#without calling her people some variation of stupid for holding to the past

[avrorean]

velanna would have been such an amazing narrative foil for both merrill and solas if the writers knew what they'd made

[rachelbethhines]

Tangled Salt Marathon - “Rapunzel Knows Best!” ( A first half of S3 Recap)

So I decided to place the recap after Be Very Afraid for several reasons. For starters it’s where the season three hiatus took place. It’s also framed like a cliffhanger episode the same as The Great Tree and Queen for a Day; so while Cassandra’s Revenge is technically the midseason finale, Be Very Afraid functionally servers this narrative purpose better. Finally I want to keep the Cassandra heavy stuff contained in it’s own recap later same as I did for Varian’s arc in season one. 

Also keep in mind, everything I discussed in previous recaps still apply here. Nothings changed and you could argue that the issues I bring up now could have also apply to past seasons; they just happen to be at their worst here. 

Here are the past recaps 

To Filler or Not to Filler

Hey, What Ever Happened to That Varitas, Guy?

What Is the Point?

‘Whatta Twist’

And here are the episodes that’s covered in this recap

Rapunzel’s Return Part 1

Rapunzel’s Return Part 2

Return of the King 

Who’s Afraid of the Big Bad Wolf

The Lost Treasure of Herz Der Sonne

No Time Like the Past

Beginnings 

The King and Queen of Hearts

Day of the Animals 

Be Very Afraid 

Poorly Defined Conflicts 

I’m not just talking about Cassandra’s lack of goals here either, though that is a part of it. I mean in several episodes the central conflict isn’t laid out clearly enough before being resolved.  We flip from one set up to the next without ever resolving the first; like in Rapunzel’s Return when Cass and Varian fight for screen time or whenever Rapunzel is suppose to learn one lesson only for someone else to learn a completely different lesson in every other episode. And to this day I don’t know what Rapunzel and Feldspar’s subplot in Lost Treasure was suppose to be about. 

There’s also of course the ill-defined overall conflict; which at this point has become convoluted and nonsensical to the extreme, and will only grow more aggravatingly stupid as the season progresses. The main villains lack clear goals, their motivations don’t align with previously stated facts, and the actual interesting conflict involving the threat of the rocks and their destruction of people’s lives and homes is just shoved under the rug and forgotten about.  

There is no story without conflict. Having the conflict be all over the place is not only confusing but makes it harder for the audience to invest in what’s going on. 

Failed Narrative Promises 

Tying in with the above statement regarding conflicts, we have failed narrative promises. Rapunzel is repeatedly told to that she needs to learn something in several episodes only for her not to learn it at all. She either learns some unrelated ‘lesson’ that wasn’t established, (like in Rapunzel’s Return with her pervious goal about ‘opening up to others’ being switched out for a generic ‘responsibility’ lesson that at the last minute, where she doesn’t even do anything responsible,) or she winds up ‘teaching’ the opposite lesson to a different character thereby rewarding her for her bad behavior.   

And that’s just within the induvial episodes themselves; there’s also broken narrative promises through out the overall story arc; like...

no justice/redemption for Lady Caine, 

no acknowledgment that the Saporians are the victims of colonization

no conclusion regarding Corona’s murky past

no satisfying ending to Varian’s plot that sees everyone in involve grow

a poor copout of an explanation for Cassandra’s face/heel turn

The Dark Prince reveal going nowhere 

The Brotherhood being put on a bus 

King Frederic, or any royal, not being held accountable for their past actions 

Lance’s new found responsibilities just being thrown away for the tenth time 

The Disciples plot being being dropped 

next to nothing in season two winds up being relevant 

And Rapunzel, the protagonist of a coming of age story, fails to learn anything at all 

I could probably go on but you get the gist. Tangled is incredibly frustrating show to watch because doesn’t deliver what it promises. You’re not being clever by ‘subverting audiences expectations’ unless you can justify your narrative decisions with previous set up. Tangled is too lazy to build proper set ups so it’s ‘twists’ leave you wanting to punch things rather then impressing you. 

Character Assassinations 

Every single character in Tangled the Series gets thrown under a bus, driven off a cliff, and then allowed to drown in the ocean of their completely unaware self-congratulatory smugness.  

Rapunzel is turned into a bully

Cassandra is given the idiot ball to hold permanently 

The King and Queen are lobotomized

Quinin gets replaced by a robot  

The rest of the Brotherhood are pale shadows of what they could have been 

Edmund is transformed from tragic complex figure into a dumb jerkoff who abuses his kid for a laugh 

Zhan Tiri, once an ancient demon warlock, is reduced to a floating impotent ghost girl 

The Saporians become poor hipster parodies

Cap is put on a bus

Any villain who isn’t Cass is gets ignored

Lance is infantilized to the point of absurdity

Eugene becomes a doormat 

and poor Varian is forced to become a complacent victim to his abusers as oppose to being allowed to keeping his dignity 

I think the only person who escapes this mass murder of characterization is freaking Calliope, and she’s hasn’t even appeared yet! (Well okay her and Trevor, maybe) 

This all ties back into the poorly defined conflict and failed narrative promises. Rather than let the characters drive the story, they’ve become puppets to the plot, and plot is really stupid and forced, and circles back in on itself and is full of contradictions. 

Manipulating the Audience’s Empathy to Do the Work for the Writers  

The reason why the creators believe they can get away with such poor characterization and lazy writing is because they expect the audience to do all the heavy lifting for them.  

Cass isn’t given an on screen reason for what she does because they’re hoping her fans will just automatically excuse her because they like her/relate to her and not, you know, get mad at the writers for dumbing her down. And after all who doesn’t love the creator’s pet? Meanies! That’s who! 

No one calls out Rapunzel’s bullshit on screen, because if everyone likes her, then you, viewing audience, should too. Because if you have any sort of independent critical thinking abilities and a sense of right and wrong then clearly you’re ‘just a hater’. 

Everyone should just shut up and be satisfied that Varian is even on screen now and be grateful for the scraps that they get cause he’s not the real point of the show and according to Chris ‘Varian fans aren’t real fans’. Even though they make up most of his viewing audience. 

I could go on, but it’s just variations of the above. The writing in this series is very fond of gaslighting the audience and trying to trick them into justifying the absolute worst behaviors while desperately hoping they doesn’t noticed the continued downgrading and dismissal of characters they do like or once liked.  

And the sad thing is, it’s worked. There are people to this day that still try to justify this show’s shitty morals and bend over backwards to excuse the likes of Rapunzel, Frederic, Cassandra, and Edmund.  Worst, there are loud sections of the fandom, (usually on twitter) who think bullying is okay and follow in Chris and his characters footsteps. Most of them young impressionable girls who are now ripe for TREFS to indoctrinate because they use the same bullying tactics and excuses for authoritarianism. 

Media does effect reality, but not in the way purists and antis would have you believe. No one is going to become a violent manic from playing a video game nor a sex offender because they read a smut fic. But they very much will conform to toxic beliefs if it’s repeated enough at them by authorities they ‘trust’; like say the world wide leading company known for family entertainment and children’s media, and the ‘friends’ they find within the fandom for said company... 

I’m not saying you can’t enjoy Tangled the series or that you’re some how wrong for liking it’s characters, nor do you have to engage with every or any criticism thrown it’s way. But yes you need to think about the media you consume on some level and valid criticism is very much important to the fandom experience for precisely the above reasons. 

Conclusion    

This isn’t even the tip of the iceberg of what’s wrong with this show, but it is most of its biggest problems laid bare. Anything that haven’t covered here or in the past recaps will be explored in the final recap. Cause this is it folks; the last leg of the journey for this retrospective. When come back, hopefully next week, we’ll tackle Pascal’s Dragon.  

[peaceoutofthepieces]

Tracing Time

Monday, 15:18

Song: The Neighbourhood - Reflections

The clock at the front of the lecture hall is too far away for Sander to actually hear its ticking, but it feels like it’s louder than the tapping of his pen where he’s drumming it against his notebook. This is propped open with only a few lines of actual notes and a lot of doodles, with a quick, ragged sketch of Robbe on the bottom half of the page. Sander sighs quietly to himself as he fails his futile attempt to listen to the professor, and goes back to the drawing to add on some extra shading and more careful detail.

This is so much easier to get caught up in. Time disappears when it comes to art or Robbe, so combining the two is similar to falling into a black hole. The gravity of it is so strong, making it impossible for Sander to escape as time stops and everything else ceases to exist. He gets eaten up in it, lost until the point where everything whites out but the scratch of pen on paper and the familiar shape of Robbe’s eyes. There is no talking or ticking to make him want to peel his skin off (or at least fidget about in his chair).

It’s not the best plan, however, because he zones out a little too completely. He doesn’t realise that the class has ended until a girl clears her throat next to him, standing in the aisle and waiting to get past. Sander whips his gaze around and notices his other classmates already filing out of the room.

He flushes, muttering an apology as he quickly gets to his feet and presses back to let the girl and her friend slip past him. She glances down at his notebook as she passes and her lips quirk in a knowing smile, but she merely says, “Cute. Nice work on the lips.”

Sander’s blush deepens, but he returns her smile and manages to thank her quietly before she slips away. Her friend raises her brows and smirks at him, but doesn’t say anything as she follows. He lets out a breath and slumps back against his now folded-up chair, taking a moment to collect himself. He snatches up his bag and hastily stows away his belongings, only taking time to carefully close the notebook and tuck it in between the others in his bag. He trots down the steps and almost makes it to the door without any further embarrassment, and then the professor is calling his name.

Lars Coomans isn’t Sander’s favourite professor, only because he teaches art theory rather than anything practical. Sander doesn’t mind learning about history when he finds the subject interesting, but that only happens about twelve percent of the time. (Again, this isn’t Lars’ fault.) The man is not his favourite professor, but he might be one of his favourite people. He’s a tall man in his late forties with a tiny bald patch on the right side of his head and a soft voice. He’s relatively laid back and certainly kind.

