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internalsealpanic · 3 years ago

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Sealing the Deal part 2

Summary: Dick has a perfectly reasonable idea.

a/n: There will probably be more parts to this since you people gave me so many ideas but for now here is some soft smut. Did I finish this just in time for the end of mermay? Yes.

warning: Attempt at soft smut

Main Masterlist

Part 1

"Let's get married."

It takes around a minute for you to even register the fact that Dick had even said anything at all and another to parse out the meaning behind his words. You look up from the piece you've been slaving over for hours while Dick dozed on your lap.

"Let's get married." He repeats earnestly.

You narrow your eyes at him. You... clearly missed at least 2 diatribes and 40% of this conversation. "Uh Dickie, my love, did I miss the part where you divorced me or did I sleep through it like I did when Wally was preaching about raw fish?" You set your tools down and pull his pelt more tightly around you, feeling oddly protective of it.

Seeing you wrapped up in his pelt never failed to make Dick's chest flutter; unfortunately, he had to focus on the matter at hand. "As I was saying, we're married but not in the human way. "

"Ah- Yeah, I see that but.. that seems entirely unnecessary."

"There's no harm in it." Dick says, looking at you with big hopeful eyes. No matter whether it’s his liquid seal eyes or his bright baby blues, you’re still a sucker.

He is definitely up to something. Dick always uses that look when he really wants something and you can already feel yourself falling for it. Who thought giving this man the cutest face in the world was a good idea? Who?! You sigh. Spousal homicide is a bad idea, you tell yourself.

"You're so lucky you're terribly cute," you huff, "you're also lucky that there's a ferry coming tomorrow."

You mentally calculate how much time the whole trip would take but you know all that arithmetic is useless when you hazard a look at your husband. Dick beams, dimples appear at the corners of his mouth, and makes the happiest little noises.

You lean over the railing, watching the sea and feeling the wind comb through your hair. A pair of arms wraps around you making you squeak.

Dick buries his face in your hair and he sweeps you into his arms. "How's the most beautiful creature in the world?"

"Dunno Dick, how are you?" You smile.

Dick sniffles. "You're not allowed to be this cute."

"Hypocrite." You laugh wrapping your arms around him.

He nudges his face against yours.

"Are you liking your first boat ride?"

"I could still swim faster." Dick hums.

You roll your eyes. "Sadly for us, I can't."

"It's ok," he says, brushing his lips against the shell of your ear," it just means you can't escape me on this boat."

"Pfffft!"

"You're saying that now but look who I have in my hold." He chuckles, lips brushing against your neck.

"We're in public you dork!" You squeal.

"And?"

You sigh."You just like embarrassing me."

"Yup. Just ask Jaso- What's that?!" Dick says pointing to a statue on the shore. It was tall and proud with hair cascading down like a waterfall with a visage as hard as the rock it's carved on. You narrow your eyes trying to recall what the local told your father when you were younger.

"Oh, it's... It's a sea goddess I believe or maybe a selkie." You shrug at Dick who looks at it in awe. You supposed this is the first time he's seen a statue that big.

"I thought you said the people on the mainland didn't believe in selkies?"

"Er... ok, so there are mainlanders who are more inland where I come from and there's people near the sea. No, there are more divisions than that but- Ok, so the place where I came from the sea wasn't as important but here it is so they probably have more folk tales."

"I guess that makes sense," Dick says burying his face in your hair. "Did you have any folk tales?"

"Some but it was mostly cautionary about maidens being stolen away."

"Guess you didn't listen to them, huh?" he says, "did they say anything about stealing hearts?" Dick winks one of those winks that only he could make cute.

You huff into your scarf. "More about eating them, I think."

"I can do that if you want." He smirks cheekily.

You pat his cheek, trying to be as irritatingly condescending as possible. "You're still not scary."

Dick takes your hand in his and brings it closer to his lips. He pretends to bite at your fingers, his sharp canines dragging along the skin and nipping at the joints. "It’s because I love you so much."

Dick alternates between gawking at perfectly common sights like large cargo ships and flocks of sheep on the cliff and teasing the life out of you for the rest of the ferry ride.

You are the tiniest bit mortified that several passengers have seen your husband drag his teeth over your skin and toss you in the air for the fun of it. Dick was horrible at keeping a low profile. Not that acting reserved would have mattered anyway given how everyone's eyes were always drawn to him.

You can't blame them, his laughter is infectious and his smile was enough to make the gloomy morning look like a bright summer afternoon. You really really don't blame them for gawking but you just wish they wouldn't.

Not even fifteen minutes onshore and you're reminded why you only ever went into town with your father. Being meek by nature, you're often the target for unruly sailors. It never got too bad, not enough for you to call the cops at least. You would be lying if you wish it wasn't such a common occurrence to have some random guy shove his hand down your back pocket and squeezes your ass.

You jump, nearly dropping the little map of shops your father had drawn for you a while ago. A man passes behind you snickering quietly and yeah, knocking his teeth in would be amazing.

"Hey buddy, do you mind apologizing?" Dick asks, his voice dangerously pleasant.

There's a gnawing sense of foreboding forming in your stomach. It squirms in your gut until you grab Dick's sleeve. "Dick," you hiss, "it's not worth it."

You'd looked at the man and sadly, it really wasn't worth getting Dick's face punched in on his first visit to the mainland. You don't think anything worth getting Dick hurt.

The men turn back to your and the dread in your stomach solidifies. Even your dad was never dumb enough to piss off sailors especially ones built like I train would be dented when hitting them.

"I don't see the problem, pretty boy," the man spits like he'd said the word fungus, "The lass doesn't have a problem with it, do you?" He leers at you. It makes your skin crawl. He steps closer, invading your space, and places a hand on your shoulder. "This lassy here and I go waaaay back." He says, sliding his hand down your arm. You have absolutely no doubt that this man is sloshed because you have never seen him before in your life. You are pretty plain, so that makes sense but yeah, this is the first time you've seen his mug.

"A lass like you shouldn't be dressing like that if you know what's good for you."You open your mouth to protest but only manage to tighten your grip on Dick's sleeve.

There's a split second between Dick flickering his eyes to you and the satisfying sound of a fist making contact with a jaw. The man falls to the ground narrowly avoiding smashing his head into the cobblestones.

"Get up and apologize to her." Dick growls, teeth bared. He pushes forward. You're about as stunned as the man on the ground. Dick's poised for a fight and you have no doubt he'll have no problem getting into a row. You need to stop Dick from doing anything stupid. You wrap your arms around his waist, squeezing your eyes shut. You bury your face into his coat. You want to tell him that it's fine, that you're used to things like this, that you don't want him to get hurt. This whole thing isn't worth him getting hurt. You're not worth him getting hurt. But the only thing you can manage is a weak "It's not worth it."

Dick squeezes your hand. You're trembling and Dick feels awful for scaring you but he doesn't stop glaring at the man. He guesses he's made his point loud and clear. He softens a fraction, maneuvering you to his side and wrapping an arm around you. There's still a snarl caught in the back of his throat but contrary to popular belief, Dick isn't hot-headed enough to ignore you. All he wants to do now is get you to safety.

You squeeze him with your arms, your face still scrunched as if bracing for impact. "Let's go shopping for those rings, yeah?"

Dick sighs with an indulgent smile. "Ok, honey." He kisses the crown of your head. "I love you, I’m sorry."

"Don’t be sorry," you say, snuggling tighter into him. "You know I only want you and--” That wasn’t even the point. You are really bad at this. “--and you really should be more careful. What if you got hurt?"

"Did you miss that killer right hook? He sure didn't."

A small smile shapes your lips. "Moron."

"Still love me though." He says, bringing your knuckle to his lips.

You shake your head. "It's unfortunate really."

"You know the more time I spend here the less I believe the fact that you didn't know what selkies were," Dick says holding up another seal necklace.

You look at him, wince at the bruise blooming on his knuckle but continue. "My dad and I went into town twice a year and they were only ever day trips." You say, setting down a cheap shot glass with a blubbering seal. It wasn't strictly a lie. It was more of a guesstimate. You look away from him and mumble a "I thought they were called Setties."

Dick snorts loudly and you have a heart attack thinking he reverted back to his seal form. "Setties?" He snorts again and you think he's gonna suck in all the dust from the store.

"Yes, Setties." You repeat grumpily, "I was 7. Cut me some slack!"

"When have I ever cut you some slack?"

"Never."

"Mhm, exactly."

"Why do I love you again?"

"Because I'm the cutest person, you know?"

"I dunno, Dickie." You drawl, picking up a couple of little seal stuffed toys. They were cute with their round faces and distended bodies. Their black eyes didn't quite do justice to your favorite trouble maker but they're close enough in huggableness."These little guys could give you a run for your money."

Dick makes an affronted squawk. You hold them to Dick's face for inspection and ask: "Should we buy the black one or the white one?" Truly, a matter of life and death.

Dick scrunches his face in thought. "The black one obviously."

"But the white one looks cute too." You whine.

Dick gives you a grumpy pout. You ignore him. "Why don’t we get both?"

Dick crosses his arms. "Why-"

"Yanno... A pair like us..." You say, pulling them closer to your chest and looking up at him hopefully.

Dick looks at you wearily. "How could I argue against such a solid argument?" Dick says, tousling your already windswept locks.

"What do you think I’d look like as a seal?" You ask absently as you exit the store. You'd managed to drive the price down with a little haggling and a bit of distraction from Dick.

"Beautiful."

You grin at him. "Again buttering me up won't make me buy you more sweets."

"I can think of other things to eat." Dick says, his pink tongue darting over his lips as he looks at you.

You swallow, mouth feeling dry. Dick is horrible to you today.

The old antique shop was dustier than you remembered. Part of you suspects that the particles sprinkled on all the shelves is in fact just the old owner's cremated remains but you don't really wanna find out if it's true.

You comb through the shelves, feeling like a pirate in search of treasure. The expensive rings with their big rind stones were stowed away on a shelf behind the shopkeeper but everyone one knows that if you want the good stuff you have to search for it yourself.

Dick seems to be happy looking through all the strange knickknacks, so you carry on.

You nearly squeal with glee when you find a ring. It was a band of silver carved into the shape of a seal curling in on itself as it slumbers. You smile holding it close to your chest. "Give me your finger."

"That... is a very strange way to put it."

"Just give me your hand." You say holding out your own. Dick, still incredulous, puts his hand in yours. You bite back a smile as you put the ring on his ring finger. Your lips stretch even as you dig your teeth in. It was a good fit. You're embarrassed to say you were bouncing on your heel with excitement.The silver looks lovely against his tanned skin.

Dick inspects it. "And you said subtlety wasn't my element."

"It really isn't," you say, smiling down at his hand. "But I never did say it was mine either." You could easily find another ring if he doesn't like it but you're quietly hoping he does. You try not to watch his face, not read too deeply into his expressions.

"I like it. Let's try to find a matching one."

Much to your amusement, you did find something but it's.... You snort as you put it on.

"It kind of matches." Dick says wearily.

"It's a fish." You laugh.

"Um... it's a pretty silver fish."

"Absolutely ravishing, huh?"

"Exactly like my wife." Dick says, nipping at your ear.

Your ear burns and you cover it hastily.

"Let's just go pay for them." You say, shoving at him lightly.

"So you do like it?" He asks, peaking through your fingers.

"Yes, you dork. Now, stop being cute." You say, shoving him again.

"Never." He chuckles.

"Is this the statue from the harbor?" Dick asks, poking at the little replica on the shopkeep's counter.

"Aye lad, the natives worshiped the sea before we came along. Kooky fellows but they knew a thing or two about the sea. They even talked about the selkie. Those blood-thirsty women folk of the sea. "

Dick scrunches his nose. You press the heel of your palm to your lips holding back a laugh.

"Well, I’ve heard some different of stories." Dick says, leaning into the counter, his eyes shining mischievously.

The old shopkeep leans in, looking around. "Like what?"

Dick leans in a bit more, his voice hushed and conspiratorial. "I hear they try to trap fair maidens into marriage to bear children for them."

Dick winks unabashedly. You flush. "What?!"

"C'mon lad," the shopkeeper snorted like a walrus, "we all know that all selkies are women folk."

"That’s the thing," Dick says, resting his hands on his intertwined fingers. He grins. "I’ve been out at sea a while, my whole family has aaaaand," he drawls in his other voice. The shopkeep looks entranced. "We've heard of different tales."

"Do tell."

"My family have heard tales of male selkies, those who seek women to carry on the selkie way." Dick pushes off the counter, spinning around on his heel theatrically. "We heard of old lore when they used to kidnap unsuspecting women by the sea shore." You vaguely recall this version but it seemed like ages ago. "But now," he says, stepping closer to you. "Now, they are much more persuasive." Dick winks at you and you resist the urge to elbow him.

"I also heard they're quite persistent." You say, leaning against him.

"Quite." Dick says a little too fondly.

"Hnnn, never heard that one." The shopkeep says tilting his head. "Do you have anymore?"

"Oh, I have a ton of seafaring stories if you'd like. I’ve heard stories about the Cthulhu."

"Cthulhu?"

"The great horror of the deep."

"The only horror here is the lack of treasure chests." The shopkeep huffs. You would be inclined to agree if Tim and Damian weren't so good at finding them.

"Oh this is no tall-tale my friend," Dick says, wrapping an arm around the man's shoulders, "we heard that he awakes once every 10 years to roam the deep seas. Why do you think boats go missing with no trace?"

Monsoons, you think.

"Like that submarine last summer!"

Dick nods sagely "Exactly."

You want to slap your palm against your forehead. There is no way he can believe that hokey, right? ... You are literally married to a selkie. Do you really have any room for skepticism? You sigh. You suppose not.

"The sea is a mysterious maiden just like those sires. A tricky bunch, slippery and smart not like mermaids."

"Have you ever heard one?!" The shopkeep nearly folds over the counter.

"Once when I’d been at sea for 4 months, I heard the most beautiful song in my life, kind of like a mirage but it was a misty night at sea."

The shopkeeper gasps.

You blink. This is news to you.

"Luckily, my father pulled me from the towboat before I set off towards it." You try to imagine it and somehow it's funnier than the idea of Dick being bloodthirsty.

Dick regails Bruce's spat with a sea witch and Alfred's horrifying tale with a kraken. Even you were enthralled by all his tales. Having the shopkeep thoroughly wrapped around his finger. He leans in close again. "Sorry, I got so lost. How much were these rings again?"

The man blinks as if resurfacing from a trance. "A sea-loving man like you? You can keep it for five coffers."

You gape at him, eyes blown wide. That’s less than what you pay for bread.

The man turns to you. "Lass, you better keep an eye on him. This one belongs to the sea."

He's... not wrong.

"You really are too kind," Dick says handing the money over.

"Anytime lad. Feel free to come back with more of your stories!" He calls out as you two walk out the door.

“Since when were you a sailor?” You ask, nudging your shoulder against his.

“Since Jay told me stories.” He answers, nudging back.

“So they were all made up?” You ask, shaking his arm.

Dick hums noncommittally.

You frown at him. “C’mon fess up, pup.”

“Not *all* of them. I just spiced up the truth, that’s all.”

“The sirens?”

Dick freezes.

“Wait, are sirens real?” You gape, pounding your hand on his chest.

“Well, kinda.”

“Kinda?!”

Dick walks ahead of you trying to avoid your question. He does the mature thing and plugs his ears with his fingers. You continue to pester him all the way down the street.

The scent from the bakery wafted in the air calling to both of you as you two continue to bicker. Your stomachs cry out in a chorus. You look at your watch. You knew you'd forgotten something.

"I'll get us something to eat," Dick says, clearly staring at the cupcakes. Getting cupcakes wouldn't hurt. It would be better than getting an actual wedding cake.

You shake your head. "I might sit for a bit." You say handing him your purse and wrenching the bags from his grip. He huffs but doesn't complain.

You park yourself on a bench just outside the bakery. Going to town is just as exhausting as you remember it being. You lull your head back, looking to the sky. What are the odds that it's safe to just doze off here on the bench? Probably pretty low.

Dick watches you from a window, snickering. You were so cute when you're nodding off. He should probably ask if they sell coffee too because you look like you're going to need the entire pot.

He lets a woman go in front of him because Alfred taught him manners and not because he was delighted to see you nearly fold into your shopping bags. You startle and yelp then straighten up. Great seas, you're so cute.

"Hey handsome, can I get a name?"

Dick turns to the woman with an amicable smile. "Oh, the name's Dick."

"I'm ..." Dick is barely paying attention when he sees you take out one of the rings you'd bought with a stupidly happy smile on your face as you try it on. You look up at your hand and Dick can't help the twitch of his mouth.

You wave to him, feeling his eyes on you. He waves back with a thousand-watt smile.

There's a hand sprawled on his chest. "I've never seen you here before." The woman purrs. Dick steps back, feeling a bit uncomfortable.

"I'm from out of town-"

"That explains it." She says, batting her eyes.

Dick's not too concerned, not when you've just disappeared from his sight. Dick's about to run outside when he feels a familiar pair of arms wrap around his waist.

"My husband and I are just here for a day trip to run some errands." You huff glaring at the woman.

Dick wraps an arm around you, chuckling at the priceless expression on your face.

"Dickie, did you want to introduce me?" You ask sweetly.

"Sorry, I didn't quite catch your name." Dick says, feeling genuinely bad because he really wasn't paying attention. In his defense, you were distracting him.

"I'm Mia."

"I'm (Y/n)." You say trying not to puff your cheeks. You clearly just want the woman to go away.

Dick wants to pinch you for being so cute. The disgustingly sweet aura you two radiate was enough to make the woman go away. Much to your relief and Dick's amusement. Dick lets himself sink into your embrace.

Dick pinches your cheek as you get the bread from the counter. You swat his hand away with a loaf of slightly stale bread you were gonna rework later. "What?!"

"Nothing, you're just so damn cute, honey." Dick laughs, pinching your cheek again.

"Says the dork who punched someone." You say, pecking him on the lips.

Dick rolls his eyes. "He totally deserved it."

"Sure, sure."

Ok, he did.

Dick pecks your lips. "Let's go find you a bouquet and a minister so you can keep that ring on."

You flush not noticing that you haven't taken the ring off. Dick looks down at you like he's the luckiest man in the world.

“Will it still make you happy?” Dick asks, fidgeting in front of the courthouse.

You raise a brow at him prompting him to elaborate.

“Getting married without a proper ceremony, I mean.”

Ah. You clutch the bouquet of cornflowers to your chest, twining your finger with his. “As long as I have you it’ll be perfect.”

Dick sniffles. “Stop saying things like that.”

“You started~”

Dick presses his forehead against your, letting out a low trill. “I can’t wait to sign on the paper and make you my wife. Officially.”

You nudge your nose against his. “I can’t wait either.”

The minister looks between the two of you suspiciously, probably looking for signs of which one of you suggested eloping. “You may now say your vows.”

Dick takes out a crumpled sheet of paper with yellowing edges. In a cool crisp voice, he begins to speak:

“If I speak in the tongues of men or of angels, but do not have love, I am only a resounding gong or a clanging cymbal. If I have the gift of prophecy and can fathom all mysteries and all knowledge, and if I have a faith that can move mountains, but do not have love, I am nothing. If I give all I possess to the poor and give over my body to hardship that I may boast, but do not have love, I gain nothing.”

The wind rises in your chest, tears welling up in your eyes. You try to keep yourself together.

“Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It does not dishonor others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hope, always perseveres.”

You cup your hand over your mouth, your father’s words coming to life through Dick’s voice.

“Love never fails.”

Dick reaches out to you, wiping the tears running down your face. You don’t know if Dick knows how much that meant to you but you’re endlessly thankful.

You feel flush. You’re not really sure you could follow that up. God, you really should have prepared more. You take a deep breath and will yourself not to turn tail and run.

Set me as a seal upon your heart,

as a seal upon your arm;

for love is strong as death,

passion fierce as the grave.

Its flashes are flashes of fire,

a raging flame.

Many waters cannot quench love,

neither can floods drown it.

If one offered for love

all the wealth of one’s house,

it would be utterly scorned.

Dick looks at you, fondness curving his lips. You smile back at him sheepishly.

The minister clears his throat. “You may now kiss the bride.”

Dick picks you up and spins you around then brings you close to kiss you. You giggle at his theatrics. In the corner of your vision, you could see the minister just looking extremely tired.

“Give me the bouquet.”

You don’t mainly because you have a policy of making people explain things before you do anything and also because you were hoping to throw the bouquet yourself.

Dick tilts his head. “Uh, give me two.” He pauses. “Please?” “Will you promise me this won’t curse anyone?”

“Just because my dad’s girlfriend is a sea witch does not mean I curse people.”

“And you feel absolutely no need to unpack that, huh?”

“Sweetie, pleeeeeease.” He gives you the big eyes and you silently wonder how selkie divorce works.

You hand him two flowers. He pinches off the stems and says: “Hold out your hands.”

“Can I at least know what kind of ungodly ritual my husband is suckering me into?” You huff as he puts one of the cornflowers in your palms.

“It’s more superstition really. My mom used to say that if you tell a flower about your love for someone and let the sea carry it away, then your love will be able to weather storms.”

You want to tell him that based on the stories the sea had nothing to do with the ferocity of his parent’s love but when you look back into the glitter of nostalgia in his eyes you know that there is nothing for it.

You hold the cornflower close, whispering promises to it, an endless litany of devotions that you hope only the sea will hear. Dick beside you does much the same with regular pauses and additions to his. When you’re both finished, you let the flowers fall harmlessly into the water and watch them, despite all odds, drift together in the ocean.

Dick nuzzles you into the floor. You lay flat on his pelt as Dick hovers over you. He kisses you, nipping at your bottom lip. You hum and slide your hands up his back and part your lips to give him access. Dick pulls away, dragging his lips down your face. His teeth graze on the skin of your neck. Feeling ticklish, you giggle. He smiles pressing another wet kiss to your skin before pulling back. You whine already missing the close contact.

"I think we forgot something." Dick says, gently grasping your wrist and kissing it.

You furrow your brow. You play with his hair as you try to think. "Pretty sure we did everything," you mumble. You shiver when you feel Dick's teeth catch on your pulse, his luminescent eyes staring at you intently. "I'm telling you, sweetheart, you're forgetting something."

You groan. It would be easier to think if Dick's lips weren't on your skin. "We've gotten the rings, thrown the rice, and hit Wally in the head with the bouquet..." You bite back a squeak when Dick sucks a hickey onto your wrist.

"Getting warmer, darling."

You flush. You try to control your breathing but your skin feels so hot against his. You and Dick have met with a minister and he's also carried you over the threshold... All that's left is...

You can feel Dick's hand slide up your shirt, his hand warm against your chilly skin. "Consummation." You whisper, swallowing thickly.

Dick's eyes are bright and mischievous in the firelight. "Bingo." He lets go of your wrist and lowers himself to press a hungry kiss on your lips; it was all tongue and teeth as his hips move against yours. He pinches your nipples between his fingers drawing out a gasp from you. Dick takes this chance to deepen the kiss. He groans into the kiss when you tug at his hair.You moan against him, wrapping your legs around his waist trying to pull him closer. Your movements are clumsy, speaking to your inexperience. Dick is going to take his time with you.

Dick kisses your nose and pulls away. He can’t resist. Dick drags the shirt slowly over his body. He hears your breath hitch and a vain sort of pride fuels Dick’s ego. It was one thing for other people to tell him he was pretty. It was an entirely different thing to have you look at him with so much awe and reverence. That look in your eyes always makes his skin prickle with delight.

You trace the shape of his muscles with your fingers, your mouth parted slightly as you drink in the sight of him. Dick is no less awe-inspiring than the first time you saw him. You marvel over the scars crisscrossing his chest and arms. None of the imperfections on his skin ever managed to dull his beauty. Unfairly, they only enhanced it and took your breath away every time you noticed a new detail about him. Your hand drifts down to the V of his abs; the tough makes him tremble as it dips closer to the hem of his pants. Dick takes in a sharp breath before kissing you again. It was partly because he could never get enough of your lips and partially to get your attention.

“Honey, I want to see you too.” He whispers into your lips.

Your body locks up at his words and a heat spreads across your chest, your neck, and up to your ears. Your mouth feels so dry all of a sudden and your feet turn into blocks of ice. What if Dick finds you repulsive? What if he sees you naked and he can’t stand what he sees? Will he leave or will he smile through it all the while gritting his teeth through it? You’re not pretty, not the way Dick is and you certainly can’t measure up to the other Selkies you’ve met. How the flying fuck were you supposed to compte with Babs or Kori? You seriously consider running away and hiding in your room until you feel Dick’s teeth graze against the column of your neck.

“Please.” He breathes and his voice is so thick with want that it’s enough for you to forget the desire to melt into the baseboards even for just a moment. You don’t want him to be disappointed, to know that he’s traded down. You’re scared. You don’t want to be but you’re fucking terrified.

“It’s ok,” he whispers. “I know you’re nervous.” He kisses your forehead. Dick knows he needs to be patient. He’s waited to feel all of you for this long. He’s willing just to wait a bit more if it means you’re comfortable.

You close your eyes, grabbing the hem of your shirt. Dick kisses your eyelid. He bites his lip, resisting the urge to sink his teeth into your flesh. It’s so supple and hot against his. Instead, he busies himself by helping you out of your bra but his fingers are clumsy with his brain too full of your skin. You giggle as you both fumble for the clasps.

Dick wastes no time peppering your chest with kisses once you’re completely bare. “So pretty.” Dick purrs against your chest. He nuzzles into the valley of your breasts as he feels your breaths even out. Sliding his hands up and down your sides reverently, he makes certain that you know just how beautiful you are with every bite, every kiss, and every touch.

His attention goes to your breasts. You arch your back as Dick begins rolling your nipples between his teeth. He savors all the little gasps and mewls you make. "Dick." You sigh out his name happily. Dick groans, hips gyrating against yours. "Dick." You repeat, tugging at his hair. You rock your hips in time with his.

Your voice is driving him insane. The way his name rolls off your tongue like silk fries his nerves. All he wants to do is make you scream it over and over while he takes care of you and lets you know just how good you feel against him.

"That's it baby, let me make you feel good."Dick says, giving your nipple one last lick before taking care of the other. "I wanna make you feel so good, sweetheart."

The husky quality of his voice makes you shiver. Your fingers travel down his back, fingernails lightly scraping against his skin. He trembles against your as you slide your hand down his chest and down his pants. Your fingertips brush against the head of his member. You wrap your hand around his cock, teasing his head with your thumb. Your thumb is wet with his precum as Dick pants softly into your skin. Dick can't help but move against your hand.

"Sweetheart," he grunts, " I can't... I-"

Dick grasps your wrist, pressing a kiss to it before pulling it over your head. You whine. Dick's breaths tickle your ear as he tries to steady them. He kisses your cheek and nibbles on your ear. Dick grabs your other arm and pins it down next to the other, pinning both hands with one hand. You squirm underneath him, trying to break his hold.

"Let me take care of you." He says, trying to level his voice but you're making it so hard.

You drag your leg up his calf. Dick brushes his lips down your neck, sucking a hickey into every available surface of your skin on the way down your hips and murmuring ‘I love you’ as he does.

"Dick, please." You moan.

"Sweetheart," Dick says, biting the soft flesh of your hip.

You wriggle in his grip causing the hand wound around them to tighten. Dick watches you intently as he bites another hickey into the flesh or your hip. You gasp out his name and Dick can feel his cock twitch. He needs more.

“Shhhh, I know, Honey. Shhhhhh.” Dick says, kissing along the hem of your pants before his teeth catch on the fabric. Dick tugs the button free and pulls the zipper down with his teeth. You think your heart stops. Every little thing he does drives you up the wall. He hooks his fingers to the top of your pants and pulls them down slowly. You can feel the fabric drag against your skin as Dick presses I love yous up your leg.

Dick bites lightly at your ankle as he tosses your pants over his shoulder. Dick licks his lips, they’re plush and glossy from the saliva. He’s looking at you with so much love and adoration that you feel yourself melt. You’re suddenly painfully aware of your nakedness. You snap your legs shut shyly, withdrawing your ankle from his hold. You curl in on yourself, muttering an apology.

He shakes his head, chuckling softly. Dick pushes the hair out of your face. He presses his forehead against yours, kissing you softly and running his hands up and down your sides. Your legs slowly open to let his body closer to yours. You just want to feel his skin against yours.

"I love how your body reacts to me, honey." Dick winks.

You wrap your arms around him, your muscles relaxing a fraction. He can feel the ring on your finger dig into the back of his neck. You are his and he is yours. Dick trills at the thought. You laugh, the vibrations from his lips tickling you.

"I love you. You know that, don't you?" Dick asks, nibbling your lip.

"The whole world knows," you snort, "especially after that fiasco at the town square."

"I had to protect my wifey's honor." He says with a cheeky smile that takes over his face.

"Somehow, I feel like knocking his teeth in was a bit much." You say, pulling him into another kiss because... well, your husband is awfully adorable even if he is a disaster.

"Only seems fair," he says, his hand travelling down your body, kissing your clavicle, "he was being rude to my wife." Dick's fingers dip between your soaking folds. You were dripping just for him. Dick would be lying if he said that didn't inflate his ego. With his fingers curled inside you as he drags them in and out, you arch into him. You thread your finger through his hair and pull.

"Dickie, I want you," you whisper, rubbing your knee against his crotch. "I want you so much."

Dick ruts against your leg, breath ragged and desperate. Dick's body is so sensitive to your touch; it's ridiculous.

"I want you too." He manages barely above a whisper.

"Then fuck me, " you look away from his, biting your lip, "please?"

"Honey," he groans. God, why did you have to say it like that? "You're going to make me cum."

"Isn't that the point?" You ask, your nails dragging on his back as you try and fuck yourself on his fingers.

What did Dick do to deserve you?

"It is," he says, taking his hand out of your folds. "But not before I can make you cum first." He licks his fingers in front of you never breaking eye contact as he does.

You cover your face and squeak because damn it Dick you can't just- Who does that?!

Dick hastily shimmies out of his pants, his cock springing free. You hear a pap as his cock slap against the toned muscles of his stomach. You squeak, peaking through your fingers, the slap ringing sinfully in your mind. Dick lets out an amused breath as he hovers over you. Stroking his length, he smears the precum along your inner thigh, whispering how much you turn him on and how he can't get enough of you.

"Sweetheart, I want you to look at me while I fuck you." He grunts and the air in your lungs evaporate. You think you'll follow suit in a few seconds. "Sweetheart, don't make me beg you."He says into your neck.

Dick, you're not helping, you think to yourself but the saccharine way he always says your pet names has you giving into the request. Dick is smiling down at you and your heart melts. He kisses you deeply. You wrap your limbs around him, your heels digging into the small of his back and your fingers tangled in his locks as he slowly enters you.

He moans into your lips and you moan into his. There's a burning stretch inside you that has you begging for more. He bottoms out and your walls flutter around his cock trying to accommodate his girth. A shiver travels up his spine feeling your velvet walls trying to milk his cock. Dick pulls away from the kiss to whisper: "I love you."

"I love you too, hubby. Please move."

"Aye aye, wifey." He says slowly, pulling his length out. You can feel the long drag of his cock against your walls. You mewl for a lack of anything intelligent to say.

The sound is enough to egg him on. He pushes in and out of you in long strokes, enjoying how your body rocks against his chasing your own pleasure. You pepper kisses to his chest and leave your own marks. Dick would be embarrassed by the lewd noises he makes as you do so but he's too caught up in you to really care. He doesn't even care if the whole world can hear him right now, all he cares about is that you're his and that you're loving this as much as he is.

"Baby, you feel so good. Your pussy was made for me. Ah!" Dick says, his hips stuttering when he feels you clench at those words. He kisses your shoulder. He loves the way his name falls from your lips as if it's the only thing you know how to say. "That's it baby. You're so pretty moaning and gasping and begging for my cock."

All Dick can focus on is the sound of your skin slapping against his. You kiss up his neck, nibbling at his Adam's apple as he swallows. "Dickie, I want more."

Dick's mind comes crashing to a halt.

"Dick, please. I want to feel you more. Please, go faster." You say, voice husky with want. It makes Dick feel like his body has turned to gelatin.

He kisses your forehead, a blush spreading across his skin. "Sweetheart, I can't."

"Please Dick." You breathe, pouting at him.

