know you have your sons...and I love and appreciate them deeply. But I never experienced motherhood. I would like to, with your baby that I'll carry…"

She kept her stare on him to see his reaction. He was still tending to the moisture in his eyes. He stiffened at her words. A sound of relief left his lips. His posture loosened as he finally dried the tears.

"Valerie, I've never had a proper partner to share my children with, until now." He took her hands into his own and clutched them tightly. "Perhaps that's why I reacted like this...I feel quite happy."

"..You do?"

"Bearing a child with the woman I love...how could I not be?" His words made her smile. "Not to mention, they'll be as beautiful as you."

The tears began to leave her own eyes. She hastily wiped them away. "And I thought you wouldn't want this…Not another, I mean, with your family-"

"They're far into their adulthoods now. I didn't expect more, but if you want, I will father again." He tilted his head slightly. "It’s not just about that, anyway. It's about raising a child with you, my Queen...and I would be honored to do exactly that."

"Kane…"

She embraced him and began to weep, elated at this news. Seeing the family dynamic they all shared...she longed to have something like that of her own. She was well-accepted into their lives - treated like a mother to Bishop, Rooke, Deacon, even Phule....but she still couldn’t help thinking. The quiet curiosity she’s had, wondering what a child between her and Kane would look like...

"Do you know anything about it?" He asked. At her confused look, he elaborated. "Have you seen anyone at all to know how it's doing?" 

"No…I was nervous telling you as it is. I needed to know what you thought before I did anything.” 

"--Not entirely my decision.” He chided. “We'll see a doctor as soon as possible. To make sure it's healthy before making any haste decisions."

He pulled the blankets over their figures, allowing them to get comfortable. He was calm with this news, which relieved her. She was mindful of her stomach as she moved closer, resting her head on his chest. They were met with peaceful silence. She sighed as the tension left her body. She’d never tire sharing this closeness with him. 

"I am curious about the gender…" She confessed. "I know you have the boys, but wouldn't it be nice to finally have a girl?"

His breath hitched in his throat. His eyes watered again. He tried not to make it obvious as he looked away, holding a hand over his mouth to keep his composure. It went unnoticed as Queen rambled on: 

"I have plenty of names I can think of for a daughter. But a boy would be just as delightful..! We'd love it no matter what, right?"

He swallowed dryly. "Right." 

“Not a chess piece’s name, dear." She teased as he moved to pull the lamp’s handle. “What do you think of Carina? Or Aurelia?” 

The names struck something inside of him pleasantly. But he wouldn’t tell her that, for now. “We’ll decide when we know it’s healthy. Rest.”

He turned the light off and watched the room darken. He waited before laying back on the mattress, where she clung onto his side. Moonlight peeked from behind the curtain, lighting the lower half of the bed. He was thankful for this - otherwise, she would have noticed the tears drying on his face.

A daughter. A little girl as beautiful as Queen, and as smart as him…it was hard not to desire. He shouldn’t have hope - it wouldn't be right, if an expectation formed - but he couldn’t help it. If there was anything he learned from parenting his Elite - boys were rowdy, especially together. It was a nightmare, at times, but…he knew all the imperfections to fix. To do this right, for certain.

He placed his hand over hers. Fatigue hit him like a brick. He was out in only a few minutes. Queen smiled as her thumb trailed over his cheek, wiping the last of the moisture from his face. 

[absylphe]

What is sent back through the open channel of teleportalisation is a small envelope containing two things. It is sealed with hot pink wax, stamped with what appears to be a flower sprouting two spines outwards of the stem. It even smells like rose petals, lavender, and a hint of vanilla. A very gentle, delicate scent only detectable when reading.

The first is a small note, written on parchment in flowery and expressive, gothic cursive that seems clearly practiced far too much to be normal in any other context. It is folded in half, a paperclip holding the second object behind it.

"Kanaya.