For this reason, Sander doesn’t even feel the need to groan as he hangs back, even while the last stragglers shoot him curious looks on the way out. Lars waits until they’ve left to smile at Sander and lean back against his desk, head tilted as he considers his student.

Now, Sander begins to feel a bit nervous.

“How are you, Sander?”

The question is kind, careful, and it baffles him. He knows that all of his professors are aware of his illness, but none of them make a habit of checking up on him. They’re aware, from when he misses a week or two of classes or, on the rare occasion, needs to ask for an extension on an assignment. They’re aware, but beyond that, it doesn’t come up. No one makes a fuss about it and he’s grateful. And maybe Lars isn’t, either, maybe it’s just his kindness sprouting in the start of the conversation, nothing more than a mere courtesy. But the searching way he’s looking at Sander makes him hesitant, and he clasps his right hand around his left wrist and shifts on his feet before clearing his throat. He decides to take the casual route. “I’m fine, how are you?”

Lars seems to relax, lips quirking further for a moment before he shakes his head and waves a hand. “Oh, good, good, thank you. No, I’m not trying to be nosy, I just ask because you didn’t submit your assignment before noon today.”

Sander blinks. “Sorry?”

“The papers that were due this morning?” Lars blinks back, tilting his head. When Sander continues to stare at him blankly, he offers, “On the renaissance?”

Oh. Sander’s mouth opens and closes for a moment before he finds his voice. “But that’s not due until Friday evening?” It comes out as a question as his brow furrows in confusion. He’s sure the two assignments weren’t due in one day, and he frequently checks his calendar. He’s lost, and he’s beginning to panic slightly.

“No, it was due today,” Lars says softly, searching again as he crosses his legs at the ankles and taps the edge of his desk. “Daems has an assignment due on Friday, I believe, you have him, don’t you?”

Realisation hits abruptly. “Fuck,” he breathes, raising a hand to cover his face. “Shit, sorry. I don’t know—I must have mixed the dates, put the classes in wrong.” Stupid, stupid, stupid.

But Lars just nods, his whole posture softening in understanding. “Alright,” he sighs. “Hey, don’t beat yourself up, it’s an easy mistake. Can you get it to me by the end of the day?”

Sander swallows. “I haven’t started it,” he admits. He’d started doing the research, but he didn’t even have enough of that yet. He would be lucky to finish that by the end of the day, never mind the paper itself.

“Okay, well, you thought you had until Friday.” Lars rubs a hand over his chin and finally just shakes his head. “Alright. I’ll put you down for an extension until the time you thought it was due. And at least you don’t have the other one to worry about now, since I’m assuming that means you submitted it this morning.”

Relief flows through Sander in streams, but the banks are prickled. He purses his lips tightly and squeezes his wrist. “Lars, I just fucked up. I don’t have a good excuse, I don't want any pity.”

“No,” Lars immediately protests, pushing away from his desk to stand closer to Sander. “It’s nothing of the sort. No pity, or special treatment. You explained you made a mistake and I’ve no reason not to trust you.” He sighs, shaking his head. “You’re one of the best students here, Sander. I know because I pass that work of yours on the street every day. Even someone that good has to slip up sometimes, hm?”

Sander can only stare at him, feeling his cheeks warm again. He ducks his head, embarrassed at the compliment and the thought of his professor seeing the magnitude of his sappy love on a regular basis.

Lars only chuckles, bumping Sander’s shoulder. “I know I’m teasing, but I mean it. You’ve never even asked me for an extension before. I know you weren’t just slacking off. It feels bad, I know, but it’s not a big deal, kid. Just brush it off and then get it done, alright?”

Sander considers him. Then with a deep breath, he nods and murmurs, “Thank you.”

“Don’t stress.” Lars squeezes his shoulder, then waves him away. “Come find me or email me if you have any questions, okay? Now go on, no need to hang around an old man any longer.”

Sander huffs, but offers him one last nod and grateful smile before making his way out. As soon as he’s passed through the door, he falters in his step and his eyes close, anger towards himself returning with a vengeance. How could he have made such a stupid mistake? How has it taken this long for that to happen?

He presses the heels of his hands to his eyes for a moment, willing the frustration away. It doesn’t work entirely, but he manages a few slow breaths and collects himself enough to leave. He doesn’t think too much about where he’s going, just follows the feeling and lets his feet carry him to his bike, then pedal automatically through the streets.

The garage comes into view, and Sander tucks his bike away before rapping his knuckles against the door, not having to think about the familiar knock beyond muscle memory. His feet are tapping on the ground, and he does his best to shake the nerves out of his skin as he waits.

He’s not in full panic mode yet, not really. The only thoughts he can conjure are more swears and variations of stupid, stupid, stupid. He needs something distracting enough to quiet these rants down, but mindless enough that he can attempt to sort his thoughts out.

This is part of the reason he can’t go to Robbe, no matter how much he wants to. Robbe will be too kind. Too soothing. He’s the only one ever able to fully drown out Sander’s thoughts enough so that he stops being unkind to himself.

He doesn’t want that, at the moment. He thinks he deserves this more.

This being the frustration that leads him to bang the rhythmic code on the door once more when he doesn’t get an answer.

“Woah,” a familiar voice interrupts. “You’re not usually the kind who breaks in by knocking the place down.”

Sander turns slowly on his heel to face Adi. The man (as Sander considers him, because he is actually three years older and holds genuine wisdom on occasion) is staring him down in amusement. Quite literally staring down, as he has a good few inches on Sander, but he often leans back and slouches his shoulders to make up for it. He’s only about as tall as Jens, really, but he’s broader and looks overall bigger and more intimidating.

Robbe might be tiny next to him, and Sander might find it adorable, but Robbe is also completely unfazed because of long-time exposure to Jens.

Which is only mildly disappointing. (Robbe is extra adorable when he’s both dwarfed and flustered.)

“Sorry,” Sander says sheepishly, scratching the back of his head. “I didn’t think that there might not be anyone here. I should’ve texted you first.”

Adi just huffs and moves to open the door, shaking his head fondly. “Yeah, that would’ve been easier on your hands.” His own light-brown hand is slender and quick as he unlocks the door, movements as automatically familiar as Sander’s when he’s drawing.

They don’t speak even as they make it inside. Adi traipses around quietly to turn on lights and check up on everything, weaving between trucks, and Sander moves through to the back of the room to the piece he’s been working on. He throws his bag down and immediately crouches to examine his paint cans, eyes flickering between them and his work as he debates where to pick up again. Adi joins him after a moment, but still hangs back, leaning against the wall behind Sander silently.

Sander thinks this is probably why Adi might actually be his best friend, because he has known Adi even longer than his group from the Academy and Adi understands him just as well as Lucas.

“I fucked up,” Sander says eventually, so quietly he’s unsure if Adi hears him over the spray of the can. He’s ready to repeat himself in the responding silence, but then Adi is standing at his side.

Adi tilts his head. “Not with Robbe.”

“No,” Sander agrees, and finds some relief in it. At least it isn’t Robbe.

“Another friend?”

“School.”

“Oh. Bad?”

Sander lets his hand fall to his side and sighs. Adi is calm and curious but not comforting, nothing more than a steady presence next to him. It allows Sander to reorder his thoughts into something he can actually articulate. “No, it’s not even a problem, really. I just made a mistake and it’s pissing me off.”

“But it’s not a disaster?” Adi tilts his head further.

“Probably not.” When Adi only continues to stand and look, he heaves another sigh. “I mixed up the dates for two assignments and submitted the wrong one today, meaning I missed the actual deadline for the other. But he’s just giving me that time as an extension, because apparently I’m a good student. Can you fucking believe that?”

Adi’s lips finally quirk, his amusement returning at Sander’s incredulous, exasperated exclamation. “No, I can’t, actually. But then again you’re kinda art obsessed, so maybe.”

This time Sander blows out a breath that can’t really be considered a sigh, with the farting noise that accidentally accompanies it. He wipes a hand over his mouth as if it will erase the sound while Adi barks a laugh.

“So you’re just pissed because your brain did you dirty,” Adi summarises.

Sander grimaces, but nods. “And wondering how it’s taken this long for me to fuck up like that.”

“Maybe because you’re not a fuck-up.” Adi raises a brow pointedly, but Sander simply waves him off. The sentiment is kind, but it doesn’t change the fact that he fucked up. Then Adi adds, “And anyone can get their wires crossed like that. You’re not that unique.”

It draws a snort out of Sander against his will. It doesn’t matter that he knows what Adi is really trying to say, hears the reassurance and reminder tucked within the words; the blatant dry tone it comes out in startles him enough to set it off. Adi’s forming grin doesn’t match it and makes it easier for Sander to see through him, but he’ll let him away with it this once.

He knocks his paint can against Adi’s shoulder. “Thanks.” It’s much more clearly genuine than Adi had been, and more than Sander expected himself to give, but he does feel better and he appreciates it. It doesn’t matter that ‘thanks’ is as difficult as ‘sorry’; that just means Adi will know he means it.

Sander is sure of it when Adi simply nods in response, turning to examine Sander’s artwork rather than put pressure on him to figure out his expression. He watches on as Sander gets back to work, and eventually shifts to lean back against the wall. “Things are good with Robbe, then?”

“Yeah, always.” Sander smiles, unbidden, at the simple mention. He doesn’t feel the need to be embarrassed about it, even when Adi huffs.

“It’s your birthday tomorrow,” he notes, and Sander pauses. “Any special plans?”

Sander stays still for a moment, and then shrugs, putting his arm into motion again. He hasn’t thought about it. He might have been avoiding thinking about it. “Unless it’s a surprise. I know I’ll see Robbe, but that’s it. I do that everyday.”