Fuck, you can't look this cute while begging him to fuck you... twice. That's just not fair.

"Sweetheart, if I go any faster, I'm going to cum." The embarrassment is hard to hide.

You drag your nails across his back and lick a stripe up his neck." Dick, I want you to fill me up. Dick, please, I'm so close." You beg, teeth catching on his collarbone, looking at him with watery eyes.

Dick is a sucker and he can never say no to a pretty face. He kisses one of your eyelids before slamming his hips into yours. His balls slap against your skin as he thrusts in and out with wild abandon. He thrusts deeper at an angle that was sure to hit your g spot every time.

You sing his name sweetly as you pull him closer. Your nipples rub against his chest as you bounce on his cock. Your walls constrict around him making it harder to pull out every time. All he wants to do is to stay inside you and revel in your warmth but he wants to bring you over the edge and fuck you stupid. He rolls your clit between his fingers as you whimper into his neck.

You both cum crying each other's name. Dick kisses you as he fucks you through your orgasm, painting your walls with his hot seed.

Dick rests his weight on top of you as he pulls out with some of his seed painting your inner thigh. "I love you." He pants.

"I love you too, you heavy lug." You grouse, trying to push him off of you.

Dick has mercy on you and rolls you two over with you resting on top of him, perfect for cuddling you.

Dick whispers "I love you" and other praises every time he opens his mouth and you return the sentiment by kissing a different part of his face.

After a few moments of basking in the afterglow, Dick flushes seeing just how many hickeys he's left you and he flushes even harder seeing his own chest marked up.

"Sorry about that," He says kissing one of the marks. "I just can't help myself-" Kiss "-You look so pretty covered in love bites-" Kiss "-Sweetheart, you gotta stop sounding cute. I'll get hard again- Fuck."

Your hand wraps around his shaft, fingers brushing against his skin experimentally. "But I want you." You say bluntly.

Dick is going to combust. "I want you to. I've wanted you like this for so long."

You stop. Your thumb brushes against the tip of his already leaking cock. Your lips curl into a smile. "Is that why you were so adamant on getting married?" You snicker, booping his nose with yours.

"No, yes, maybe... partially." He stammers out.

You snort. "You know that wasn't necessary for us to..." The flush creeps back on your lips. You somehow have the audacity to look shy while still stroking his shaft. Dick is going to burst.

"I didn't want you to miss out on it," Dick says steadying his breath, feeling himself get harder as he talks or attempts to, "I wanted you to experience it since you told me you dreamt about it as a kid."

You stop and Dick bucks to urge you to keep going.

"You remembered that?" You ask, the expression on your face is complicated.

Dick sits up, brushing a finger against your cheek. "Of course, I did."

"Dork." You sniffle, kissing his cheek.

"Only for you," He laughs but it's cut off by the movement of your hand. "Sweetheart, are you trying to kill me?" He gasps, biting into his knuckle.

"I'm only thanking you for being so sweet." You tease, spreading your mixed juices all over his cock. "and I just love my hubby that's all."

____________________________________________________________

Thanks for reading!!!!!!

Tag list: @batarella, @anothertimdrakestan, @lucy-roo, @multifandomgirl-us, @idkmanicantenglish , @birdy-bat-writes, @boosyboo9206, @americasmarauders , @l-inkage, @arestorationofbalance , @cloudie-skay, @wunderstell @hyp-oh-critical @glorified-red @ marshmallow12435 @vvipgot7be @jadedhillon

#dick grayson #dick grayson x reader #dick grayson x you #dick grayson imagine #dick grayson smut

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sukiglycerin · 4 years ago

Text

it’s too cold outside for angels to fly || katsuki bakugou.

* pairing: pro-hero!katsuki bakugou x angel quirk!reader (gender neutral!)

* genre: fluff, angst, actually sfw (wow, luna's can do that?!)

* words: 8.1k (it’s a big baby!)

* warnings: mentions of trauma, reader is insecure but it's not their entire personality, therapy (not a lot of scenes with it), slight intoxication, mentions of throwing up (not much), like one suggestive joke, (light) cussing because bakugou

* original request: All I’m saying is reader with a angel quirk and the reader even has wings AND ANGST (but happy at the end 🥺) WITH BAKUGOU sounds so good 😔 but of course if you don’t want to do that it’s fine no pressure 💕

* a/n: hi 'nonnie! i hope you like you like this! honestly, it turned out longer than i expected (twice the length lol) but i'm proud of this baby. i'd like to note that enko, the nickname bakugou calls reader means 'halo' in japanese and can double down as a name, and an important reminder not to take any advice from the therapy in this fic. i am not a professional therapist, and please seek advice for situations specific to yours. the name of the fic is inspired by a lyric from ed sheeran's 'a-team,' but i promise it's not that dark. thanks so much to @toishi and the amazing feedback from @dylanxmin for beta-reading this! hope you enjoy!

* synopsis: you were your parents' perfect angel. you listened, and you followed. you didn't become a pro-hero, you stayed inside per your parents' request. it was okay if you couldn't fly; or, at least it was, before katsuki bakugou came along...

your grandmother loved pastries. that’s why you were here, trekking through the cold city in the tokyo winter. you shivered everytime your feathers came in contact with the frigid air, as if they, too, cowered under the looming shadows of tall buildings and bright lights.

so many people roamed the sidewalks, yet any bodily warmth was gone. you regretted not buying a cover for your wings - surely, it'd be an investment despite the price. wing covers were rarely manufactured for your size in japan, mainly aimed for small children just developing a quirk. the extra cloth needed for adult wing covers as well as shipping costs jacked up the price, making you hesitant to buy them. your wings were folded against the outside of your coat (putting them inside gave you cramps), nuzzling against your back subconsciously for heat. your wings were a pale cream colour, slightly more vibrantly mustard-coloured at the tips, and were the most visible part of your quirk.

according to the doctor, your quirk was "angel," but it felt nothing more than a pet name. there was a time in your life that you adorned a halo, but it no longer hovered above you when you looked up now. you weren't granted much power with your quirk; you were barely able to fly with your wings, but maybe you had a stronger moral compass than others? the wings, at this point in your life, were just accessories, as useless as the appendix. they could only cause you pain. you walked mindlessly toward the bakery, snow flurries dotting your hair. the bakery was a rundown, easy to miss place; you would've missed it if you hadn't gone there so many times. the faded yellow paint on the exterior was peeling, the poster on the window ripped and advertising for summer deals from years back. it had only a word-of-mouth reputation to rely on.

there was a worn sticker on the door, right at eye level, which said the name of the bakery in loopy letters: 'the flour road.'

you swung the door open with a jingle, greeted by the scent of baking bread and warmth. the bakery was your grandmother's favorite, specializing in rice cakes and dorayaki. she loved the pastries, for some reason - the baklava especially. she sent you on an errand to buy her some, giving you extra money to buy your personal favorite of dorayaki. to be exact, she pushed the money into your hands and forced you to buy a dorayaki for yourself. it was still warm when the cashier handed you your boxes, which you gingerly put in the bag.

you took a deep breath, bracing yourself for the cold, before you opened the door and found yourself back in the cold winter.

a hand roughly pulled you into an alley, and you found yourself face to face with a masked figure.

"give me your money." the figure pointed to your purse, tugging it.

"i don't- i don't-" you reach to take off your purse, not questioning it. there was simply nothing you could do; besides, the voice was young enough. what if they were simply going through a rough time in life? that was no cause to-

"OI, DUMBASS, WHADDAYA THINK YOU'RE DOING?!" a spiky haired man appeared suddenly, wearing what appeared to be melons on his arms. you suddenly recognized his getup of black, orange, and green; he was a pro-hero. what was his name? zero gravity? zero gr...ass?

"LADY, MOVE ASIDE." he looked you over. "FLY, OR SOMETHING."

"i can't-" but he was already after the thief. it took him less than 30 seconds to capture the thief; he was fast by himself, but was faster when propelled by his explosions.

"well, why are you here still?" he turned to you, the figure from before slung over his shoulder.

"i can't fly," you blurted.

he blinked. "then walk. besides, you literally have-" the figure moaned over his shoulder. "agh, nevermind, gotta take this douche to the police. go home."

the next you see of the explosive melon hero is at a supermarket. his arms are melonless this time, though, and you're not actually sure if he's the melon hero. you only recognize him by his hair and red eyes, but truthfully, it was probably not him. he was muttering something about "the spice not being spicy enough," and "stupid hair-for-brains nagging about the heat."

you felt a finger poke your wings. "hey miss, you have ugly wings." a stubby boy, no more than 5 or 6, looked up at you. smirking, he pushed his own smaller wings out, hands on his hips. "mine are teal-turquoise! yours are boring white."

"uh, okay-"

"mind your damn business, brat. where are your parents?" you could now confirm that the spiky haired man was indeed the melonhero by his voice and vulgarity. melonhero had turned to the kid, standing by your side.

the kid hmphed and walked away, to where his mother scolded him for straying from her.

"you again?" melonhero turned to you. "you really need to learn how to stand up for yourself."

"eh? i was handling it fine!"

"yeah, sure. what’s up with your wings, anyway?" he grunted. "can’t fly?"

"n-no. they're, uh, too weak." it was something hard to admit out loud for you. all winged people could fly, but you couldn't even hover, your wings just flapping up wind.

"too weak?! eh? is that even possible??" he poked one of your feathers. "they seem sturdy enough to me."

you turn your wings away from him, frowning. "it's not that easy. i-i never really had time to learn..."

"isn't that what all kids do in their free time, though? experiment with their quirk?"

"my parents thought it was useless..." you shuffled your feet awkwardly, eyes downcast.

"WORTHLESS?!" you flinched at his sudden volume. "it's your quirk, though, 'wings'?"

you rubbed the back of your neck. "well, not really... it's...." angel. the word echoed in your mind, under the spotlight on a stage. it stared at you in an empty auditorium. 'angel.' the word had negative connotations for you. to others, it was a sweet, innocent nickname, but to you, it meant more.

it represented the weight of your parents' expectations, the burden of your classes' assumptions. it became a ball and chain, reminding you of who you were, who you were supposed to be, and who you could never become. you were your parents' angel, your parents' little light. nothing else.

"'angel,' eh?"

"huh?" did melonhero suddenly manifest a mind-reading quirk? you look at him, but his gaze is above your head.

"halo."

"halo," you repeated, looking dumbly at the flickering ring above you.

"well then, enko, it's nice to meet you," he smirked.

"i'm not enko- i'm y/n-"

"enko’s better. i'm ground zero, the number one pro-"

"melonhero," you blurted.

"HUH?! what's that, moron?!"

"nothing, sorry, continue-" you apologized. what had gotten into you?

ground zero cleared his throat. "-number one pro-hero! ...it's katsuki bakugou to you."

"bakugou, i'm y/n l/n, nice to meet you! oh, and um- where are my manners? -thank you for the other day."

"don't go giving your purse to random men on the street, dumbass."

"it wasn't like that!" you protested. "i mean, what if he was going through a rough time? or, his parents kicked him out-"

"doesn't justify anything. you're so naive," he grunted. "didn't your parents teach you self-defense or anything?"

"w-well, no, not really..." you mumbled. you'd always just been their angel, delicate and thoughtful. you never wanted to disappoint them; always staying inside to clean or cater to their needs. their perfect angel. in their opinion, villains could never touch you if you never went out.

you recalled a time in your youth when deciding on a high school.

"i wanna go to ua!" you'd said. you knew a teacher willing to recommend you, so you didn't need to worry about much.

"honey, no, you can't be a hero..." your father started. "you're an angel, you're our angel, okay?"

your mom nodded. "it'll be dangerous, angel, and we can't have you getting hurt day after day," she added.

you simply agreed, not wanting to upset your parents. they were always right. being a hero wasn't worth it, anyway, you told yourself. it was an unstable job. you'd entered a private high school near the coast of japan, instead of ua.

"eh?! well, how are you supposed to fend for yourself alone?!" bakugou exclaimed.

"i'm... supposed to stay at home..." you confessed quietly.

"then why are you here?!"

"...i moved away from my family."

"and you didn't learn to protect yourself? get yourself some pepper spray, idiot!" bakugou grabbed your wrist, abruptly leading you to an aisle with pepper spray in it. he briefly paused, then picked one.

"it's on me. i can't have more morons like you to save when you could save yourself."

"thank you," you said. in all of his vulgarity, bakugou was semi-decent. you wondered why he was so on edge constantly; perhaps it was a trait from being a high-demand hero.

"HEY!" bakugou yelled, making you jump in place. "whatcha smilin' at?!"

you wiped the small grin that subconsciously crept on your face. "n-nothing."

"tch, so quiet, enko." he looked above you. "halo’s gone? fuckin' weird-ass quirk."

"could you... um... nevermind." you originally wanted to ask him to tone down the swearing, but thought better of it. the vulgarity reminded you of your uncle, and you a gagged at the thought of the disgusting man who'd occasionally crash at your family's home completely wasted.

"what? just spit it out," bakugou said. "i don't get offended, unlike deku or something."

"can you... cut down on the swearing?" you ask, then add more quickly when you see his face. "i mean, it's okay if you wanna keep doing it. i can't stop you. y'know, freedom of speech and everything."

"okay," he said with surprising composure. he didn't question the request, instead looking at you intently.

your gaze was set down, trying not to think of your uncle, and the horrors you'd gone through as a child because of him.

"i- um- sorry," bakugou forced out of himself. "i didn't mean t-"

"don't worry," you smiled cheerily. a fake smile, but you tried to convince yourself it was real.

"d'you-" he coughed, "d'you wanna talk about it?" he seemed to be going through something in his mind. "there's a park nearby - god, what did hitomi say? - we can, uh, talk it out? you can vent."

"oh no, it's fine, you're busy, a pro-hero." you said nervously.

"ah- yeah," bakugou seemed to be flustered too. "my therapist though- uh, she's really damn good- i mean, really good-" he pulls out a wallet from his pocket and sifts through cards. "here." he handed you a business card, advertising 'HITOMI YABUKI' in bold.

you blinked at him and accepted the card reluctantly. pro-heroes were really kind at heart, huh? "is she a pro-hero therapist?" you asked.

"her? no, she does other stuff. normal stuff, trauma, quirk stuff, erm- whatever you need. she's an all-rounder."

"oh." you put the card in your pocket. "okay, thank you."

he grunted, accepting the thanks. "need to buy anything else?"

you glanced at your cart. "no, that's all. thanks for everything, bakugou-"

"i'll pay," he blurted. "for it all." he looks surprised at himself, perhaps even angry. "oh, no thank you-"

"i'll do it. i mean it. you didn't even buy much," he muttered.

"o-okay," you said. he snatched your cart from your hand, walking to a self-checkout.

"weren't you gonna buy anything?" you asked.

"eh?!" he grunted while scanning items.

that was the end of the conversation. once he finished, he swiped his card and handed you a bag.

"make sure you use the damn pepper spray."

it was only once you got home that you realized he slipped his number into one of the bags.

you see bakugou again at hitomi yabuki's therapy lobby. he sat casually, earbuds on as he stared at his phone. you debated sitting next to him and decided against it, not wanting to bother him. you didn’t contact his number yet; your hands sweated at the thought. as much as you were tempted, you didn’t want to make a fool of yourself in front of a pro-hero.

you found yourself staring at the man, who was unusually calm at the moment. you stared at his eyelashes, his eyes, down to his nose and lips, and his firm set jaw. your eyes fell to the phone he’s clutching, to the curve of his fingers and uniform nails.

"l/n y/n?" a tall woman called your name. bakugou looked up at you, and for a split second you could see what looked like a genuine smile before it was twisted into a smirk.

"yes!" you stood up and followed her, glancing back at bakugou before he disappeared from your sight. after a short elevator ride, you walked out onto the third floor.

she led you down a short, carpeted hallway to the last door. it was an opaque glass door that said "hitomi yabuki" on a plaque.

"so, what brings you here?" she finally said once the two of you were seated. "um- bakugou?" you said.

she smiled and jotted something down. "is that so?"

"yeah. we met a couple times by accident, and uh, he gave me your business card."

the rest of the session was just introductions - prices, meeting times, and therapy that can be provided. still, you weren’t really sure if you needed the therapy - maybe it’d be suited more for someone else struggling more than you. you didn’t need to use your quirk much; flying wasn’t much your style anyway. what would your parents think if they found out you were taking therapy? they’d surely be hurt, assuming that they didn’t provide a good childhood to you. you could practically hear your mom asking you why you’d waste money on therapy. you took a deep breath as you re-entered the lobby. bakugou was seating in the same place you last saw him, still on his phone. you bid goodbye to the receptionist, thinking out your decisions. your insurance could cover much of the costs for the therapy, but you still wondered if you should spend the money. these thoughts trailed you as you waited on the sidewalk for a cab, watching your breath billow in front of you.

"hey, enko."

your elbow shot out by instinct, hitting the invader of your thoughts.

"woah, idiot, it’s just me." luckily, bakugou had caught your stray elbow, chuckling to himself. "so the angel does know self-defense, eh?"

you stiffened at the pet name, though you knew bakugou meant well. you could remember each distinctive voice in your childhood. your parents beckoning: angel. your nickname: angel. how everyone saw you: angel. you could never escape it, not with your halo or wings. it was so distinctive, your defining quality. whether he noticed the shift in your posture, he didn’t say. "how was it? hitomi’s great, right?"

you hummed in response, rubbing your wings together for heat.

"are wings supposed to get cold? aren’t they just... feathers?"

your wings ruffled at the comment. you sniffed. "they’re sensitive."

"weird," bakugou muttered under his breath. for a split second, you considered smacking him with your wing, but you stopped yourself before you could execute the instinct.

your cab pulled up by the sidewalk. "that’s my ride." you smiled and waved to him as you entered the car. somewhere during the 15 minute car ride, you mustered up the courage to finally text bakugou.

who knew he was so dirty-minded, anyway? you leaned back in your car seat, exhaling. thankfully, you didn’t text the wrong number or prematurely end the conversation. so, now you were friends with a pro-hero, or so you assumed (friends texted each other, right?). the you from 10 years ago would be jumping for joy at the prospect of befriending a pro-hero, and here you were. you finally booked a therapy session for saturday at 3pm. you checked into the lobby ten minutes early, just as your parents had taught you, and took a seat in the lobby.

when it was finally your turn, you found yourself back in hitomi's office, the familar scent of vanilla and fresh linen wafting in the air.

"i hope you don't mind the scent," she said.

you shook your head. "it's fine." the fragrance was almost reassuring in a way, but you couldn’t pin point it. this time, you allowed yourself to drink in your surroundings. hitomi’s office was spacious, a large window overlooking tokyo’s snow-covered cityscape adding onto the effect. the walls followed a vertical gradient pattern of mint green and light blue decorated with paintings, hanging plants, and wooden shelves yet not in a cluttered way. in the center, against a wall, was a white couch. it had an oddly calming aura to it, as if you'd stepped into a dream outside reality.

"would you like an apple? or some water?" hitomi offered.

you weren’t really in the mood for either, but accepted the water. she gestured for you to sit on the couch.

the meeting consisted of her asking and you answering, the topic changing from family life, to your quirk, to your feelings.

"so, can you explain your quirk to me?" hitomi asked.

"well..." you gathered your thoughts. "obviously, i have wings like an angel. they don’t really do anything, though, just get sensitive to the weather. i used to have a halo when i was young, but it’s faded by now. dunno why. let’s see...." you paused. "i guess i have an inclination to help others? it’s hard for me to say no to things, honestly."

"is it because of your quirk?"

"probably," you admitted. "i’ve always been like this, i think."

"can you fly with your wings?"

"no." you sipped your water. "i guess i never learned. i’d try, but i don’t think they can support my body weight."

"how do you feel about your quirk?"

you shrugged, but then regretted it. you didn’t want to seem insensitive to all the quirkless people who could only wish for a quirk. "it’s- it’s cool, i guess. it makes me unique..." you thought back to your parents’ words, how they’d praised you for such an amazing quirk. when you used to feel bad about your quirk, they’d always remind you that there were children who’d wish to even have a quirk at all, and that you were special. your mother’s quirk allowed her to shine small rays of light through her fingertips, while your dad’s quirk gave him a wing attached to his left arm. it was pretty much useless for anything other than generating wind, considering he didn’t have a right wing to balance him out. their quirks together worked out just right to create you, their perfect angel. hitomi jotted something on her notepad.

the more you thought of it, the more you felt broken. you'd been doing therapy with hitomi for months now, and it had gotten harder and harder to emotionally process. your parents, your family, your quirk; you now saw the things for what they were.

your parents had used you. you were their doll, their perfect obedient angel, and it disgusted you. your hands felt tainted, your wings heavy weights on your back. you were revolted by yourself; looking in the mirror, you couldn't help but gag, seeing not the you of now, but the you of the past looking back at you. you couldn't sleep; tossing and turning and ruffling your wings in frustration. you couldn't stop thinking about your parents, how they restricted you from everything.

you wondered how it'd be different if your parents were better. you wondered if you'd gotten into ua and strengthened your quirk. you wondered how your reputation as a pushover would change. maybe you'd be a hero right now, helping others instead of being so irreparably broken. you could hear the catcalls from your classmates like bullets beating your wings. angel, the goody-two-shoes who couldn't say no.

not once did you cry. maybe you felt too disgusted by yourself. maybe bakugou was becoming the best friend you'd ever had.

he was there for you. making spicy curry or those awful, equally spicy instant korean noodles - he was there for you, in the same way milk is there for you when eating a particularly spicy dish. he listened to you, and you did the same for him. you laughed and joked together. somehow, in such a dark time, your friendship bloomed. it was strange, really. his reputation as a hero made him out to be aggressive and careless - and while he could brash in word choice at times, you knew he had a good heart. at one point, you’d even opened up to him about your past.

"then deku just completely f- messed up the mission! i could’ve blown up the damn guy, but he had to play mr. goody-two-shoes and just tie him up. and he got all the interview time. what’s even up with that?!"

he talked about his friends a lot. he'd deny his relationship with them being something other than strictly professional, but the way his crimson eyes would deepen gave it all away. he mainly spoke of deku and red riot (though their names would be referenced in cruder ways).

"what if- what if i was a hero?" you asked suddenly.

bakugou lifted an eyebrow. "you'd be a damn good hero if you could manage your quirk. like hawks."

"you think the public would like me?"

"duh. you're pretty, kind, AND fight villains? pretty badass. hell, if i approve of you, anyone would."

you smiled.

"why, though?" bakugou asked.

"curious. i, um, used to want to be a hero. growing up."

"your quirk has potential." bakugou leaned back on the couch. "why didn't ya become one?"

"parents." you flinched as the word passed your lips. thinking about your parents was painful, as if you had to rip off a month old bandaid before you could even get their faces into your mind. "they just... worried," you said. you didn't say anything else.

"betcha couldn't come up with a hero name as damn awesome as ground zero." "i could barely remember it," you teased.

"though, i must say, i do like enko as a hero name. it's like i'm joining an idol group."

"akb48 has nothing on you though," bakugou said.

you flushed. "i-i don't think you've looked at them properly, then."

"nah, i have, ochaco's obsessed with idol groups. don't doubt me, enko~" his voice was dangerously close, but he hadn't moved an inch from his original spot. "you're prettier than all the idols combined. tch, how low do you think my standards are?!"

"they're idol groups, bakugou, they practically rely on visuals!"

"eh? who cares? you've beaten them in looks and personality."

the thing about bakugou was that he was always completely honest with his thoughts. his integrity always amazed you, but then again, he was a pro-hero. you were quick to change the subject. "um- then-- what time is it? it must be getting late. i should get home-"

bakugou frowned. "it's late, idiot. eat before you go. i have some leftover tonkatsu and rice, and i can whip up the miso-"

"n-no, it's fine bakugou, you don't need to-"

"idiot, i can't have you starve to damn death on the ride home. eat."

even if you wanted to protest, you couldn't. bakugou's cooking was always to good to pass up, alarmingly spicy or not.

"the rice is still warm in the rice cooker," bakugou finally said, turning towards the kitchen. he knew you'd follow him, and you did.

bakugou busied himself making some instant miso soup and reheating the tonkatsu. you prepared yourself for the spicy of bakugou's tonkatsu; you'd had it once before, and it was quite painful. finally done, bakugou sat to the side of you eating tonkatsu as well, seasoning his with extra chili flakes. he was positively crazy; how did he handle such spice?

you cut yourself a strip and brought it to your lips. the tonkatsu was surprisingly tame for bakugou's cooking; it could've passed for normal restaurant tonkatsu.

"thish ish good," you said in between bites.

"i know," he gritted out, but he looked proud. "would be better with chili."

you shook your head, smiling. "never in a million years."

it was often you thought of this moment. it was so happy, so complete. it was just you and bakugou, simply being. right now, a genuine smile was something you couldn't curl your lips into, no matter how hard you tried. when you did, the taste of something salty crept into you mouth.

something salty...?

you touched your face. it was wet. your head spun, and then it dawned on you: you were crying. you were crying? your eyes focused, and pain throbbed in your head. lights shone too bright on you, heightening your headache, and a foul taste lingered in your mouth. you were suddenly aware of something solid in your hand: a drink.

something else you were aware of was how much you wanted to go home. you could barely remember what led you to a club as you fumbled in your purse for your phone, glancing at the time and unlocking the screen. all you needed to do was go home. you really wanted to go home, but where was home? home was gone. home...

a fresh wave of tears glossed your face, and you ignored the person next to you's advances. you didn't even know why you were crying. you struggled to read your contacts, dizzy, and called the first one you can make out with your hazed vision.

bakugou.

yes, all you wanted right now was bakugou. you wanted him and his warm arms, his endearing words. you wanted him so bad. you wanted him, and his warmth, and his happiness. you wanted his scent of comfort, the smile that made you feel fuzzy. you wanted his voice to shelter you precisely at that moment, you wanted to feel like it was him and you against the world.

"dumbass? hello? where are you? why is it so freaking loud? enko?"

you hadn't realized that a low quality projection of his voice was speaking on your phone.

"b-bakugou," you said, though it came out hoarsely. "bakugou."

"enko? where are you, and why are you calling at ass o'clock in the morning?"

"miss you," you almost said, but instead it came out as "dunno, you," a mix between "dunno" and "miss you."

"eh? where are you?"

you shrugged. "come here."

"send me your location, moron, and stay where you a-"

you hung up to send him your location.

you yawned and rubbed your forehead. everything was loud, everyone was together. and you were alone. it made you sad. you wanted to have somebody. a voice in the back of your head told you that you had bakugou. did you? right, he was coming. did you tell him to come?

you pressed the call button again.

"what is it?" bakugou asked roughly.

"lonelyyyy..." you moaned. "pick me up, baku...."

"idiot, i'm on my way. why the fuck are you so far from where you live?"

"hmm mmmhm," you strung together sounds. "'m sad."

"don't be." he sounded mad. he always sounded mad.

"why are you always mad at me?" you pouted.

"i'm not, dumbass! i'm pulling in."

"hmmm...!"

bakugou almost tore through the door with rage. "ENKO, GET YOUR ASS OVER HERE."

you hopped toward him, wobbling a bit. the floor seemed to turn under you. enko! that was you! right?

"bakuuugoooou~" you cooed, flopping into his arms. "let's sleep."

he smelled nice. his scent enveloped you, a mix of vanilla and caramel that you’d grown so accustomed to.

he stiffened. "dumbass, i can smell the alcohol on you, we’re going the fuck home."

"don’ wanna," you whined. "lonely. wanna be with youuuuu..." you nuzzled more into his chest, finding comfort in his body warmth. you didn’t want to let go, ever. "tch, fine."

the car ride to bakugou’s place was uncomfortable. cars spun by you, lights making you woozy. you almost bashed your head on the dashboard. your seat was uncomfortable, the seatbelt itched you. despite all that, you stopped to stare at bakugou in your daze, all serious and set on the road. he had nice biceps, and his side profile was a sight for sore eyes (see also: your eyes).

"what, enko?" he grunted, glancing at you.

you said the first thing that came to your mind. "you know you smell nice?"

"huh?" he glanced at you, turning in to his driveway.

well, there was no going back now. "you smell like caramel... and vanilla... it’s nice..." you sighed happily, imagining the fragrance.

bakugou didn’t reply, instead parking and unlocking the doors. "get out, dumbass, it’s past your bedtime."

"but i don’t haaaaaave a bedtime," you slurred, stumbling out of the car. bakugou mumbled a complaint before hoisting you over his shoulder. it was probably not the best move, considering the blood rushing to your head made you feel sick. after entering his house, bakugou set you down on a sofa, sitting you upright.

"stay here."

you leaned back on the sofa, feeling suddenly empty. the buzz in your head had not quite left, but the weight of the world came crashing down again. therapy, your parents, your quirk. it struck you that you were probably bothering bakugou and disturbing his sleep; he was a pro-hero after all, lives depended on his health. but here you were, ever so selfish and probably taking a toll on his health.

"drink." you hadn't realized bakugou had put a glass of water in your hands. you simply nodded and gulped it down, hoping to sober yourself up.

you stared at the man glossy eyed, glass in your hand half empty. "bakugou."

"eh?"

"sorry."

"for what?"

"y'know... waking you up... bothering you... i know you're busy, and-"

"shut up, it doesn't matter. i'd rather you here than in the hands of some douche at the club."

"but still, how would i make it up-"

"by sleeping well. off to bed you go."

he started pushing you towards the hallway. "where will you sleep?"

"sofa."

"but bakugou-"

"go to bed."

"i feel sick-"

"hah?"

a rising sensation of bile emerged in your throat. the only words you could get out of your mouth was "bathroom," before you rushed in. it was not a pretty sight - you preferred to skim over the details when recalling it. the details you did not skim over, however, were that of bakugou's care; for being awoken at ungodly hours in the morning, he was surprisingly gentle with your vomiting state, soothing your stomach with warm hands and rubbing your back. after, he gave you a glass of water and forced you to take ibuprofen, though you swore you felt fine.

bakugou's bed was surprisingly comfortable. then again, bakugou did claim to have gone to bed at 8:30 sharp daily during his high school years, so it made sense he still valued sleep.

you were then reminded how you disrupted his.

and how you were now forcing him to sleep on the sofa.

you padded out of his room, wearing one of bakugou's old shirts that he'd graciously lended you, to the living room. he was laying on his back, feet sticking out of the sofa, eyes closed.

"what?" he asked, eyes still shut.

you knew he wouldn't let you feel guilty about intruding his sleep, so you settled upon saying the next best thing. it was partially true, anyway.

"'m lonely without you." your voice came out smaller than intended.

"huh?" he sat up, groggily looking at you.

"it's- kinda cold, and y'know, with your quirk..."

he grunted and obliged, walking toward his bedroom. you stood behind him, staring at his back; that was surprisingly easy.

bakugou slept with his arms around you, so you were nestled comfortably into his chest. this position felt strangely domestic; something lovers might do nightly. but you and bakugou weren't lovers, you were friends. image of you and bakugou involved romantically faded into your mind; coffee shop dates, cooking together, waking up next to each other. there was a sudden loss of breath in your chest, as if your heart had become weightless and was lifted by a thousand of butterflies taking flight. bakugou... romantically? it hadn't crossed your mind. still, you could see it so vividly in your mind; you, becoming his dumbass, his and his only. you could imagine how he'd look at you, full of love in his eyes, and how he'd gently kiss your forehead in the morning. was it so bad to want that? the more your thoughts indulged you, the more his body warmth drowsed you, his calm breathing adding to the effect. he was practically nyquil in human form. you found yourself nodding off in his arms, not before mumbling a quiet "what if i liked bakugou?" and clutching his shirt closer to you.

you were far too engrossed in the realm of sleep to hear bakugou's faint but hopeful reply of "i'd hope so, dumbass."

at your next therapy meeting, you told hitomi about bakugou. it was unplanned, spilling out of your mouth as soon as she asked why you looked so anxious. you couldn't like bakugou. you blamed your slightly intoxicated past self for planting such a thought in your brain, but you knew it just admitted a lingering feeling from in your heart. you spared her the details of the throwing up and the guilt that gnawed at you regarding how bakugou cared for you.