These socks are darling and I can't thank you enough for the obvious hard work you've put into this gift. I can still thank you, to which I will and hopefully will return the favour to you at some point. You may even keep this as a registered I.O.U. if anything comes to mind. I've already tried them all on and I'm both delightfully puzzled how you have my measurements precise, and puzzlingly delighted at how comfortable they are.

I am interpreting the mistletoe as intended. I did give you my word after all, to show you the fruits of your labour. And Christmas is fruity.

- Rose Lalonde."

At the bottom is the feint impression of heart-shaped lips, pressed in with hot pink lipstick.

The second is a grainy, deliberately aged and weathered polaroid picture that defies modern photography. The bottom half of the figure is clearly visible as they sit on a wooden floor in front of a body mirror, cut off at the waist from a thick and oversized sweater covering everything down to the bare slip of her thighs between that and the third pair of nylon knee-highs. Sideways, one leg bent at the knee behind the other flushed straight to the floor, a slightly arched back. In the hand barely showing the camera at the upper lip of the picture, a mistletoe hangs between the knuckles of her ring finger and pinkie, right above where the skindentation causes the lower thigh to curve inwards into the legwear.

The wooden floors are also quite nice and polished beneath her.

Alright alright alright alright alright--

Sure, she knew this was coming. The sheer dedication to the bit -- it is a bit, right? -- is still a bit of a stunner. Just a silence for a bit, eventually rippling into impish little giggles. She takes the note and the photo, carefully folding them together and putting them into patterned hatbox wherein she places most of her sentimental treasures -- this may not be one yet, but it could become one in the future.

[cyansadness]

What about me?

Chapter 1: I’m a human too

disclaimer: this will hurt and not in a good way

tag squad: @swifteforeverandalways

They won. They beat the unbeatable Bloodhounds. They even saw Holly and Coach Korn kiss at center court. So why did Ava feel so empty? She felt betrayed. Not just because Nick cheated on her. It was because nobody seemed to care.

They comforted Louise because she showed her emotion. She showed that she was upset. All Ava did was show that she was mad. Like she always was. Even after, as they were getting showered and dressed, they comforted Louise, calling him every name under the sun and telling her that she’s too good for him.

They never said a word to her. Maybe they thought she didn’t need to be comforted. She’s Ava Navarro. She would be fine. As she was getting dressed after taking a quick shower, she noticed something. A small hickey that sat right above the top of her bra.

She remembered that day. It made her knuckles go white as she tightened the grip on her shirt. They were in his truck, on the beach. They were in the backseat, he was on top of her and they were making out.

She can still remember how his lips moved down her neck and how she reminded him that she couldn’t have any visible marks on her or her mom would kill her. He had tugged on her shirt and she happily obliged. They were dating, why shouldn’t she trust him? She can still recall how he let his hands graze over the mark, admiring his handiwork.

She quickly puts her shirt on so she doesn’t have to see it anymore. She wasn’t stupid. She knew how guys looked at her. Comments under her posts while she was on the tour. What guys say while she walks past. What Nick’s friends would say. It never bothered her.

She thought it didn’t but something changed. Maybe when she started dating Nick, she didn’t know, she felt subconscious. She could feel everyone’s stares. It made her feel small. It was nice to date someone who didn’t care about how she looked. Louise mentioned how he would say that they had a connection like no other.

Did he only date her so that he can still have someone when he was horny? Was it to stake his claim so no others could have her? Was he just using her? She felt used and dirty and ashamed. Fighting back tears were harder than it seems. Nobody was here. They left.

Suddenly, it felt like her ribs were growing smaller and trapping her lungs. Getting a full breath was suddenly impossible. Her tears flowed as she sobbed. She couldn’t breathe. Everything hurts. She doesn’t remember at what point she felt but she was holding onto her locker for dear life one second; then on her knees, on the floor, clawing at the ground. She couldn’t breathe. She kept crying. She couldn’t call for help, she could barely breathe. All she could manage was a whimper. She doesn’t even remember where her phone was. It hurts, everything hurts. She was alone and she was scared. She needed someone, anyone.