“You not hanging out with all of them? What about Gilles and his gang, and Lucas and whoever?”

Sander’s mouth twitches, but he quickly schools it away. “I’ll see the guys at uni and maybe Lucas if we go to the flat or I pick Robbe up at school.”

He can just see Adi in his peripheral, and catches his thoughtful nod and careful bite of the lip. “Right, right. You ever planning on bringing him here again?”

“Robbe?” Sander asks, just to be a little shit.

“Fuck, no. I love him, I do, but he’s hardly an artist. Nah, Lucas.”

Sander brings Lucas at least twice a month, and Adi knows it. “They’re all busy with school. Final year and all that.”

“Yeah, but he’s applying to the Academy right? So, technically, this is like studying.”

“Do you want to see Lucas again, Adi?” Sander asks, mustering as much mock-astonishment into his tone as he can.

He receives a scoff for his efforts. “You know it’s not like that, you fucking asshole.”

“Good, because you know, he has a boyfriend, Adi.”

“Who happens to be Robbe’s best friend and your kind-of friend, yeah, yeah, I know. I also happen to be straight, dickhead.” He cocks his head at Sander and his lips slip into a smirk. “While you also have a boyfriend, and you’re whipped as hell for him, and yet look who you still came running to to kiss your boo-boos.”

“Oh, fuck off,” Sander says this time, tossing the now-empty spray can at him. Adi dodges with a startled noise followed by his low, booming laughter, and Sander just shakes his head and marvels at his quiet mind.

~^~

previous/next

[itmighthavebeenintentional]

We've Got Tonight - Ch 2

Summary: “It’s not your job to do this, Andy. You make people happy. I was in the diner all of ten minutes, and you knew exactly how to get me to smile. You do normal, real things like garden and sing karaoke. Saving the world is my job, Sam’s job. Sometimes it’s even Cas’s job, but it’s not yours.”

Inspired by Bob Seger’s “We’ve Got Tonight”

Warnings: Major Character Death, More Major Character Deaths (sort of?), higher than show level violence, blood, light smutting, language, demons, apocalypse, inferred suicide, cult activity.

18+ ONLY, MINORS DO NOT PROCEED

Author’s Note: This story is set hazily around season 8. Just squint a little, and it’ll settle in somewhere. I wrote this story after certain big revelations in the show, but before other big ones; you’ll most likely be able to tell which. I play with time a bit in the story itself, so if things seem out of order, they are. Hopefully, by the end, all the pieces will fit together.

What the hell, let’s give it a shot.

Image and major edits by the incomparable @there-must-be-a-lock . Heavy editing and cheering by @thoughtslikeaminefield . Thank you both so much.

This is the longest chapter, but it's worth it, I promise.

Word Count: Ch 2 - 2952

In case you missed it: Chapter 1 ItMightHaveBeenintentional’s Masterlist

...

We've Got Tonight

Chapter 2

Clutching the strap of her backpack in a death grip, Andy silently crosses the landing. She places her foot on the top stair just as Dean rounds the corner from the hallway below her, both hands fisted in his hair. Even from this distance she can read the lines of tension in his shoulders. Her stomach twists, nausea and joy warring at the sight of him, and she can’t decide if she should turn and sprint for the door or throw herself at him and admit absolutely every foolish thing she’s done.

No. No, not foolish. She’s saving the world. That’s only a little stupid. She’s saving Cas and Sam. That’s good. She’s saving Dean.

That’s non-negotiable.

Then her weight settles on her foot, and the goddamned step creaks. Dean’s eyes snap to hers. For one hopeful moment, relief and genuine happiness flood his expression, and he smiles. The unclouded light shining from his face scraps any thoughts she has of bolting, and Andy makes it halfway down the steps before she’s engulfed in his arms.

He embraces her fiercely, and Andy allows herself a couple of seconds of peace and comfort, of the sense that she’s somehow home even though she’s only known him for a few weeks. Then the overwhelming realization of everything she’s signed away comes crashing down, closing her throat, choking off her air, and suddenly even the heat and safety radiating from Dean into her very bones isn't enough to ward off the chill of dread.

But she’s doing this to save him, to save Sam, to save...everyone. So, really, she’s not losing anything. If you save something, it’s not lost, so, really, she’s not losing anything.

Right?

Then her face is trapped between his hands, his face inches away, his eyes boring into hers with that burning intensity. The lies evaporate on her tongue, and she wracks her brain. What was she supposed to tell him? She has to say it before he starts questioning her, or she’ll blurt out every single thing she swore she wouldn’t.

“Are you okay? Where the hell were you? Was it those anti-Jesus freaks? How did you get away?”

What? Oh, yeah. The cultists. The whole reason she has a lovely new scar on her left arm and she met the Winchesters in the first place. The source of all their current troubles. Well, the main source, aside from her blood. Yeah, that would have been a good cover story, too.

Shit.

“Andy?”

“I’m fine, Dean,” she manages, thankful at how little her voice shakes. She puts forth the effort of the ages and extricates herself from his grip, an act she recognizes as necessary while regretting it all the same. “I’m sorry I scared you. I had a lead, and I had to leave right away. They were really twitchy when I first contacted them, and I thought they might take off if I waited too long or tried to take anyone else, and by the time I realized I’d lost my phone it was too late to come back.”

Anger and disbelief seep into his expression, tainting the relief that animated him only moments before. “Okay, first of all, we’re going to have a long, detailed talk about taking off on your own for any reason without backup, much less chasing your own leads, because no. Just no. Second, what the hell? Did all phones between here and wherever the hell you went just vanish?”

“You programmed your numbers into my cell, but I never memorized them. I didn’t have any way to contact you once I got there, and-”

“And you couldn’t leave a damn note?!”

Deep breath. Keep steady.

“Look, I’m really wrecked, Dean, it was a long drive, and it ended up a bust. The guy never showed. I’m dying for a shower and some food. You can interrogate me all you want, but can we not do it right here, right now?”

She pushes past him, brushing him off in a way she’s never done before, but if he keeps gazing into her soul with those jade laser beams of his, she’s going to lose every ounce of self-control. Her fingers tremble with strain, and she clutches her bag tighter, determined to hold herself together for his sake.

She only gets a couple of seconds of reprieve, though, just barely making it off the staircase. He catches up with her as she passes the map table, aiming for escape through the library, and he snatches her elbow. His grip is harsh as he pulls her around to face him, and her fingers fumble at the fierce heat behind his eyes. Her backpack drops, spilling its contents on the floor.

Her stomach bottoms out. She immediately tries to crouch down, to stuff her papers and books back in before Dean can see them, but his grip tightens on her arm, and he forces her back up to meet his eyes.

“You don’t get to disappear for two and a half days and then just-”

“Andy!”

Oh, thank god for Sam.

Andy takes advantage of Dean’s surprise to pull out of his grasp, but before she can bend down, she’s engulfed in a second, longer set of arms that feels almost as much like home as his brother’s.

God, what has she done? She really is going to lose everything. But this has to be worth it. Saving them is worth it, she knows it is. It’s going to be okay.

“Andy, are you okay? Where were you?” Sam is still in his concerned phase, and she’d like to make her exit to gather her thoughts before he hits Dean’s level of suspiciously pissed. She knows of no force in Heaven or Hell that can withstand the combined onslaught of Dean’s anger and Sam’s lectures.

“She says she found a lead,” Dean cuts in before she can try to explain herself. He’s definitely on the outer edges of pissed, and that’s fine. She can handle pissed, she just has to figure out what to do before he reaches volcanic levels of anger.

She drops down before anyone else can stop her and starts shoveling handfuls of papers in her bag. She needs to get them out of sight. She should have burned them, why didn’t she burn them, god if Sam sees some of it, he’ll know what she did without her having said a word to him, and -

“Andy, what the hell is this?”

Dean’s voice has dropped to a low, measured growl, and her eyes slide shut in dismay.

Don’t admit to anything, you don’t know what he found, just -

“You said you lost your phone, and now it falls out of your damned bag? You’re lying to me? Why-”

“Maybe because of this,” Sam cuts in, and she hears a rustle of papers from her other side, and she swears that it’s the loudest sound she’s heard in her entire life. It doesn’t matter which of her papers or which book Sam is showing his brother. They are all equally damning, and she really should have known better than to think she could get away with this plan.

“I had to do something. We were running out of time, so I made a decision while I still could.”

She’s impressed and surprised at the steadiness in her voice, the actual conviction. She is equally surprised to find herself standing when she opens her eyes, looking down at two of the most important people in the world, one of whom is regarding her with dismayed shock, and the other…

Her stomach wars with her brain; rational thought says the logical response to someone glaring at her with as much venom as Dean is packing is to run. Her stomach, on the other hand, is fully in favor of ejecting all contents in sheer terror. Somehow, she manages to shove down both impulses and stand her ground.

There’s a long moment where it seems like the whole bunker, the whole world, holds its breath, waiting for something to snap the tension. To Andy’s astonishment, Sam breaks in before Dean’s temper can explode.

“Tell me you didn’t. After everything we’ve told you, everything you know about us and our history, you called a crossroads demon? Where did you even find the summoning spell?”

She turns incredulous eyes on the younger Winchester. “Sam. I...really, Sam? When I asked to help, you put me on research. I didn't know where to look, and you gave me a stack of books, most of which had some variation of that or a similar spell in it. You gave me access to one of the world’s biggest fix-its, and you didn’t think I would do something with that?”

Sam opens his mouth, his face set with stubborn indignity, but he falls silent as Dean stands abruptly. He stalks past Andy, his silence far more worrisome than any shouting or lecturing could ever be. He stops at the bottom of the library steps, gripping the back of his neck like he’d rather have his fingers wrapped around something’s throat, and he stands like that for what feels like forever.