"it's... childish, right? like an old schoolgirl crush," you flushed, finishing your confession.

hitomi shook her head. "it's good to feel this way, actually. it's quite healthy for a twenty-something like you to harbour such feelings; it allows you to explore your feelings and relationships healthily."

even so, crushing was so damn frustrating. it's one thing to like a person; it's a completely different experience after admitting to yourself, yes, they're my crush. when you were younger, you very rarely developed crushes (as influenced by your parents) and even less were able to act on them. but now, as an adult, you had the freedom to act (or not, considering how your nerves constantly started to act up around bakugou). you decided to push the feelings down; you were just friends, and bakugou had no time to pursue a romantic relationship.

if having a crush was like an addiction, rehab was torture for you. gone were the days of seeing bakugou as platonic; you couldn't stop your heart from swelling whenever he recounted his day to you. bakugou had now become attractive, from his tight, bulging muscles to his hard chest. it did not help that you had to see him in his hero costume flaunting those features every other day on the news.

you convinced yourself bakugou harboured nothing but platonic sentiment for you, but he never failed to send your heart aflutter with discreet compliments he hid under rough comments. you started leaving early whenever the two of your hung out under the guise of other plans (that in reality didn't exist), and tried to always cut conversations short when you bumped into each other in public. he was ground zero, pro-hero, and you were just a civilian who could barely maintain their quirk.

you were just starting your quirk therapy, but you couldn't expect major changes a week in. bakugou had said your wings looked brighter, but you assumed he just said that to make you feel better. you could hover off the ground for less than a second now, but your wing strength lacked too much to be able to do anything requiring more strength. your halo was still absent, and you couldn't figure out how to make it reappear. there hadn't been much research done on the essence of halos; hitomi said not to worry about it regardless.

flap flap flap.

"oi, dumbass, you're gonna create a tornado in here."

flap flap flap.

"i'm practicing flying."

"well, you're going nowhere. d'you want me to call hawks or something?" flap flap flap.

you turned to bakugou, folding your wings neatly. he had the same expression as always, slightly disapproving and tired. your eyes meet his momentously; but they fall down immediately to his lips. lately, this kind of thing had been happening often. bakugou acted like he didn't notice you'd been different lately, but you could tell he wanted an explanation.

you acted on your impulse, your mouth opening and words tumbling from your mouth.

"bakugou- idon'twanttoruinourfriendshipbutijustwannasayitnow- ilikeyou."

"what?" why did you do that?

if this were a texting conversation, you'd leave him on read. if this was a tweet, you'd make your account private. if this was a video call, you'd end it.

alas, this was real life, so you resorted to the next closest thing: you ran. you ran faster than any shoujo girl and with more conviction than any shounen boy, and then you were lost. damn cities.

panting on the sidewalk, wings heaving up and down, you realized what you did. staring at the edge of the pavement, where the curb met the street, hands on your knees, it hit you.

you cussed and yelled at yourself mentally, and though a small part doubted bakugou even heard you, you didn’t allow yourself to have hope. it was game over. you let your feelings override rational thought, and you ruined what was arguably the best thing going on in your life.

you were interrupted by an itch in your feathers from being so cramped while folded. they ruffled against the cool air, distraught. you stretched them out, observing your surroundings and allowing yourself to cool down. the breeze was a satisfying sensation against your feathers, and you hovered just a moment when they flapped.

"mommy, wings!" a kid passes you on the sidewalk, pointing. his mother hushes him, but you smile at him.

the next few days were rough, particularly because you were avoiding bakugou. it was definitely not a good idea, but it was a temporary patch over the open part of your heart.

this was not one of your healthy coping mechanisms.

did he text you? did he call you? you didn’t know, because you turned off your notifications. you knew you were just making things more awkward, even more so if he hadn’t heard you at all. it gave you all the more excuse to ignore him longer.

now, with evenings to yourself, your mind wandered more. your thoughts drifted into a vast desert of tangled constellations in your mind, tightropes you’d tread that would lead you to a random destination. sometimes it led you to random memories - other times, it wasn’t as random, leading you to painful manifestations in your heart. these were the things you tried so hard to ignore, but rang so true.

you were reminded by the constellations in your mind that you were being terribly selfish to bakugou; not even considering his feelings. bakugou didn't deserve you. maybe stars twinkled in your mind, but the bluest ones burned you to the touch. you needed to get over bakugou.

that wasn’t to say it didn’t hurt, trying to get over bakugou. the stars in your mind dimmed, and perhaps, at one point, the constellations were reduced to thread; knotted, tangled, and hopeless.

maybe it was better when the string had been unkempt, because now it unraveled. you cried, and cried; in the shower, at your desk, doing chores. tears, hot and sharp like newly shapen diamonds, dripped down your face. your face was permanently marked by the wounds the diamonds left, and contrary to the stars, your eyes were red and hot. your thoughts unwound like string - there was a clear pathway now, but it was tainted by the shape of the knots there had once been.

everything hurt when you thought of bakugou. your swollen eyes became lifeless as memories of him overtook you. they controlled you. you missed therapy session after session, too scared to go to the place which bakugou had connected you to. sometimes, you’d sprawl across the ground, stare into your ceiling, and feel yourself vanish into something, a dark void of nothingness. he had cared so much for you - too much. why had he? why couldn’t he have left you, that one day you were almost robbed? why couldn’t you just have stayed the way you were? why did you have to find the truth in things? ignorance was a bliss you woke yourself from. ignorance, the dream which from you woke to find a nightmare, reality. why did he have to be him, the stupid pro-hero with a heart that bled kindness into yours? why couldn’t he have stayed a two-dimensional public figure, the careless and angry ground zero? why did he have to be in your goddamn life and ruin it, entangle everything into one big mess? you hated him. you hated him and his stupid endearing insults, him and his rugged smirk that pained your heart so, him and his eyes that held sparks and diamonds and you. deep inside, you knew it wasn’t true; hate was just a name for an indefinably strong feeling you had for him. you knew you didn’t hate him, you knew you couldn’t hate him. you told yourself you did to distance yourself from him. the distance between you and he only grew. your memories were tarnished with pain, his image blurry and wrinkled in your eyes. katsuki bakugou was just someone, no one.

this was the feeling of agony, this was the sight of pure hell, and this was the sound of you burning your heart. distance between you and the man named katsuki bakugou grew, as did your descent into pure madness.

until the distance between you and he was less than a metre.

you had not bothered to tame your hair; it was a bit overgrown and sprouted a couple split ends. you were dressed in a stained shirt, your face not even mentionable, and your heart was beating in your ears. you felt yourself dragged quite forcefully down to sanity, as if opening the door suddenly put gravity into effect.

because here he was, katsuki bakugou in all of his perfect glory, standing on your doorstep.

the little shit refrained from making a comment about your current state, but you could see the comment appearing in his eyes and vanishing as soon as it came. you watched his eyes go from the state of your face down to your unkempt attire. he, on the other hand, looked unaffected. he was sporting a t-shirt and jeans, hands shoved into his pockets. the only indicator, which was minuscule at best, that he had changed at all was the red at the corners of his eyes and slight eyebags. he looked shocked at the sight of you.

"y/n..." you almost fainted on the spot.

you weren’t not jumping for joy in ecstasy at the sight of him, and you didn’t feel like a shoujo protagonist at the moment. it was something different.

"again," but your voice was too hoarse to be heard. your mouth opened and closed, you coughed, and repeated yourself. "s-say it again."

"huh?!" it was nice to know someone hadn’t changed after all that time.

"my- my name..."

"eh? enko."

you sighed, your face indifferent. you weren’t exactly disappointed by his reply; it brought memories upon memories of happier times with him.

"well, what do you want?" you asked, rubbing the side of your face.

"what- what the fuck is going on?" he gestured to you. "i should be asking about you. what the f- what happened to you?!"

"i-"

"enko, i don’t get any of this shit. this relationship crap. what do you want me to do?! first, you act weird as shit- because of what?! i don’t fuckin’ know. you avoid me - don’t think i didn’t notice - and then suddenly you spew shit and leave?! i don’t see you for a goddamn week, you don’t answer your damn calls or texts, and suddenly i’m the damn villain and i’m supposed to give you time or shit to figure things out, and when i can finally fucking see you, you look like actual crap?! hell, i should be the one with deteriorating mental health with all of the bull you put me through! if you want something, if you don’t wanna be friends or shit, just goddamn say it to my face! i’m not good with people, enko, goddamnit! tell me what’s wrong!"

you stood in shock. relationship..? you shook his words away. you hadn’t realized how much this took a toll on bakugou, too. he looked away - something glinted in his eyes, but you couldn’t tell exactly what.

"god-fucking-damnit," he grumbled. "...are ya gonna let me in, or what?! it’s cold out here!"

you didn’t think about how bakugou’s quirk involved producing heat, and let him in unreluctantly, stepping aside. "sorry," you mumbled.

he took off his shoes, and you motioned for him to sit down on your couch.

"explain it to me," he demanded. "what in the goddamn world has happened tot you? did someone do this to you?!"

you refrained from saying technically, it was you, and settled on: "no." it was apparent he hadn’t heard you that day. "just- it’s nothing. i was being stupid, a-and i’m okay now." it was a lie.

"do you take me as an idiot?" he asked. gears shifted in his eyes. "sit down," he said, suddenly calm.

you did so, sitting as farthest as you could from him.

"closer," he gritted out. you scooted a centimetre. "closer." another centimeter. "clo-ser." he pulled you so you were sitting angled toward him, knee brushing his.

"baku...gou?" so many questions flashed in your mind.

"confirm something for me," he ordered. "what exactly did you say to me before running away?"

"i- nothing. it was nothing, i told you, bakugou."

"tell. me. i don’t care if you quoted freud, told me a failed joke, or what. tell me."

your mind was devoid of possible jokes you could use to lie.

you opened your mouth, forcing the words out with all your might. "i don’t remember the specifics," you rambled. "i don’t think i was in the right state of mind-"

"spit it out."

"i think it went something like ‘i like you’ or something?" your pitch rose with every syllable.

"tch," a smile was on his face. "thought so." his hand was suddenly on your cheek, and his lips were on yours. he tasted like caramel. your eyes widened, and you pulled away, sputtering.

"what? what d’you mean, ‘thought so’?!"

"idiot, i like you too. also, when did you last brush your teeth?"

"i- that doesn’t matter. bakugou... i don’t think that this relationship is good for us. as friends or whatnot."

"huh? why not?"

"look at me. look at you. i can barely handle my quirk, and you’re a pro-hero who uses his quirk to help people. i can’t really do anything."

he mumbled something under his breath. "enko, do you think i care about any of that? i don’t care if you have the strongest quirk in the world or none at all. you’re strong - and i don’t say this ‘cause i like you - you’re kind, you see the best in people." he paused. "people don’t give me the time of day ‘cause they think i’m too irrational. brash. careless. but you? you see past that, you don’t care. you work hard no matter what people say. people-" his voice caught in his throat, "people say shit to you, and you don’t care. you keep going."

he saw you... like that? your face heated up.

"don’t be gettin’ all shy on me," he grunted. "tch. come here." he pulled you in for a hug, his arms wrapping around you and narrowly avoiding your wings. you flushed, holding him tight and inhaling his caramel scent. you squeezed your eyes shut, wishing to hold him like this forever.

“hey, enko,” he whispered into your ear. you looked at him, who was currently looking up and pointing. “halo.”

667 notes · View notes

femmeharringrove · 4 years ago

Text

so niki has two dads. so what?

if you say anything about it, she'll kick you. and if principal kane wants to meet with her fathers, then so be it.

that only happens twice - first with steve, who walks in with sunglasses high on his face, a cup of coffee in hand, and a stance that makes the shorter man in front of him admittedly uncomfortable. niki is almost gleeful as she watches her dad stare blankly at the principal, then tug his glasses down to eye him more critically. not a word is spoken, there isn't a sound outside of the gentle swishing caused by niki's feet kicking back and forth. when the silence is broken, it's by steve, voice bored and uncaring.

"what's the problem, mister kane?" principal kane looks a little intimidated by the man in front of him - as he should be, niki knows.

"uh - well, uh, you see, nikita got in another fight again with a student, and -"

his words come to a halt when steve's hand comes up to stop them, the other hand perched comfortably on his hip. his head turns to face his daughter, and while his face is deadly serious she sees the sparkle in his eye and knows she's in no trouble here.

"nikita," he drawls, "did you get into a fight today?"

"yeah," she replies, without an ounce of remorse.

"do you want to tell me why?" he pushes, and she does, so she tells him.

"joey carter said that nobody wants to be my friend because i have two dads and that's wrong." joey is full of shit, as uncle dustin likes to say. she has plenty of friends, and all her friends love her papa and her dad. because steve always makes them the best snacks and takes them on all sorts of trips and takes the time to get to know the kids. and billy lets them do his makeup and carries them around the house while they squeal in delight. their parents might have been unsure at first, but steve and billy have made friends with most of niki's friends' parents. but the carters are gross people and their son is no exception as far as the eight-year-old is concerned.

"thank you," steve hums, before turning back to principal kane. the hand he'd held up to stop his talking lowers again and he places it on his other hip. "principal kane, where is joey?"

"why, he's in class," the ruddy man replies. steve's eyebrow arches in the way it does when papa says something dumb, or when niki tries hiding something from him.

"and why is that?" he presses. "are we just allowing students to verbally harass other students now?" principal kane gulps.

"well, you know how children are -"

"i do," steve cuts in sharply. "i'm raising one. do you know how long it took me to teach her not to say fuck because it's not a nice word?" nikita stifles a giggle at the offended look that crosses her principal's face. "picked it up from her aunt," steve continues. "kids just soak these things up, you know." steve pauses to sip on his coffee, hand raising to stop the man from speaking, and then he continues. "joey's parents are bigots, i know that very well, and i'm not surprised joey's picked up on it. but if nikita here said fuck in class, you'd reprimand her for foul language, yes?" he peers through his sunglasses while principal kane nods vigorously.

"of course we would." steve nods his approval.

"i take comfort in that." the glasses come off after that, and steve leans forward to meet the shorter man's gaze. "now, if one of your students says hateful comments towards another, would you do the same thing, mister kane?" niki grins at the way her principal shifts uncomfortably.

"I - I suppose, yes," he stammers.

"you suppose," steve repeats, mean and critical. "well, in that case, if you suppose, i suggest you get to calling the carters. nikita and i are going to leave you to it." principal kane tries speaking up, but steve's already got his sunglasses back on and he holds his hand out to the smaller brunette in the room. "let's go, honey. say goodbye to principal kane." nikita hops off the chair and waves a cheery goodbye before happily walking out with her hand in her dad's.

later that night, he's reading her a story and she snuggles against his side, enjoying the gentle brush of his fingers through her curly hair, and she can't help herself.

"hey, dad?" steve stops reading, sets the book down to look down at her.

"yes, baby?" and now nikita huffs, because she doesn't know what she wants to ask. they've talked about this before, both about gender and sex, and sexuality. she knows some people think something's wrong with her dads, but she doesn't hear it often. it shakes her a little when she does.

"why are people so mean?" she settles on. steve's face falters a little.

because there's no easy answer to that, is there? he and billy have been raising her for eight years, they've been together for five of those years and have only been open about it for three. they've been talking about getting married, about having one more kid together, about moving and settling somewhere new, but he knows no matter where they go or what they do there are always going to be instances like this, people like the carters and this kane asshole. and as much as he aches to protect his baby from that, he can't.

so he and billy have taught her the importance of kindness and understanding and respect. and at just eight, she has such an understanding of those concepts. she's absolutely brilliant, and beautiful, and more precious than steve will ever be able to put into words. he studies the face that peers up at him, brushes her bangs from her face, and holds her close so he can rest his chin on her head with a sigh.

"well, kita, sometimes people are scared," he tries. "remember when papa gave you seaweed that one time we went to california?" he doesn't have to be looking to know her entire face scrunches up in disgust.

"yeah, but that was gross," she points out, making the same face steve makes when he eats something he doesn't like, trying to get the taste off her tongue. steve laughs softly.

"to you and me, yeah, but not to papa. he grew up out there so he was already used to it, but for you and me it's scary. green stuff from the sea? icky, right?" nikita nods against his chest. "well, some people haven't seen gay people before, not like papa and i and our kid living like other families. and that's new and scary. and sometimes, when people get scared, they act a certain way." steve tries thinking for another example. "like when papa brought that beetle inside and scared me, remember that?"

nikita will never forget the way her dad scrambled over the couch trying to escape the bug. she'd laughed until the beetle took flight because that really was scary. the pair had screamed around the house and steve had absolutely refused all of billy's apologies the rest of the night, huffing and pouting while nikita giggled at the sight.

"you hit him," she recalls. it hadn't been hard, just a couple of swats on the shoulder while scolding the blonde man. steve nods.

"yeah, which was mean," he agrees. "but sometimes, people get mean when they're scared. obviously, something like having two dads or liking another guy or gal isn't the same as bringing in a beetle, it's much bigger than that. and when people get mean about the bigger things, it's more than just a little hit on the shoulder."

she gets that too, as much as she doesn't like it.

nikita sighs and wraps her little arms tight around steve's waist.

"i don't want people to be mean to you," she decides, and steve knows she loves him, of course he knows, but it warms his heart to hear a reminder of it.

"i know," he sighs. "but we can't make other people be kind. we can only be kind ourselves, yeah?" the girl nods and smiles up at her father.

"you're the most kindest" she announces, and then niki rests her head against his chest again. he doesn't start reading right away, but his voice sounds a little wobbly to her when he does.

the second time principal kane has to meet with one of her dads, it's over a father's day event in class and professor kane specifically requests billy instead of steve. he shows up a little greasy from work, looks from the principal to a mother and her son, to his teary-eyed little girl, and knows there's about to be trouble.

nikita doesn't know if it's hurt tears or angry tears, but misses hartwell's words sting and she can't get them out of her head. her son jeremy's words had hurt even more, and so a now ten-year-old nikita had punched him right in the face.

"something has to be done, mister hargrove," the principal says. amy hartwell scoffs.

"something indeed. we'll be pressing charges, that's what will be done." billy fixes her with a glare.

"you're gonna press charges against a kid?" he questions incredulously. "i know my girl, she doesn't do that unless he messed up big time."

"my son would never do any -" the woman begins, but nikita has no time for this. she doesn't want to sit here and listen to them act like jeremy is innocent.

"he said i can't bring my dad to school because i don't have one!" she snaps, and billy almost snaps too.

"well, it's true!" jeremy shoots back from the safety of his mother's side. "tell her, mom." now amy looks usure, and principal kane shifts uncomfortably as billy's cold glare flashes to the woman.

"yeah, tell her," he repeats, low and threatening. "better yet, tell me." amy shifts her weight and steps back.

"well, everyone in town knows her mother got pregnant in some indianapolis bar," she has the audacity to say. "the girl's never met her real father." nikita opens her mouth ready to protest and hurl insults, but billy speaks first.

"nikita doesn't have a mother," he growls. "her father gave birth to her, and i raised her. we're her dads, and she can have either of us at this little party, got it?"

"it's not healthy to feed her lies like that," amy argues, "you're poisoning her mind, it's dangerous -"

"- no," niki's dad cuts in. "what's dangerous is saying all of that within three feet of me. what's fucking dangerous is teaching your kid how to be as fucking disgusting as you."

"mister hargrove!" principal kane cuts in sharply. "i will not have you threatening misses hartwell like that!" billy turns on the man with an aggression nikita has never seen from her pa, a wild gleam in his glare and his lips set in a snarl. the principal shrinks back.

"what a time to grow a spine," he bites. "you've let her walk all over my boyfriend and i, i'll say whatever the hell i want." principal kane looks a little scared, backs down pretty quickly. but billy is on a roll. "i know how this works. you think steve and i don't know what assholes like you say behind our backs? huh? well, we do. and it's fucking ridiculous. steve has more balls than you-" an accusatory finger gets thrown in principal kane's face - "and more class than anyone in this stupid hick town is capable of. and you know what? i get it, we can't stop you from being ignorant dicks. but what i can do, and what i will do, is step in when someone brings this shit to my little girl. do you get that?" billy's yelling stops and both adults look at him wide-eyed with shock. jeremy looks scared, and niki thinks he should be. with a decisive nod, billy ends the conversation, he scoops niki up after that and she can feel him shaking as she hides in the safety of the crook of his neck. "you wanna sue us? sue us. we'll return the goddamn favor, trust me." and he stomps out to his car and just stands out there for a little while, clinging to nikita until she stops sniffling.

they don't really talk on the way home, and when they both enter the house steve looks a little confused.

"aren't you both supposed to be places?" he asks, but the little tease in his expression fades into worry as he gets a better look at them. billy leans in and kisses niki's forehead chaste and soft.

"go get changed," he mutters, which she knows is actually code for when he doesn't want her listening to their conversation. she obliges and disappears up the stairs she's known her whole life, right up to her room where she gets more comfortable clothes. she hears steve yell, "she what?" at some point, but mostly the pair are quiet. when nikita does tiptoe down the stairs eventually, they're in the kitchen, her papa's face buried against her dad's neck while they whisper to each other. it looks like billy's shaking again, but she can't tell.

steve catches her after a minute and kisses the top of billy's head before calling her over and holding her tight. "i'm sorry you had to deal with that stuff today," he offers, mumbled partially into her her hair. she remembers the things he said about mean people and clutches onto him a little tighter.

that night, aunt max and uncle dustin come by for dinner and take her out for ice cream, and when she comes home steve gives her a bubble bath with extra bubbles. she doesn't love letting him bathe her all the time, but sometimes it's fun, especially when he does extra bubbles. he finishes and dries her off and takes his time with her hair, and before long she's just about ready for bed.

her parents work her through the nightly routine, and they tuck her in to bed together like they do every night one of them isn't working late. but after steve plants his pattern of kisses on her face and leaves, billy stays. he sits on the edge of her bed and looks a little unsure, which is strange because as far as niki knows, he always knows what to do.

"honey," he starts. "you know what they said today isn't true, right?" nikita nods easily.

"yeah. dad's my dad and you're my pops." nikita knows, to some degree, how she came to be. she knows steve didn't have her with billy like that. but never once has she ever had to doubt her family, and no one's dared do it to her face. not before today.

"okay, good." billy nods, reaching a hand out and rubbing her shoulder. "people like misses hartwell and her kid, they don't - they don't get it. and i'm so sorry that you had to hear it, and that you had to hear me yell like that."

"and say all those words dad tells you not to?" she adds quietly. billy breathes out a laugh.

"and hear me say all those words dad tells me not to say," he agrees. it gets a laugh out of nikita, much to billy's relief, and he leans forward to hold her by both her shoulders now. "i'm serious, babycakes. i don't care what people like that say. you're my baby, you hear me? always mine."

"always yours," she echoes, leaning forward and throwing her arms around him in a hug. billy plants as many kisses as he can manage on her head and face, before laying her back down and adjusting her covers.

"i love you, green bean," he tells her, and she murmurs in kind before watching him move to the door. he pauses when he gets there, then turns to her sheepishly.

"hey, about the bad words," he hums. "i won't say anything about it to dad if you won't. deal?" nikita makes a thoughtful face.

"can i have ice cream and a kitten?" he snorts at that.

"you have several kittens, baby. but ice cream is doable."

and when amy hartwell knocks on the door the next afternoon talking about billy's offensive language, he only gets a claim of innocence from his boyfriend and a confused look from his daughter who doesn't recall a single bad word from the meeting. steve looks back at the woman and misses the grin nikita shares with billy as she chomps on a bite of ice cream.

#sad boy hours but niki and bill's shenanigans are very important to me #steebie writes #harringrove #steve harrington #billy hargrove #co parenting au #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things au #tonight is 'be sad but appreciate billy and niki' night

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blitzturtles · 3 years ago

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Title: It Starts Like This, Ch. 3/?

Rating: Teen and Up

Fandom: JoJo's Bizarre Adventure: Golden Wind

Pairing(s): BruAbba, Platonic Bucci Gang

Summary: “I’d ask how you’re feelin’, but I’m guessin’ the answer’s ‘not so hot’?”

Bucciarati hums at him in lieu of an actual response.

Notes: Turns out being dead has a bit of a long term effect. Who would have thought?

This fic got away from me, so I'm breaking it down by character interaction (sort of). This is Mista's part of this very Bucci-centric fic.

Mista is too busy watching a movie from his spot on the living room couch to notice his two new companions until one of them is practically deposited on top of him. He startles but reigns in his reaction when he sees that it’s Bucciarati. He looks like-- ‘hell’ would be putting it nicely. The poor bastard looks like someone put him through the wringer, either before or after running him over with a train.

“What the hell?” Mista asks, looking up at the room’s only other occupant. Abbacchio isn’t looking at him so much as frowning at the back of Bucciarati’s head.

“He had three seizures,” Abbacchio says finally. Bucciarati makes a noise in the back of his throat and flaps a hand uselessly in Abbacchio’s direction.

“Three?!”

“Yeah,” Abbacchio says shortly, “They did it on purpose. I need to--”

“Wait, what the fuck? I thought they were supposed to help!” That’s the whole reason Abbacchio took Bucciarati, right? Giorno had told Mista about it earlier after Abbacchio had apparently stopped by his office for long enough to explain why he was skipping out on work for the day.

Abbacchio pinches the bridge of his nose. Now that Mista’s looking at him, Abbacchio also looks wrecked, but in a different way. Exhaustion shows despite his makeup, and there’s black smudges around his eyes. It’s not significant, but enough that Mista has to wonder if Abbacchio attempted to clean it up after making a mess of it.

“They have to trigger them to-- I don’t know, evaluate them or whatever,” Abbacchio starts for the hallway. “I’ll be back in a minute. Just keep an eye on him.” He’s gone before Mista can respond. His voice has an odd waver at the end of his sentence that gives Mista a good idea of what Abbacchio is up to.

No problem, if the man needs a minute, Mista’s more than happy to keep Bucciarati company.

“I’d ask how you’re feelin’, but I’m guessin’ the answer’s ‘not so hot’?”

Bucciarati hums at him in lieu of an actual response.

“Yeah, thought so,” Mista shifts them so Bucciarati is tucked into his side. He wraps one arm around him, loosely, before letting the Pistols out to find perches of their own. They’re pestering him too much to keep them locked up, and the extra eyes can’t hurt.

They catch onto the situation quickly enough. Five snuggles up against Bucciarati’s neck, half obscured by black curtains of hair. The braid is still absent, which means there’s a lot more to hide in. Mista figures that that’s about where the rest of the Pistols end up, considering the fact that he can’t exactly see them.

As long as they aren’t fighting, Mista’s sure it’s fine.

He turns his attention back to the TV. He had only just started the movie about twenty minutes ago. Giorno had kicked him out of his office, claiming that he needed to focus on paperwork. Mista doesn’t think his presence was the problem, but he gets the nerves. They’re all a little on edge. It’s why he’s got a movie on in the first place. Something to distract himself, but now he has Bucciarati pressed against him. He remembers what Abbacchio said about stimulation the other day and decides to turn down the volume to near silence. He’s only interested in the gun-slinging parts anyway. Mostly so he can judge the accuracy (or lack thereof).

The two remain in silence for well over fifteen minutes before Mista is startled by the sensation of someone petting his head. Only it’s not his head. He glances down to see that Five has come out of his spot to cling onto Bucciarati’s shirt-- Mista takes a moment to appreciate the fact that Abbacchio got Bucciarati to wear something other than a suit in public, but that’s not important. He’s more concerned with the Pistols and what they might be getting up to.

But Bucciarati doesn’t seem bothered as he gently pets Five’s head with two calloused fingers. Five starts chattering away at him almost immediately. Talking about anything and everything. Mista’s cheeks heat up slightly. They don’t have to be so embarrassing, he thinks to himself, but Bucciarati doesn’t seem to mind. Nor does he seem to mind when One and Seven clamor in for their turns.

Mista startles again when he turns his head and ends up face to face with a blue helmet and a head full of spikes. They’re inches apart, and it’s a little unnerving to be stared at by something that he can’t actually meet the eyes of,

“Hey, SF.”

Sticky Fingers reaches past him and extends a hand out to the remaining Pistols. Two and Three climb on, each grasping a finger, while Sticky Fingers settles themselves on the floor, in front of the couch.

It’s a little odd to watch a stand so much larger than his own sit on the ground with their legs crossed, as if that’s totally normal. Mista has a feeling it has something to do with Bucciarati’s current condition. Five is always quick to pop out when he thinks Mista is in danger. Sticky Fingers must feel their user’s distress, and, if petting the Pistols is helping Bucciarati, they might as well join in.

Absently, Mista notes that Six must still be in Bucciarati’s hair.

“I thought I told you to keep an eye on him,” Abbacchio grouches upon his return. His footsteps give him away, thankfully. Mista doesn’t think he can take another shot at his ego. He’s already been startled twice. A third time would be absurd. (A fourth would be catastrophic. He’d definitely have to go check on Giogio with that kind of luck.)

“I am,” Mista says with a half grin, “Got fourteen of ‘em.”

Abbacchio grumbles something under his breath as he approaches. His fingers brush over Sticky Finger’s head carefully, “You know he doesn’t like it when you fuss.”

Sticky Fingers gives him a look that honestly amazes Mista. He doesn’t know how a stand with half their face obscured can be so expressive, much less expressive the level of unimpressed that SF is.

“Yeah, yeah,” Abbacchio pats Sticky Fingers and moves past them to take up the nearby chaise lounge.

Mista takes a moment to look him over. More so than earlier, and he winces. Abbacchio’s eyes are definitely red, despite his newly redone makeup. He must be trying to do his best to hide from Bucciarati. Not that Abbacchio walks around all that often with his face bare, but to take the time to redo his makeup and at least attempt to look like he hasn’t been crying from the stress… Mista feels for him, but he doesn’t know what he can offer.

He’s tempted to give Abbacchio his spot on the couch, so that the two can curl up together, but Bucciarati seems content where he is. Mista’s afraid to move him around too much, plus, Abbacchio isn’t exactly shy about asking (demanding) for something when he wants it.

The trio lapses back into silence. Bucciarati’s seemingly dozed off with two Pistols cupped under his hand. Two and Three join the pile when Sticky Fingers’ form dissipates, apparently recalled to their owner upon his falling asleep.

“They really take a lot out of him, huh?” The seizures, not the Pistols. Mista doesn’t think he has to clarify.

It’s weird to see Bucciarati like this. Two days in a row no less. There have been times-- in the past-- where Bucciarati had worn himself into complete exhaustion, but it’s a rare sort of thing where Bucciarati shows his weakness. Mista’s privileged enough to have seen it only because he’s been Bucciarati’s right hand a countless number of times. Plus, despite how he acts, Bucciarati isn’t that much older than him. He can’t soldier through everything. He has limits, like the rest of them. And trauma. So much trauma. Mista thinks anyone other than Bucci would have suffocated under it all by now.

“They gave him something to help relax his muscles. It’s supposed to help with the seizures, too,” Abbacchio explains, weary eyes flitting across Bucciarati’s form. He looks much more relaxed now, thankfully. Abbacchio doesn’t exactly like seeing his partner this way, but he prefers it to the painful tension that had been there earlier.

Mista frowns, “This all sounds crazy dangerous.”

“It is,” Abbacchio admits, eyes darting away.

“Oh,” Mista looks down at the man curled against him. Right.

“They wanted to admit him.”

“And he said ‘no’.”

“Nailed it,” Abbacchio sighs. “Look, it’s not exactly my place to tell you this, but… his father had seizures, too. One of the bullets,” he motions vaguely. Uselessly. He hates all of this, and he feels like he’s out of his depth, “Nicked his brain. Fugo and I think this is more uh-- he called it an ‘anoxic event’, but anyways. We don’t think it’s a hit that did it, but from when Giorno brought him back.”

“Oh yeah, Giogio said Bucci didn’t wake up when he healed him at the church. He had to do CPR.”

“Yeah, exactly, and it took him a minute. The brain doesn’t like that anymore than a bullet, I guess,” Abbacchio runs his fingers through his hair, only now realizing he never put his headpiece on. He can’t bring himself to care about it now.

Mista nods. That makes sense. He’s had his own head injuries in the past, and they usually throw him for a spin. He couldn’t imagine that being dead did the brain any favors. No blood flow, means no oxygen, and that usually means cellular death. That’s how Giorno explained it, anyways, and it makes sense to Mista

He runs his fingers up along Bucciarati’s arm. A gentle, comforting touch that he hopes isn’t too much. The man needs a break. Maybe they can plan a getaway for him.