She felt someone’s arms wrap around her and speak to her but she didn’t know who. The tears made her vision blurry and their voice sounded far away, like she was underwater. A small plea for help left her lips. “Help.”

Louise didn’t feel good. I mean, who feels good after finding out your boyfriend had been cheating on you with your teammate/friend. But something felt off. The girls have been constantly reassuring her, during half-time, after the game, and now as they wait for Ava so they can go.

She noticed that no one ever said anything to Ava after the fact. She also got played and was also hurt. She had a gut-feeling something was wrong. Ava never takes this long to get ready. She’s always the first one done. “I’m going to check on Ava.” She said, not staying to listen to their responses.

As she got to the locker room doors, she could hear crying, which made her even more worried. She opened the door slowly, not to startle Ava. The sight she was met with hurt her heart.

Ava was on the floor, sobbing and hyperventilating as she was having a full-blown panic attack. This has clearly never happened to her before so she was clearly panicking which was not helping. Louise quickly jumped into action. She knelt down next to Ava who hadn’t noticed her presence. She didn’t know if Ava wanted to be touched or not but she could get yelled at later.

She brought the girl to her chest, hugging her tightly. “Ava, it’s me, Louise. Nod if you can hear me.” Louise said softly, voice gentle and comforting. A whimper left her lips as she looked around frantically. It broke Louise’s heart. She moved in front of Ava, grabbing her hands. “Ava, can you speak?” She asked, looking for any trace of recognition in her eyes.

“Yeah.” A weak response escaped. “Good. Name five things you can see?” She asked, rubbing small circles on Ava’s hands. Ava started to stumble and stutter over her words, starting to panic even more. “It’s okay. I’m right here. You can do this. Five things you can see” Louise reaffirmed her. “D-door, lockers, you, benches, floor.” Her breathing started to even out slightly. “Good. Four things you can touch?” Louise asked again. “The carpet, my clothes, your hands, my shoes.” Her voice was less shaky. “Good. Three things you can hear?” Louise could feel Ava’s hands tightening around her own. “Your voice, that ringing in my ears, and my heartbeat.” Her voice was steadier, she was breathing evenly now. “Two things you can smell?” Louise asked. “Body washer, air freshener.” Her body wasn’t shaking anymore. “One thing you can taste?” This was the last step. “My mouth.” She was still crying but not panicking.

Louise maneuvered the two so their backs were leaning against the lockers. Ava was leaning onto Louise, wiping tears off her face. Louise swung her arm over Ava’s shoulders, bringing her closer. They sat in silence for a few seconds before Ava started to speak.

“What was that?” Ava asked, still so confused. “That was a panic attack. What I used was a grounding technique I learned when I became captain.” Louise explained, rubbing her thumb on Ava’s shoulder. Ava leaned her head on Louise’s shoulder, feeling a wave of exhaustion hit her.

“What happened?” Louise asked. “I don’t know. Everyone left. I was alone. Nobody asked if I was okay. I wasn’t. I’m not. He used me. He wanted someone to make out with on the side. He never cared about me. The team doesn’t care. Coach doesn’t care. My mom doesn’t care. Who the hell gives a damn about me?” Shesobbed, hitting her head against the lockers, not flinching at the pain.

“Ava, I do. I came back because I knew something was wrong. I knew you weren’t okay. I care about you so much.” Louise held Ava’s face in her hands. She didn’t expect Ava to launch at her with a hug. After a moment’s hesitation, she hugged back. Ava will be fine. They both will be. Louise will make sure of it.