“I made a deal. To save you, Sam, Cas. Everyone. I had to do it.” Andy can’t stop the words that tumble from her trembling lips, and she can only be thankful that she doesn’t have to see Dean’s face as she says them. She should never have tried to lie to him, to them both, but especially not to him. Not after all the lies he’s had to live through.

“I won’t apologize. I found a way out of the end of the world when we had no other options, and I took it.”

Dean stands stiffly, unmoving as she confesses to his back. Sam wisely keeps his mouth shut, kneeling on the floor to look through Andy’s papers, avoiding looking at either of them. The gravid silence that hangs over the room is broken only by the thudding of her heart and the crinkle of pages as Sam rifles through her backpack’s spilled contents.

“Explain. Now.” Dean’s words are quiet and caustic, their bitterness cutting Andy straight to the heart.

This isn’t what she wanted, but their time is too short to try to work everything out. There will be nothing like a fairy tale ending for them, so she forces herself to say what she can. There are still some details she doesn’t want to tell him; if he knew everything, he could keep her here, keep her from going back to finish the deal, and she absolutely cannot let that happen.

“I did what you and Sam do every day. I did my research, I made a plan, and I faced the monsters. I made a choice, Dean.” She only just keeps the notes of desperation from creeping into her voice, though it’s a near thing.

He moves as she speaks, turning back to the table, his face inscrutable as he leans down to grip the back of one of the chairs. He holds onto it as if it’s the only thing keeping him together, and she feels a ridiculous stab of sympathy for the piece of furniture that’s bound to come to a bad end.

“And you think sneaking around, lying to all of us, and making a deal with a crossroads demon is going to magically fix everything?”

He’s too calm, too quiet. The chair creaks ominously under his fingers, and Andy takes a hasty step back. Sam rises, his forehead wrinkled with concern as he takes a step towards the table.

“Andy, just tell us the details,” Sam interjects, his tone low and placating, like he’s trying to calm a cornered animal. “We can figure out a way to get you out of the deal. What did the demon you met with look like? Did they tell you their name? How much time do you have?”

“God DAMN IT!”

Dean slings the chair to the side, and it skates over the floor, shredding through her papers before slamming into a support pillar with a deafening metallic clang and careening across the room. Sam steps up protectively next to her, his hands half-raised like he can’t decide if he should try to talk his brother down or block more pieces of flying furniture.

“Why, Andy? Why didn’t you just wait for Sam or Cas to find something? We were looking!”

“There was no time left, Dean!” She knows there aren’t enough words in any language to explain her decision in a way that will satisfy him. It doesn’t matter to him that she’s one of the sources of all their troubles right now, or that she is an adult who was perfectly capable of making decisions about her life long before the Wonderful Winchesters and their guardian angel rode into town.

“We had days left, at best! I don’t want this anymore than you did, but it was my blood that started this whole disaster, my blood the cult needs to finish everything, literally everything! It’s my blood that’s the solution to this whole shitshow, and that means it’s my mess to clean up. I learned that much from you and Sam, at least! You clean up the messes you make, whether you meant to make them or not. You, of all people, could at least try to understand!”

“Understand what?! That you think selling your soul will actually fix anything?”

Dean closes the distance between them, his fingers digging hard into her shoulders, knocking Sam to the side as he disregards all concepts of personal space.

“Selling your soul never solves a damned thing! And don’t you think for one second I’m gonna let you go through with this deal.”

“I’ve already gone through with it, I signed the contract. You can’t stop it, and you can’t change it. He said you’d try, and-”

“Wait a minute, ‘he’?” Sam cuts in, and Dean’s face flushes a deeper shade of crimson.

“You didn’t. Tell me you didn’t make a deal with that son of a bitch Crowley.”

Fuck.

“I made a call,” Andy finally answers. “I was either going to hell and taking the rest of the world with me, or I was going by myself and keeping the rest of you safe.”

“You had no right-”

“To make decisions about my life? The hell I don’t, it’s my life, Dean! Who gave you the right-”

“We were supposed to be in it together, you and me! It’s not just your life, and you damned well know it!”

The three of them stand frozen, the words echoing faintly through the enormous room. Sam gaping at the two of them, Dean grips Andy like he thinks she’s about to bolt, and Andy tries desperately to remember why she’s not simply throwing herself into Dean’s arms.

Castiel, with his impeccable timing, chooses this moment to enter the bunker. The creaking door catches their attention, and all eyes turn to Cas, who stands on the landing, surveying the tableau of chaos beneath him. His eyebrows lower, his consternation clear.

“Andrea?” Cas’s voice is confused but gentle as he cautiously descends the stairs. She knows from the stories Sam and Dean have told her that her friend has a fearsome warrior side that makes even the worst demons think twice before approaching, but she’s never seen a hint of that part of him.

She’s seen this man soberly examining a bowl of Cheetos, questioning their attractiveness to large, feline predators; she has a difficult time picturing him facing down the worst monsters the universe has to offer, and yet, according to Sam and Dean, he does so without hesitation on a regular basis.

Which is why his cautious approach should really worry her.

“Dean, is it really necessary to hold on to Andrea quite that hard? You’re bound to leave bruises, and she doesn’t seem to be attempting to leave.”

Dean releases Andy abruptly. His face is dark and lined with the effort of repressing his rage, and he storms past the bewildered angel. He stops at the bottom of the stairs, hand on the banister, legs flexing and trembling as if he has to force himself to stop even that long. Sam takes a step towards him, but Cas holds out a restraining hand, and for once, Sam complies, though he looks seconds away from protesting.

“You should’ve waited, Andy. You should’ve talked to me, given me a chance to find something, anything but this. I can’t...I’m done. I’m fucking done.”

He climbs the stairs three furious steps at a time and is out the door before anyone can think of how to stop him, leaving Andy lost in the remnants of his anger and her shoulders aching more from the loss of his grip than the roughness of it. Her throat is burning, her jaw aching with strain, but her eyes are dry.

There was no other way, there just wasn’t. I did the right thing, and damn Dean to Hell if he thinks I’m going to cry for that.

“Andrea?”

Cas reaches out and steadies Andy, his grasp gentle and comforting in stark contrast to Dean’s furious hold. He considers her for a long moment before finally speaking.

“Our lack of information regarding your whereabouts was quite troubling, and we assumed the worst.”

“Maybe not the absolute worst,” Sam sighs, leaning wearily against the table. He scrubs his hands over several days’ worth of stubble before rubbing his eyes. When he speaks again, he can’t even meet her eyes, and an acidic splinter of shame twists in her stomach.

“You really should have waited, Andy.” ...

Chapter 3

[ashintheairlikesnow]

4: numb, for Kauri?

(going through some old prompts just... collecting cobwebs in my inbox)

CW: Drunk whumpee, trauma references, trauma memories, past abduction, past noncon, past abuse, very brief emeto reference, nausea reference, BRIEF pet whump reference, this is Kauri at his most fucked-up but it ends nicely I promise, content warning for some serious fucking yearning

The walk back in the dark is a little... wobblier than usual, but Kauri doesn’t care. He stepped off the bus and stumbled when his ankle turned as he hit the sidewalk, rolling forward and finding himself in a bush, a bit of landscaping carefully kept up by some guy who drives a truck around cleaning up the bus stops.

Kauri giggles, then pushes his hands over his mouth to quiet himself, fails, giggles some more. His hair gets caught in a little bit of branch and he winces as he yanks it free and loses a curl.

The bush gets to keep that one. Maybe the guy who trims the bushes will find it tomorrow and fall madly in love with him, like Cinderella’s glass slipper. Kauri starts laughing at the idea of the guy in his big neon orange-and-yellow reflective vest and his stupid button-up shirt with the city seal embroidered on it holding up a curl of black hair to this person or that, looking for its match.

“Hey, man,” A woman says, crouching in front of him. She’s older than he is, maybe by ten years, maybe less. Kauri can’t tell and she’s lit only by the harsh pale streetlight, adding definition to beginning wrinkles around her mouth. Or he’s making that up. Her face is kind of blurred anyway, spinning a little like everything else. She’s wearing hospital scrubs under a coat, her hair pulled into a no-nonsense bun at the nape of her neck. She reminds him of Nat’s neighbor lady, only a bunch younger. “You gonna make it home?”

Home. What the fuck is a home? Home is where they lock the doors, home is where you get the shit kicked out of you for trying to leave. Home is where he holds you down on the bed until you cry because it hurts, and it’s always going to hurt unless you want me, Kor-Bore, you know that-

Kauri’s giggles hiccup into something like a sob.

The bus is still idling along the curb next to the stop, and the bus driver knows Kauri - sees him two or three times a week in variations on drunk or high or scared or elated. She leans down and calls out, “You gonna be okay, Kauri?”

Maybe one day he won’t. Maybe one day someone will murder him in a dark alley instead of hooking up or shove him into the trunk of a car or-

into a white van with no windows and the needle’s in his skin and his sister is screaming and there’s a hand over his mouth wearing black leather gloves and a man smiles at him and there are other men and zipties on his wrists and they tell him sucks to be you, gorgeous, but you couldn’t hide a face like that and then his head drops as whatever they gave him hits and Liam’s head drops onto the plastic mat that lines the van’s floor, his eyes close, and he’s gone-

Kauri lays there staring up at the spinning stars with his had pounding at the memory, but not enough to make it stop. When he’s really drunk, sometimes he can roll with the pain, let it wash through him and change nothing, mean nothing, do nothing at all.

He feels the way the earth rotates around the sun, every motion of the giant planet but it’s not big - it’s tiny, really, the Earth and all its purple mountains majesty, and Kauri is tinier, and whatever life lives in his head, somewhere underneath the layers of pain and fear, never mattered at all.

“‘m fine,” He slurs, trying to focus on one single star. Just one.