“You said they gave him meds. They gonna always do this?” It’s honestly scary to see Bucciarati like this. Quiet and compliant. Mista doesn’t think there would be much protest no matter which way he might turn the man. He won’t. He doesn’t want to hurt him or set off something worse, but it’s disturbing all the same. This isn’t the man they’re used to, and he knows Bucciarati would hate it if he were more aware.

“Depends,” Abbacchio shrugs. He tries to sound nonchalant, but it’s obvious he’s failing, “Everyone responds to different shit differently, but this was more like what they’d give him if he went to the ED.”

It’s a lot to take in. Mista’s starting to get why Abbacchio looks the way he does. He feels completely overwhelmed, and he’s not actually dating the guy. He can’t imagine how Bucciarati is coping with all of this. Stubbornly, but it’s got to be a lot. More than anyone should have to deal with.

“I’d offer to get you something to drink, but I’m kind of pinned down by your partner here. But you look like you could use it. I still have seven sets of eyes… if you want to.”

“Maybe a little bit,” Abbacchio says after a moment. He wouldn’t consider it if Bucciarati were awake, but all he’s doing now is stressing over something that none of them can do anything about. He’s a coward for it, nonetheless. Bucciarati isn’t getting a break from any of this, except for when he’s unconscious. And Abbacchio has spent years trying to quell his tendency to reach for the bottle when life pushes him too hard, yet here he is.

“You’re overthinking it, dude.”

“Shut up,” Abbacchio grumbles as he gets up.

______

One glass easily turns into two, then three. Somehow he loses the bottle before it turns into four. He can’t figure out where to, and that keeps him busy and distracted for a while.

Whatever it takes to get Abbacchio out of his own head, Mista thinks. He teases him a bit, but he’s just relieved that Abbacchio doesn’t look like he’s going to have a breakdown if someone says the wrong thing about the color of his nails.

He doesn’t point out that the bottle is next to him and Bucciarati now. It’s not his own doing, of course. Bucciarati is firmly pressed against him, seemingly more drool than coherency. The Pistols can’t lift it either, at least not in any way that they could have gotten past Abbacchio unnoticed. The only thing that could do that would be the golden shine of a familiar zipper.

The other thing he fails to mention is the way Bucciarati had whispered, ‘shhh’, against him as SF made off with the bottle. It’s a little funny, and Mista’s happy to keep the secret for now. He figures Abbacchio’s good. Prone to drinking more than he needs to, he’s almost as likely to send himself careening back off the mental health cliff if given the opportunity (and enough wine). Right now, he’s perfectly tipsy and distracted.

Abbacchio eventually gives up his search for the bottle-- he never suspects his partner, nor his aptly named stand.

Bucciarati quietly restarts the movie and turns the sound up a bit. He doesn’t feel great, but his thoughts aren’t completely static now, which isn’t to say much about the coherency. There’s a full body nausea that he can’t shake, either, but the medication makes him feel somewhat detached from his body. Enough so that he doesn’t think he’ll be physically sick.

The television catches Abbacchio’s eye after a few minutes, and the man is scoffing almost immediately at some horribly inaccurate detail or another. Bucciarati says nothing, but he smiles in amusement.

“Thank you,” he whispers to Mista when he thinks Abbacchio is too engrossed to notice.

“No problem, Bucci.”

Mista grazes his fingernails over Bucciarati’s arm, a gentle press that feels nice against sore muscles. Bucciarati hums in response, once more grateful for his right hand. He’s not sure what he would do without his team.

#bruabba #bruno buccellati #bruno bucciarati #leone abbacchio #guido mista #jjba #jjba part 5 #golden wind #vento aureo #blitzwrites #blitz #fic: islt

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elisela · 4 years ago

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make my wish come true buck x eddie, g, 2k, fluff and sweet drunk boys for @madamewriterofwrongs because for once it wasn’t @tylerhunklin who said “yes write it” after sending me a TikTok

“Four,” Buck says. His head is tipped back on the couch, cheeks flushed, eyes bright—Eddie wants to reach out and touch him, to trace the lines of his face with gentle fingertips, to press his mouth against Buck’s and see if his lips are as soft as they look, if they would give way underneath Eddie’s teeth and thumbs and—“no, five,” Buck says, looking over at him. “Six? I dunno, Eds, s’probably time for water.”

“Probably,” he says. He doesn’t move. The kitchen—it’s so far away, and the couch is already tilting a little, pressing Buck right against him, his body radiating heat that Eddie feels down to his bones. He presses a palm down on the arm of the couch, but his stomach lurches as soon as he shifts forward and he gives up. “Gonna regret this in the morning.”

“Long way from now,” Buck says, and his head drops onto Eddie’s shoulder. “Hey, Eddie. Truth or dare?”

“This is a bad idea,” Eddie says. He’s still sober enough to know that Buck’s usual dares take a dangerous turn when they’re drunk—it’s only happened twice before, but he can still recall how cartwheeling into the side of the house had quickly ended the game last time. Still. “Dare.”

“I dare you to do a handstand for five minutes,” Buck says. His breath blows out over Eddie’s skin as he laughs, seemingly already picturing Eddie struggling in his mind.

“Fine,” Eddie says. He still doesn’t move. “I’m gonna puke on your floor though.”

Buck’s arm slides along his waist as he twists, ending up with his face smashed into Eddie’s neck, his weight pressing Eddie back into the couch. “Nevermind,” he says, and he rubs his nose into the crease of Eddie’s neck, laughing again when Eddie tries to push him away. “I don’t wanna clean it—no, stay—”

Eddie relaxes, stops struggling against him, but Buck’s still got most of his body tucked against Eddie’s so he doesn’t feel bad about the hand he keeps on Buck’s waist. “S’this mean I win?”

“No,” Buck says. “I get a do-over.”

“Do not.”

“Do too.”

“Do not.”

“Do too,” Buck says, poking him in the ribs. “You can’t just say you win, Eddie—” the way Buck’s lips brush against his skin drives him crazy, and he’s too buzzed to remember that he really shouldn’t be leaning into it, he should probably pull away, move himself across the couch and to a safer distance, where he couldn’t smell the shampoo Buck uses from the way his hair tickles under Eddie’s nose, “—uh, did you say truth or dare?”

He frowns. “Um. Dare?”

He always chooses dare. Buck somehow hasn’t caught on, but he’s not worried about Buck’s dares, all some variation of physical stunts that will likely result in one of them breaking a bone at some point if they keep it up. But truth—he’s heard the questions Buck asks Maddie, asks Chim. He can’t risk that Buck wouldn’t dig straight to the bottom of his soul if he got a chance.

“I dare you to get us water,” Buck mumbles.

“Okay,” Eddie says, and neither of them move for several minutes. Buck’s head gets heavier on his shoulder, and Eddie feels his own tilt down until his cheek is resting on Buck’s forehead. It’s—gravity. Alcohol. Nothing he’s doing of his own volition, just—”you still awake?”

Buck hums. “I’m hungry. Let’s go get tacos.”

His stomach turns over. “Pancakes.”

“Oh, those dumplings you like at that one place—”

“The one by—”

“No, the other one,” Buck says. “Think they deliver?”

“Not at three in the morning,” Eddie says. He doesn’t really know what time it is, but it’s been dark for hours now, so—maybe.

“You ever been to San Francisco?”

“Not since I left my heart there,” he says, and snorts when Buck makes a confused noise. “It’s—nevermind. No. Have you?”

“”m gonna take you ‘n Chris,” Buck says. “There’s a place, they have these green onion pancakes—it’s amazing. I dream about ‘em.”

“When’d you go to San Francisco?” He’s heard Buck’s life story, knows the trips he’d been on with his family, the route he’d taken through South America and up through Mexico before landing in Los Angeles. Nothing further north than L.A. had ever been mentioned.

“After Abby,” Buck says. “Drove up the coast, tried to get used to being alone again. Didn’t need to, I still got you guys.”

His throat is only dry because of the alcohol. God, he wants. He wants to tell Buck that he always has him, has Chris, that as long as Eddie’s alive he’s going to wait until Buck decides he wants him. He thinks—well, he’s never quite sure if he’s reading things the right way. There’d been the ghost of Abby, then Ali, then a long stretch of no one until Buck had started to make comments about dating, about finding someone, but—nothing ever came of it. And every time Eddie thought, this isn’t something just friends do—like this, this cuddling on the couch with Buck’s fingers pressing idle patterns against his skin—he’d turn around and see Buck getting just as close with Hen, his feet in her lap on the couch at work, or catch him flirting with other people.

It’s fine. Eddie’s just not used to friendships like this, such tactile, vulnerable relationships, but he can live with it, even if he constantly wants more, even if he sometimes would bet on Buck wanting more, too.

“You ever go?”

“No,” Eddie says, even though he’s pretty sure Buck had already asked. His hand is in Buck’s hair, somehow, scratching the pads of his fingers against Buck’s scalp. “Want to.”

“Let’s go,” Buck says. “Trade our next shift, we can take Chris—”

“Our next shift is Halloween,” Eddie says, and there is absolutely no one who will trade them if it means they end up working on Halloween.

“The one after that, then we have six days—there’s the bridge and Chris would love Alcatraz and we could drive up—”

“You don’t have to convince me,” Eddie says, a yawn interrupting his words.

“Cool,” Buck says, and Eddie can always tell when he’s smiling by how his voice sounds. “But ‘m still hungry.”

“Water.”

“Carbs,” Buck says. “Oh, sourdough bread. You think Uber Eats can bring it?”

“I think we should have water and go to sleep,” Eddie says, but again—he can’t bring himself to move. Buck is warm against him, soft and happy, and Eddie would stay awake all night if it means getting to touch him like this, getting to drop his chin down so that his lips almost brush Buck’s forehead as he speaks, a poor imitation of the way he wants to kiss him.

“You remember the sourdough french toast we had last Christmas? Where’s that? I want it.”

“Chris wants a dog for Christmas,” Eddie says, dropping his hand to the back of Buck’s neck and squeezing. The groan it draws out of Buck is enough for him to squeeze harder, and the little gasping noise he makes when Eddie rolls his thumb up behind Buck’s ear—“I think I’m gonna give in.”

“You should,” Buck says. “A big one. What do you want for Christmas?”

“Someone who will take care of a dog when Chris inevitably loses interest in twice-daily walks,” Eddie says, shaking his head. It bumps his chin against Buck’s head, and he catches himself just before he presses an apology kiss to the spot. “Dunno. It’s October, I haven’t thought about it. What do you want?”

“You,” Buck says sleepily. “And carbs. Maybe together, like, at the same time. Oh, you know those banana muffins you make and you make them into pumpkin muffins for Halloween? Do you have Christmas muffins? Like—wait, what would you put in Christmas muffins?”

“Maybe eggnog,” Eddie says, and then he blinks when everything Buck said filters through the haze covering his thoughts. “Wait. Did you—”

“Eggnog in muffins? Eddie, that’s gross.”

“‘s’not gross,” he says, because he makes amazing eggnog french toast—well, Sophia makes it, same thing—and he can’t see why eggnog muffins wouldn’t be delicious as well, but really there are more pressing issues here like “did you say—”

“You.”

His hand stills on Buck’s neck. “Like,” he says, slowly, trying to force reason through everything he’s had to drink tonight, “like—you want to spend Christmas together?”

Buck snorts, but he doesn’t say anything for a long moment and Eddie wonders if he’s drifting off to sleep, or if he’s having the same trouble trying to think clearly. “If that’s what you want me to mean,” he says finally, yawning. “You’re right, we should sleep.”

“I want to know what you meant,” Eddie says, and a second later Buck’s hand is cupping his jaw and pulling him down, tilting Eddie’s head as he brings him into an open-mouthed kiss; Eddie tastes the bitterness of the vodka on his tongue as Buck kisses him, swallows down the soft noises Buck makes, keeps his hands absolutely still against Buck’s body like if he moves it’ll break the spell. “If you forget this in the morning—” he says when Buck pulls away, and Buck laughs softly as he moves away, shaking out his limbs before standing up.

“I won’t,” he says. “Come on, you can sleep in my bed. I’ll keep my hands to myself, I promise.”

“I—” can’t make that promise, he thinks. His lips are still wet from Buck’s kiss, and he shakes his head. “No, I’ll sleep here. Don’t—just—”

“You worry too much,” Buck says, “I’m a little buzzed but not so drunk I’ll—” he trips over an errant shoe as he passes by, and Eddie reaches out to steady him. “Okay, just because I tripped doesn’t mean—”

“Just go to sleep,” Eddie says. “Goodnight.”

“Eddie.”

“Goodnight,” he says again, because maybe he can forget—or not forget, but convince himself that one kiss doesn’t mean that much, that the thrill it sent up his spine was just because it’s been so long, that—

“Goodnight,” Buck says, and he bends down to kiss Eddie’s forehead before he stumbles his way out of the living room and up the stairs. “You can come join me when your back starts to hurt, old man.”

Eddie flips him off, even though Buck can’t see, lays down, and prays.

-----

“God,” Buck groans the next morning, cursing loudly when he runs into a chair and it scrapes against the floor, “death would feel better than this. I want coffee. Come make it for me.”

“Just because I cave to a ten year olds whims doesn’t mean I’ll cave to yours,” Eddie says, pulling his arm down from where it had been over his eyes, blocking the sunlight. “Do you have to have so many damn windows?”

Buck’s been up for ten minutes, talking loudly to Eddie the entire time, and it’s all Eddie can do to lay there and pretend like his heart isn’t breaking. He knew it, he knew, he should have—stopped him, or something. Should have let the “you” go unanswered, ignored it, realized that being lonely and drunk caused a person to do things they didn’t mean and make promises they wouldn’t keep.

He closes his eyes again as Buck walks over to the couch, lets himself be manhandled into a seated position while Buck sprawls out next to him. He can do this—it’s just the same kind of contact they usually have. He’ll be fine.

“Whatever,” Buck mutters. “Here, I want you to listen to this,” he says, nudging Eddie until Eddie opens his eyes and looks at him. “Ready?”

“Sure,” Eddie says, waving a hand weakly. He’s not sure what he expects, but bells and Mariah Carey in October is definitely not it. “Buck.”

“Told you I wouldn’t forget,” Buck says, leaning against him. “I’d kiss you again but something died in my mouth overnight—”

Eddie leans over and hits the pause button on Buck’s phone. “I’m telling everyone you played me All I Want For Christmas is You, you know.”

“Good,” Buck says, grinning. “It was pretty romantic of me, right?”

“I think we have a very different idea of what is or isn’t romantic,” Eddie says, but he turns his head to the side and presses a kiss to the corner of Buck’s smile, then another, and has to pull himself back before he does anything else. “Let’s go talk about it during breakfast. I’ll take you out.”

“It’s a date,” Buck says, and leans in to kiss him again.

#buddie fic #buddie #eli writes #more shit based on tiktok videos lets all be surprised #evan buckley #eddie diaz #drunk boys in love #yes i wrote what is essentially a christmas fic in september

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katehuntington · 4 years ago

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Title: Black Dog - part eight Word count: 1900± words Episode summary: When Sam gets an anonymous phone call with information about his father, Dean receives a text message with coordinates to different location. The brothers clash and split up, one following orders, the other trusting his instincts. Meanwhile, in the wilderness of Cascade Range, Washington State, Zoë loses grip on a personal case and is forced to confront her demons. Without back up, this might very well turn out to be her final hunt. Part eight summary: Sam finally arrives in Nashville and is about to begin the search for his father, when an unexpected call comes in. Episode warnings: Dark! NSFW, 18+ only! Angst, gore, violence, character death. Description of blood, injury and medical procedures. Supernatural creatures/entities, mentions of demon possession. Swearing, smoking, weaponry. Descriptions of torture and murder. Illegal/criminal practices. Mentions of nightmares and flashbacks. Descriptions of suicidal thoughts and tendencies, depression, panic attacks, hallucinations. Author’s note: Beta’d by @winchest09 & @deanwanddamons. Thanks, girls!

Supernatural: The Sullivan Series Masterlist

S1E03 “Black Dog” Masterlist

Nashville, Tennessee December 3rd, 2005 - Present Day

With a sigh, Sam gets off the bus. The rain beats down on him straight away, but instead of being annoyed by it, he finds it refreshing. Finally, he’s in Nashville. It’s taken him three days to get here. Three days of torture - which included waiting for his damn transport to arrive in the first place, being forced in a seat made for someone who is 4’8, and having to change twice to get to his final destination - but he’s in Nashville.

Of course, he could have hopped on a plane for a journey of only several hours, but he had a hunch he would have a bit of trouble getting through customs, carrying a duffel loaded with blades, guns, and ammunition. He might always be complaining about his brother’s driving skills or his collection of Metallica, Motorhead, and Black Sabbath tapes which he plays over and over again while he sings along, but seventy-six hours of traveling to get from Texas to Tennessee wasn’t a joy either.

He watches the touring car take off into the night, continuing its trip, the droplets that run down the side catching the light of the overhanging streetlights. The sound of the engine fades as the carrier merges into traffic again. Suddenly, he feels alone, left behind, and not just by the bus. It’s not the first time he experiences this uneasiness, because Sam has pondered about the fight he had with his older sibling more than once. Truth be told; he never expected Dean to leave him on the side of the road. He called his bluff, and when his brother didn’t give him an inch, he himself refused to surrender as well. If he’s completely honest with himself, he started regretting this impulsive act the minute he saw the Impala drive away, but he couldn’t let it show, he couldn’t let Dean win. He is so tired of being bossed around and being treated like a little kid. Stubborn? Maybe. Guess it runs in the family.

Sam can take care of himself, but tracking his father will not be an easy task without Dean. When it comes to Dad, the oldest son knows him best and Sam realizes he’s going to be missing him on this search. He hopes the woman who set him on this path will call him again, because he could use a lead.

So, what now? He decides it will probably be best to settle down in a motel and get online, see if he can find some information, then he will start asking questions. There’s not much he can do right at this moment, considering it’s 2.30 AM. It’s going to be quite a task, finding a man in a city covering 550 square miles with over 600.000 citizens. And all he has is the word of a girl he has never met, of which he didn’t even catch her name. “This is insane,” he mutters, looking around.

A voice of reason whispers in his ear again: go back. Dean’s words had some truth to them. What if this is a trap? What if he’s walking straight into it? Sam’s doubts will not make him turn around, though. He is here and he is not going to stop searching until he finds Dad.

Sam keeps his head low and buries his hand in his pockets, protecting himself from the rain as he shivers. It’s not particularly cold for this time of the year, but 39 °F isn’t anything near Texas. Raindrops bring down the temperature as well and continue to fall down on the hunter as clouds block out the moon.

He starts to walk in the direction of what seems to be a hotel. The interstate, which lays directly next to the parking lot, crosses Highway 70. Lines of cars travel by, their white headlights and red tail lights lighting the road like it’s Christmas already.

Through the curtains of water, the young Winchester spots a neon sign at the entrance of the building he’s approaching. He was right; it is a hotel, funnily enough one from the same chain where Zoë spent the night in Paragould. The Hampton Inn Bellevue looks like a fancy place from the outside, and remembering the luxurious room of the huntress, he reckons this hotel will not be any different. Sam doesn’t like to waste money, but he will do anything for a decent bed after being crammed into that touring car like a canned sardine. Not that he’s planning to sleep much; he has better things to do. He has to find Dad, it’s all he can think of.

Right when he’s about to enter the establishment, he hears his cell phone ringing. Hastily, he takes his Blackberry from his pocket, hoping it to be the anonymous caller who tipped him off three days ago. The display announces the caller as ‘unidentified’, it might not be so far fetched. Sam picks up immediately. “Hello?” A relieved sigh sounds from the other side. “Hey, Sam.”

It’s a feminine voice alright, but it’s not the ‘mysterious lady’, as Dean called the woman who passed him the information about their Dad. He does recognize the person on the other end, though. She is the last human being on earth he expected a call from. “Zoë,” he concludes, stunned. “Yeah… hey, listen,” she cuts to the chase. “I’m in deep shit.”

Sam stops dead in his tracks. He thought she might be after she left so abruptly back in Arkansas, but the fact that she’s admitting that she’s in trouble means that this is serious.

“Where the hell are you?” he asks. “I’m just outside Darrington, Washington State.” “Are you hurt?” Sam asks worriedly. “Yeah, but that’s not the point.” She pauses for a moment, knowing what she is about to say might come as an unpleasant surprise. “Your brother’s here.”

Completely staggered, Sam stares ahead with his phone still close to his ear. What did she just say? Dean is there? With her?! A million questions pop up in his head, but he finds it difficult to choose the first one to ask.

“What?!” is the only thing he can cry out. “Yeah, I thought you might say that.” “But, how the…? He went out to do Dad’s dirty laundry!” he recalls, stunned. “Are you calling me dirty laundry?” Sam’s eyebrows reach his hairline, remembering the coordinates John sent his brother. “You are Dad’s dirty laundry?” “Apparently, but it doesn’t matter.” She interferes before the receiver of the call has the chance to ramble on. “Listen, Dean’s life is in danger. If he stays here with me, he’ll die. You have to get him out bef--”

Now, it’s Zo who gets interrupted. Puzzled, Sam stares at his phone for a moment, assuming the connection might be bad. When the display shows three bars in the right upper corner, he presses the Blackberry against his ear again and listens carefully, trying to identify the sounds he hears. It seems like Zoë is fighting someone over the phone, then he hears Dean in the background. “Give me the damn phone! Give it!” “No! Let go!” “Zoë!” “Don’t Zoë me, you son of a--” “Hand me the fucking phone!”

The line cracks, but then the noise of static stabilizes. Dean has apparently won the fight over the device, because he can hear his voice loud and clear. “Sam?” “What?” he replies coldly. “Whatever you do, don’t hang up,” Dean pleads before Sam does something he will regret later. “I thought you were on Dad’s job?” the younger brother confronts, still angry with his brother. “I am, this is the job. The coordinates led me to Zo,” he explains. “This is not some ghost hunt, Sam. This is unlike anything I’ve ever faced before.”

The hunter hears the concern in his sibling’s voice and he immediately swallows back the smart response he had waiting for him. “I need you to get over here, and while you’re at it look up everything you can find about hellhounds,” Dean demands, calm but stern. “Hellhounds?” Sam repeats, perplexed. “As in the actual soul claimers of the crossroad demons?” “Yep, and we’re on the menu.” “How did that happen? You have to make a deal before they claim your soul at the arranged time,” Sam remembers from one of the lore he studied. “They were let off the hook,” Dean claims. “Sam, you have to find out a way to kill them.” “You can’t kill hellhounds, Dean,” Sam replies. “No, you don’t understand. You have to find a way to kill them,” Dean repeats slowly, making sure the words sink in.

The youngest gulps, realizing how much trouble Zoë and his brother are in. He has read some books that mentioned these creatures, but he never found anything about killing them. He turns around and stares up, letting the rain fall down on him, the water clumping his brown hair together in strands. The hunter scoffs; and he thought he made it to his final destination. He just traveled half the country to get east, now he has to travel all the way up north?

“This better not be some excuse to get me away from Dad, Dean,” he warns. “I wish it was, Sam,” Dean says, concerned. “Hurry it up, will ya?” “Will do.” “And - uh, about what happened down in Texas…” “That’s not important now. We’ll talk about it later,” Sam replies to Dean’s unspoken words.

Knowing they both can bury their pride and work this out, the younger brother closes his eyes as a burden falls off his shoulders. It must, for him to be able to carry a much heavier weight on them. Zoë’s and Dean’s life will depend on him.

“One more thing,” Sam states, before hanging up. “You do know what happens when these things catch you. You don’t just die…” “I know. You go to hell,” Dean finishes. The young Winchester nods his head, although his sibling can’t see that. A short silence follows, after which Dean ends their conversation. “See you soon, Sammy.”

The line disconnects and a tone beeps in his ear, but it takes a few seconds before the young hunter actually lowers the phone and puts it away. Well, that changes things. There is no time to lose; he needs to get to Washington State and fast.

Determined, he stalks back onto the parking lot, observing his surroundings. No bus ride this time, he needs faster transportation. His gaze glides over the parking lot. Then he spots a silver 2005 Chrysler Crossfire Roadster amongst them. He nods, approving, knowing that the vehicle would make good time, but his conscience kicks in soon enough. He can not just connect some wires and steal a car like that! Or any car! But the thought of his brother and Zoë ending up dog food because he was too civilized to go grand theft auto isn’t something he could live with either. He’s left with no other option.

Reluctantly, Sam groans and eyes the vehicle, but then steps towards it while shaking his head and mumbling to himself, “I am so gonna regret this.”

Thank you so much for reading. I appreciate every single one of you, but if you do want to give me some extra love, you are free to reblog my work or buy me coffee. Link in bio at the top of the page.

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suncityblues · 4 years ago

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Bad Luck and Sunshine

Part 1/5 - SPN - 3k words

read on AO3

He can fit all his worldly possessions on the passenger seat of his car.

Car keys, red bic lighter, a toothbrush in a ziplock bag. Cellphone, charger, brown faux leather wallet. A maxed out credit card with the name James Ledbetter on it, and a fake ID to match the card. Fourteen American dollars, one Canadian quarter, a Blimpie’s buy-one-get-one coupon.

A pen with the name of a bank on it, a tin of salt. A paperback with a four leaf clover carefully pressed into the pages between the title and the acknowledgments, and that’s it.

Castiel taps the book in the spot where the clover is pressed. He can feel the slight bump of it.

“They’re supposed to be good luck,” Dean had told him with a shrug when Cas asked why he was rooting around in the grass that day. Dean had handed Cas the book with the clover inside and said, “I used to search for them sometimes when I was a kid. It’s dumb but, hey, I figure we could use all the luck we can get.” Dean had smiled softly then, a bit sheepish. The tips of his ears had gone red.

Back then the world had been ending, so Cas supposed Dean was right, they could use luck.

He remembers trying to be encouraging, saying something about the placebo effect that made Dean roll his eyes and laugh at the same time. He can’t quite recall the specifics of it anymore.

A while later he had reached out to the clover with his grace and found nothing particularly special about it, but kept it and the book anyway. He reaches out again, now, with what little of his power he has left. It’s still just as lucky as any other dead plant.

He takes stock of his possessions again, focusing in particular on the fourteen American dollars and the one Canadian quarter. He checks how much gas he has left in his car and it’s not much. If he keeps going he’ll have to choose between food and gas, just to run out of it again anyway.

He needs to eat sometimes now, and drink water. He needs a shower and a bed if he can get them. Clothes, shoes, soap, toothpaste. All of it costs money, and to get money you have to trade time. Castiel has always found that a little ridiculous but it’s not like he makes the rules anymore.

He’s been pulled over in a dark parking lot in a truck stop town called Laurel for a while now thinking about what to do. Sam and Dean had set him up with the card and the fake ID before he left and Cas doesn’t want to ask them for any more help. He decides Laurel is as good a place as any other to get stuck in.

It’s 9:52 on a Tuesday.

A day and a half later Castiel is once again employed at a gas station. He’d tried a diner, a vegetable canning factory, a hardware store, and a rundown CVS but the gas station is the first place that got back to him. They were short staffed after someone named Ricky had walked out, and desperately needed a replacement. Kendra, the manager, had said “it’s like you were sent by an angel!” When she read through his mostly fictional work history. It had made Cas laugh.

This one is called Sunshine Gas and Go. They have to wear ugly yellow polo shirts that say “Let me know how I can help make your day sunny!” On the back. They keep the beer on the left side of the cooler bank instead of the right and the jerky next to the self-serve coffee but aside from that it’s remarkably similar to a Gas-N-Sip.

He wonders bleakly if he should have been the patron of gas stations while he had the ability.

The angel of Thursday, the angel of gas stations, that’s Cas. The guardian of the spaces you have to pass through on your way to better days, better places.

He sometimes wonders how Nora’s doing; if her kid’s okay.

It takes Sam and Dean five weeks to cave and check in on him. Cas has been in Laurel for the last three.

They pretend to be on their way back from a hunt, a totally routine salt and burn, and just so happen to be refueling at that particular gas station in this particular truck stop, exactly fifteen minutes after his coworker leaves Cas alone to cover the overnight shift. It’s an obvious and flimsy excuse to make sure he’s okay, but he’s known them long enough to understand that obviousness and flimsy excuses to see one another are gestures of affection in the Winchester family. He finds it somewhat exhausting to witness, and even more so to experience but he doesn’t call them out on it.

He does, however, make pointed eye contact with Sam who waves his hands in a placating gesture behind Dean’s back and excuses himself to go stare at the overpriced air fresheners on the other side of the store. He had hoped Sam, at least, would have had the sense to text first.

On the counter next to the cash register there’s a plastic bin with a picture of a bald child in a hospital bed taped to it and some loose change inside. Dean picks the can up, looks inside it, shakes it a bit, puts it down. It’s mostly empty.

“You’d think people’d be a little more generous, what with the cancer kid at stake and all,” he says. When Cas doesn’t immediately reply Dean continues, “Or is this one of those, uh, charity scams? You know, where the evil mega corporation asks you to pretty please donate so they can use it as a tax write off?”

Castiel shrugs, he doesn’t know what the Sunshine Gas and Go does with the money. Says: “I’m not sure, Dean.”

He pretends not to see Dean stick some gum from the display under the counter into his coat pocket. He’s watched Dean do this before to other casheers, leaning close to flirt and making off with what he can. Cas supposes old habits die hard. The gum is sugar free cinnamon.

Dean sees him pretending not to see. He smiles big and bright, his nose does a little crinkle that Cas always liked. The term “shit eating grin” comes to mind, Cas must have heard it somewhere, probably about Dean that time too. He rolls his eyes and says, “How was your hunt? Were you or Sam hurt at all?” He can’t do much besides heal minor cuts and bruises these days, but for the Winchesters he’d still offer what he can.

Dean waves him off, “Fine, fine, got shoved around a bit but it’s nothing a cold compress and a good night’s sleep can’t fix.”

“Speaking of,” Dean segues in a breezyl tone Castiel knows is dangerous territory, “Where are you sleeping these days? You gotta sleep now right?”

The ghost of Rexford sits heavy between them, though it’s been years since then. Cas realizes being back at a gas station might have caught Dean off guard, or felt like some kind of dig at him. He doesn’t know how to explain that it’s just bad luck, and he’s not sure Dean would believe him if he did.

This time around he’s not squatting in the back room with the cleaning chemicals but he is sleeping in his car, just until he has enough money for a place to stay or decides to hit the road again. He knows that’s not anything Dean wants to hear.

“Yes, Dean, I need to sleep” he answers, then pauses. He considers lying but it never works out when he does, and this isn’t life or death; just embarrassing.

Besides, Sam and Dean are observant and thorough even during a glorified social visit, so Cas figures they’d put two and two together as soon as they walked in the door. There’s no way they hadn’t clocked his too-big thrift store jeans under the uniform shirt, or the circles under his eyes. The way his beard is a little patchy from shaving in the bathroom mirror in the truck stop visitor center. It’s likely they’d found his car in it’s discreet parking space at the edge of the lot before coming into the Sunshine Gas and Go.

Cas tries tactful honesty: “I’m saving up.”

And it’s true, he is, though he’s not sure what he’s saving up for. But every Friday he gets a paycheck and brings it to the check cashing place in town. After the fee, and groceries, and little necessities he carefully stores what little he has left in the locked glove compartment of his car, under the book with the clover in it.

Dean’s lips press flat together. He stops leaning over the counter and stands at his full height. He makes an aborted head shaking gesture. He speaks like there’s an awful taste in his mouth.

“So,” he says, slightly too loudly to pay it off as cool. Out of the corner of his eye Castiel sees Sam’s head wip towards them, no longer pretending he’s not eavesdropping.

“So, ah—“ Dean repeats, “you’re gonna, what? Drift around? Lay low in some podunk shit hole for the rest of your life?“ he stops, puts his hands on the counter to steady himself, or to keep from reaching over and grabbing him, Cas isn’t sure. A beat.

“You know what?” Dean says, “Nevermind.”

Cas deflates. He knows Dean disagrees with him leaving so soon after becoming human again, and feels guilty about so many things it’s hard for Cas to keep track of them all, but he knows he couldn’t stay either. Just like lying to the Winchesters, it never works out in the end. With almost no power, he’s no help to anyone, not Sam and Dean, not heaven, not even himself. It hurts to think about but maybe that’s just part of being human.