[cantfightmoonlight]

julianrchandlerx​:

setting: shadow lake, jasmine’s rv featuring: julian chandler & jasmine st. claire @cantfightmoonlight

Courage, my dear boy. Julian repeated the words to himself quite a few times as he made his way over to the RV he hoped had in fact been the home of his best friend. It seemed like a good guess; how many RVs were being used as residential homes in the area? He suspected not many. If there was one thing he’d learned quick about Lunar Cove, it was that people seemed to really plant their roots there. In fact he’d been told some people had been around foreverand while it seemed silly to say, he’d never fault someone for being hyperbolic. After all, he could be dramatic if he tried.

Case in point; he kept stalling reaching out to the childhood friend he had quite literally followed to this town. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to see Jasmine — contrary to the idea, he had made a whole point of hunting her location just to reconnect with her — but he was weirdly nervous about the whole thing. The longer he’d been there, mostly alone in his rickety basement apartment, the more Julian was beginning to question if maybe, just maybe, he made a really dumb decision to drop his secure life and follow a friend he hadn’t spoken to much lately. Was that, like, kinda stalker-ish?

Approaching the RV, he awkwardly tugged at his collar as he contemplated proper RV-door-knocking etiquette. Julian wasn’t sure if a tapping of his knuckles upon the door could be heard from within, or if he should just ditch the package in his hand at the entrance and run away as fast as he could. He was currently on his way to an ugly sweater contest, dressed in a lightweight knit with a stocking pinned below the phrase “well hung”, and was really just wanting to stop in quickly. Or really to drop off a gift he was likewise second guessing all along the way. In his hand, wrapped poorly in colorful paper, was a journal he’d spent a few days repainting the cover of, a former plain cover now adorned with the flower of her namesake and with gold foil initials to signify just who it belonged to. A simple gift made personal, one he hoped could be kinda useful. She was a journalist, right? It was in the name. Now he just needed the courage to just give it to her.

Oh, and to say “hello”.

Sucking in a deep breath, and readjusting the stocking hanging from his chest, Julian walked the short distance from where he’d left his bike and marched right up to the RV’s door, barely thinking as he reached up to knock. For all he knew, she wasn’t even home. He could just leave the package at her door and be off and maybe come around to say hello on another day. Or maybe she’d come by and see him — he had left a note in the package with his new address and where he was working, just in case. Letting out an anxious breath, he decided to be absolutely sure she wasn’t around before just jogging away. “Jas?” He called out, raising his voice just enough to hopefully be heard inside should anyone be around. “Jasmine St. Claire? It’s… It’s Julian. Are you there? I come bearing gifts… Or, err, just one, but the statement still stands.”

.

Jasmine perked up from where she was sprawled across the couch at the sound of a knock against the door. Her brows creasing as she tried to think over who it may be, but everyone she knew who would remotely come and knock out of the blue against the door of her trailer was already on their way to the Ugly Sweater contest. The same contest that was being held at her half sister’s bar that she herself should be getting ready to head over, not that she had any plans of participating. But, she could still show her support rather than listening to a record on her record player as she hurried to finish the article she needed submitted. 

“Coming,” She called out as hit send on the draft of her email. She wasn’t entirely happy with her submission, but it was better than nothing and she couldn’t exactly waste anymore time before getting it off to her editor. Only, as Jas moved towards the door, her feet froze in place. Her eyes widening as she stood there- one hand reaching out towards the door before her without making any more to actual open it. 

Julien. It was a name she hadn’t heard in months, but one that would be nearly impossible for forget. He had been the closest thing she had ever had to a best friend. He was like a second family to her and that is precisely why she knew she had to put as much distance between them as possible. They had been lucky enough as is that the curse had yet to come for him. But, at this point, they were practically taunting fate. So, she made sure to drift apart. It would be better this way. He’d be better off without her and without all the supernatural craziness she had going on in her life these days. Only, why in god’s name was he here, standing outside her door in a town that should have ward him off from ever entering?

Fuck. As horrible as it would be to ever admit out loud, Jas did momentarily mull over the idea of shutting off her record player and flicking off the lights o pretend not to be home. A silly notion truly given that he had already heard her. But, the initial impulse was still there as she stood eyes closed with her hands pressed against the back of her door, quietly wondering if she stayed quiet for long enough would he eventually leave or stick around? 