Please, just one star. 

“No, you’re not,” The woman says with a soft sigh. She glances back at the bus driver. “I’ll figure something out, Virginia,” She says, and waves one hand. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“G’night, Sadie,” The bus driver calls out over the low rumble of the big engines, then adds, “Get home safe, Kauri.”

Kauri closes his eyes. Why does everyone always want there to be a home?

“Where’m I taking you, then, Mr. Whiskey Breath?”

“T-Tequila,” Kauri corrects her, then gives a pale shadow of his effortless, airy smile. She takes him by the arm and pulls him to his feet and he overcorrects as he stumbles again, smacking into her side. She stays standing, if only just, and holds him more firmly. “’S... tequila. Good, good stuff, too, good...” His head drops against her shoulder, and he giggles again.

“Oh, honey,” She murmurs. They stand for a second while she thinks this through, and Kauri sees himself through her eyes - gorgeous and hammered, barely able to stand on his own, a piece of shit who can’t take care of himself or won’t or chooses not to, anyway. 

He tries to feel something, like maybe shame, but nothing happens.

He’s too numb for that.

“D’you have a phone?” Sadie asks after a pause. 

“Mmmmnyes,” Kauri responds, suddenly aware he hasn’t lifted his head off her shoulder yet. “I do have a phone. ‘s a very nice phone, too.”

“No doubt. Is there anyone we can call for you? I don’t-... I don’t think you’ll make it far on your own, um, Kauri? Did you say your name is Kauri?”

Kauri tilts his head back to look at her, and the world suddenly crashes hard to one side. His knees buckle and she quickly throws an arm around his waist to keep him up. He starts giggling again, shaking his head, mumbling what he hopes are apologies until he manages to locate his cell phone and pull it out of his back pocket. “M’name’s whatever you want it to be,” He says with his most charming, beautiful smile.

Sadie quirks an eyebrow as Kauri struggles to unlock his phone, then takes it once he manages, tapping over to his contacts list and scrolling. “Who do I call?” She asks, looking at the photos Kauri uses to identify everyone instead of names. “Who can I call to come get you?”

A wash of sadness so strong it feels like being hit by a wave made from bricks hits him and tears prick at his eyes, burning hot behind his eyelids. He feels a sudden wild urge to say Owen Grant, call Owen Grant, just take me back where I belong, this is too hard and I don’t want to do it anymore, being a person is just too hard but fights it off and instead, shaky and uncertain, he offers, “Th’ photo of th’ guy in th’ blue, blue shirt. That’s... thassss... Jake.”

“And he’ll come get you?” Sadie’s thumb hovers over the image, a picture Jake took of himself and sent to Kauri once, smiling over his iced coffee studying at school. “This guy will come get you, this Jake?”

Kauri whispers, “I hope so.”

Sadie looks at him, tilting her head. “Did you guys have a fight or something? Is that why you’re out here like blackout drunk?”

“No,” Kauri mumbles. “Fight... I fight with m’self.”

Sadie gives a soft sigh and a nod. “Well, I’ve been there done that. Okay.” She taps the photo of Jake, gives a low whistle and mumbles a soft damn, that guy’s hot, I see why you’re out here being schmoopy about him, and before Kauri can correct her that it doesn’t work that way, she’s got the phone up to her ear and Kauri can hear it softly ringing.

Jake must pick up because the ringing stops and Sadie says, “No, this isn’t-... I’m Sadie Williams, I’m on his phone. We’re at the bus stop on Penntuck Drive, do you know where-... oh, okay. Yeah, I live a couple blocks from here and this, uh, Kauri is way too drunk to go anywhere.”

“Am not,” Kauri protests, and his stomach suddenly flips and he swallows, eyes slightly widening. Oh no.

Sadie sighs and says wryly, “Trust me. Too drunk to get home on his own. Can you-... oh, okay. Cool. We’ll be here.” She hangs up the phone. “Okay, your buddy’s coming to get you. Let’s just sit on the bench in the bus stop, all right?”

Kauri nods, not trusting himself to speak, and lets Sadie maneuver him, fighting ripples of nausea that follow every movement, to sit down on the cold metal bench inside the shelter at the bus stop. As soon as she lets go, Kauri flops onto his side on the bench, letting the metal chill the sudden heat he feels, the sweat breaking out all over his body. 

“There we go. Just stay here for a while.” Sadie pats him on the shoulder and he wishes she would pet his head, suddenly, tell him he’s a good boy, good pet, and he turns his face to the bench to hide the tears that finally escape and drip down to pool there. Sadie stands and leans against the side of the shelter, scrolling through her own phone. Kauri twists to look at her and, after his dazed vision stops spinning and settles enough to focus, he thinks... she’s tired.

She’s tired, because it’s two o’clock in the fucking morning, and she probably just got off of work and rode the bus home in her scrubs still under her coat, and watched a drunk boy fall laughing into a bush, and decided to stay with him and make sure he didn’t get found there in the morning by a cop or the bus driver who does the early morning shift, Andrew something, and... 

“‘m okay,” Kauri says, and she doesn’t look up, but one eyebrow slowly quirks upward. “You could... go home. He’s comin’. I’m okay.”

“Oh, you are the exact opposite of that,” She says without looking at him. “Whatever’s got you fucking yourself up, I’m not gonna be the one who walks away from you. I’ve seen too many people like you wind up in the ER.” 

Is it his imagination, or do her eyes briefly drop to the thick leather bracelet Kauri always wears around his left wrist to cover up his barcode?

“You don’t know me,” He protests.

“I know enough,” She says, flatly, and he stops trying to argue. He knows that voice - Nat uses that voice when she’s getting you to do things, a voice that brooks no appeal. Kauri calls it her mom-voice, even though she doesn’t have kids and never will. It makes him think of TV moms, and maybe of his own, who must have existed, and is maybe still missing her dead son, whoever the fuck he was.

Kauri winces at the headache that pings around his skull and curls up on the bench on his left side. There’s silence, for a while, and then the sound of a car engine coming closer, the bright flash of headlights against Kauri’s closed eyes.

Jake’s new beat-up four-door - well, new to him, but it’s a Subaru that has seen better decades, not just better days - pulls up alongside the curb, idling as he opens the door and unfolds himself. Sadie, Kauri sees from the bench, tenses slightly at the sight of him, and Kauri wonders if she’s got her phone ready to dial for help.

He wouldn’t blame her - if you don’t know Jake and just see all that height and muscle alone with you in the middle of the night, you could see the threat, in that. If you didn’t know that Jake’s the guy who beats up your attacker, not the attacker himself.

Jake seems well aware of her tension and puts up both hands. “I’m Jake. You’re Sadie? You called for Kauri?”

Some of Sadie’s tension dissipates. “That’s me. Mind if I get a little distance while you pick him up?”

“Yeah, no problem. Go ahead.” Jake waits for Sadie to step away, and Kauri watches her hand move to her purse. He never thinks about stuff like that - she probably has pepper spray or a gun in there, and here is Kauri blackout drunk half-passed out on a bus bench, here is Kauri who passes out on park benches and underneath that big black box that doesn’t do anything over by downtown, Kauri who sleeps in alleys and grassy lawns and anywhere he thinks he’ll get a couple hours, here and there.

She’s careful - and Kauri is lucky.

“So fuckin’ lucky,” Kauri mumbles, then coughs out a bitter laugh, and Jake sighs as he moves over to him, sliding big arms gently between Kauri’s body and the bench. The world spins again as Jake picks him up and Kauri’s arms go around his neck, suddenly terrified he’ll fall and not hit the ground but fall up, up and up and up, and end up somewhere high above the clouds.

“D-don’t, don’-... let me-”

“I got you, Kaur,” Jake says, and his voice is low and it rumbles against Kauri in his chest and he relaxes, a little, but his hands tighten behind Jake’s neck. “Thanks for waiting with him,” He says to Sadie, moving Kauri to the passenger side of the car and leaning over to help him slide him in. Kauri flops to one side, eyes sliding closed.

“No problem. I’m going to head home. Take care of him.”

Jake gives a huff of laughter as he closes the door for Kauri. “I always do,” Kauri hears him say, a little muffled. There’s a pause and then Jake sits back down in the driver’s seat, leaning across to buckle Kauri’s seat belt for him as he half-sits, half-lays limp against the seat. 

“We’re going to get you home and you’re gonna drink some water,” Jake says firmly, slipping a hand behind Kauri’s head to help him reorient himself. Kauri shivers at the simple pleasure of the affectionate touch, eyes sliding closed, and turns his head, just barely pressing a kiss to Jake’s wrist.

Jake doesn’t pull away - Kauri will lose his balance if he does - but he goes still. “Hey. No, Kauri. The answer is still no.”

Kauri sniffs, nuzzles at his arm, and then pulls away, turning away from Jake to clumsily curl up against the car’s door, as far as he can get. “I know. But-... I just-...”

“I know. But we can’t, ever, not like this.”

Kauri tries to feel something other than the spin of the earth, his stomach flipping at the motion of the car as Jake slowly pulls his hand back and drives down the dark street, every house silent, everywhere around them still and quiet.

Jake’s speakers play music, softly, a man’s voice singing, well, let that lonely feeling wash away - maybe there's a reason to believe you'll be okay over the press of piano keys and hint of strings. 

"What is this?” Kauri asks, tries to point, fails.

“Um, Chris’s shit,” Jake says, but he doesn’t change the song. “I drove him to get some hair dye today, he must have put his playlist on. Musical shit.”

And oh, someone will come running and I know they’ll take you home

“When can it?” Kauri asks, softly. “When can it happen?”

“What?”

“Us. When can us happen, Jake?”

Even when the dark comes crashing through, when you need a friend to carry you and when you're broken on the ground, you will be found

“I hate this song,” Kauri mutters.