“Dean—“ he starts to say but he’s cut off.

“Don’t worry about it, man” Dean says, he taps the counter twice with his knuckles, “nice place you got here. I’m glad you’re doing alright.”

Dean swallows and abruptly turns to leave, hands stuffed in the pockets of his jacket. Cas watches him go until Sam comes to the counter with two bottles of water, a coffee, and an energy bar.

He puts a twenty down, says apologetically, “For this stuff and whatever Dean stole on his way out.”

“Gum,” Cas supplies, and slides the twenty back towards Sam. “Don’t worry about it,” he says.

The cameras don’t work inside the store, and according to Joanna, the only reason they’re still up at all is to deter would-be armed robbers. Castiel watches less deserving people steal from them all the time, so it doesn’t seem worth it to take Sam’s money.

Sam shakes his head and gives him a flat smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. He takes his things but leaves the twenty. Says, “See you around, Cas.” He pauses for a moment, and seems to debate something with himself. Then: “Check in sometimes if you can, okay? You know how Dean can be when he gets worried.”

Castiel knows. He waves to Sam as he walks off into the dark.

Cas checks the gum display, then manually rings up the items Sam bought. He puts the change into the plastic jar with the kid in the hospital bed on it.

A few days later a woman comes in with a ghost behind her. Cas checks the time to keep from gaping. 11:27 AM.

The ghost is a man, perhaps in his mid forties. Too young to be dead, but Cas supposes most people feel that way when they die, no matter how old. When the woman comes to the counter and gives him thirty dollars to put on pump six he sees a wedding ring on a chain around her neck. He puts two and two together.

“That’s a lovely necklace” he says, he looks directly at the ghost when he says it. They make eye contact. The ghost does a sharp inhale for a moment and the lights flicker. The ghost disappears.

Cas frowns, “Sorry about that. It happens all the time,” he lies. He wonders if he could purify the ghost with what powers he has left, that way she wouldn’t have to burn her wedding ring.

The woman seems caught off guard, then smiles politely.

“No worries, it happens all the time at my house too. Must be a faulty power grid in this town or something, my kids swear it’s a ghost or something,” she says.

There’s an apprehensive edge to her voice then, hastily: “have a good one.”

“You too,” Cas says. He thinks about following her out, trying to explain. He thinks about texting Sam and Dean.

The slushie machine makes a mechanical crunching sound and suddenly there’s red goop all over the ground.

Joanna starts yelling and runs for the mop. He goes to unplug the machine and gets sticky pink syrup all over his last clean pair of pants. The ghost slips his mind.

Two days later Dean shows up by himself. It’s 6:43 in the morning on a Tuesday.

Cas has been finished with work for fifteen minutes already but there’s a rush at the end of his shift so he says on to help Javier and Kendra out. It’s mostly people stopping for gas on their way to work, or truckers picking up breakfast before heading back on the road. He doesn’t mind sticking around in the mornings, everyone’s usually too tired to be angry and it’s a nice break from the drunks and the sad eyed kids he usually meets on overnights. The extra money doesn’t hurt, either.

Cas doesn’t notice Dean until he’s placing two coffees on the counter in front of them.

His first words are a surprised, “Oh, hello Dean. Where’s Sam?” Which makes Dean huff, and shift from one foot to the other.

“Not here,” he says, then points at the coffee closest to Cas, “That one’s for you. Milk, no sugar still, right?” Cas nods. He knows this is Dean Speak for an apology. He can feel Javier and Kendra look over at them from behind the other register and the cigarette display, respectively.

Dean smiles, all charm but Cas can tell his face looks a little more drawn than usual, like he’d been driving for too long without a break, “You get off work soon?”

Kendra answers for him, “Yes, he does.” She has a maternal look on her face when Cas turns to her. Javier rolls his eyes but doesn’t say anything.

“Shoo,” she says, with a smile. She points at the slogan on his uniform shirt, “Go have a sunny day, James.”

Dean nods, “Yeah, James. Have a sunny day.” There’s that smile again.

Cas closes out his register and gets his coat from the back room. Dean’s waiting for him outside, drinking his coffee and leaning against the Impala. The lighting is the soft grey-blue of the morning, and it feels nice compared to the white fluorescents of the store.

Before Cas can say anything Dean scrubs at the back of his neck, then says, “This coffee tastes like piss. Let’s get breakfast.”

There’re a few diners in town but Cas has never been to any of them. Dean picks one on a whim, because the sign has a 1950’s pinup girl in a skimpy waitress uniform.

It’s warm inside and smells nice, like syrup and strong coffee. Dean orders something called The Lumberjack Platter and when Cas tells the waitress, “Just coffee, thanks” Dean overrides it and orders him scrambled eggs with a side of sausage and toast.

“My treat,” Dean says. Cas shakes his head but doesn’t fight him on it.

Dean avoids talking about anything personal. Instead they mostly chat about the case Sam and Dean are currently working on. Apparently they’ve hit a wall with the research and Sam’s been holed up at the bunker for days pouring over blueprints and hacked security footage. There’s a cursed object in a locked bank vault in Little Rock that’s making people have violent outbursts. The questions are: why did it start acting up now, which lock box it’s in, and how to get to it.

Cas wishes he could still fly, then at least he’d be able to solve two of their problems. He runs the idea of trying to find a spell to make the object useless by Dean and Dean types it into his phone to send to Sam. A moment later it lights up with a call but Dean mutes it and sticks the phone back in his pocket.

Dean changes subjects and tells him about the latest Dr. Sexy storyline, about a vampire nest he took out a few years back, about running into Garth in Topeka. Cas talks about the gas station a bit but mostly just listens. He always likes listening to Dean talk.

When they leave the diner and get back into the Impala, Cas realizes this is the first time he’s enjoyed himself in a long while. He smiles over at Dean, expecting to be asked where he’d like to be dropped off. He’s thinking about the park by the river on the far side of town, it’s a long walk back to the truck stop but he likes to watch the trees shift in the wind and the fresh air there is a nice change from diesel fumes. Instead Dean says, “You still don’t got a place to stay right?”

Cas nods cautiously. He puts his hand on Dean’s upper arm and, not willing to let the day go south, says sternly, “I assure you Dean, while I��m not strictly an angel anymore I still don’t need nearly as much rest as you or Sam do…”

Dean nods at the steering wheel, his jaw moving. Cas can tell he’s also trying to not turn this into a fight.

Dean shifts towards him, Cas keeps his hand firmly on Dean’s arm. The energy in the car changes and suddenly Cas realizes where this is going. Dean puts one hand on his waist and the other comes to rest on Cas’ neck behind his ear. Cas breathes in sharply.

“Dean,” he says, then he broaches the subject he’d been painstakingly avoiding all morning: “Why did you come here today?”

Dean blushes and goes still for a moment, he swallows but doesn’t say anything. After a moment tugs him in gently and Cas takes pity on him. Dean tastes like maple syrup.

It’d been a while since they’d done this, but they fall back into it easily. After a few moments of kissing Dean pulls back. Their foreheads and noses are still touching and they’re breathing hard.

“What I was trying to say was, uh,” his ears get red at the tips, “that I got a room at that Budget Motel by the gas station.”

All Cas can think of to reply is, “Oh, I’d like to see it.”

It makes Dean laugh and wiggle his eyebrows.

“Yeah, yeah wanna come up and see my art collection?” He says. Cas doesn’t know what he’s talking about but he likes that Dean keeps his hand on his thigh while they drive.

By the time Cas wakes up for his next shift Dean is gone. There’s a text on his phone that says Sam finally had his breakthrough based on something Cas had said. Then a second one that tells Cas the room is paid through till the end of the week. He can stay in it or not, doesn’t matter to Dean one way or the other. A third one that just says: Thanks.

Cas lays in bed for a moment enjoying the soft sheets and suddenly remembers the ghost.

++++++++++

Thanks for reading :)

#spn #supernatural #destiel #deancas #Dean Winchester/Castiel #supernatural fanfic #my fic #dean winchester #castiel

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theartofdreaming1 · 4 years ago

Text

Partners - Part 8: The Breakthrough

Rating: T

Pairing: DickBabs

Summary: Looking for ways to take down corrupt Chief Redhorn, Dick and Barbara make a surprising discovery. My DickBabs police officers AU.

You can also read this chapter at AO3 or start from the beginning on my blog

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Over the course of the next weeks, their regular jobs and their work for the Circle claimed most of Dick and Barbara’s time. While they were making good progress building their case for the feds, there was still one thing missing - even with their combined efforts, they had not yet managed to get anything substantial on Chief Redhorn himself.

“As long as we have nothing to charge Redhorn with, we can’t make our move,” Amy had explained in their last meeting with a grave mien, “it’s too dangerous - by the time something might come up to indict Redhorn as well, he could have figured out who supplied the FBI with the info necessary to take down his cronies and knowing him, he will have made some ‘arrangements’ so that won’t ever happen again - and frankly, I’m not willing to take these chances.”

Barbara’s “digital hunting expeditions” hadn’t yielded anything of interest either.

“Ugh,” she’d grumbled irritably after yet another attempt that left them with nothing to show for but an evening wasted,”this is pointless; Redhorn is of the old school - probably does everything face-to-face that isn’t already well-established in this syndicate he has been building up since the 90’s! He probably doesn’t even know that his computer has a calendar function!”

Barbara had closed her laptop with a huff.

“If we want to get our hands on some incriminating evidence, we’re gonna have to track down some good old-fashioned paper trail - and finding that is going to require a freaking miracle.”

***

“Hey, remember that miracle you mentioned a week ago?”

Barbara looked up from her laptop, her previous frustration from another pointless try morphing into confusion, “uh-huh?”

She looked at the bags with their takeout in Dick’s hand, amused: “Why, did you find our miracle while getting Chinese?”

“Maybe,” Dick replied, visibly excited.

“How so?”

Barbara stowed away her laptop in the compartment of the coffee table, while Dick was setting up their food on the table top.

“Well, I actually dropped by Hogan’s before getting our food and he told me something that could be a potential lead,” Dick explained, handing Barbara some chopsticks and her dumplings before plopping down on the couch.

“Spill.”

“Well, Hogan’s heard some rumors of Redhorn being in a pretty bad mood recently and that he seems to be on a pretty relentless search for someone…”

Barbara’s heart lurched.

“Well, that doesn’t sound exactly good for us, does it?”

“That was my first thought as well,” Dick admitted honestly, taking a bite of his spring rolls. “However, according to what Hogan picked up, it seems to be related to something or someone super personal to Redhorn - apparently Mac Arnot complained about getting told off for asking “too many damn questions”; and well, as you know, Arnot always prides himself on being all chummy with our dear Chief.”

“Ugh, terrible sycophant that man.” Barbara said, her disgust displayed plainly on her face.

Dick let out a chuckle.

“You don’t have to tell me twice - he was actually enrolled at the academy at the same time as me; despite rarely attending our lessons, he surprisingly managed to start off his career as an inspector, which is not even an official position at the BPD - but we’re getting off the track here. The real question is: Who is Redhorn looking for? If he’s that secretive about their identity and connection to him that he won’t give plain orders and explanations to his lackeys, it must be someone really close to him…”

Dick trailed off with a knowing look in his eye, clearly creating a pause for dramatic effect as he was preparing to drop a bomb on her.

Barbara couldn’t help rolling her eyes fondly.

Always with the theatrics.

She gestured for Dick to move on, almost dropping the dumpling that was wedged between the chopsticks she was holding in that same hand.

“Well, it’s conjecture, but Hogan remembered that, way back, when he was still in harness, there had been rumors of Redhorn having gotten married- what if he’s looking for his wife?!”

“His wife?” Barbara echoed, surprise evident on her face. In her mind, she combed through the scarce information she had gone over during her research, but she drew a complete blank on the chief’s marital status. To be fair, she hadn’t considered nosing around in such private, familial matters (she might act as an information broker, but she was no creep) and Redhorn didn’t exactly strike her as husband material or a family man, but now that she was looking back on it, the complete lack of information on his marital status was kind of odd-

“Now that you mention it, I don’t recall having seen any information on Redhorn’s marital status whatsoever,” Barbara said carefully.

She noticed the excited spark in Dick’s eyes.

“At the very least, it sounds suspicious, doesn’t it?”

Barbara nodded, “Definitely worth checking out.”

“Of course,” Dick mused, clearly trying to rein in his excitement over this new potential stepping stone in their investigation, “even if Redhorn is looking for his wife, there is still the question of why - has she been kidnapped by other criminals who could be blackmailing him? Has she simply left him and he’s trying to get her back?” He gestured vaguely, as if to illustrate the endless possibilities.“But my point is, if Redhorn is married, his wife could potentially have information that could be useful to us.”

“Well, how useful that could end up being for us really depends on how attached she is to her husband,” Barbara pointed out, “she could invoke marital privileges and refuse to testify against her husband even if she knows of his wrongdoings... If she wants to leave him, however, she might be more inclined to help us…”

Dick nodded, a grin on his face: “Should that hypothetical wife exist, that is.”

Barbara chuckled, already shoving the half-empty take out container to the side to make space for her laptop.

She snatched her computer from the table’s compartment, opened the lid, and booted it up: “Let’s find out, shall we?”

***

Now that she knew what she was looking for, it didn’t take Barbara long to unearth the sought-after information:

“Here we go: 23 years ago, Delmore Redhorn, age 31, married Mary Wallmer, age 20, in a private ceremony in the small fishing town of Snug Cay-” a few clicks on her touchpad and a couple of strokes of her keyboard later- ”Mary was born and raised in Snug Cay, born to Albert and Lucille Wallmer, recently deceased, no siblings.”

Barbara’s eyes raced over the texts and documents, sifting through them for relevant information.

“While in high school, Mary worked at the nearby summer camp as a counselor. After high school, she enrolled in an office course to train to become a secretary… Then worked as a secretary for a small housing firm in Blüdhaven for a while… until the owner of the firm was assaulted and shot dead in his office in broad daylight, with Mary right in the next room.”

Barbara felt Dick next to her shudder. What she read next did nothing to allay her own contempt for the perpetrators of this crime:

“Apparently, the firm had had a few properties over at Avalon Heights, in Freddy Minh’s territory, something the mobster hadn’t appreciated.”

Dick let out a sound of disgust.

Barbara read on: “First responder to the crime was a certain Officer Delmore Redhorn… the wedding took place six months later.”

Scrolling through the data, Barbara tried to find any other entry of employment for Mary. Nothing.

“Doesn’t look like Mary took up another job after that.”

“Not that surprising, considering...”

“From the wedding onward, there is very little info on Mary herself… hmm, a nearly dormant facebook account, maybe that’ll yield something later… oh, wait, here’s something!”

Barbara’s eyes widened.

“Oh.”

When no further elaboration followed, Dick shifted closer, trying to catch a glimpse of what she was staring at.

“What’d you find?!”

Barbara moved the laptop so Dick could get a better look at her screen: “A birth record.”

Looking up from the screen, Dick looked at her uncomprehendingly: “So?”

“It’s not Mary’s birth record - it’s from thirteen years ago; it’s the birth record of her son.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“And the father?”

Barbara tapped her screen, “Redhorn.”

“Huh.”

“Yup... A wife and a son would definitely qualify as “close connections”, don’t you think?”

Dick grinned: “Kinda.”

Barbara smiled back, buzzing with excitement, now that this angle opened up a whole new perspective.

“Give me another hour to figure out whether this is connected to Redhorn’s troubles,” Barbara declared confidently, about to dig deeper into the piles of data ready at her fingertips. She paused briefly, looking at Dick, who had moved to the edge of the sofa, about to get up, “would you-”

“- put on some coffee?” He finished her sentence for her, smiling.

”Way ahead of you.”

***

About one hour and two cups of coffee later, Barbara was ready to present Dick with the findings of her latest cyber expedition:

“Okay, so let me show you this online chat: It’s mainly frequented by well-to-do middle class moms in the Gotham-Blüdhaven-area and their exchanges are mostly a mix of discussions on the deficits and benefits of local schools, challenges of achieving a good work-life-balance, complaints about their unruly offspring, and tips on where to find an excellent yoga instructor - but one thread stood out among the rest: A concerned user talking about how the recurring rumors of corruption in the police department and mayoral office are worrying her because she’s afraid her husband could be wrongly accused of being “mixed up in such dreadful things”. The user name? SnugCayfish78.”

Dick let out a whistle.

“Sounds like you’ve struck gold.”

Barbara grinned triumphantly: “Right? And there is more, my friend… Aside from recurring mentions of her concerns, SnugCayfish78 also dropped this bomb two weeks ago:

“He doesn’t tell me much of his work (I know that he doesn’t want me to worry), but I can tell that ever since another of his subordinate officers was arrested, something is weighing heavily on my husband… If only there was a way for me to ease his burden. Has anyone any ideas? Maybe the social calendars I’ve been keeping all these years will finally come in handy! Being able to show that my husband has only ever been in contact with the upstanding members of the public that have been so deeply invested in building up the Blüdhaven we know and love now, must certainly prove that my darling would never associate with such dishonorable policemen that are involved in corruption! Hopefully, this will be enough to lay my husband’s worries to rest.”

… and that’s the last entry from this account. Coincidentally, that is also the date Redhorn’s son posted his last picture on instagram.”

Dick gave her a meaningful look.

“Sounds to me like Mary just realized that her husband might not have been some innocent bystander in the sea of corruption that makes up Blüdhaven’s elite and decided to go underground. As an added bonus, Summer break started last week, so even if Mary just grabbed her son and left, there’s no danger of inquiries from school.”

“Would fit with what we have found out so far,” Barbara agreed, “of course, there is still the question of what Mary’s planning on doing with the information she has at hand and what Rehorn’s planning to do once he finds her…”

Dick hummed in agreement, a thoughtful expression on his face.

“Considering how her entire world view has been turned on its head, she probably doesn’t even know what to do now that she has discovered her husband’s vest is anything but squeaky clean,” he reasoned,”but maybe she’d be open to handing over this evidence she’s kept unintentionally all these years.”

“Maybe,” Barbara agreed, “nothing I have found suggests that Mary had been involved in Redhorn’s illegal activities in any way; I guess she was truly ignorant of them until now. As for Redhorn - keeping in mind how he appears to be unwilling to deploy his goons in the “usual” manner, I guess we can assume that he actually does care about Mary and doesn’t want her and their son to get hurt… That being said, I have no idea whether his love for them wins out over his sense of self-preservation,” she finished grimly.

Dick nodded, steely determination displayed openly across his features: “Which is exactly why we need to be the ones to find her first.”

“Agreed.”

“You think you can find Mary and their son before Redhorn does?”

Barbara gave Dick a confident smile: “Even if Mary was a Luddite like her husband - she’s in hiding with a teen; I’ll find them, don’t you worry.“

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to be continued.... here.

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Notes:

Nightwing #33: Mac Arnot talks to Dick in the cafeteria of the police academy and Dick finds out that they are supposedly in the same class although he hasn't seen Arnot attend any of his classes; Arnot just shrugs it off, explaining that he's "kinda advanced"

Nightwing #42: Chief Redhorn makes Mac Arnot an Inspector (based on shifty recommendations), while Dick gets turned down when applying for a job at the BPD

Nightwing #47: Chief Ebersol (who was appointed Chief while Redhorn took off for some time, hiding from Blockbuster, I think) points out that the BPD doesn't have an official position of Inspector, while Arnot lets Ebersol know that *he* will be running things in the background until Redhorns gets back... oh and he vaguely threatens Ebersol's family (I flipping hate Arnot, ugh)

Nightwing# 71-74: Mary Redhorn (née Wallmer) is important in this story arc; she's Redhorn's wife and is from Snug Cay (although they got married 33 years ago in the comics), Dick followed her all over Europe when police and Blockbuster's goons were coming after her for having a journal that detailed Redhorn's social contacts with plenty of questionable characters; in the comics, Mary's just super naive and probably wanted to use this journal to clear his name, having no idea how closely her husband was entangled in the corruption that is running rampant in Blüdhaven - I wanted to make Mary a little less clueless and give her a bit more agency/motive by having her be protective of a son that I made up

Nightwing #59: Dick wants to drop by Freddy Minh's in Avalon, only to find that Freddy Minh has been dead for some time, his empire now run by his wife, Madame Minh (I assume Chuck Dixon is referring to Avalon Heights and not Avalon Hill, because Avalon Hill is on the outskirts of Blüdhaven, basically in the middle of nowhere, whereas Avalon Heights is situated a bit more centrally, with access to some docks, according to the map in Nightwing Secret Files and Origins #1)

#dickbabs #dickbabs fanfiction #dick grayson #barbara gordon #dickbabs fanfic #I write sometimes #my fics: partners

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starscheme · 5 years ago

Text

Change My World

Chapter Twenty-Two: Into The City

Though the morning sun had risen some time ago, Steven and Spinel were still fast asleep. At least, until Spinel felt Steven begin to stir. Even before she opened her eyes, Spinel could hear the beating of Stevens heart. She quickly opened her eyes to find that they had moved in their sleep. No longer sitting up, they were lying on their sides, the blanket nearly removed from their bodies. It wouldn't have been a problem if Steven wasn't still holding onto her. Her body was pressed against his, their legs nearly entangled as he held her close with his face almost covered by her hair.

"Steven, wake up!" Spinel pleaded, her face nearly buried against his neck. Why was he so strong even in his sleep? "Steven!"

"...I'm sorry...! ...I—I-didn't...!" Steven mumbled in his sleep through stifled sobs.

Spinel stopped calling out when she heard him speak. Was he having a bad dream? Why would he dream about anything he would have to apologize for? Steven was too kind to have done anything bad. "H-hey..." she began softly, staying perfectly still now. "It's okay, Steven. Just...relax."

It took a moment or two, but as his hold on her loosened a bit, Spinel slid her body up in order to see his face. His arms were still around her, but his embrace wasn't as intense. Face to face now, she saw tears slipping down the side of his face. It must have been a terrible dream. She reached over and gently grazed her fingers along the trail of tears to wipe his face. The only other times she had seen him cry was for her sake so far. What sort of dream could hurt him like this? Whatever it might be, she didn't like seeing him sad. Without realizing it, her fingers trailed along his cheek slowly, stopping just before she reached his lips.

The kiss they shared last night was fresh in her mind. Recalling it so clearly, she could still feel the pressure of his lips on hers. This man that was bound to her, the more he said he loved her, the more he held and kissed her, it chipped away at her resolve.

All of a sudden, she felt a little guilty. Wouldn't this seem weird to him if he woke up and saw her now? Her cheeks flushed and now she wasn't sure what to do. There was more room to wriggle out of his hold, but it still seemed like an awkward thing to do. What's more, she actually liked seeing his sleeping face now that he appeared to have calmed down. He looked so peaceful. The more she thought it, the more her cheeks burned. Spinel silently covered her face with her hands, trying suppress the embarrassed scream she wanted to belt out.

As Spinel panicked internally, Steven opened his eyes and wondered if he was still dreaming for a second. Spinel was laying in front of him and for some reason, covering her face. He could feel his arms around her waist while she wriggled anxiously. Honestly, he was relieved to have woken up. These dreams were bad for his heart. "...Spinel?"

"STARS!" Spinel gasped, removing her hands to see Steven staring blankly at her reddened face. "H-how long have you been awake...?!"

"Not so loud..." groaned Steven softly, "we're too close."

"Oh! S-sorry. I forgot..." replied Spinel, lowering her voice as she shrunk a little.

Steven smiled, feeling tears start to burn his eyes again. How many times was he going to have to watch Spinel bleed? It really wasn't something he wanted to think about, but when he saw her face, the image flooded back to him. Without a word, Steven gently tightened his hold on her, squeezing Spinel to his chest once again.

"Steven," began Spinel curiously. However, when she felt him tremble slightly, she decided to stay quiet. His dream was probably still fresh in his mind. "...did you have a bed dream...?" Spinel asked quietly.

"The worst..." Steven breathed out before planting a kiss on the top of her head. "...could we stay like this for a moment?"

"Sure," answered Spinel.

He was grateful that he woke up beside her. Those dreams would drive him crazy if he didn't get to see her face once he opened his eyes. Seeing her die was one thing, but to hurt her with his own hands? He couldn't even imagine doing something so horrible. How could he possibly hurt someone he loved?

It took him a little while to calm down, but eventually he loosened his hold on Spinel. "...thanks..."

Spinel offered him a warm smile. She was just glad to help him somehow. If he needed comfort, she didn't mind being a little embarrassed.

Her smile truly eased his heart. It's no wonder that he would fall for someone like her twice. Yet, it was clear the first time ended terribly. That woman's voice said he could make a happier ending. Hopefully that was true. "...I'll never let anything happen to you."

Spinel blushed, but noticed Stevens eyes change as he spoke. They had turned pink again. She wriggled free of his embrace and sat up, cupping his face in her hands as she stared into his eyes. "What are you feeling right now?" she asked seriously, trying to figure out what was causing these changes in him. This was the first time it happened when he wasn't in danger or really upset.

A little bewildered, Steven wasn't sure how to answer her. It was rather rare for Spinel to meet his eyes without shying away. Was something wrong? "I'm...feeling confused?"

"No," Spinel insisted as she shook her head. "When you said that you wouldn't let anything happen to me. How did you feel right then?"

Now it was Stevens turn to shy away a bit. "Uh...I...was feeling that...I wanted to keep you safe. That...you're...precious to me." He didn't usually have trouble expressing his feelings, but it felt a bit awkward while she was holding his face and staring so intently.

Spinel would have been embarrassed if she weren't so focused on figuring this out. To keep her safe. Was that what it was? She released his face and let her hands rest in her lap as she thought back to the other incidents. Whenever it happened, she assumed it was because Stevens life was in danger, but looking back, her life had been in danger too. When his eyes changed back in the Garden, Volley had said something about her dying. Now, he was only thinking about protecting her and it happened again.

"Spinel...what's going on?" He asked, sitting himself up as well and placing the blanket over her shoulders. Though he was curious, he was trying not to look at her. She was after all, still simply wearing his shirt to cover up. He felt guilty for staring while she sat there, but she looked absolutely stunning.

Still thinking, Spinel wrapped the blanket around herself absentmindedly. She'd heard his question, but how was she supposed to answer without revealing too much. She still didn't want him to know he was responsible for the soldiers deaths and she wasn't sure how to properly explain the power anyway. Even she didn't know what was going on. Either way, she'd promised Steven that they would face all this head on and that they would face it together. She couldn't just keep this to herself after that. "...I think we should get ready to go, but before that...we probably have a lot to talk about."

Steven nodded his head with a sigh, "we do," he agreed. "...why don't you get dressed and I'll scout the area a bit to see if I can figure out where we are."

Before Spinel could answer, Steven was already on his feet and heading for the caves entrance. He instructed Lion to stay behind and watch Spinel as he left to look around. She watched his back until the light of the sun glared back at her, forcing Spinel to look away. "...this...is far more complicated than I ever thought it would be..." sighed Spinel.

Lion did as he was told and stayed behind to watch over Spinel, earning an amused giggle from her when he planted himself at the entrance to the cave with his back to her, as if granting her some cover and privacy from leering eyes that may pass by. She quickly changed back into her black dress, not wanting to dirty the second dress that Steven had bought for her. They were the first gifts she had received from him after all.

Once she was dressed, Spinel shook out the blanket and placed it back into the bag. It was only now that she realized her shoes were missing. Spinel sighed miserably, "being human is convenient, but such a pain."

She had just started to put her hair back into pigtails when Steven came back from his scouting mission. She smiled, but Steven looked a bit unsettled, as if he had something unpleasant to tell her. "Did something happen? Are we far off from the Capital?"

"We are actually a few towns away. I guess Lion brought us pretty close..."

"Well, that's good isn't it?"

"Not really. The closer we are, the bigger the cities and that means more people and more security. We can't exactly walk through the city gates with a large pink Lion."

Glancing towards the beast, Spinel felt a little lonely thinking they would have to leave him behind. "...but..."

"Don't worry. I think he'll just linger around the borders. If we need him, he'll come for us."

Spinel frowned. Of course she wanted to ask how he might know this, but didn't that mean opening a can of worms? She wasn't ready to hear what Steven knew just yet. Every time she thought about that inevitable conversation, a terrible pit formed in her stomach. "...why can't Lion just bring us straight to the Capital?"

"There are way too many people from this point on. We have to be more careful. We don't know where he would bring us...so it's too risky. We have to go on foot from here. I think the city is having some sort of celebration today, so we can just blend into the large crowd. ...we just can't do anything to draw attention. We don't know what kind of magic they use here..."

Admittedly, Spinel was a little nervous to be heading into such a large city. She would have felt better having Lion with them. Sure, he would attract attention, but people would most likely avoid them because of it. Spinel just wasn't sure she could handle the crowds. Besides Steven, humans disgusted her. What if they met more people like Elaine? She certainly wasn't fond of the idea that they might be surrounded by more human females trying to seduce Steven.

After the two said goodbye to Lion, Steven grabbed their bag and they set off towards the city. Though Spinel insisted she was fine without her shoes, Steven refused to let her walk through the forest barefoot. Even if she was used to Steven carrying her by now, she couldn't help being embarrassed each time.

"What's the point of having legs if you won't let me walk?" Spinel pouted as Steven carried her like a princess to the main road.

"When we get you some shoes, you can walk all you want." Steven replied adamantly.

Spinel huffed a bit and crossed her arms over her chest. Steven could be terribly stubborn about these things. However, once they reached the main road into the city, Spinel flinched and quickly wrapped her arms around Stevens neck, hiding her face in his shoulder. He was confused at first, until he saw all the other people traveling along the main road.

There were decorated coaches and lots of villagers heading into the city by foot. Spinel must have been nervous with such a big crowd. Steven knew the bigger cities would be mean more people, but this was a little excessive.

"Excuse me," Steven called out to a passing young lady. "Was the nearby town evacuated or something?"

The young woman stopped, curiously glancing at Spinel before answering Steven. "Nothing like that. Ilya is just having its annual celebration and there's a special ceremony this year, so a lot more merchants and people from all around are coming to see."

"Special ceremony? What could draw such a crowd?"

"I'm not sure," the girl answered. "It wasn't announced in the flyers and I'm not a merchant or anything. I've just been hired as extra help. ...if you'll excuse me, I have to go and help set up. I hope you and your partner enjoy the celebration, please come and buy lots of flowers for your lady from the stalls!" She called out before running off to catch up with her small caravan.

"Hm, a celebration sounds fun don't you think?" Steven asked Spinel with a smile.

Spinel looked out at the crowd of people waiting to get into the gates of the walled off city. "So...it's like a party?"

"Mmhm. We had festivals and stuff back home, but I've never been to one in such a big place. I bet they'll have lots of fun things to do. Besides, they will be so many strangers from other towns, no one will notice two more. This will work out well for us."

Spinel wasn't so sure it would be any fun with all these humans around, but Steven did seem a little excited. As they joined the crowd, the gate to the city opened wide, several guards stationed at the entrance as people began to pile into the city. Spinel tried not to seem nervous while they passed the guards, but she couldn't help feeling a little stiff. Even at least once they inside the city walls, the crowd spread apart.

Though Spinel didn't like the thought of being around so humans, she had to admit that the city certainly looked fun. Streamers of blue and yellow lined the street lamps, flowers decorated every house that surrounded the large city center. Jugglers, dancers, musicians, and fortune tellers were set up all over alongside merchant and food stalls. Many people were dressed in blue or yellow, which Spinel assumed by now to be the city's banner colors.

"Oh! Here we go," Steven exclaimed as he finally let Spinel down. "There's a little boutique right here."

Spinel simply stared in silence while allowing Steven to take her hand and pull her into the small clothing store. There were a few other girls inside, gushing over a pink summer dress with white laced long sleeves.

"May I help you?" asked a young sales woman once Steven and Spinel walked in. Once she got a good look at them, it was clear that she didn't think they should be in here.

"Yes, thank you," Steven began, stepping towards the sales woman to speak with her.

Spinel wasn't paying much attention to their conversation. She was much more interested in all the clothes they had here. Why did humans need so many? Though she did wonder why the girls were so interested in the pink dress.

One of the girls had noticed Spinel staring at them and she informed the other two with a whisper before they all turned around.

"My, are you interested in this dress as well?" One of the girls asked with a clearly feigned smile.

"...not really. I just saw-"

"Well of course she would be," announced another girl, "even the lower class can appreciate something lovely. Even if they can't afford it."