After a prolonged moment, though, the logically side of her brain finally won over and she found herself pulling back the door in order to face him. Her dear friend who was standing before her in a... “well hung” Christmas sweater? “What in the hell are you wearing?” The words rolled off the tip of her tongue before she could stop herself. “But, um,” Her voice was no more than a breathless whisper as she moved to tuck a stray strand of her hair back before her ears. Pulling down on the hem of her sleeves as she wrapped her arms around herself. “You didn’t have to get me anything. I mean, what-” What on earth are you doing here? was the question she had been meaning to ask, but rather than seem like a complete and utter asshole given the fact he had managed to track her down to Lunar Cove of all places which likely hadn’t been the easiest, she simple said, “I wasn’t expecting to see you?”

setting: shadow lake, jasmine’s rv featuring: julian chandler & jasmine st. claire @cantfightmoonlight

Courage, my dear boy. Julian repeated the words to himself quite a few times as he made his way over to the RV he hoped had in fact been the home of his best friend. It seemed like a good guess; how many RVs were being used as residential homes in the area? He suspected not many. If there was one thing he’d learned quick about Lunar Cove, it was that people seemed to really plant their roots there. In fact he’d been told some people had been around forever and while it seemed silly to say, he’d never fault someone for being hyperbolic. After all, he could be dramatic if he tried.

Case in point; he kept stalling reaching out to the childhood friend he had quite literally followed to this town. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to see Jasmine — contrary to the idea, he had made a whole point of hunting her location just to reconnect with her — but he was weirdly nervous about the whole thing. The longer he’d been there, mostly alone in his rickety basement apartment, the more Julian was beginning to question if maybe, just maybe, he made a really dumb decision to drop his secure life and follow a friend he hadn’t spoken to much lately. Was that, like, kinda stalker-ish?

Approaching the RV, he awkwardly tugged at his collar as he contemplated proper RV-door-knocking etiquette. Julian wasn’t sure if a tapping of his knuckles upon the door could be heard from within, or if he should just ditch the package in his hand at the entrance and run away as fast as he could. He was currently on his way to an ugly sweater contest, dressed in a lightweight knit with a stocking pinned below the phrase “well hung”, and was really just wanting to stop in quickly. Or really to drop off a gift he was likewise second guessing all along the way. In his hand, wrapped poorly in colorful paper, was a journal he’d spent a few days repainting the cover of, a former plain cover now adorned with the flower of her namesake and with gold foil initials to signify just who it belonged to. A simple gift made personal, one he hoped could be kinda useful. She was a journalist, right? It was in the name. Now he just needed the courage to just give it to her.

Oh, and to say “hello”.

Sucking in a deep breath, and readjusting the stocking hanging from his chest, Julian walked the short distance from where he’d left his bike and marched right up to the RV’s door, barely thinking as he reached up to knock. For all he knew, she wasn’t even home. He could just leave the package at her door and be off and maybe come around to say hello on another day. Or maybe she’d come by and see him — he had left a note in the package with his new address and where he was working, just in case. Letting out an anxious breath, he decided to be absolutely sure she wasn’t around before just jogging away. “Jas?” He called out, raising his voice just enough to hopefully be heard inside should anyone be around. “Jasmine St. Claire? It’s… It’s Julian. Are you there? I come bearing gifts… Or, err, just one, but the statement still stands.”

[futbol16]

Red Sweat ・ Alexia Putellas

Word count: 1,8k

As you took your position in the tunnel, your heart was pounding against your chest and your nerves were overwhelming everything else you were feeling. You cracked your knuckles as you got ready, slightly jumping when a hand was placed on your shoulder. 

Turning around to see Lucy looking at you weirdly.