Jake doesn’t look at him as he signals a turn - Kauri fights a laugh at the sight of Jake, totally and utterly alone on the road in the earliest hours of the morning, fucking putting on his turn signal a careful distance back from the intersection - and takes a right.

“Jake-... I want you,” Kauri says, the last vestiges of tequila pressing the words onto his tongue, rolling them off and out into the soft air between them. “When can I stop wanting and-”

“Kauri.” Jake’s voice goes softer, not harder. It’s not chiding him, it’s not angry, but laced with something very different. 

He wants me, too, I know he does, I know it.

“Jake, I-”

“It can’t ever happen,” Jake says in that same soft voice, lost in something that some dim part of Kauri recognizes as an echo of his own feelings, “until it’s not like this.”

Jake reaches down to grab his phone, hits a button, and the song changes. Kauri fights back a laugh when he realizes it’s just a different song from the same fucking musical.

“Fucking Chris,” Kauri says, trapped between laughter and tears. 

Jake’s hand moves to rest on the console between the seats, and after a second, Kauri’s hand remembers how to listen to his brain and he lays his cold, thin, long fingers over Jake’s larger, warmer ones.

Jake doesn’t pull away from him.

By the time they get back to Nat’s house, their fingers have wrapped around each other, and Kauri feels a little warmer than he felt before. 

When you’re falling in a forest and there’s nobody around, all you want is for somebody to find you

“Next time, can it be your music playing?” Kauri asks, voice a little huskier and rougher than he means it to be. All the numbness that came with the drinking is gone, and Kauri hurts, inside himself, in a way he’s almost grateful for.

When you’re falling in a forest and when you hit the ground, all you need is for somebody to find you

“Uh, um, yeah,” Jake manages, and his voice is rough, too.

No one deserves to be forgotten, no one deserves to fade away

“I can get better, Jake,” Kauri says, voice low. “I can. But I’m never-... I’m never gonna be whoever was me before.”

No one deserves to disappear

“I know,” Jake says. “That isn’t who I care about, anyway, Kaur... I care about you.”

No one deserves to disappear

They sit in the driveway until the song ends. And through the next song, and the next. The streetlights shine down and the dark is otherwise total and the world slowly steadies in its constant spin around the sun. Kauri lets his head slowly lean back against the headrest.

“I’m-... so fucking lucky you found me,” Kauri whispers. Jake’s fingers twitch in his, and his eyes are locked on Nat’s front door, up on the porch. 

“No,” Jake says, softly. “We’re-... I’m lucky you found us.”

Neither of them wants to be the first to let go of the other one’s hand.

---

@maybeawhumpblog, @pepperonyscience, @haro-whumps, @18-toe-beans, @burtlederp, @finder-of-rings, @giggly-evil-puppy, @whimpers-and-whumpers, @moose-teeth, @whump-it, @lumpofwhump, @pumpkinthefangirl, @slaintetowhump, @astrobly @whumpiary @whump-tr0pes  @raigash @cubeswhump

[thatonegirljessy99]

Loving Myself and You (pt.1)

Work Count: 1,600+

Warnings: none

Summery: Tsukishima and Y/N have been something for a little while how. What were they exactly, definitely more then friends, but not even close to being together. You finally have had it with whatever this is and decide it is time to move on and put yourself first. So with Tsukishima out of the way, how will you progress with the friendships you never really got to form?

A/N: It is 4 in the bloody morning, and yes this is exactly when I got the idea to start a series. Have mercy on me cause I haven't written in a hot minute and I should definitely be asleep by now 😅

*********************************************

“You guys have been doing great in the tournament!”

“Yeah, the team is actually doing really good for once! Hinata looks like he never seems to run out of energy!”

There were a few laughs and giggles coming from around the corner. It has been happening for the team from time to time now. Other students were starting to realize that the Crows were starting to fly once more. The volleyball club was no longer just some random sports club at Karasuno and it was amazing!

Kinda.

You laughed a little thinking it could be Daichi getting noticed by the underclass girls again. Last time it caught him off guard as he was coming back from the restroom when a group of girls came up to him in aw.

“Yeah, I’m glad he is on our team because it would be a pain to try and block him,” you heard a voice laugh making your stomach drop.

All you could do was keep your head down as you walked by Tsukishima, not wanting to make eye contact. It isn’t like you could do anything even if you were jealous. What you two had was a secret, unknown to the world or anyone at the school. These days you also didn’t know exactly what you and Tsukishima had to begin with.

You were so caught up in your own thoughts that you didn’t even hear when the group dispersed, only snapping out of your thoughts when you felt someone pull you into an empty classroom causing you to sigh as you fixed your blazer. You didn’t have to look at Tsukishima to know it was him.

“Can I help you, Tsukishima?” you said glancing up at him before turning to face him.

“You haven’t talked to me recently. I tried talking to you when we came back from out last game-”

“At training camp, I know. I’ve been busy. School and stuff,” you rolled your eyes a little before looking up at the tall blonde,"I see that you've been busy too. I shouldn't keep Karasuno's great blocker for too long."

"Y/N, come on. You really believe I care for any of the fan stuff," Tsukishima smirked moving closer to hold you hand but you took a step back while crossing your arms.

"It doesn't matter what I think. I don't have time for this right now. I have to get to class and finish my work if I want to make it to dance on time after school. My recital went fine by the way," you huffed before opening the door to the class room and walking out as if nothing had happened.

 In all truth, it really annoyed you the fact that he hadn't even bothered to text you good luck while away at the training camp. Volleyball was everything to him even when he said he didn't care for the game. And it was nice to see him actually getting into it finally but it was a bitter feeling since you were the only one getting excited about things.

He's such an idiot… all he's good at is blocking. Volleyballs, people….

You couldn't stop thinking about how Tsukishima seemed to be getting more attention. Not as much as the upper class men but enough to light a fire in your soul. There is really no way of knowing how you were even able to get anything done at school as you avoided Tsukishima for the rest of the day until it was time for you to go to dance. You went quickly into the girls bathroom to change into your leotard, putting on your gym sweatpants and a hoodie on top before starting your jog three blocks down the street.

Once you were practicing however, all you could focus on was the music. Even though you had just finished your recitals, your school was holding their next show in two months. Your role, Princess Aurora in Sleeping Beauty. You had already been practicing your part for a little over a month so the moves came easily to you, your movements flowing swiftly as you practiced Aurora's Act I variation. It was a relief to be able to just rely on things that were set in stone, your feet moving on there own at this point from the hours you spent practicing.

"Don't have your arms so tensed Y/N, remember to keep them light throughout the performance," your teacher called out to you midway though your practice, only earning a smile from you as acknowledgement.

"Watch that transition into the chaînés!"

Miss Nakamura, one of the best ballet instructors you could find in Miyagi. She had known you since you were 3 and your mom put you into ballet. Her love for dance led her to stay single for her whole life, saying she never needed a partner to feel happy when she had her children to teach everyday. She truly looked out for her students and thought of each of them as her own kid from how long they were under her care. She was now in her mid sixties, still with all the energy of a thirty something. Her hair having turned white in her late forties, she wore it down with a beautiful gold hair clip holding it back during class.

"You have improved a lot since we last practiced this in class. I'm glad to see all of you have been practicing the Sleeping Beauty pieces even with your recitals keeping you busy. I want to see the fairy variations next and I want you all to be going over act one while I focus on this group. As per usual, the studio across the hall is open and I expect all of you to practice. Tomorrow we start working on act I."

*****

After practice all you could feel was sore, the warm night only making you wish you could rest in the grass before making it home. But as you got closer to your home you saw a familiar shadow standing under the streetlight waiting for you. The closer you got the clearer Tsukishima's features got. He looked irritated, probably due to the fact you had shut off your phone for most of the day to avoid contact.

"Y/N."

"Tsukishima."

"We need to talk," he spoke in a cool tone, letting you know that no wasn't an answer right now.

"Tsukishima, I am tired. I just got out of a four hour practice and just want to get home, take a hot shower, and eat some soba my mom made," you sighed adjusting your dance bag while keeping eye contact with the tall man child," plus I have nothing to talk to you about."

"Really? Cause I think you do. What was this morning about in the hall?" He questioned starting to let his temper show in his voice as he adjusted his glasses.

"What is literally anything about?!" You snapped at him," you say you care for me and are sweet to me when it is just the two of us but literally the second a bird flies into our immediate area you turn into all this!"

As you gestured at him you dropped your dance and school bag before taking a step closer to him, your high difference meaning nothing to you since your attitude made up for it. You had been holding back since this thing started a few months back but now your damn was finally breaking.

"I talk to another guy and they get daggers glared at them. Some girls compliment you and it goes straight into your ego! I can't even hang out with any of YOUR teammates because you don't want them to know about us! But, I mean, is there even an us?! What are we?! You kiss me goodnight and then you act like I don't exist in school or anywhere that isnt under this stupid light post!"

What happened next only put the final nail in the coffin as you watched Tsukishima scoff and smirk at your remarks as if they were a child's complaint. He leaned down to get to eye level with you before speaking, watching as your eyes never left his for a second.

"You knew I didn't do commitments since we were kids. You and I were never anything serious. You wanted affection and I provided it while getting some myself," he explained in the most matter of fact tone ever, almost as if he expected you to simply accept that answer and just continue with things as they were," my studies and myself are my first priority. And if I glare at some guys trying to talk to you it's because I know they aren't convenient for you."

"Yeah, well guess what. You don't get to decide what is convenient for me. And from now on I will make myself my priority as well as my happiness," your voice seethed with anger, catching Tsukishima off guard as you had never talked like this to him before.

Normally you two would fight, you would give in and apologize, and then Tsukishima would buy you food to make you happy. This however, was not how this conversation seemed to be going. You ran your fingers through your hair before smirking and picking up your bags without looking at him.