Spinel frowned at once, "lower class?"

"Oh, please don't listen to my friend. She doesn't have much tact. ...however, perhaps you would have better luck in another shop. This one is quite expensive and...well...it's usually preferred if people wear shoes inside."

The other two girls giggled, but Spinel wasn't very amused. Mermaid or Human, there were always mean spirited minds. Personally, she would have liked to toss each one across the floor, but she didn't want to cause trouble for Steven or draw attention to herself with so many guards out on the streets.

However, as the girls snickered to one another, the sales woman rushed by them and took the pink dress down, surprising them all.

"Shall we get you changed, miss?" She asked Spinel.

"Huh? I didn't-"

"I told her you were gonna wear everything out," announced Steven when he stepped up behind her with a smile. "You were looking at it, so I thought you wanted it. Was I wrong?"

Spinel looked at the dress before glancing back at the girls who all seemed mortified by this. "No, you were right. I like it very much," answered Spinel.

Steven let the sales girl lead Spinel to a changing room, showing her several shoes she had picked out as well. He did notice the small group of girls, however, their shocked and angry faces confused him. Why did they look so upset on such a festive day?

#Steven universe #su #steven universe au #mermaid au #change my world #chapter 22 #mermaid spinel #stevinel #stevinel fanfic #fanfic

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randomguywithwords · 5 years ago

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As The Dust Settles: Chapter 10 (Dabi x Geten Slowburn)

Previous Chapters: 9, 8, 7, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1

––––––

Dabi spent his Friday evening slouched over the counter, occasionally sipping from his whiskey. The bar was quite empty for a Friday night, with only a few customers scattered around the chairs and stools.

“Hey,” Dabi called. The bartender, a man who looked to be in his mid-thirties, looked at him.

“What else can I get for you, sir?” He asked politely.

“Is this place usually this empty at this time?” Dabi swept an arm around as a gesture.

The bartender chuckled. “If anything, I gained more customers, probably thanks to you lot. You’re part of the League, right?”

“Were, I suppose,” Dabi said boredly, but straightening up to rest his head on his palm. “Why?”

“You guys defeating the army depressed the hell out of some of ‘em. Usually their doctrine frowns upon drinking – something about wasting their days when they could be practicing, but after their commander was overthrown, I saw a big turnout that night. Largest I’ve ever had.”

“You keep saying them…” Dabi frowned, recalling something Hanabata had said. “Are you the 10% of people in Deika who aren’t part of the army?”

“Damn right. I’ve no intention of joining their crazy mission.” The bartender looked at a customer at one of the tables, nodded, and started to prepare a drink. “Only thing that sucks is getting caught in the crossfire.”

“Ah.” Dabi took another sip. “You look alright for a guy whose city was nearly destroyed.”

The bartender waved his hand dismissively, the other placing the finished drink on the counter for collection. “I ain’t talking about what Shigaraki did. I like the guy. He taught these delusional people a lesson. My problem…” He leaned in slightly closer, lowering his voice. “Is with the army themselves.”

“Really? I thought you would hate me and the League,” Dabi said.

“I got no issue with you folks. But I hate the soldiers. Especially the ice-man. Apocrypha, or whatever his name is.”

“Huh.” Was Dabi’s response, though his mind was whirling. He didn’t need that girl on his mind, though he was curious enough to ask, “What’s wrong with him?”

“He’s merciless, cruel. I don’t know if you saw, but during the fight, I heard from some of these guys here, he took out so many of his guys just to get rid of the army of clones from Bubaigawara Jin.”

“Right…” Dabi’s mind flashed back to that glacier that sent entire houses into the air, along with the blood of both Twice’s clones and the Liberation Army. He was both disgusted and awed by the audacity of that move. Now, he felt more disturbed than anything. “Yeah, I was there. You were safe?”

“Yeah, my house was on the other side of the city. I didn’t go out that day when I saw all the soldiers marching towards the centre. Wherever the army gathers, it’s good to not go there,” The bartender said. He paused, and then added grimly, “Some of my friends didn’t heed that advice.”

“Oh.” Dabi swallowed. The statement sounded like a backhand threat or a lash of anger, but looking at the man’s face, he strangely did not detect any sign of hatred.

“Honestly, they got what they deserved.” He gave a smile, pouring two glasses of whiskey and passing one to Dabi. “It’s on the house. I haven’t had a good talk in a long time.”

“Cheers.” Dabi grinned. The glasses clinked, and the two took a good gulp of the burning liquor.

“Is it dangerous here?” Dabi said as he set down his glass on the countertop.

“Pah, not really. Until last week, the army hadn’t really done anything, only train over and over again. At least, that’s what I could see. Maybe underground, they’ve been up to something, but I’ll be honest – I doubt they ever had plans to expand.”

“Yeah,” Dabi said non-committedly, thinking about the plans Shigaraki had laid out, taken from Re-destro’s strategies.

“And honestly, I couldn’t leave even if I wanted to. They wouldn’t let me.” The bartender grimaced, taking another gulp. “Not that it’s illegal, but the leaders – those guys in that tower, they make it sound illegal, so everyone knows it’s illegal. You get what I mean?”

Dabi nodded slowly. He had to admit, the way Re-destro and his lieutenants kept Deika city controlled was impressive: Not with an iron fist, but soft, persuasive whispers. Noting that this man here was likely subjugated by them in all by thought, he asked a question.

The question was probably influenced by the thoughts in his head, and the alcohol. “About that gi – guy, Apocrypha, what’s he like?”

The bartender’s expression tightened, and Dabi wondered if he’d touched on something personal – Apocrypha had apparently killed his friends, though he hadn’t seemed very affected by it.

“Whoever that man is under that hood, he’s a monster. I’ve grown up here my whole life, and I’ve never seen a soldier so addicted to the cause. Now, I’m no soldier, but even I understand the camaraderie that soldiers should share. Apocrypha has no feelings. He kills people to achieve his goals…” The bartender leaned in closer, till Dabi could smell the whiskey on his breath. “And I’m not talking about what happened last week, but what he’s been doing since he joined.”

“What d’you mean?” Dabi asked, a sense of foreboding sending a chill down his spine, while his stomach bubbled with curiosity and trepidation.

“Hey, Dabi!” A cheerful voice made him and the bartender look at the man who had just entered. The crimson wings made it obvious.

“Hey, Hawks.” Dabi waved. The hero walked up to them.

“You want anything, Hawks?” The bartender asked.

“I’m good, thanks man.” Hawks replied, eliciting a nod from him. While the bartender busied himself with washing some glasses, Dabi turned around on his stool to face Hawks.

“What’s up?” Dabi said.

“Some people are looking for you.” Hawks glanced around, noting the few other customers within earshot. He gestured towards the exit.

Sighing, Dabi gulped down the last of his drink, thanked the bartender and left with Hawks.

–––––––

A few hours ago...

Shigaraki knocked aside Dabi’s raised arm with a backhand. “I let you go your own way because I don’t believe in ordering you guys around, but now that I’m leading more than a small group, I’m changing my style. You’re settling things with Apocrypha, got it?”

The two stared at each other with cold fury for a second, before Dabi spat, “Fine.” and spun on his heel to exit the room.

Shigaraki watched Dabi leave the council room. Once the door was shut, he sat down on his chair and tapped his earpiece. “Still there, Ujiko?”

“You actually sounded convincing,” The doctor’s voice came in reply. “Not the Dabi-Apocrypha thing. The plan you gave them. I almost believed it myself.”

“Good, it’ll throw them off the scent for a while. I trust you’ve kept up your end of the deal?” Shigaraki said.

“Yes. Come. I’ll show you everything.” At this, Shigaraki felt the build-up of that muck in his mouth. He’d experienced it so many times he no longer gagged or retched.

The mossy-green ooze expanded and enveloped him. He lost vision temporarily as the nauseating feeling churned for a second before disappearing. He blinked, finding himself in Ujiko’s lab. The doctor himself stood before him. No chair, nothing shrouding him from sight, just him standing with his lab coat and silver glasses.

“Tomura Shigaraki, Kyudai Garaki. It’s a pleasure to work with you.” He gave a nod of respect. “You and All For One are the only two that know my true name. I trust that you’ll keep it that way.”

–––––

Plot stuff, getting a bit dry I know, especially if you’re here for Dabiten. You might not like next chapter if that’s the case, but it’ll hopefully set up the premise much better so you get a general idea of how the plot is going. And yeah, I’m aware that 10 chapters in is a horrible time to establish even more premise to the story. My excuse of first draft isn’t exactly great. So uh, fault taken.

Flow-wise, I actually don’t really like this jumping back chronologically. I think in an edited version, the 2nd scene in this chapter would be the chapter 7/8, so right after the meeting (c7) goes into this Shigaraki POV. So yeah, reading it might be a bit dissatisfactory in terms of pacing, but bear with this first draft for now. I’ll change it when it’s time.

Also, I’m happy to say that I finally planned out Dabi’s backstory, so now the issue is writing it out in a way that doesn’t break this flow. I used to do flashbacks as an independent scene with line breaks at both ends, but I personally feel that it’s lazy writing now. If I can’t think of any decent way to transition into Dabi’s past, then I might go back to what I mentioned.

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igobacktomay · 4 years ago

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i know i’m a clown who posts writing twice a year with the preface “this isn’t finished yet” but: this isn’t finished yet, i wanted to share it anyway. sharing personal writing sleeves me out a little but it’s also the only kind of writing i do, & often the kind i like to read, so it follows that i have to share it sometimes. this is called “cappadocia, south carolina” and it’s a true story but the names have been changed

Curled in on myself on the cavernous and unfamiliar bed with my knees to my chest, I tried and failed to steady my breathing. Avery’s breath was hot and wet in my ear, and some part of me somewhere in the back of a warehouse was saying, This was where you were when it happened but I did my best to shake that off. I tried to focus on the warmth of her chest on my back, arms wrapped around my arms that wrapped around my legs, her legs curled loosely up towards mine, a firm crescent moon around my smaller body. I tried to come up with something to say and couldn't. It was like someone had smeared Vaseline on the lens. All my thoughts were gone. All that was left was feelings, simultaneously hollow and all-consuming, a wiping of the slate, a disconnection from myself, a fear of something, a painful memory hovering just out of frame.

Avery rubbed my hands slowly as if she was waiting for me to speak. I only shivered in my fog. I had no words. Eventually she asked, "Hey, if you could live in a colony on the moon or in underground tunnels, which would you pick?"

Her voice was light and curious, testing me for a response, so I screwed one up out of somewhere and asked her if there was natural light anywhere in the tunnels. My words came out slow and dream-like. I pictured them sliding into the corners of the room and kept my eyes shut, lest I see it.

She seemed to think for a second before she answered.

"No, I don't think there's natural light."

"I still pick the tunnels."

"Why?"

"There's these tunnels in..." and I trailed off. Got lost for a moment thinking of a photo I saw on a Wikipedia page somewhere, of sunlight coming in through thin alabaster to illuminate a partially-underground room. I tried to stay focused on the image, which was comforting, until I could remember the words for what I was trying to say. It was also possible that I had invented the picture, or that somewhere a few archaeological sites got mixed up in my brain. I couldn’t tell.

"Fuck," I whispered, "I know this. Hold on, I know where they are, I just--" and putting my thoughts into words was like trying to make noise underwater. I started to worry that all that would come out was air bubbles and all that would come in was drowning. The water poured into my skull and carried off the rest of the thought, leading me back into the empty moor of dissociation, further away from the woods and the lake and the cold bed. But Avery continued to stroke my hands and arms and the feeling was distracting, and thinking about how it was distracting suddenly let me break a hole through the gray curtain. I saw the impossible stone window again, and for a second its light shone through me.

"Cappadocia,” I pronounced carefully, still clutching my legs to my chest as tight as I could. “They're in the Cappadocia region of... somewhere."

"What are?" Avery asked. I blinked. How long had it been?

"What? These tunnels I’m telling you about. They're like, hundreds of... maybe thousands of… years... I don't know. They're old, and they uh, they're in the desert somewhere, and I'd want to live in one of those. They look nice."

"Oh. That sounds good.” She paused, and the part of me that still knew where I was knew that she was running out of things to say. I hoped she wouldn’t stop trying anyway. Though I was largely unable to communicate it, I was convinced her conversation was the only thing keeping me from slipping over the edge into catatonia. The animal of myself was drifting back to the Ice Age, warming its illiterate hands by the original hearth fire in my mind.

“If you lived in the tunnels, would you fall in love with a mole person?" was what she came up with. I gave it some consideration.

“Yeah, probably."

"Would you have mole babies?"

“I'd have a mole abortion, Avery." She didn’t laugh. Could I blame her? She continued to stroke my hands and breathe evenly on my hair, but didn’t ask me any more questions. I had the feeling she wasn’t sure what to do; I was not in the right condition to illuminate her.

Since pulling away and curling into a ball, I hadn't opened my eyes for a long time. I knew it would be dark in the room if I did, but I still couldn't face anything. I feared stimulation. I only wanted to be comfortable and still, to exist away from myself. I could feel the core of my body shaking involuntarily, even though I was warm and knew I wasn’t in danger. I started worrying that I was going to forget who Avery was and stop feeling safe because I didn't know who was holding me.

Instead, I suddenly recalled in a flash my memories of fifteen minutes earlier, looking down across the flat plain of my stomach at thin bare legs sprouting out of a borrowed oversized sweater, her rolling the condom on and me waiting on the pain and the pistoning, and I felt terribly anxious and sick. Not over Avery. It wasn’t her fault. I felt sick with myself. I had felt the blankness replacing my arousal even as I consented and participated, as I looked at our tangle of legs and wondered vaguely which belonged to me. I had hoped I could somehow stop the feeling on my own, already sensing the difficulty of the words coming out, and so said nothing in protest. I couldn’t stop the feeling on my own, and halfway through a handjob she had asked, “are you okay?” and I had whispered, “I’m sorry, I feel really weird,” and slowly folded myself down onto the duvet.

Now the guilt rolled in. Guilt for my inability to speak, to stop anything from happening when I knew I should, guilt for putting Avery in a position like this one: having to stop consensual sex three minutes in to comfort her pained partner like a child & question her own actions. I didn’t want to worry her while we were on vacation. What I wanted was just to have a good time with my girlfriend, and now I had failed step one for both of us.

Why can't you work? I pleaded with my body. Christ, why can’t you be normal for once? Nothing that bad even happened to me in the first place. Why am I so fucked up over it? There was no real urgency to these thoughts, but they were carried by cloudy waves of overwhelming discomfort that made me want to cry.

Just as I was starting to spiral and squeeze myself tighter together, Avery started talking in my ear again. I could tell by her tone that she was telling me a story to help me relax, and I stopped following the thread of my fear long enough to force myself to listen and breathe slowly.

What she started with was, "Did you know how cigarettes got their name?"

I took one deep breath before pushing the words out. "No. Tell me how.”

"Well,” Avery said, snuggling her arms closer around my body, “Once there was this man named Sigur. He was a really tall, and uh, lanky man, and he always wore a white shirt and kind of... tan-orange pants. And he always carried tobacco and rolling papers with him wherever he went, you know, he was a smoker. And when he would roll his tobacco into the papers, he would make it so the ends were tan-orange and the rest was white... so it would look just like a little version of him in his outfit. And, so, he called them Sigur-ettes, as in, smaller Sigurs! And that's how cigarettes got their name."

I didn't respond very much to the story, except at the end when I said, "I'm glad, he's... good," and then trailed off.

There were several minutes of silence, during which I spontaneously and uncontrollably pictured what I might look and feel like in the event that I were able to carve out all of my internal organs and sell them on eBay. I forced it back down into the blankness. My usual visualization of my brain as two hands that plucked information out and dispensed it had been replaced by the conviction that those hands had formed tight fists and curled towards each other with their backs to me, like two small cats settling in to sleep.

"We can go back to the way we were before if you want," Avery said from behind me, pulling me a little closer and rocking me slightly onto my back, as if to guide me to roll over so we were face to face. The animal in my brain didn’t like my body being moved by other people but the animal would not move my body by itself. These were words I couldn’t speak. I mumbled back a vague protest.

"You don't have to do that, this was fine."

"Hey, maybe I like the other position better,” she said. “I might have. C'mon."

I couldn’t find the energy to resist her gentle tugging, or a reason to do so, so as she pulled at me, I slowly let go of my legs and stretched them cautiously towards the end of the bed. My shoulders relaxed a little, and the next thing I knew, Avery’s blue eyes were looking into mine in the dim room, and she was steadying my shoulder saying, “There, that wasn’t so bad, right?”

I still closed my eyes against her gaze and responded without words, but she was right, it wasn’t so bad. In this new position I could feel exhaustion finally seeping into me as my muscles started to relax by increments. As I calmed down and counted my fingers and returned to myself, I started to regain the part of me that felt embarrassment and shame and was stricken. It was the worst kind of hangover to have. Every time I found my way out of that space, the first part of me to come back was the shame.

“I’m sorry this always happens,” I exhaled into the hollow of Avery’s neck. “I wish it didn’t, I mean, I really, I hate it, I didn’t want--”

“Hey,” she said softly, and my heart almost broke. “You don’t have to apologize. I’m not mad. It’s okay.”

It’s not okay, I thought, even if you aren’t mad, but I didn’t say it. I let her reassure me, keeping the blankness to myself as it shrunk back into its own corner of my mind.

“It’s okay,” she said again. “It’s not your fault.”

Eventually her hands in my hair compelled the rest of the terror to let go of me, and I fell asleep beside her, not cuddling but facing opposite directions on our own sides of the bed, as was our way.

In the morning when we woke up and reached our hands sleepily towards each other, the room was still cold and the sky outside was gray and misty. We dressed without talking very much, and I wondered if I was supposed to offer her some kind of explanation for my behavior. I decided against it; downstairs there were friends and blueberry pancakes and coffee and gospel, and a four hour drive home ahead of me. My night fears had ebbed away and left me tired, but no longer too foggy to think. I ate breakfast and smoked a clove cigarette over a steaming mug of black coffee in a deck chair, next to chatty punks wrapped up in quilts like caterpillars, and felt quietly grateful for all the people I loved. Avery’s best friend asked us how we slept when we made it down the stairs, and we both said, “fine!”

After we all got home and I was by myself in my dorm room again, I googled photos of the tunnels in Cappadocia, which turned out to be in Turkey. There was no image of a room with a thinly carved stone window. No images of light glowing through such a thing. The picture must have been something my dissociation invented, a new safe place to hide. I pictured it and tested its capabilities, and liked what I saw.

#do not reblog please and thank u #pr

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stubbornjerk · 5 years ago

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deleted scene from my toes are hanging off the ledge

this was the original scene i was going to end with. it felt right but then i Remembered yknow. so im gonna put it here bc i know im not gonna put it anywhere else in the fic anymore

______________________

The front door to the apartment slid loudly open. “Stay outta trouble, big guy!” Benten shouted down the hall.

Juno looked up from the forms and documents Rita printed out, laying it down on the counter like all the other papers.

“Sounds like you had fun,” Juno commented casually.

Benten’s smile slid a bit off his face, before staying there, however strained, intentionally. “Hey, how was the case?”

“Depends, how went yours?”

Benten sighed, going around for the counter to get himself a glass of water. “Rita told you, then?”

“Not really. Figured Alessandra called twice then didn’t call back again and somehow didn’t die meant someone came in to help her.” Alessandra was known as Cockroach Strong now, but mostly because people didn’t know she knew to ask for help when she was outnumbered. Being a vet meant she had a lot of contacts with muscles as big as hers on any normal day.

“We were at the Fortezza.”

Juno jolted a bit in his surprise, “The crazy genius hostel Fortezza? Are you stupid?!”

Benten looked at him, unimpressed, “I was there already.”

“Is that supposed to make me feel any better?”

He took a sip of his water, looking over Juno’s shoulder at the papers. “Mick was showing me around. Did you know he managed to get and keep a job in security there?”

“Mick works at the Fortezza?!”

Benten put a hand on his shoulder. “Watch it, your blood pressure.”

Juno took a deep breath and clenched his fist. “Benzaiten Steel, I swear…”

“He’s not in any danger, I’m pretty sure he’s on contract anyway. A year of rotations is alright, if he doesn’t get fired before. I visited because he asked and said he wanted coffee.” Benten retreated back to the sink to get more water. “Speaking of which, remind me to message him for that thermos I lent him.”

“You’re not getting them back.”

Benten sighed wistfully with his glass of water, the dramatic shithead. “No, I expected as much. Ramses hired Alessandra, by the way, did you know? The Proctor swore to kill him by that afternoon but was dumb enough to write up her own confession and let Alessandra have it before we were subjected to one of her dumb tests.”

“You didn’t…”

“She broke the elevator but we found our own ways up and down the building. You should’a heard Mick.” He snorted, his eyes far away as he recalled the memory. “How about you? How was Pereyra?”

And there it was. Juno was waiting to ask him about it. “Mind telling me why you gave Khan my evidence?”

“Hasn’t been yours for ten years, Super-Steel.”

“Alright, smartass,” Juno snapped. “But would it have killed you to ask me about it first? I’d rather not the new captain of the precinct look through the dirty laundry that cost me a spouse.”

Benten looked a quip away from insulting Juno. His arms were crossed across his chest, leaning against the sink.

It’s been a while since they’ve gotten into a good fight. This wasn’t even the cusp of it. If Benten didn’t tell him to knock it off, it was only going to get worse.

“So, what you’re really telling me here is: you didn’t want Khan to know about the 151’s rumor of the decade, that he found out about the moment he was assigned to be the captain. How is that my fault? You told me to do whatever I had to, to get those artifacts out of evidence and I did, didn’t I?”

Juno knew.

It was Benten’s MO.

But he didn’t like it either.

He looked down at the pictures that Rita got from a public access feed off the runway to the Kanagawa mansion. Evidence. More evidence. Nearly two decades of this goddamn fixer-upper case for a city that was never going to fix itself.

“Sure, Ben. Whatever.”

Benten sighed, settling down on the chair next to him. “How was your case?”

“They’re being held somewhere remote at the moment,” Juno mumbled, not looking up. “Khan doesn’t think it’s a good idea to arrest Pereyra yet, not after the commotion at the Fortezza. Negligence isn’t a good look, and adding the fact that they were aiding and abetting a crook and felt sorry for it after doing so for so long? It won’t help any. I offered to do some stuff for Min though, so.”

“Right.”

Silence suspended in the air like powder in syrup, the groan of the radiator in the background and the sounds of the street at night loud inside it.

Juno grabbed a few sticky notes and scribbled a few details, stuck a few on some margins. Benten grabbed a few transaction prints and grabbed another pen from Juno’s mess, circling a few shell companies here and there, no doubt.

Be-be-beep!

Juno jumped, then grabbed his comms without a second thought. He didn’t even look to see Benten’s reaction as he absconded to his room, made sure to check if the lock was red before answering.

Peter looked disheveled, in that his hair wasn’t styled and his glasses were a bit askew which meant that he was lying down with his comms on sideways and he still had his glasses on despite the fact that it was probably digging into his face uncomfortably.

Juno didn’t know a man could handsome could exist in such a state of metaphorical undress. Peter looked sleepy, about to nod off to the deep sleep Juno knew he fell into.

He felt the tension ease out of him.

“Hey, honey,” Peter teased, a small smile on his face. “How was work?”

Juno shrugged, falling down on his bed so fast, it squeaked ominously under him. “Y’know how it is. Dangerous, fast, and in need of an amount of stealth that will be given away by someone on your private line calling you.”

Peter seemed delighted at the prospect of costing Juno the much needed element of surprise. “Really? And how was that?”

“Stressful,” Juno admitted, sighing. “Quick. Took ‘em all out. Though I have to go buy new laser carts tomorrow. How ‘bout you?”

Peter nearly purred, “Such a big strong lady. What did all those crooks ever do to you, hm?”

“Uh huh. Moral outrage’s only a cute look on one of us, honey. Answer the question.”

“Just calling it as it is.” Peter was nearly preening at the mock vitriol in Juno’s voice, though Juno wanted to pretend it was because of the sudden name-calling.

“Peter.”

Peter laughed, breathy and soft. Juno felt it all the way across the galaxy and ached something fierce.

“Oh, if you insist.”

Juno settled into his sheets, kicking off his slippers, putting his comms down on the other end on his pillow so he could pretend that Peter was there.

And, well, the Steels do love a story.

#adventures in writing

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faveficarchive · 5 years ago

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At a Distance - Part 1

by Melissa Good

Pairing: Xena/Gabrielle

Rating: PG-13

Synopsis: This is a novel-length fic, and a classic in the community. Xena and Gabrielle start to explore the changes in their relationship, Gabrielle is recalled to the Amazons where she has to deal with a bit of treachery, and Xena is, as always, there to protect.

It was a small glade, this. With a fine grassy sward, leading down to a quietly burbling stream that ran off into a misty distance. A neatly made camp was basking in the late afternoon sunlight, which also glanced off the withers of a gold colored horse cropping the grass in some contentment. Occasionally, the horse raised it's head, and peered towards the stream, across the grass where two women with staves were engaged in earnest battle.

"No..no.." Xena said, patiently. "You gotta keep that other end even with your shoulders." She tapped the lower end of Gabrielle's staff with her own. "If you let it get behind you, it's easy for me to knock the top part like this.." Smack. "and get you off balance."

"Ouch." The bard yelped, stepping back and flexing a hand. "That stung." She took a deep breath, and stepped forward again, resuming her stance with both hands wrapped around her staff. "Ok..what about this?" A quick reverse, trying to get through Xena's defenses by countering the warrior's left to right move. Almost. Gabrielle chewed her lip in concentration. Ah.. She shifted her weight to her left foot, and feinted, but swung right, aiming for knee level, then reversed again, sending the top end of the staff right for Xena's unprotected shoulders.

"Better." Xena drawled, blocking the knee shot, but allowing the shoulder hit through, catching it on her armored bracer, and deflecting it, then moving her own staff in a blur, to crack against Gabrielle's, and send it flying.

"No fair." The bard complained, shaking out her stinging hands. "You have armor on. What kind of competition is that?" Knowing it not to be a serious question. "I have enough handicaps, here."

"Uh huh." Xena mused, giving the bard a thoughtful look. "So, you think I have an advantage because of the armor, huh?" A mischievous glint appeared in her blue eyes. One which Gabrielle had long since learned to fear. "Ok." the warrior said, propping the staff against a nearby tree, and reaching for the clips which held on her armor plating. "Let's find out."

Uh oh. Gabrielle watched her warily. I don't like that tone. The last time I heard that tone, I got an unexpected mud bath. But she remained silent as Xena removed her bracers and grieves, then gave her a sly grin, and walked back to Argo, removing a short linen shirt and wraparound skirt from her saddlebags.

"I'll go you one further." Xena commented, as she exchanged her leathers for the cloth items, and tied the ends of the shirt off across her ribcage, making it a fair approximation of what Gabrielle herself was wearing. "Ok. Now we're even." The warrior finished, cheerfully, walking back over to the bard, and reclaiming her staff. "Ready?"

Gabrielle blinked, then swallowed hard. "Uh. Yeah." She gathered her scattered wits, and brought her staff up to ready position. Stay concentrated, Gabrielle.. And she really tried, but something about the sun and that white linen shirt, and the tanned muscles now showing in vivid relief as the warrior moved kept distracting her attention. "Wait a minute." She closed her eyes, and took a breath. Gabrielle, now you stop that this instant. This is a fight. She has a big stick. She's very dangerous. Get your head on straight. OK? Right? Ok. "Ok." she opened her eyes, and immediately met the concern in Xena's. "No..it's ok. Just the sun." she gave her a bright smile, and took a better grip on her staff. "Really."

"Uh huh." Xena responded, crooking an eyebrow at her. "Let's go." She concluded, and moved towards the bard, starting a complex attack, the first few strokes of which Gabrielle actually parried, and stood her ground, but then began to give back, as Xena's moves became faster, and the strokes started cracking against her defenses. "Keep up, now." The warrior grinned, putting feints and some spins into the attacks.

"Augh." Gabrielle grunted, frantically trying to keep her opponent's weapon from reaching her. "Let me guess." She panted, dropping to a knee to avoid a vicious swipe. "you're faster without the armor."

"Uh huh." Xena confirmed, getting inside the bard's defenses, and turning what would have been a stunning blow to the side into a gentle tap. "Be careful of what you think is, or isn't a handicap, Gabrielle." She swiveled the staff, and let it brush the side of her companion's head. Saw the look in the green eyes facing her, and slowed her attack, then stopped. "Hey...you ok?" And just barely, barely caught Gabrielle's staff as it moved with amazing speed towards her head. Catching it in one hand with a sharp smack. Feeling the anger rise, as she twisted the staff out of the bard's hand with startling ease. Taking a deep breath as she fought the anger back down. I told her to do that, right? To test my reflexes? Stop overreacting.

"Close." She admitted, forcing a grin.

Gabrielle sighed. "Never close enough." She grinned back. "I get the point about the handicap, though." Boy do I ever. "By the way..you look..good..as an Amazon." She reached out one hand and fingered the linen cloth.

"Oh yeah?" Xena chuckled. "I just bet." She shook her head. "The Amazons would run screaming,." She glanced over Gabrielle's head, towards the stream. "Time to catch some dinner, I think." Handing her staff to the bard, then walking towards the stream, aware of Gabrielle's stillness behind her. Of the eyes on her back. Erasing a quick grin from her face as she turned and made eye contact with the bard. "Coming?"

Earth to Gabrielle. Hello? "Yeah. Let me just put these down." she finally responded, shaking her head in bemusement. She trotted over to where Argo was picketed, and stowed the staves, then loped back towards the stream, where Xena was already up to her thighs in water, head tilted, waiting for fish.

"Ready." The bard commented, standing well back from where her companion was positioned. She watched as Xena went very still, then moved in a splashing blur of motion. I wish I could do that. Gods. I wish I could…cut that out, Gabrielle. Right now. I mean it. What's gotten into you today? Did we get some funny mushrooms in that last batch, or what? The bard shook her head in amusement and blew out a breath.

"Here she comes." Xena remarked, turning and tossing her catch far up the bank. A very large, sparking river trout, in fact. "Not bad, if I do say so myself."

Gabrielle captured the struggling fish expertly. Then she glanced up at Xena, still in the water, backlit by the lowering sun. "Very nice" she agreed. Aware of the grin that she was unable to stop appearing on her face. "I'll just go take care of this." Like, right now.

Xena splashed out of the water, padding up the bank with unhurried strides. "I'll do it." Surprising the bard. "I remembered, the other day, a way of doing fish that my mother used to use. Like to try it?"

"Sure." Gabrielle answered, handing over the fish. "I'll try anything. Once." Ducking the playful cuff from Xena's other hand. "Well, maybe twice." She relented.

"Oh yeah?" Xena asked, a devilish gleam in her eyes. "Anything?"

Gabrielle's throat went dry. Uh oh. "Well, you know what I mean…not anything…most things..most of the time…Xena, don't you dare…Oh Hades!" Desperate, she took off running. Stay away from the water, Gabrielle. Stay AWAY from the water.

Xena pelted after her, her longer strides heading off the bard every time she tried to veer away from the stream. A low laugh escaped from her, as she chased her companion across the grass skillfully herding her closer and closer to the rippling water. At last, she had her right where she wanted her. "Ayiyiyiyiyi" burst from her throat, freezing the bard in place for a bare instant.

Long enough for Xena to change direction, and drive straight for her, wrapping her arms around the startled woman and not even slowing down. Three more powerful steps, and she launched up, carrying both of them over the edge of the stream.

"Yaaaaa!" Gabrielle yelled. "Nooo!" As they both hit the water, and plunged deep underneath, effectively silencing the bard. Gabrielle felt the water close over her head, and held her breath, resisting the impulse to release it caused by the icy current. Xena still had hold of her, and the warrior had kicked off against the bottom of the stream, pushing them both back towards the surface.

"Whoa." Xena gasped, as she broke the top of the water, and shook her head to clear the hair out of her eyes, releasing Gabrielle to float next to her. "That feels nice." She smiled at the bard, who was swiping the pale hair off her forehead, and glaring at her.

"I'm going to kill you." Gabrielle growled, spitting water out of her mouth.

"Who'll catch your dinner, then?" Xena countered, with a grin.