“Woah what’s up? You look nervous and you’re usually never nervous before a game” her hand has moved to massage your shoulders as a way to help you relax and you shook your head.

“I don’t know, I have a bad feeling about this game” you admitted as you looked over to the opposing team lining up next to you. Your eyes ran over the Real Madrid players before focusing back on Lucy who smiled at you reassuringly.

“It’s probably nothing, don’t worry, if anything they should be afraid of you” the two of you laughed before turning to the front, ready to walk out.

You took a deep breath allowing your game face to make itself present on your face, expression focused.

Walking out you glanced to the sidelines where Alexia stood and she sent you a nod. Though Alexia was currently out due to her injury, she loved her club too much to not be showing her support from the bench.

With the sound of the whistle all your nervousness from before seemed to evaporate and you were ready for the game ahead of you.

Real Madrid seemed to have it out for your team today as they sent Barca players to the ground one after the other, the legendary rivalry of the two teams only adding to the excitement of the crowd watching. Frustration was evident on your teammates faces as they’ve yet to have made any chances on goal. 

Running up the field you watched and waited for Ana Crnogorcevic to cross the ball to you or Patri, but instead she fell to the ground after one of the Real Madrid players shoved her. The whistle was blown and you were immediately near the referee after making sure that one of your other teammates was checking up on the girl. 

A few of the Real players were arguing with the referee about the situation and you were there to back up Ana, the Real player only receiving a warning.

Shaking your head as you were instructed to get back into position, you sent Ana a questioning thumbs up, nodding after receiving one back.

Barca seemed to have a plan ready as the first goal of the team was sent to the back of the goal by Aitana after a long ball from you. The two of you ran towards each other as you celebrated, a few of your other teammates following suit.

Walking back to your side of the field you were roughly shoulder checked by someone, glancing over your shoulder your eyes landed on the number 7 at the back of her jersey. You raised an eyebrow at the action, deciding to leave it at that.

As the halftime whistle was heard, you walked back to the locker room with the girls and listened to the coach about what he was expecting from the second half. Fixing your shinpads for what seemed to be the fifth time in the past minute, you looked up as a pair of cleats stopped right in front of you. Mapi offered her hand as she pulled you up and out of your seat, the both of you instinctively patting the other’s back as an encouragement.

Barca’s next chance at a goal was in the 62’ minute and you were about to fire the ball before feeling a pair of studs connect with your foot, sending you flying and into the turf. You barely took a second to get up as you walked up to the player and stared her down. She was smirking at you, but before you could hear anything she was saying Lucy had pulled you away from the scene. You were beyond furious at the violent and aggressive playing style the Real Madrid players were presenting and even the rest of your girls were close to their breaking points.

Looking over at your teammates, some of them wincing at certain movements, bruises already forming, you wiped at your face. Your eyes wandered further from the pitch and you made eye contact with your captain who held a determined face and you knew you had to give your all in this match.

The next time you got the ball you made it your mission to make a fool of the opposing team as you showed off your skills, faking left and right, nutmegging them and kicking the ball over their heads before sending a sharp pass Patri this time. Patri took her sweet time once she realized that most of the players were still surrounding you. She analyzed the goalkeeper’s movements before sending the ball into the top right corner of the goal and the fans screamed as Barca set their 2-0 score. 

It wasn’t long before all hell broke loose in the 78’ minute of the game, the Real Madrid players sending sloppy tackles and not so subtle shoves at you and your teammates. Clapping a few of the younger players on their backs to hype them up you were happy with the nods and smiles you received in return.

This time it was Mapi who managed to rid the ball off  Real player and she made a run for it, ready to send it into any space that was open before her. At the shout of her name she sends the ball towards you, you who had been making out your way between the players.

The ball was sent over your heads and you jumped to head it into the goal before falling limp on the ground. 

The fans cheered loudly but all the barca team could focus on was the way you slowly turned on your front, fists gripping the grass below you. The crowd watched as the goal was replayed on the big screen, a collective gasp leaving their lips as a Real player’s studs connected with the side of your head. 