"This, whatever it is, is over. Interfere with my life and you will regret it Kei. I don't need your affection, and I don't need you. From here on out, I will talk to whomever I want, regardless of what you want," you spoke in a confident voice as you stood up straight before walking past him, only stopping for a second before walking by him,"let's see if this shows you how your priorities are what make you so miserable in life."

***************************

Part 2

A/N: Oh look at that, a part 2! Maybe you should click on it.... just maybe...

[breakfast-cereal]

Stupid For You (3) -Johnlock

← ←← MAIN MASTERLIST

←← PART ONE

← PART TWO

!¡Trigger Warning¡! DO NOT IGNORE!: mentions to drugs and addiction, alcohol use, vomiting, hints to declining/poor mental health.

John felt guilty as he stared into the ceiling. He always felt guilty lately. He wanted comfort. He wanted Sherlock again. Sherlock made him feel comfortable, most of the time.

Sherlock came into their bedroom and laid down next to John. John had that guilty feeling nagging in his stomach. He wanted normal. He wanted this all to go away.

"Rosie is asleep," Sherlock mumbled.

John turned to stare at the wall. It had the ugliest wallpaper that John had wanted to change for ages. Looking at the wallpaper almost made him forget until he felt Sherlock's arm over him, and then Sherlock's body. Was Sherlock cuddling him?

"Sherlock," John questioned,

"John." Sherlock sounded incredibly groggy.

"Are you cuddling me?",

"Do you mind?" John felt a heat in his cheeks. He couldn't be blushing. Maybe he was blushing.

"No." Sherlock wrapped his arms tighter around John and pulled him closer. John moved his arm to be over Sherlock's. Their fingers gently brushed together, but neither moved. John loved this moment. It felt right. He wanted this.

John had woken up without Sherlock. He felt cold. John couldn't deny it anymore. Even if he tried the thought would resurface. John loved Sherlock. He wanted to deny it. He wanted to deny it badly because Sherlock would never like him. He knew this would be one-sided, and it hurt, but he couldn't deny it anymore. His feelings existed and he had to accept them. He had to accept all of them.

John exited their bedroom to see Sherlock pulling apart their bookshelf for Jane Eyre while Rosie watched intently.

"What's Sherly doing?" She looked at Sherlock attentively.

"I'm not sure." John came up close to Sherlock and quietly mumbled, "what the fuck are you doing?",

"Jane Eyre. The objects and Jane Eyre. There were clues the objects and there has to be in this. By the way, the password on your computer needs to be stronger. Found it out very easily.",

"You looked on my computer?"  John whispered aggressively.

"It was necessary for the case. I'm sure you'll forgive me." Sherlock was right, John would forgive him. Though at the moment he was incredibly annoyed.

"You went on to my computer without my permission and now you're tearing apart our bookshelf." John wasn't sure where his point was trying to go, but he was just angry. Angry at everything. "Remind me why we have seven copies of Jane Eyre spread across the bookshelf?",

"I've accumulated them. Mostly gag gifts from Mycroft." Sherlock pulled out one copy to shake it and have a paper fall on the floor. He picked it up and ran to his desk, placing it with the other papers.

"What's that?" Rosie asked,

"Important papers for daddy's work," Sherlock responded immediately. John was always shocked by how well Sherlock was becoming with Rosie. Rather than being extremely blunt, Sherlock had worked on dialling it down. John was also shocked that Sherlock considered himself Rosie's dad.

"Why don't you go play in your room for a bit, okay?" John added.

Rosie scurried into her room and John went over to Sherlock. He had felt this strange anger after he realized his interest in Sherlock. He was angry Sherlock didn't realize. He could read people so easily, so why didn't he realize? Why didn't he call John out? Did Sherlock already know and that's why he's always been distant? Does he hate John? John began reaching at possible scenarios without noticing the tears building in his eyes. He didn't cry, but then again, he's been doing things that he never expected to do a lot these past few years.

"It seems that they're another set of coordinates. I'm going to need your laptop to check where they are or just some form of access to google maps." John gritted his teeth together. Sherlock could read people, but it seems he forgot that emotions exist. Sometimes, John felt like he was talking to a brick wall. A brick wall that responds, but can't acknowledge.

"Are you oblivious or just extremely insensitive? Because I feel like it's the latter." John gripped the edges of the table as Sherlock gave him a strange glance.

"I'm not oblivious, though I've been told I'm insensitive," Sherlock responded nonchalantly. He responded in a way that made John feel like steam was coming out of his ears.

"People who tell you that are right. You are insensitive. How do you think I feel when you disappear? Or go off on a bender? There are times I worry if you're going to die! You don't realize how you're actions are going to affect people." Sherlock stared back at John.

"I understand you're angry.",

"That's all? No apology?" John didn't care if he was being rational. He knew he wasn't.

"I'm sorry, John." Sherlock seemed genuine, but at the same time, it seemed so false.

John couldn't take it. He needed a drink, which wasn't the healthiest coping mechanism, but it was the only thing he had unless he let down his pride and started seeing a therapist again. He grabbed his coat, and this time grabbed his wallet as well. John slammed the door, hoping Sherlock would maybe come after him, but he didn't.

John was sitting in a cab. The driver gave him strange looks every once in a while that was beginning to get to John. He felt trapped. He felt stupid as well. Going to a pub at barely eleven. John saw a bookstore approaching in the corner of his eye.

"Stop here,"

The cabbie pulled over to the side and John handed him a twenty.

John walked to the bookstore and noticed it was near the building covered in vines. The building John remembered clinging on to. John would not be doing that again.

A faint ring was heard as he entered the bookstore. It was relatively quaint and packed to the brim with novels. He saw a copy of Jane Eyre leaning off the shelf and thought of Sherlock. He felt guilt while looking at the book. He had treated Sherlock so terribly and left without considering how Sherlock may feel, but then John felt anger again. Sherlock didn't care how John felt, so why should John care how Sherlock felt. John didn't feel the buzzing in his pocket of Sherlock texting him frantically. It was, John? I'm sorry. Respond SH. repeating over again with slight variations every time.

John brushed his fingers over the books, and his mind still went to ones Sherlock would like. There was a book on unsolved criminal cases that John could see Sherlock flipping through. There was another book of violin compositions. John found these books a strange combination, but he didn't question it, assuming this was a second-hand book shop. He couldn't help himself as he pulled both books off the shelf and placed them into his hands. He checked the prices and felt relieved to see they were only a total of £25 together.

The cashier smiled at him, "Interesting combination.",

"For an interesting person," John responded. He felt the anger towards Sherlock lessen. Even if Sherlock did piss him off, he still cared about him.

"Mm, would you like a gift receipt with that?",

"No, thank you." John took the books in his hands, ignoring the extra 15 cents he could have spent on an easier carry.

John placed the books down on the ground and opened the flat. He hoped the books would make for an adequate apology.

"I texted you," Sherlock said as John entered.

"I didn't realize. I got you things." John placed the books on Sherlock's desk.

Sherlock looked at the titles of them and smiled. "Thank you." He muttered.

It seemed so unnatural for Sherlock to thankful for something, but it made John feel giddy.

"I asked Mrs. Hudson to watch Rosie. The coordinates lead to a park in central London." Sherlock grabbed his coat off the coat rack and his hat. The paparazzi had calmed down a little, but Sherlock still insisted on bringing his hat places. "Mrs. Hudson should be here," Sherlock placed his cap on his head, "now."

Mrs. Hudson smiled at them as she walked into the flat. "On a date?",

"No, simply a case." Sherlock grabbed John's coat and threw it at him. John barely caught it.

"Well, have fun boys." Mrs. Hudson called from the flat as they left.

John's hand rested near Sherlock's in the cab. Sherlock moved his hand slightly so it rested on John's. John felt his heart beat out of his chest. Sherlock meant it in a friendly way, but John couldn't stop thinking about what this meant. He felt the butterflies again, and heat on his face.

Sherlock didn't move his hand, nor did John. They sat without admitting the hand holding. They had done it before, but this was different. As the last time they did it they were also in handcuffs. Or maybe it wasn't different and John was just reaching.

John was just as close to Sherlock on a train. Their hands touching again. John leaned on to Sherlock, testing the waters. Sherlock moved his hand to put his arm over John and John felt like he did in the cab. He felt like he had just had his first kiss all over again. John wasn't one for PDA, but he could ignore it for this. This was his one exception.

John knew they wouldn't talk about this once they had gotten to the park. They would never talk about this. It was like the cuddling or that thing that one time. John hoped they didn't talk about this. He'd end up admitting things he wanted to keep secret. He'd spill his feelings like one would with a glass of wine then they're a little too tipsy.

Sherlock looked at down at John and moved on to looking at his lips. It seemed as if Sherlock was studying them. He studied the soft curves, and John thought Sherlock might kiss him right there on the train. Sherlock glanced away though. He looked at the posters and people. Almost like he was trying to ignore John. John slumped down and Sherlock lowered his arm to catch John. John felt strange. Sherlock was being strange, which was odd. Sherlock wasn't usually one to be like this, but there were times when Sherlock would spiral. He would spiral off into a bender, that would cause John to panic because he knew one day it would kill him. He didn't want to have one day where he finds Sherlock dead with a needle in his arm. It terrified him. His terror always turned into anger. He tried to control it, but he wanted to scream at Sherlock when he does things like that. Sometimes he does. Sometimes he'll yell until his voice is hoarse, but it doesn't make him feel any better and it doesn't fix things. This moment on the train made all those bad moments so prominent. Instead of John's brain going to Sherlock doesn't like him, it went to Sherlock deserves better. He didn't want to think about this, especially not like this, but he couldn't stop himself. His brain went into a spiral. It was an uncontrollable waterfall of negative thoughts until the train came to a stop.