"I'll catch my own." The bard answered, still annoyed.

"Uh huh" Xena replied, studying her. "You looked like you could use some cooling off. Sorry." She added, quietly, and saw the annoyance disappear from her companion's face, replaced by a sheepish grin.

"Yeah. I did. That sun was killing me." She admitted, giving Xena a little splash. "So you're off the hook." In more ways than one. She ducked her head under the water, and came back up, sliding her hands across her hair to wring it out.

Xena just chuckled, and turned, starting for the far shore with lazy strokes. The current wasn't overwhelming, and the cold water felt nice as she ducked under a half sunken log, and turned to start back across the width of the stream. Her eyes took in the surrounding area briefly. Nice. She mused, And it's a beautiful day, too, even starting the way it did. Her eyes fell on Gabrielle, who stood facing the setting sun, riffling her fingers through her pale hair to dry it, and Xena found a smile working it's way on to her face. She watched for a moment more, then, with a little shake of her head, plunged back into the current, and started swimming back, coming to rest a few feet from the bard.

"Hey." Gabrielle grunted, as Xena surfaced, and flipped over on her back, folding her hands across her stomach and trying to float, without much success. "Having a problem, there?"

"Hey yourself." The warrior, replied, giving up on the attempt at floatation. "I don't float well." She acknowledged with a shrug. "Muscle and bone are both heavier than water. " She chuckled. "And I have quite a bit of both."

Gabrielle smirked. "So I noticed." She gave Xena a mischievous look. "Especially in that outfit." Getting a very raised eyebrow from her companion. "Hey, it's the truth. Don't blame me." She exclaimed, waving off Xena's eyebrow and slight splash with both hands.

Xena gave her a sardonic scowl. "Yeah, right…I hate to tell you this, but it's what YOU usually wear, oh Amazon Queen." She flicked a handful of water at the now grinning bard. Do I wanna know where this conversation is going? Probably not.

"Yeeesss…" Gabrielle answered, drawing out the word. "But there's a lot more of you than there is of me." Oh oh..I think I may be getting myself into trouble here. "And you have a lot better tan."

"Oh really." Xena responded, starting to laugh. She allowed her gaze to flick over the bard. "I don't' know..I kind of like your tan." Feeling a little prickle of danger, at the sudden glint in Gabrielle's eyes. The tiny quirk at the side of her mouth. Do I want to start this? Now? Here? Not a good idea, Xena. She turned her head, and gazed across the water, suddenly focusing on a half hidden log not far away. Without a word, she launched herself towards it, ducking under the part above water when she drew abreast of it, and peering intently at a small hollow. Ahh.. Thought so. She retrieved something from the hole, having to pull hard with her strong fingers. She then plucked something off the top of the log, and headed back towards where Gabrielle was waiting, an amused but curious look on her face.

"Xena, what on earth.." the bard exclaimed as she drew near. "What was so interesting on that dumb log?"

"This." Xena grinned, throwing something at Gabrielle, which the bard reflexively caught.

"Yow!" she yelled, eyes widening. "it's alive!" To her credit, she didn't throw the creature right back at Xena, though the though did cross her mind. "Oh!' she continued, peering closer. "it's a turtle!" She grinned at Xena. "I like turtles"

"I figured." Xena answered, smiling to herself. She watched Gabrielle coo at the small animal, and tickle it's tiny feet. The turtle, after a suspicious moment, poked it head out, and sniffed her fingers gingerly, then, liking what it found, extended it's head all the way out, and began to explore the bard's cupped palm. "I think it likes me." Gabrielle a laughed, glancing at Xena, who had moved closer. She looked back at the turtle, then found her gaze captured by the reflection in the water in front of her. She had been standing in a fairly calm eddy, and now the setting sun provided a mirror-like effect on the surface, reflecting back to her the image of herself, the turtle, and Xena standing at her shoulder. At her light, and Xena's darkness, side by side.

Then Xena's eyes caught the reflection as well, and their glances met. And held for a long moment. Then Xena smiled and extended her hand into the sunlight, in front of Gabrielle. "Here, you might as well hang onto this, also." She said, in a normal tone.

The bard stared at what she held, before extending her other hand to gently pick it up. "Wow..what it is?" she breathed, letting the object catch the sun's reddening rays.

"Amber." Xena answered, casually. "It's supposed to be lucky." She nodded towards the log. "Found it over there."

Gabrielle gazed intently into the depths of the fossil for a moment, then smiled. "Thanks." She said, softly, closing her hand around the amber. She let the turtle crawl around her hand for a little while, then gently deposited him on a rock nearby. The turtle looked disappointed, but crawled into the water, and started for the bank, with determined thrusts of it's tiny legs.

They just floated for a few minutes more in silence, then Xena began pulling for the shore with long strokes. She reached the edge, and hoisted herself out of the water, then turned and waited as Gabrielle followed. "Here." She said, offering a hand to the bard, who took it without hesitation.

"Thanks.' She muttered, as she was pulled bodily up out of the stream. "That's a lot easier than climbing." Once on shore, she shook herself violently, scattering water everywhere. "Brr."

"C'mon." Xena chuckled. "You'd better get out of those wet things before you catch a chill."

***

The campfire made friendly little snicking sounds in the gathering darkness, counterpointed by the patient scraping of a fish being scaled. Xena sat back for a moment and studied her handiwork. Right. One more skilled slice, and the large trout was split in half, and on it's way to being cooked. She dipped two woven green branches in a nearby pail of water, and placed the fish between them, binding the whole thing up with another green soaked branch.

"Mmm." Gabrielle commented, as she leaned casually on the warrior's shoulder. "Bet that's going to be good." She glanced around approvingly at their camp. Xena had managed to find a nice spot, surrounded by large old trees, and containing a sand pit ready made for a fire. No digging today - nice, because they had spent the day assisting some nearby villagers to rebuild their sacked homes.

After Xena had taken care of the people sacking them, of course. The worst part was that the marauders were local boys, homeless themselves due to some casual raiding efforts by a mercenary troop just passing through. Kids, really - used to bullying the peasants, now faced with a very angry, very un-peasant-like Xena in a very bad mood. It hadn't been pretty.

"We'll soon see." Xena replied, setting the fish into two branches with split ends on either side of the fire. Then she glanced over her shoulder at the still leaning bard, and patted the ground next to her, which was covered with a straw mat for sitting. "Sit down. It'll be a little while."

Gabrielle complied, wrapping her arms around her knees and putting her chin on one of them. She missed the sun's heat now, the cool breeze coming in off the water was raising goosebumps along her arms, and she hugged herself tighter in response.

"Hey." Xena turned interrogative eyes on her. She reached out and touched the bard's arm, feeling the chilled flesh. "Gabrielle." A low warning growl. The bard just blinked at her. "Come here." Xena sighed, and wrapped an arm around her shoulders, pulling her closer.

Xena, as usual, was like some kind of heat source. Gabrielle often wondered just how she did that - the woman was never cold. Not that she was complaining, oh no. That warmth started around her neck and down her right side, and spread over her like a comfortable blanket. "Mmm." She sighed in appreciation, letting her head lean against Xena's convenient shoulder. "Much better." She glanced towards the warrior. "Happy now?"

Blue eyes captured hers, and a smile quirked across Xena's lips. "Yeah. As a matter of fact, I am." She replied, "Thanks for asking."

Gabrielle felt a smile creeping on to her face, and took a moment to just enjoy the intensity of the emotion she could feel passing between them. She had always sort of sensed it..but now..now…gods, it was like a bubbling stream that never stopped. She basked in it. And suspected that Xena did as well, though they were both careful not to acknowledge that. Sort of. But lately they had found that it was becoming almost impossible to maintain any kind of distance.. and they had stopped even trying to find excuses for the physical contact that happened more and more frequently. Like now. It's not like Xena couldn't have just thrown her a blanket, right? Gabrielle grinned to herself.

"Anytime." She breathed, closing her eyes. It's…weird. It's…like we both sort of know what's going on, but neither of us wants to say anything about it. I'm scared…her friendship means more to me than..than…than anything. I don't want to mess that up. I don't think she does either, but…I can feel what's starting to happen inside of me. I don't know if I can stop that. I..don’t know if I want to stop that.

Xena freed one arm, and reached lazily across to the fire, turning the fish. Then she returned her arm to it's former position, and let her head rest against the bard's, abandoning herself to one of those sudden waves of giddy warmth that tended to come over her without warning these days. . I think we're going to need to have a talk pretty soon, my friend. An unseen smile showed faintly on her face. Damn you, Jessan. Damn you for being right. I didn't want you to be, you know. I don't care about myself, but..I don’t want her not to have a choice in this. It's not fair. Damn it's not fair to her. Why me, of all people? Why her? She should be in Athens somewhere. With someone who can provide her with a safe home, with love…not with a price on her head, and bloody battles every other day. I don't want this for her. And yet…the only way I could stop what's happening is to cut my own head off. Gods, what a mess.

"Dinar for your thoughts." Gabrielle asked, letting her fingers trail along Xena's forearm, studying the fine pattern of hairs there. Disrupted by a faint scar, no, two of them. Thin straight lines. Knife wounds, probably, she mused idly, waiting for Xena's response.

"Oh, nothing much." Xena replied. Not..yet. Soon, but not yet. "Just thinking." She reached out and removed the fish from the fire, unwrapping it from it's now scorched latticework of branches, and flipping a portion on each of two plates she had handy. She handed Gabrielle one. "Here you go."

"Thanks." Gabrielle replied, waiting for the warrior to settle back against a nearby log, then joining her. "Hey..not bad." She took a bite, grinned, and gave Xena a sideways glance. "Compliments to your mom."

Xena just shook her head, draping her arm across the back of the log they were both leaning on as Gabrielle leaned back and proceeded to demolish her fish, cleaning her plate, then making playful stabs at the remaining portion on Xena's, earning her several raised eyebrow stares from the warrior. "I could go catch another fish." Xena finally chuckled, giving up the last of the fish with an tolerant grin. "Here..here…remind me to get half a dozen next time."

"Hey, storytelling is hard work." Gabrielle chided her.

"Uh huh." Xena answered. "I'll have to remember that line."

Gabrielle sighed contentedly, feeling a warm wash of happiness flowing over her. . "Hey." She commented, glancing up at Xena, whose eyes were on the fire, but had a distant look to them. The warrior shook herself a little, then looked down at Gabrielle.

"Hmm? Sorry.." she gave a short laugh. "Went away a bit there. What's up?"

The bard studied her. "Uh huh. And where did you go to?" she teased, forgetting her original question. "That's twice tonight." She half turned and stared more closely at Xena "What's up with you?"

"Yeah..you're right.." Xena laughed. "I don't know." She shrugged sheepishly, unable to keep a smile off her face. "I guess with all the activity today, my mind is just…blanking out a little." Yeah. Where was I? What kind of alertness is that, I ask you? Gods. With an effort, she refocused herself, and paid attention to what Gabrielle was saying.

"O…K…." the bard drawled, giving the warrior a look. "I didn't think beating up a bunch of kids and rebuilding a village was that much strain on you, but…." She grinned as the blue eyes sharpened and drilled into her own. "Ah..that's better." Now she had the problem, as she realized just how hard it was for her lately to concentrate with Xena in this close proximity. Whatever she was about to say escaped her, so she just let out a short laugh and leaned back, feeling the warmth of Xena's arm against her back.. I think I like this. A lot. Probably more than I should. I keep trying to tell myself to pull back, give her space…but I don't think it's working.

"Now, where did you go off to?" Xena teased, after a few minutes of silence. Would you just look at the two of us? This is ridiculous. Like a pair of damn kids.

"Well, I'm not sure." The bard answered, tilting her head to catch Xena's gaze. "But I think we're both going off to the same place."

Xena chuckled. "I think you may be right." She admitted. "Must be a nice place" The warrior added, stretching and prodding the fire with the end of a handy stick. "So..I wonder what the Amazons are up to, that they've summoned their Queen?"

Gabrielle accepted the change of subject amiably. They had been able to talk..a lot more since..well, anyway..but there were still some very painful subjects out there unexplored. Gabrielle suspected it would be a very long time before they covered everything - and she knew there were some things they'd probably never discuss. By mutual consent. "I haven't a clue. The note was pretty cryptic." She grinned. "Ephiny must have written it." She mentally pictured the slim blond Amazon hard at work over the obscure note. And giggled.

Xena snorted. "Could be. We'll find out in a few days, I guess." She looked down at the bard with a sudden grin, then grabbed her under her knees with her free arm, and stood up chuckling as Gabrielle squawked, and grabbed her upper arm in surprise. What the... the…

"Hey!" she gasped, calming down into a laugh as Xena just stood there for a moment, regarding her. "I could get fear of heights up here!." Playfully, she slapped at Xena's shoulder. "Ow…stop showing off!"

Xena snorted. "You don't weigh that much." She retorted, demonstrating by tossing the bard up a little bit and catching her.

"Yow!! Xena, cut that out!" Gabrielle gurgled. "I weigh more than enough, thanks - now put me down!"

"Oh OK." the warrior relented, and walked over to their spread out bedrolls, and gently went down to one knee, settling the bard in hers. "You really don't weigh that much." She repeated, poking Gabrielle in the midriff. "I have no idea where you put all your food."

The bard snorted. "Right. Between all the walking, the fighting, the building of villages, and the chasing around after you, it's a wonder I don't eat double what I do." She gave Xena a mock glare. "Besides, look who's talking? You eat twice what I do, and I have yet to figure out where any of that goes." She smirked, and punched her companion lightly in the stomach, watching her fist bounce off the muscular surface like a rubber ball. "Ouch."

Xena laughed a little, in self depreciation, and slid down onto her own bedroll, propping herself up on one elbow and facing the bard. "That takes a lot of maintenance." She sighed. "Most of it goes to repair, I think." She commented wryly. "I tend to be pretty hard on my body." She gave the bard a look. . "Do you know how much energy it takes to beat up a dozen punks?" Which came out with more seriousness than she had intended. She tempered it with a belated grin.

"Yeah." Gabrielle managed a grin. "I know…I shouldn't tease you about that." Her eyes softened. "Especially since all that hard work you do usually ends up saving my neck."

Xena studied her, reaching out a hand and smoothing the hair off her forehead, then letting her hand brush the side of the bard's face. "And every time it does, it makes every minute of the hard work worth it." she replied, gently. "A price I gladly pay." She grinned slyly. "And, it's not a bad neck to save."

I'm glad she doesn't talk much. Gabrielle mused, lost in that benign regard. Because she can grab every string in my heart and pull it with the shortest of sentences. I don't think I'd survive if she was a chatterbox. "She leaned forward, and wrapped her fingers around Xena's. "I'll have to remember that the next time you're pounding my head in, sparring." Eyes twinkling. "Right?"

"Right." Xena nodded. "You do that.." She smiled at her companion, and stood up again. "I'm going to check the perimeter. Be back." Stepping swiftly out of the firelight, and towards where Gabrielle knew Argo was tethered.

The bard watched her until she faded into the darkness, sounds already muted by distance and Xena's natural caution, then laid back and snuggled into the fur of the bedroll, putting both hands behind her head and gazing up at the stars.

"Hello, girl" Xena murmured, letting out a bemused sigh as she tickled the mare on her soft muzzle. She felt a grin winding itself across her face again for no reason. "Am I ever in trouble here." She bent very close to the mare's head, and whispered in her accommodating ear. "I'm losing it." Argo snorted, and nipped at her shirt. "Yeah, I know. It had to happen sooner or later, right? I just didn't think it would be..like this" She laughed helplessly. "Well, old friend..they do say that the bigger you are, the harder you fall. " A snort from both horse and human. "Well, I'm pretty big. and I think I've fallen pretty hard." She rubbed the furry ears near her head. "I'm glad you two get along." Another sigh and a shake of her head. "You're a good listener, Argo."

Xena finished saying goodnight to Argo, stroking the mare on her sensitive neck, and scratching her behind her delicate ears. The horse nuzzled her, tickling her shoulder with her whiskers and making the warrior chuckle. Then a gust of wind traveled over the mare's back, and brought the faintest of sounds to Xena's ears. Senses focused, she moved silently into the trees, absorbing the not quite silence of the surrounding forest, filtering out the noises she knew to be natural, zeroing in on the few she knew were not.

Sliding through trees, feeling the damp feathery leaves brush her, getting closer and closer to what she now identified as another person, moving stealthily towards their camp. A few moments more, and she was behind the person, and now, in the vague patches of moonlight, she caught a glimpse of them, and relaxed into a sardonic grin. A slim form, moving with skilled silence, sliding from shadow to shadow with long practiced ease. Moonlight reflected off pale hair, and fair skin, and natural toned leathers. Graceful, and deadly in the same motion.

Chuckling to herself, she stayed behind the intruder, sliding nearer as the shadowy form moved closer and closer to the camp. Finally, the intruder stopped just within the border of trees around their clearing, and peered towards the fire. Xena glided forward silently, and when she was within inches, she finally spoke.

"I'd say the Amazons are slipping." In a chillingly low tone, spoken almost into the intruder's ear.

"Erggh" Ephiny pitched forward onto her hands and knees, startled half out of her wits. She rolled over into the ferns and glared at Xena, who stood there laughing softly. "Xena." She raked one hand through her blond curls, and glowered at the taller woman. "You scared the life out of me."

The warrior grinned and held a hand out to her. "I couldn't resist. Besides, you were sneaking up in the dark on my camp. What did you expect?"

Ephiny sighed, but chuckled herself and reached up to grab the offered hand. "Ok..ok…" she admitted, as she was hauled to her feet. "Point taken. I should have known better." She dusted off her leathers.

"C'mon." Xena nodded in the direction of the fire. "We were just wondering what that message meant. Didn't expect you to be out here personally to explain it."

Ephiny sighed, but started walking towards the camp. "Big troubles, Xena. And I can't solve them. They're demanding the presence of our Queen."

"Mmm." Xena commented. "What kind of troubles?"

"Factions." She threw a glance at the tall dark woman. "You know how we are." She kicked a rock out of her path. "We have my group, which wants peace, and good relations with our surrounding neighbors. Then we have the neutrals, who don't really care one way or the other as long as there's food on the table. " She gave Xena a sardonic look, which the warrior returned. "Then we have the war party. They want us to extend our territory. They feel that without a strong offense against our neighbors, those neighbors will get the idea that the Amazons have gone soft, and come in for the spoils."

Xena grunted in understanding. "So, where does Gabrielle come in?"

Ephiny looked off towards the approaching camp. "I believe..if we don't start building trust and understanding with our surrounding enemies, eventually we'll run out of warriors, and there will be no more Amazons." She gave Xena an apologetic glance. "I know you don't agree, I'm sure. But .."

"Actually, I do." Xena interjected, quietly.

Ephiny paused, sidetracked. Then shook her head. "Anyway, Gabrielle, besides being the true Queen, also has a…unique..talent for getting people to come together. In peace. I'm a warrior, Xena." The smaller woman smiled sadly. "You know how that is. And I have a centaur son. Our neighbors don't trust me because of the first, and the Amazons don't trust me because of the second."

"Gabrielle does have that talent." Xena allowed. "And she is a warrior, Ephiny. Just not the kind you're thinking of." The dark haired woman smiled quietly to herself. "You could be right. She could work with all three factions to bring about a new way of living for the Amazons. One based on peace. "

Ephiny nodded in agreement, not seeing the sudden shadow fall across Xena's face. "That's what I'm hoping."

"But..that's not something I can help with." Xena went on. "In fact, if Gabrielle does take up the rite of caste, she has to do on her own.. If I'm there, everyone will do what she wants because they're scared to death of me."

Ephiny stayed silent, thinking. "You know, I never thought of that." She glanced up at Xena. "But you're right." A slight laugh. "You are intimidating, I'll grant you." They walked in silence for a few more steps. "She's not going to like that." the Amazon stated, frankly. "I think she likes having you around." Ephiny's mouth quirked. Not that I blame her any.

"I don't like that." Xena responded, flatly. "But it's her decision." They reached the line of trees outside the ring of light from the fire. "Gabrielle! Look what I found lurking on the edge of camp." She gave Ephiny a little shove forward into the firelight.

The bard scrambled up from her bedroll, and trotted forward to greet Ephiny with a warm hug. "Ephiny!" she said, surprised. "What brings you out here? We weren't coming fast enough?" She guided the Amazon to a seat near the fire, and pressed a cup of hot tea into her hands. "Here." She added, glancing around for Xena, who had settled to the ground on her own bedroll, and was just watching them both, her chin propped on her balled fists. Gabrielle felt a sudden cold chill, as she sensed the turmoil in Xena's gaze. "What is it?"

And Ephiny told them. About dissatisfied groups of Amazons, some of them Velasca's former followers, some just eager for action, some ambitious - who were determined to tear apart the Amazon nation into bits, because they had no single leader, who could guide them, and turn them onto a peaceful path. There had already been skirmishes with the Centaurs. Ephiny…was regarded as a good leader, but…many Amazons considered her a traitor, because of her son. Others remembered how she sided with outsiders during the whole Velasca fiasco.

"Not like my reminding them that the person I was siding with in the whole Velasca fiasco was their Queen by rite of caste was relevant, right?" Ephiny sighed, rolling her eyes. "The whole thing is just frustrating and ridiculous, but…" She gave Gabrielle a tired and heartsick look. "I just can't hold it all together anymore." She got up and walked around, rubbing her arms with her hands as though she was chilled. "As far as they're concerned, you need to be in charge. After all, you destroyed a god."

"I did NOT." Gabrielle fumed, standing and facing Ephiny, her gestures short and angry. "I'd be dead, and they'd still be very live, very angry gods if it wasn't for Xena." She cast a glance at the silent warrior.

"I know." Ephiny said, with a tired frown. "But that's what they think."

"What am I supposed to do then?" the bard threw up her hands. "I'm not a warrior, Ephiny, in case that escaped your notice." She paced next to the fire, upset etched in every line of her tense body. "Ephiny, you're an Amazon. If you can't convince them…"

Xena now spoke, for the first time, and in a very gentle tone. "This calls for someone who can talk though situations, Gabrielle. A person who can bring people together, and bind them to one purpose." She paused, and continued. "this is not a time for a warrior. It's a time for gentleness, a time for a teacher. Your time."

Gabrielle stared at the dark haired woman for a very long moment, then crossed over to her and crouched down so they were eye to eye. They traded a very intense stare, so much so that Ephiny was obliged to direct her gaze elsewhere, having the uncomfortable sensation of witnessing something very private.

"Excuse us a minute, Ephiny." Gabrielle's chill voice cut across the campsite.

"No problem." The Amazon quickly acknowledged, and escaped outside the firelight, making a beeline for Argo's familiar bulk.

What is it with those two? She wondered, idly, as she patted the contentedly chewing horse. I could never figure them out. I used to think Xena just let her tag along for I can't imagine what reason. Then I thought well, OK, maybe they both have strange tastes in friendships. Then Xena dies, and I get to see a whole other side of gentle Gabrielle. That was an eye opener. Then, unbelievably, she comes back to life. Now this, and seeing them together, I still can't figure them out. I can't imagine two more complete opposites if I sat down and tried to do it. "What do you think Argo? Do they like each other?"

Argo snorted, and sprayed Ephiny with a mouthful of grass clippings., and gave her an amused look.

"Well, OK - if you say so." Ephiny chuckled a little, and glanced over the mare's back, towards the fire. Gabrielle was now seated next to the warrior, shoulders slumped in an attitude Ephiny could only describe as defeat. "Good old Xena. I can always depend on her." Argo snorted again in agreement. "To tell you the truth, Argo, I'd rather if Xena had the rite of caste. " she murmured to the horse. "Xena may be right, this might be the time for a teacher, but gods…it would be so much faster if she could just go in there and beat some sense into all these idiots." Argo nudged her, and nearly knocked her over. "Ok..ok.." She glanced over at the fire again. Xena had one hand on Gabrielle's shoulder, and was speaking to her in a gentle manner. The bard sighed, then slowly nodded her head. At this, the warrior raised her hand off Gabrielle's shoulder, and using two fingers, wiped a few tears off her face. Ephiny watched, raising an eyebrow. "I guess I can go back, now." She muttered to Argo, and stepped around the mare back towards the fire.

"What was that supposed to mean?" Gabrielle asked, in a level tone. "You make it sound like I'm on my own for this one." Her heart was beating so fast, Gabrielle was sure Xena could see it. Fluttering along the lines of her neck. She could feel the pulse herself.

Xena took several breaths, started to say something twice, then stopped, and bit her lip. "Gabrielle." Finally. "If, and I mean if, you do this." she stared down at her hands, turned them over, studying the long fingers. "You..can't bring as..potent..a symbol of violence. And hatred. And anger..as me. With you." She finally looked up, meeting Gabrielle's eyes squarely. "Not if you go to bring them peace." A tight smile. "I'm not exactly a symbol of peaceful intentions."

She's right. Oh gods…she's right. I can't preach peace and gentleness to them while holding that kind of weapon over their heads. Question is, do I want to go? I accepted that rite of caste. Do I even have a choice? I know what my heart wants me to do… She sat down slowly next to Xena, and put her head in her hands. "I..know..I have a responsibility to them, Xena. But if they're so set on violence, what chance to I have to turn them around? Really?"

Xena smiled right into her eyes. "You, of all people, have to ask that? Of me?" She replied, with a little laugh. "Gabrielle. You have no idea of the affect you have on people, do you?"

"I guess not." The bard murmured.

"If anyone can do it, you can." Xena answered. "Much as that..um..." she glanced down at the fur of the bedroll, brushing it lightly with her fingertips. "I don't want you to think…Oh, Hades. You know what I mean."

Gabrielle nodded. She did. And the knowledge made a little warm spot in the coldness filling her.

"Are you going to be ok?" Xena asked in a low voice, as she sensed the Amazon moving back towards them. "Ephiny is coming back." She ignored the aching in her own chest in deference to Gabrielle's evident anguish. "Look." She urged. "it's doesn't have to be forever, Gabrielle..you just have to straighten them out." She paused. "Unless you want it to be. You are their Queen."

"I know." Gabrielle replied, sighing. She remained silent for a moment. "So. What will you do? Keep on heading to Athens?" She tried to keep her voice light, unconcerned.

Xena looked back down at her hands, flexing them gently, and rubbing her fingers together. "No." She finally answered, taking and releasing a deep breath before she looked back up at the bard. "No. I..I think I'll just go..home. For a little while. You know. See mother, and all that." She shrugged. "Then..I don't' know. I guess I'll play it by ear."

Gabrielle nodded in acceptance, in understanding. "That sounds like it'll be good for you. " she replied. "You need a break. It's been a rough couple of years, hasn't it." she let a short laugh out. "I thought maybe you'd take this opportunity to get rid of an annoying bard.." A tight smile, which disappeared the moment she raised her eyes and met the intense look coming back at her.

"Gabrielle, you know better than that." The warrior answered, the roughness in her tone leaving Gabrielle with no doubt of the emotion behind it. "You know me better than that." she lowered her voice. "You know me better than anyone living. " she paused., then acknowledged the truth. "or dead for that matter. Is that really what you think after all this time?"

Is it? A last bit of insecurity, little girl? I thought I was past that. Guess not. That hurt, and she didn't deserve it. It's not her fault the Amazons are all screwed up. "No." Gabrielle shook her head firmly. "No, it's not what I believe. It's not what my heart believes. No." she looked up, to see relief facing her. "I'm sorry. I'm just really rattled about this." she closed her eyes and gave a little shake of her head. "I don't know if I can do it, Xena.."

"Sure you can. I have faith in you. You can talk people in to anything." Xena answered, laying a gentle hand on her wrist.

"No." the bard sighed. It's not that..I just don't…gods." She shook her head, looking out at the approaching Ephiny. " I just don't know. Not anymore. Something is telling me that…I don't know."

Xena nodded quietly. "Ok, ok...But I think you have to try. After all, I'll just be at home, not that far away." Home. Oh, this ought to be a blast. I think I'd rather take my chances with the Amazons.

The bard looked up at her, misty green eyes boring into her clear blue ones. "If I call you, will you come? No questions asked?"

Xena smiled. "Even if the legions of Hades stood between us, I would. Nothing could stop me."

"Probably not." Gabrielle managed a small chuckle. Probably not. She'd scare them all to life. She took a deep breath, and pulled herself together as Ephiny reached them, glancing up at the Amazon with a cool expression.

"All right, Ephiny. I'll go with you." the bard rose to her feet and dusted off her skirt. "I'll give it a try, anyway. But I can't promise you I'll be any more effective than you would."

Ephiny nodded, sparing a grateful, quick glance in Xena's direction. "I have no doubt at all that you will be, Gabrielle.." She gave the bard a hug. "I know you can do it."

"Yeah." Gabrielle answered. "We'll see." She crossed her arms and let her gaze drop.

Ephiny watched her in some concern. "Well, you did say you'd like to come back and learn more about us sometime." She ventured, probing cautiously. "It's a good opportunity." When the bard didn't answer, she shrugged. "Anyway, we can travel together for a few days."

"Mmm." Xena replied. "Probably not the best idea, Ephiny. It would be better for you not to seem to have gone begging for help."

"That's what I like about you, Xena." Ephiny laughed, after considering for a moment.. "You always see all the angles. You're right…I still have to be a leader in my own right, whether I want to be or not. "

Gabrielle smiled for no apparent reason. "I agree. You'd better leave and go ahead in the morning - that way you can get in and get settled before I show up."

Ephiny cocked her head, subtly aware of a dynamic going on that she didn't understand. Something different, about their interaction, that started her wondering. "Ok...good idea." She answered, slowly. "I'll get my gear." She added, passing out of the firelight and towards the surrounding trees.

Gabrielle, through a growing disquiet in her gut, still smiled. "That was slick."

Xena leaned back on her hands, and regarded the bard thoughtfully. "Yeah, well…" A sheepish grin. "We interact a little…differently than we did the last time we saw her.." She gave a little shrug. "You'd have a little explaining to do..to avoid misunderstandings, I mean. " A hint of chagrin in clear blue eyes. "Because I've gotten so used to things, I'm not sure I can catch myself and not do them anymore." She muttered in afterthought.

"Like what?" Gabrielle inquired, seating herself at Xena's side, and propping an elbow on the warrior's' knee, using her other hand to gently trace the lines of the muscles seen clearly under her tanned skin. Xena raised an amused eyebrow at her, then glanced at the bard's hand, and back up to her eyes. "Oh." Gabrielle blushed, and straightened up, putting both hands in her lap. "I see what you mean." She laughed a little, "I didn't…I don't…gods, I didn't even realize I was doing that."

"My point." Xena responded, amused affection in her voice. "Hades, Gabrielle..you know I don't care what people think". And I'm not about to go explaining Jessan and his favorite subject of life bonds to the Amazons Or to Gabrielle. Yet. ." So..I mean.." She took a breath. Where in the world am I GOING with this conversation? "Well, you can tell her whatever you want to tell her. "

"I will." Gabrielle responded, absently. "But not right now. After I get some things settled."

"Uh huh." The warrior acknowledged. "Good thing I wake up before dawn, then." She let her lips curve into a teasing grin. "Because the way you snuggle up in your sleep would blow that up right out of the water."

Gabrielle gave her a withering look, then burst into laughter. "I can't help it." she sighed. "So stop teasing me."

Xena rolled her eyes, and lay back down flat onto her bedroll, folding her hands across her stomach and crossing her legs. "OK, I stopped." She commented, letting her eyes drift shut as she heard the approaching footsteps. "Here comes Ephiny." she added in a lower tone.

Ephiny strode into the camp, and tossed her kit on the ground on the opposite side of the fire. Xena, she noticed, seemed to be already half asleep, but Gabrielle was sitting up, hands laced around one knee, watching her.

The Amazon hesitated, then crossed over and knelt beside the bard, keeping her voice low. "Look..I'm sorry about this, Gabrielle." She searched the mist green eyes. "I'm sorry I couldn't do this myself."

"it's all right." Gabrielle responded, laying a hand on Ephiny's arm. "We'll get things fixed up." She smiled encouragingly at her. "Get some rest."

Ephiny darted a glance at the sleeping warrior. "My son will be sorry to miss seeing his favorite aunt." She remarked, half smiling. Then turned and caught an unexpected look in the eyes across from her. A look of quiet despair, in the usually bright and positive bard..