Laying on the ground you could barely make out the voice of Mapi asking you to turn onto your backside. She gently turned you over and you tried to focus on her but the sweat dripping into your eyes was making it incredibly hard. Wiping at it you could now see the horrified look on Mapi’s face as she marched towards the Real Madrid player, Lucy taking her place next to you.

You heard your best friend shouting at the girl and you tried your best to make out the number on her shirt. 7, of course. 

Lucy sat you up slowly, seemingly rather calm in the situation though the worried look on her face was still hard to miss. The confused expression remained on your face until you looked down at your palm still covered in sweat. Red sweat, no, blood.

Your eyes widened at the sight, a member of the medical staff appearing out of nowhere and holding something against your head to stop the bleeding. You tried to get off the ground, momentarily meeting Alexia’s eyes, the older woman almost on the pitch as she waited for you to reach the sidelines.

Passing by Mapi who was still going at Olga, was being held back by some of your teammates and they turned her towards you. 

She immediately moved towards you and away from the crowd of players as she put an arm around your waist to help steady your other side as you were led off the pitch. She muttered something about you playing good and her getting her revenge on the other player, before she pressed a kiss to your cheek and handed you off to the medical staff.

“We need to take you to the medical room.” one of them informed you and you shook your head, though that didn’t seem to be the smartest idea as you felt your head spinning and stumbled into someone.

“No, I’m staying out here to watch my team play.” you argued with them and seeing you having a hard time keeping yourself up, they sat you down near the bench players, Alexia sitting next to you.

“Ale could you please hold her still, she won’t stop moving.” the medic rolled her eyes.

“Hey, I told you I wanted to see them play.”

“You see them play everyday at training.” Before you could open your mouth Alexia had taken hold of your face, hands firm on the side of your neck, thumbs resting on your cheekbones. 

You opened your legs wider, allowing her to stand between them and your hands instinctively gripped the back of her thighs, needing something to hold onto as the medic got the disinfectant ready.

You whined at the stinging of the alcohol and Alexia tried her hardest not to focus on your heavy breathing, the way your chest was rising up and down and instead willed herself to focus on the single trail of blood making its way down your face.

Your hands tightened on her legs at another swipe of whatever the medic was doing and your eyes darted all over Alexia’s face, trying to distract yourself from the pain and the dizziness. 

Alexia, who was hovering above you, tried and failed miserably to not blush under your heavy gaze and you raised an eyebrow at the action.

The medic next to you cleared their throat as they finished up their work and woke up the two of you from your trance.

For the last couple of minutes of the game you sat next to Alexia, both observing the game play and making comments here and there. As the whistle sounded in the stadium you all celebrated your win with your teammates. Some of them check up on you before screaming in your face about the victory over your rivals.

Later, in your hotel room you wait as your roommate makes her way out of the bathroom, flopping down next to you once she reaches your bed. Too tired to care about the fact that she had her own bed, you turned off the lamp next to your bed and turned back towards her.

Alexia reaches out as she gently places a piece of her behind your ear before moving her hand down and gently running her fingers over your jawline, your eyelids fluttering at the action.

“You scared me today” she whispers and you focus back on her eyes that you can make out with the lights of the busy street shining into your Hotel room.

“I'm sorry” you didn’t know what else to say, so instead you take one of her hands into your own and squeeze it gently.

Her heart flutters at the action and she moves closer to you, your noses almost touching. The soft look in her eyes has you melting and you see her glance down at your lips. Taking this as a hint, you slowly lift your head off the pillow, maintaining eye contact as you hear her breath hitch.

You lean in slowly, giving her time to back out of this, but she doesn’t, her hands reaching out to bring your face down to hers before capturing your lips in a tender kiss full of love.

You now understood the blush that adorned her cheeks earlier and you held her close to you that night, relishing in the feeling of Alexia being yours.