"Not half a sorry as I will to not have her be there." Gabrielle answered, honestly. "This is going to be very rough for me, Ephiny. I'm not sure…I'll do the best I can, that's all."

Ephiny grunted in understanding. "I know..it's always so comforting to have her around isn't it? She does impossible things as a routine." She chuckled a little.

"Yeah." Gabrielle answered, looking over Ephiny's shoulder at someplace far away. "Well, we'd better get to sleep." she patted Ephiny on the shoulder. "Go on."

Ephiny nodded, rose, and went to her bedroll, which she assembled with typical Amazon efficiency, and lay down, with her head facing the surrounding forest.

"Xena." Gabrielle said, finally, after watching the fire burn down to glowing embers.

"Yes." Came the answer, out of the growing darkness.

"Is life always this complicated?" The bard sighed.

"Yes." Xena replied, reaching out one long arm and getting a good grip on the bard, and pulling. "C'mere."

Gabrielle didn't resist the pull, and gladly snuggled into her usual spot tucked against the warrior's shoulder, with an arm wrapped around her. "I guess I'm afraid of losing…out." She finished awkwardly. "On some interesting adventures, I mean." .

They paused, and looked at each other, eyes meeting at very close range

"Gabrielle." Xena finally drawled, "That's the very least of your worries." And for once, she got the words right, as she felt the tension go out of the bard. Whoa..Xena..you're getting good at this.. And then there was stillness, and silence, and sleep.

***

Ephiny woke just after dawn the next morning, blinking a little in the low slanting sunlight, and peering around. She immediately spotted Xena, who was crouched over the fire, mixing something in a container.

"Morning" The dark haired warrior commented, not glancing up.

"Uh huh." Ephiny yawned, looking around. "Where's Gabrielle?"

"Getting washed up." Xena answered, standing up and walking over to Ephiny, holding out a small traveling cup "Tea?"

"Thanks." The Amazon acknowledged, taking the cup. "I think I'll do the same. Wash up, I mean, before I take off."

Xena nodded, and moved off to continue packing up camp.

Same old chatterbox. Ephiny thought, amused. Some things never change. She got up, packed her roll neatly, then headed towards the water she could plainly hear nearby. On the path, she met Gabrielle coming the other way, shaking the water out of her hair. Not for the first time, Ephiny reflected that the youngster she had first known had grown into a lovely woman. Which, she realized uneasily, might cause problems in and of itself. "Good morning." She greeted the bard cordially.

Gabrielle slowed and stopped as they came abreast of each other. "Did you get enough rest?" she asked, kindly, using a bit of linen to wipe the traces of water off her arms.

Ephiny nodded. "Oh sure. We're used to sleeping short. What about you?" She cocked her head at Gabrielle. "I remember you were having some trouble with nightmares the last time we met.." she let her voice trail off, ending in a question. Bright, Eph. Remind her of that whole scene again.

Gabrielle let out a short laugh. "Oh. Well, I found a…solution…for those. I'm just fine now." She grinned at Ephiny. "Thanks for asking, though. You never know when they'll come back."

"Uh huh." Ephiny responded. "hot tea?" she asked, with interest. "I know that helps me sometimes."

"Hm." Gabrielle answered. "Not exactly." She examined the tips of her boots. "Actually, Xena found a way to cure them." Yeah, Eph…I'd recommend it to anyone who as the guts to try it - she' lets me sleep wrapped around her like some earthbound octopus, and the sound of her heartbeat under my ear puts me to sleep like a baby. No problem. "Works like a charm." she added mildly, looking up at Ephiny in all innocence. All it requires is one Warrior Princess, in proper working order. I guess I"d better get used to having them again. For a while. But not forever. I think I know that now.

"Really. well, you'll have to let me in on the secret sometime. " Ephiny responded. "I'd better get going." She continued down the path, pausing to throw a glance back at the retreating bard. "Works like a charm, huh?" she asked no one in particular. I wonder if they finally….huh. Well, that would solve one of the problems I can see rearing it's ugly little head. No one in the village is going to want to take on Xena if they have more than a passing thought about romancing our new Queen. She chuckled wickedly to herself. Won't that tweak Arella the Irresistible..she's counting on being able to influence gentle, innocent Gabrielle. Ephiny let a grin spread across her face. Then she shrugged and got down to business with the soap and cold spring water.

***

They parted ways not long after, Xena and Gabrielle taking a slightly more northern route, Ephiny the most direct path back. She had left Gabrielle with a set of Amazon clothing and adornments, had briefed her on the current state of affairs in the region, and given her a good idea of the different groups she was likely to encounter on her entrance into Amazon territory. "I'll try to meet you when you get there." The Amazon reassured her. "Or one of my people - you know who they are. Watch out for Arella, though. She's the problem child in the group."

"Arella." Gabrielle repeated, warily. "She's that…"

"Big, kind of a show-off; bright red hair. Has an attitude. That's the one." Ephiny confirmed with a mild shrug. "Thinks she's the hottest thing to swing a sword in the last three decades. She's the one who's causing most of the friction." Ephiny sighed. "Not that you'd catch her at it. She's sweet as pie to your face. At least she is to mine." The Amazon paused. "Be careful of her, Gabrielle. She's dangerous. To us, and to you. She'll be looking to push things."

Xena had been standing next to Argo, resting her forearms on the mare's high withers, listening. She filed the name away for future reference, but glanced at Ephiny. "She'd better watch who she's pushing." A menacing drawl. Meeting Ephiny's eyes, her intent very, very clear.

Ephiny took the warning as it was given, and gave Xena an almost imperceptible nod in return. And that adds another twist to it. Our Queen's champion. I hope Arella isn't stupid enough to pull a challenge - oh she's damn good, but she's not in Xena's league. But then..who is? "Well, I'm off. Good traveling, you two."

They reached the edge of Amazon territory late the next day, and Xena pulled Argo over to the side of the road, gauging the remaining daylight. "Well, you can keep going tonight, and get there. Or we can camp, and you can go on in the morning." She finally pronounced. "Your choice."

Gabrielle stood in Argo's shadow, her arms wrapped around herself tightly. "No third choice, huh?" Immediately regretting saying it. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean that."

Xena looked at her with compassion. "Yes you did." She sighed heavily. "Look…if you really don't want to go through with this…"

"I have to." The bard whispered.

"I can go in there and just beat up on everyone and tell them I'm going to turn them into milkmaids if they don't cut all this stuff out." the warrior finished, with an ironic grin. "You know I can." She tipped Gabrielle's chin up to look into her eyes. "You know I will"

Gabrielle smiled, a real smile. "I know. And you have no idea what a powerful, wonderful thought that is. But if I'm going to do this, I guess I have to do it my way."

Xena nodded. "Let's camp, then. Morning is better for starting things anyway." She paused. "And, Gabrielle?"

"Hmm?" The bard responded, glancing up.

"They're warriors. Expertise with your staff or no, you aren't, and they use bladed weapons in a challenge. Any of that starts, this time, remember who your champion is, OK?.." Xena reminded her.

"How could I forget that?" Gabrielle laughed, punching her in the shoulder lightly. "That really is the least of my worries." She smiled up into Xena's eyes. "I'm the best championed Amazon Queen in the history of the Amazons."

Xena nodded at her, serious now. "Make sure they remember just who it is." she added softly, a dangerous light in her pale blue eyes. "Anyone there lays a finger on you, and believe me..believe me, Gabrielle, I'll be through that village like…"

The bard laid both hands flat on Xena's chest, leaning forward and looking her right in the eyes. "Ok..Ok..I get the picture." She grinned. "I'll make sure they get the picture. Honest."

"Ok." Xena subsided, lifting their packs off Argo's broad back and heading towards the tree line. "I see a spot we can use for camp."

A cave, actually. Dry, for a change, and empty, an added bonus. Gabrielle nodded in approval. She collected dry wood for the small fire, and got the rest of the camp set up while Xena was out hunting for dinner. Rabbit, she supposed. And was totally surprised when Xena came back in with a small deer slung over her shoulders.

"Goodness." The bard exclaimed, a bit startled. "Did that just jump out in front of you, or something?"

"No." Xena answered, laying the deer down and taking out her sharpest knife. "I went looking for it." She gave the bard a sly glance. "I remember what the food's like over at the Amazon's…I wanted to make sure you at least go in there with a decent meal."

Gabrielle giggled. "Xena!"

The warrior just chuckled, and made a quick incision into the deer's underbelly, butchering it quickly and skillfully. "Tell me you wouldn't like a venison steak." She looked over her shoulder at Gabrielle, who grinned. "Uh huh.Thought so." She turned back to her work, aware of the eyes on her. "This wont' take long." She commented.

And it didn't. Xena knew her craft when it came to butchering, as she often said, though with a sardonic smile. She laid two large steaks, with a flourish directed at the bard. "OK - you can put whatever you like on em." A grin from Gabrielle, who claimed the steaks possessively, and began to dust them with herbs dredged form her pouch.

Xena set up a smaller fire near the entrance, and capped it with a tent of broad green leaves, setting the remainder of the deer meat to smoke. She glanced back, watching Gabrielle's serious attention to her work with a look of amused affection, then crossed over to where the bard was sitting, and settled herself quietly to one side, watching the firelight dance and flicker across her face. And felt as though a fist were tightening around her heart, at the thought of their parting. Just like last time. Only…the tiniest bit of brightness…this time she knew Gabrielle was agonizing over it just as much as she was.

"Ugh." Gabrielle exclaimed, a few hours later. "I am totally stuffed." She glanced over to Xena, who was seated shoulder to shoulder with her. "You?"

"Uh huh." The warrior agreed. "Whatever you put on those steaks was perfect."

They watched the fire for a while, digesting in silence, just enjoying the peaceful crackling of the fire, and the soft cool breeze entering the mouth of the cave. After a bit, though, Gabrielle let out a long held breath, and stared moodily into the flames. You'd think I'd welcome the opportunity to run the Amazons, right? Here I am, always complaining that Xena never lets me do stuff, and I have this great opportunity to break free, and get a taste of being totally in charge. Great! So..why do I feel so lousy? She propped her head on her knees, and rubbed suddenly aching temples, avoiding Xena's concerned gaze.

What am I going to do? I can't leave her like this…Hades.. Xena closed her eyes, shaking her head, her almost overwhelming urge to keep Gabrielle from harm warring with her knowledge that the bard was a grown woman, with the right to make her own decisions. Maybe I should just go down there and beat the daylights out of a few of them. It would make me feel better, anyway. Damn them and their constant bickering and factions…I swear, I'd rather lead an army of 500 men then one of 5000 Amazons.

Gabrielle glanced up, brow furrowing at the intense expression on her friends face. What on earth is she thinking about? Gabrielle felt sorry for whatever or whoever it was. "Hey." She murmured, reaching up and touching the warrior's grimly set jaw. "You look like you want to kill something."

"Good guess." Xena growled, reining in her temper with an effort. "Lots of something's, all of them Amazons." She cast her eyes around the cave, taking in the light sandstone walls and filing it's location away for future use.

"Xena.' The bard admonished sternly. "It's not their fault."

"Yes, it is." The warrior growled. "Squabbling idiots."

"Look." She responded, soothingly. "I'll be fine. I'm sorry I'm a little down. It's just that…well.." A sheepish shrug.."I'm going to miss you. Miss this." she hesitated. "A lot." Another pause. "More than a lot."

Xena tilted her dark head, regarding her. "Yeah." She admitted. "Me too." A short laugh. "And what in all the names of the gods I'm going to find to do in Amphipolis can't figure out." A weary giggle from Gabrielle. "Sure, laugh. When you hear some crazy stories about an ex warlord run amuck out there, you'll know what's going on."

"Xena!" the bard laughed helplessly.

"Yep - probably end up building some kind of fortification out of pressed blackberries, or something." Xena continued, with mock seriousness. "Bored warlords are very, very dangerous, Gabrielle."

Gabrielle just kept laughing, until tears fell. "Oh…" she sighed, finally. "that felt good." Her eyes found Xena's. "Thank you. I needed that."

"Mmm." Xena agreed. "And speaking of which, you watch out for those Amazons." She eyed Gabrielle. "I can imagine that more than one of them will want to ambush you and drag you off into their hut so they can gain some influence."

Gabrielle's brows contracted. "You don't really think…"

Xena raised a very expressive eyebrow at her.

"Really?" the bard asked, disbelief coloring her tone. "But why…I mean…I didn't think I was much to their tastes." She blushed again. "I thought they were into that warrior thing. Now you, on the other hand…"

Xena snorted. "They like variety. And they know better than try their chances with me." She gave an expressive twitch of her eyebrows. "No, it's a power thing. You have it, they want it. That's how it works," A glint in her eyes. "Listen. Gabrielle. It's ok..I mean, you can tell anyone who's bothering you that they'll need to settle up with me, and I won't be in a very good mood, either."

"Xena, I can fight my own battles." The bard answered, with a quiet exasperation. "I'm not a child."

Xena sighed. "I know that." she responded. "but you're going to have a lot on your plate there, Gabrielle. Listen, I've spent a lifetime developing a bad reputation. Let it work in your benefit for a change, OK?" she smiled wryly. "It can't hurt."

She's probably right. The last thing I want is to have to deal with that, on top of everything else. "Well…OK." Gabrielle agreed. "You have a point, there." She grinned. "I'll try not to tarnish your reputation any further."

Xena let out a short laugh. . "Believe me, o bard of mine, anything you'd do to my reputation would only be an improvement." She stood up, and cleared away the remains of their dinner.

Then she wandered outside to check on Argo, who looked up at her approach. She scratched the proffered muzzle, stroking the sensitive skin near her soft nose and moving the mare's pale forelock out of her eyes. "Looks like it'll be just you and me for a while, girl." She remarked conversationally to the horse. Argo peered at her, unconcerned. Xena let her hands travel down the mare's strong neck, idly arranging her mane to fall along one side. "Not like we haven't done that before, right?" A gentle nicker from the mare. "Right." The horse lifted her head, and nudged Xena's shoulder, and the warrior scratched her under the jaw, and laid her face alongside Argo's broad cheek. "This is going to be a good chance for her to..be able to see a life..other than what she has now, Argo." He throat clogged suddenly. "And that's a good thing. I gotta let her know that." The mare snorted. Even she doesn't believe me. Xena sighed. Why should she? I don't believe me.. "Yeah, I'm lying. I know. .." she whispered, where only the mare could hear her. An ear flicked back in sympathy. She remained leaning on the mare's shoulder, until the tight grip on her chest had loosened a little, then rubbed her eyes and started back towards the cave mouth.

Gabrielle looked up as she entered, giving her a brief smile. "I was going to send out a search party." She joked, kneeling down on her bedroll and arranging her staff next to her. A habit learned from Xena, though her weapon was far less deadly than the longsword the warrior habitually kept near at hand.

"Checking on Argo." Xena explained, fiddling with the fire. "Making sure she had enough grass out there." Ok...let's get this over with. . "Gabrielle."

"Hmm?" the bard answered, looking over at Xena's still form. "What?"

Xena stood up and walked to where Gabrielle was sitting. She dropped to a crouch, then sat down cross legged in front of her companion, resting her forearms on her knees, and leaning forward towards Gabrielle. "Listen." Gabrielle waited, her face very quiet. "Um…the Amazons..they're not bad people." A pause. "And you are their queen." Xena smiled at her. "You'll make a very good one, I think.. Anyway. If you discover that you..like..being part of their society.." Green eyes fastened on hers. "Don't feel that you have an obligation to leave." In a rush. "If you don't want to."

Gabrielle studied the serious, composed face across from her, finding the small emotional indicators that she had learned to read over time. "I'm not an Amazon." she answered, simply.

"I know that." Xena replied. "But…it's a stable, regular life. Not….this." she shrugged, slightly. "you..maybe it would be better." She dropped her gaze, then lifted it again. "for you."

"What about for you?" The bard's quiet response.

Xena gave a little depreciating shrug. "What about for me?" she answered. "We're not talking about me. We're talking about you."

"So. You're…suggesting that it would be a good idea if I stayed with them?" Gabrielle questioned carefully. Reading the controlled stillness in Xena's face. The knotted tension in her shoulders. The racing pulse point in the hollow of her neck, which told Gabrielle far more than any words her companion could come up with.

"I'm suggesting that you have a choice." Xena answered, steadily.. "You know you don't owe me anything, Gabrielle, but you accepted responsibility for these people when you took the rite of caste. They can be your family, now. If that's what you want."

A slow nod from Gabrielle. "The Amazons are a fascinating people, Xena.": she looked down and smiled a little. "and I do feel a responsibility for them." A deep breath. "and I was thinking about what life would be like, to be a part of that society. " She glanced up and met Xena's patient, steeled gaze. "But ..with all of their traditions, and what they are…there's something I have to have, that they can't give me. It's…something I can't live without." She paused letting a tiny smile escape. "Not anymore."

Xena gazed back at her. "What's that?" she asked, warily curious.

The bard laughed gently. "You." She reached out and touched the silent warrior's knee. "You're my family." Studying the face across from her, outlined in the flickering light of the fire.

Finally, Xena smiled, and shook her head. "Glad I'm somebody's" She raised one wry eyebrow. But then met Gabrielle's eyes with an open directness that almost caused the bard's heart to stop. And reached out one hand to gently stroke the side of Gabrielle's face. Eyes never leaving hers. "Yeah." She finally answered. "I am."

They smiled at each other.

***

Morning was a somber affair. Xena went about her usual routine, slipping out before dawn and finding some odds and ends for breakfast, starting some tea on, banking and adjusting the fire, in silence, though that was not horribly unusual.

Gabrielle found her eyes following her companion around the campsite, watching as the warrior glided quietly from task to task, as she herself packed up her personal kit. Not for the first time. Her mind nudged her. I've done this before. And every time, she..lets me go. Tells me to follow my heart. Pulling back, so that I don't feel..obligated, and I know..she'd never ask me to stay. Never. Not if she thought I didn't want to. She sighed, and looked down at her packing. Her hand paused over a selection of shirts, and a wry smile covered her lips as she chose one, and tucked it into her bag. The lamb. Knickknacks gotten in villages across half of Greece. A small whelk she had picked up right after Ares had given Xena her body back, there on the beach. Her scrolls. She sighed again and tucked them away, then added her traveling clothes.

"Nice outfit." Xena commented quietly, appearing at her right side, and resting one hand on the bard's shoulder. "You ready?" She glanced down at the pack, and trailed her fingers over one edge. "Camp's packed up."

"Yeah." Gabrielle muttered softly. "Ok. I'm ready." No, I'm not. She hoisted the pack to her shoulder, and gripped her staff. And tried to ignore the aching in her chest. "Let's go."

Xena walked her to the fork in the road, then paused. Gabrielle looked up at her face, and saw the jaw muscles clench. They both looked off down the road toward Amazon country. "Well, I guess it's time.' The warrior said, slowly. She laid a hesitant palm against the bard's cheek. "Gabrielle…"

It was too much. Gabrielle leaned her staff against Argo, dropped the pack, and wrapped her arms around her companion, squeezing with all the strength she could muster. Felt Xena return the hug, with pressure enough to force the breath from her lungs. Neither really wanted to let go, but they did - and stood for a moment, arms loosely linked about each other.

"Be careful." Xena warned.

Gabrielle nodded., ducking her head. "I will."

"Promise?" Xena asked, meeting her startled look intently.

The bard blinked, then nodded. "I promise."

"Ok." came the response. Xena studied her face for a bit longer. "I'll miss you." she added, very quietly. "More than you can imagine."

Gabrielle felt her throat close on any possible response, and just buried her head against Xena's chest. Where she could hear the ragged edge of her breathing. And feel the pounding of her heartbeat. Finally, she raised her head, and exchanged one last look, and turned towards the forest road. Not looking back until she was at the edge of the trees, and then to see the patient Argo, her rider leaning against her. Watching. It was an image she filed firmly in the forefront of her mind's eye.

#xena #xena warrior princess #xena/gabrielle #xena/gabrielle fanfiction #fanfiction #pg-13 #femslash #xwp

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antheiin · 5 years ago

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Revered - Supergiant Challenge

Part 2 - 2,689 Words

It’s not the right time to make a grand escape. Not at first. Apparently, it’s midday, a bit past the estimations Miriam had previously made. The light just came in too oddly for her to discern the position of the sun, or face this structure into context with the rest of the world. Something about being told a little bit more about what she’s missing out of her memory makes this a bit more real, and it helps her catch just how antsy Fedir seems.

Anxiety is another one of those traits that seemed to have passed between them. Fedir carries himself in that same nervous way she does, and as Miriam pulls the hood of the sweatshirt over her, things seem to change just slightly on one of those cosmic sorts of levels. There is danger here, and the idea of being flayed isn’t any better when it’s an imminent part of your life.

But, there is no moving out, and no grand, Mission Impossible style escapade. Instead, Fedir sits with her on the edge of the bare bones bed, and talks through these ideas in his head that are just now being spelled out. While her trust in him is infinite, the fear is still there, the factor of unknown that comes from entering another reality. No matter how much she believes in him in her heart of hearts, this is still not the Fedir she remembers holding, and no image she has ever perceived before this moment. There is a period of time that her mind was absent for, and it was a great long time, if time has passed the way she thinks it may have.

They will leave that night, he says, and there will be no true sense of freedom until they are well out of this town, and escape to somewhere they can be picked up as hitchhikers. Twenty miles northwest of the town is the M1 highway in Belarus, an area with enough traffic for a friendly car to snag them until they can cross the border, and perhaps, leave the continent entirely. It seems so simple, in the purest of senses. Moving from one place to another takes little more than feet and legs.

So, Miriam spends the warmest part of the afternoon restless, in and out of bed, pacing in restless paces around her room. Twice, the anxiety nearly makes her pull herself apart, fingers grasped around the barred windows until the knuckles turn white and ache. The only thing stopping her from trying to pry those off and escaping via the window that instant is a terribly unnerving sight.

The cloaks weren’t always this stormy color of grey. When they started, they were green, much like the herbs that grew from her hair, the basil leaves Katherine had plucked off after her lips had crossed Miriam’s throat. Then, when she’d realized how wrong this was and ran away, they’d changed to a shade of white she had once seen while traversing Poland in the wintertime. During the capture, they had turned blue. Water is the source of life, Katherine told her, pressing the flat side of a blade to her cheek.

What that meant, she wasn’t so sure.

Either way, the grey cloak had what looked like a taser on their hip, and Miriam had no intentions of playing around with that. So, she paces until her feet hurt and the sky turns dark. Eventually, there are footsteps at her door again, and Fedir comes again, hidden under one of those cloaks. Her own had been stuffed in the pillowcase with the pillow, with the other clothes he’d given her. Those were back on now, though, the cloak hidden beneath her legs, a bit more real, and subsequently frightening.

“Hey Mom,” the kiss on her cheek has a familiarity, and this Miriam plays like she’s known this for forever. “We’re gonna have to go fast. Time’s going to be more important than we want it to be. And uh, I don’t think we want to be seen. It was trouble enough just getting in here.” For the sake of herself, Miriam chooses not to ask more, and lets the other keep talking.

“So uh, the plan is that we just keep quiet as possible, and try to blend in. If we keep the hoods up, I think it should be okay from a distance. But we should keep it that way.” Fedir chews on his lower lip, and Miriam stands slowly to clasp the cloak on her own shoulders. “Get the plants off. I’ve got the other markings we’ll need to look real enough- and here.” A tube of foundation is pressed into her hands, thick and gooey and a shade too light for her face. “For your freckles.”

“Seems, reasonable.” Miriam is still going inches at a time, sightlessly slapping the stuff on her cheeks and rubbing it in until her face doesn’t feel as terrible. Side-stepping Fedir, she approaches a mirror to finish, speaking into it to avoid eye contact for a few moments. “What’s all around here, though? The most I can see is the yards down below. And some gardens.”

Fedir’s facial expression turns sour again. “Well, outside of the house is the gardens. Sacred, I heard them call them. Your’s.” No gardens she’s heard of, but Miriam nods nevertheless. “Then it’s down this road about half a mile, and then through the town. That’ll be the worst part, once we hit the woods, it’s two hours to this truck that I stashed just off a road. If it’s gone, option two is the highway.”

“It seems simple enough. What’s the issue with the town, though? I’d think this would be the worst.”

“I mean, it’s bad, yeah, but not that bad. If we’re calm enough, and nobody gets in our faces? It’s gonna be fine. But there are a lot more eyes in town, a lot more chances for us to fuck this up. Mob’s harder to run from than a few people.” Miriam laughs in reply, a wicked gleam in her eye.

“Oh, tell me about it. The absolute worst.” For a moment, things feel a little less dire, but the feeling sets back in soon enough. “I uh, Fedir, hon. Question.” Miriam chews on her lip, and gives her son a long look. “Do you remember Poland, at all? You were so small but, I figured I should ask.”

“No, sorry.” Fedir shakes his head back, raising a dark brow to give his mother a questioning look. “Should I?”

“It may be best if you didn’t. I’ll know who I’m looking for if I see them.” Miriam’s answer likely leaves something to be desired, but when Fedir opens his mouth to ask a question, Miriam shakes her head rapidly. “No, I uh. Not right before, whatever this cult bullshit is. I’ll tell you later, sweetheart. Promise.” A part of her just hopes he’ll figure it out on her own. Revisiting it seems to make things harder every time, and the new stress of waking up in strange places with strange sons exacerbates it further.

So, the pair stands in silence for a moment while Miriam finishes hiding her freckles and ties her hair up into a knot at the back of her head. It isn’t pretty, but when she draws the hood, hardly any of her red hair is visible, save for strands that look a muddled brown beneath the shadows. The plants are plucked from it too, left in piles of leaves and flowers that curl sadly at their edges.

Fedir, meanwhile, has pulled up the sleeves of his cloak to reveal two identical cuffs, both emblazoned with a symbol that makes her stomach tighten. “That was Katherine’s,” she mumbles without thinking, and Fedir only raises an eyebrow, before slipping one from his wrist.

“It’s the fastest way to get through places, if we run into anyone.” The way Fedir talks about it has the leadings of a story, but she just can’t make herself, and instead, takes the bracelet and secures it on her left wrist. It doesn’t burn, but it might as well have, given how Miriam recoils upon processing the weight of it. “The biggest part of this plan is that we keep our heads down and don’t get picked up as interesting. At least, through the house. When it’s nighttime, nobody really expects anything. I don’t know what I’m doing outside of some base ideas, so we’re going to hope for the best.”

“I thoroughly hate that!” Miriam rolls her eyes, but shoves her feet into her boots nonetheless, lacing them up until she stands a good two inches higher with the heel behind her. “So let’s not talk about not knowing what we’re doing.” Fedir nods as if he’s listening, before shouldering a backpack. Realizing she has nothing much to offer, Miriam scans the room and finds its barely lived in appearance to be nothing worth remembering. Really, the longer she looks at it, the more anxious she becomes.

Her room at home has flowing curtains and dark wood floors. Miriam can very clearly recall the shape of the quilt, rumpled up and everywhere, surrounding the familiar form that Remy seemed to take when he’d join her in the early hours of the morning. The loss of it, even for the moment, leaves her feeling more lost than she’d like to admit. Miss you is offered beneath her breath, too quiet for Fedir to possibly hear. And in thinking of him, she turns to stare at her son’s face, hoping to see traces of the in between places. The times where he may have been five or ten or twelve. The little in betweens that she misses now that they’ve seemingly passed.

However, there comes a time where there is no more stalling, and seven minutes past nine, the sounds from outside simmer down to the dull murmur of drowsy housekeepers. There’s a sense of dread filling her to the brim, so while they stuff her bed with sheets and other things to simulate a sleeping form, Miriam alters her face. It’s difficult to just pick out a new face and form for yourself in the blink of an eye, but she goes with one she knows, or at least, has seen before. Growing taller means that suddenly the room feels a little different, and the borrowed shoulders are far broader than what she’s used to, and Miriam can half guarantee she’s going to clip herself on a door frame.

She’ll have to thank Anda later, for letting her borrow their appearance, even if they aren’t aware of it.

Despite having only spent a few hours in it, opening the bedroom door and stepping out into the hallway seems like a foreboding sort of task. In her fit of anxiety, Miriam stands and stares at the door for a long while in her borrowed face, probably making a few uncharacteristic facial expressions.

“What happens if we fuck this up?” She doesn’t really want to know, but a morbid curiosity claws and begs for her to continue. “What then?”

Fedir looks uncomfortable at best. “The ritual goes through, for starters. And that does, whatever it does to you, the process wasn’t really disclosed.” He’s getting wry, bordering on a panicked sort of serious. “I probably die too, if I’m being completely honest. I don’t think an entire fuckin’ cult is going to smile at me trying to sneak their goddess out of what they consider to be sacred ground. Is this even? It can’t be.”

“Oh, absolutely not.” Addressing that first seems a little safer than reacting to that middle part, but she gets their eventually, clasping Fedir’s shoulder. “Let’s, I, I don’t have words for that, so let’s just please, please end up not doing that bit.”

And with nothing else to say that will make her feel any bit better about this, Miriam grabs and pulls the door open, having to scramble to catch it before it can smack the wall. Fedir receives a sheepish look, one that he mirrors back before taking the lead, shouldering down a highway too narrow to be comfortable. The place is clean, that much is certain. But the air holds the faint scent of rotting wood and burnt plant matter, something that makes the entire place feel oddly wrong. There is age here, and the home itself has a presence of its own, made clearer and clearer as Miriam and Fedir pass several closed doors on the way down the hall.

It turns out that this narrow hallway is simply a wing in something larger than Miriam could have hoped. The next hallway is wider, losing its claustrophobia in favor of another person, a faceless sort of man who Miriam doubts she will ever remember. He doesn’t speak, that much is sure. All he does is lock eyes with her, searching the face in a way that makes Miriam’s skin crawl. Maybe she can’t borrow this form for as long as she wants to, on the risk of being remembered, either as a repeating issue or as someone who just simply doesn’t belong.

The nod she offers is satisfying enough, it seems. There are no words exchanged, and it’s far more comfortable that way. Even luckier, he doesn’t move, chin held high and form otherwise unwavering. Fedir keeps his head bowed, intent on being seen as little as possible.

This hall is shorter than the first, and instead, leads out to the top of a staircase. The rotting wood is stronger here, and Miriam catches sight of further evidence when she seems a bleached out section of floor, missed stains of blood just outside of it. Just beside it, a dark haired woman burning a tied bundle of plants with a lighter, waving the smoke about it. Alerted by the sounds at the top of the stairs, she looks up, offering a lazy smile.

“Hello to you both.” Her voice is this wispy thing, barely there from how far away she is. “Is it nearly time for everyone to trade out?” For someone Miriam could happily consider the worst thing in existence, the longing in her voice makes her just the slightest bit sympathetic. “My feet are killing me.”

“Just started.” Miriam’s smile is pained, but they make it down the stairs unbothered, and get nothing more from the woman. “Today’s been killer.” Wow, she hates this.

“Well, I’ll let you go, then.” The woman’s frail hand sweeps across her chest, leaving curls of smoke behind it. “Safe travel back.”

“You too.” It’s Fedir who manages this time, making a beeline towards another archway. Miriam, unsure and unwilling to be left behind, follows dutifully. This area is an entrance room, as far as she can see, equally clean-but-wrong as the rest of this house has been. No people, though, just the two who Miriam will be content to never speak to again, personable or not.

It’s here that Miriam lets her disguise drop. Slipping back into her own skin means that everything feels a little bit more steady, a little less nth degree from reality. Fedir, glancing over, offers a shaky thumbs up as he exhales, the other hair holding tight to the door. Walk out, that simple. Miriam holds up one finger, then two. When she shows the third, Fedir pulls that door open, and the air outside feels like some other place entirely.

This other place is clean and fresh and washes away the house’s stale scent like it’s a rainstorm instead of a lazy fog. It feels more like a place Miriam could curl up in and call home. This place had to be the gardens, given the brief description that had transpired between the two of them. A place of exotic flowers and what appeared to be dozens of trees growing into each other.

“How long do we have before they know I’m gone?” It’s meant as a rhetorical question, and Fedir shrugs in reply.

“Dunno. Further we get first, the better, yeah?”

“Yeah.”

#ic #isola supergiant challenge #isola drabble #cults tw #bold is miri #bold and italics is fedir #italics is anybody else #i'm taking forever forgive me

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