The park had lush green grass and multiple playsets. It didn't seem like the place to meet up with someone shady and who knew if they were even there? Rather than questioning Sherlock's motives to come here at this time, he followed him to a secluded area.

There was a man in a black coat standing there with his back facing towards them.

"Brother, dear." Mycroft spun around.

Sherlock had a look of complete confusion on his face.

"I expected you." He approached them, "Now, I'd assume you'd have figured it was me and not wasted your time to come here, but I was wrong. You were always the slow one, so I shouldn't have expected much." ,

"Why are you here?" Sherlock had an angry edge to his voice.

"You seemed quite bored in that little flat of yours, so I set up a fake case.",

"How did you manage to get things in our flat?" John asked,

"Well, for one, giving little gifts is an easy way to infiltrate into your flat, and then I just placed all the clues. By the way John, you should use a stronger password."

"So you placed things in our flat without permission and managed to have us not notice until the woman came?" Sherlock smiled, "Quite genius, I have to say.",

"Genius? Sherlock, he went through my computer!" John glared at Mycroft.

"You have some quite interesting files." John's eyes went wide. "Work is also a quite obvious porn file name, so I'd recommend changing that," Mycroft added. John felt a little calmer knowing Mycroft hadn't found the file on Johnlock articles.

Sherlock laughed and looked down at John. John felt small under Sherlock's stare. Sherlock glanced at John's lips again, and Mycroft coughed.

"I'd rather not see what you do in private, please take the PDA somewhere else.",

"There's nothing going on between us," John responded automatically. Sherlock shook his head in agreement.

"Nothing at all," Sherlock said.

Mycroft smiled at them, "of course."

There was a heavy tension between them as they left the park. John wanted to say something, but all he would say would raise the tension.

They both walked next to each other and John accepted Sherlock not flagging down a cab. There was a heavy silence that said everything.

"Sorry about Mycroft. He can be a little much sometimes.",

"For someone who's supposed to be a genius you're incredibly stupid." John covered his mouth in a panic. Why did he say that? He wanted to take back the words. Fall back in time and disappear.

"What?"

There was no going back. John was all in. He could either make something up or admit. John needed to admit things. The weight was taking up his life. He wanted to admit things, but he needed a better time.

"We should go to that restaurant." John pointed down the street to a random building.

"That's a bookstore, John." Sherlock deadpanned,

"Let's find a restaurant." John walked down the block looking at names of stores until he found a small cafe. Amour Cafe was printed in bold letters on a wooden sign. John brought Sherlock into the cafe. The interior had plush leather booths and small tables. The cash had food items on the shelf. Each one with a price John couldn't read out underneath.

They walked up to the cash and a person with a friendly smile greeted them. "Welcome to Amour Cafe, what can I get 'ya?",

John looked over the options, but Sherlock spoke before him. "We'll have two teas. Room at the top for milk.",

"I'll get right on that, sir. Your order number is 12."

Sherlock brought John to one of the booths and patted the spot next to him.

"Why did you order for me?",

"I know what you usually want." Sherlock looked at the table. "They have a very interesting type of wood. It seems that multiple people have sat here and some even carved in their initials. Do you see it?",

"Sherlock," John hissed, "why are you acting like this?",

"Acting like what?" Sherlock continued to pick at the table.

"Like something is wrong.",

"Mycroft can be a bit much." Sherlock tried to seem calm, but there was a bitter tone in his voice. "Sometimes he knows too much."

John looked at Sherlock. Sherlock returned the look and his gaze went down to John's lips again. John wanted to shy away, but he didn't. He kept his eyes locked with Sherlock as if they were in some strange staring contest. A staring contest where you were able to cut the tension with a knife. Sherlock leaned down at went to cup John's face but a bell ringing made Sherlock jump back.

"Number 11." The person at the counter called.

Sherlock and John watched as two people went up, their hands interlocked. They looked so happy. Sherlock glanced back at John and quickly looked away. John wanted that. He wanted it to be like that with Sherlock. He couldn't have that, though. Sherlock didn't like him. Earlier was just John's brain. He was thinking about it so he imagined it was real. Sherlock wouldn't kiss John.

John's tea was subpar, but he couldn't blame the cafe. He felt tense and anxious next to Sherlock. He wanted something to happen, but he didn't. The feeling wasn't a calm before the storm, it was more the opposite. These feelings were a storm without calm. It was the bottom of the ocean. Mostly unexplored, and confusing. Oddly, this was the most human John had seen Sherlock. He could read Sherlock this time. Sherlock was uncomfortable. He looked lost.

Sherlock turned abruptly down an alley. John wondered if this was where Sherlock was going to end up murdering him. Instead, Sherlock grabbed John's hand and pulled him further down the alley. John was shocked at the touch but accepted it nonetheless.

At the other end of the alley were rows of shops and a smaller park. Sherlock led John to the park, which was rather secluded.

Sherlock didn't let go of John as he led him through the park. John started to dislike this layout. There was a park just through that alley, yet they had to build another one. John couldn't hate this park, though, so he directed his hate towards the other park. This park was gentle. It called John, telling him it would be okay, whereas the other park was pushing John, telling him he needed to grow up. The other park also had Mycroft Holmes.

Sherlock seemed to not know where they were going, but he pulled John to a tree and stopped.

"What did you mean earlier?" Sherlock questioned,

"Well, I, uhm, Sherlock," John fumbled over his words while Sherlock watched intently. Sherlock tried to figure John out. Sherlock studied John again. This time there was realization in Sherlock's eyes. The realization became confusion and the cycle started over again. John wanted to show Sherlock. He wanted to tell him. He wanted to get what he meant out somehow. John knew he loved Sherlock. There. He had admitted it. He loved Sherlock. He wanted Sherlock. He was infatuated. Stupid, even.

John couldn't take this anymore. He looked at Sherlock, starting the staring game again. This time, John focused on Sherlock's lips more than his eyes. He wanted to do something. He wanted to make the move. He feared rejection. He feared what Sherlock would say or do.

The tree was a weeping willow. It had gorgeous long branches that nearly touched the ground, though it had small openings, most likely from people entering the small enclosure underneath. The tree had an aura of comfort. It didn't need explanation; it was just there. It existed without explanation.

They were still holding hands. Sherlock glanced back at John's lips and kept his gaze there. John looked back into Sherlock's eyes. Sherlock had these beautiful brown eyes that had so much meaning. Sherlock was beautiful as a whole. He was beautiful and confusing. He was a person who was hard to like, but John managed to fall for him. John Watson, who told himself he strictly liked women, fell for a man who was the hardest to fall for. He had fallen hard. He let go of Sherlock's hand and reached up. He brushed Sherlock's jaw with his hands and pulled him down. Sherlock placed his hands on John's waist as they kissed. The butterflies were there again, but this time John didn't mind. This felt right to him. He felt confirmed. Sherlock pulled John closer and put more pressure into the kiss. The kiss was like the tree; it existed. Rather than existing without needed explanation, it existed as an explanation. Sherlock had gotten the answer to his question. Because you haven't realized I'm stupid for you.

John sat at his computer with Sherlock working behind him. The blog post for this case would be interesting, to say the least. John began typing and deleting. It repeated until he had found what he was looking for.

THE FAKE WOMAN This case that was incredibly fascinating, turned out fake. A setup. Not to say it wasn't interesting. This case was revealing. It was naked. My boyfriend, Sherlock Holmes, had stayed focused on this case for days, even when it seemed nothing was to come of it.

John stared at the words written down with a smile. Boyfriend. His boyfriend, Sherlock Holmes.

TAG LIST: @johnlocktrashsblog @ephemeraljimin @artefo @love-j0y

[mercysought]

romantic headcanons.

name: francesca moritz “moe” bardsley  

alias: moe

gender: cis woman ( she / her )

sexual orientation:  lesbian 

preferred pet names: she’s fine with whatever her partner wants to call her, she’s more used to no one using really pet names. Usually it’s just a variation of her name, though likely focusing on her first name instead of her middle one since the former is more personal. Mori, Franks, it’s all good.

relationship status: single pringle ready to mingle

opinion on true love: she doesn’t really spend much time thinking about this. She believes that there is likely someone that she will be able to settle down with (or rather, have them travel around with her while she works) for the rest of her life and that’s the extent of true love that Moe really thinks about.

opinion on love at first sight: hmmm nah, though she can become stupid at first sight trying to impress someone. 

how ‘romantic’ are they?: moe is pretty romantic, yeah. She likes to send messages reminding her girl that she’s fucking amazing. Getting her gifts (both ones that she got and one’s that she steals). I think that the best way to show about romance is basically to use something that she has done (or will do) in one of the ships that I have with @forceblinded​: Rein is blind and Moe is non-verbal which makes communication outside of messaging really hard. Despite not liking it, Moe works on a device that allows her voice to be verbalized and improves it to the point where the tone is more human than just a bunch of disjointed vocals that she usually uses out on jobs. That is a lot of work, planning, material gathering ok? That is dedication especially since she would have done this and she wouldn’t even know if Rein likes girls I mean! Moe is pretty damn romantic.

ideal physical traits:  Moe really isn’t picky. I think, from the track record, it has to do more with attitude than necessarily anything physical. This being said, she does pay attention to their voice and I think that’s likely the first thing that can pull her in. If you can count that as physical lmao track record also indicates that the women that she’s with tend to have slimmer frames than she does (That doesn’t mean a whole lot since Moe is built like a tank, we love that for her)

ideal personality traits: focused and passionate. I mean someone that knows exactly what they want, where they want to go and are passionate about it. Even that causes trouble for her because she might disagree. Not necessarily something that’s she’s aware of per se, but someone that is more grounded than Moe is. Most of her enhancements / prosthetics (see: crushed knee, see crushed fingers and lower half of her arm) are because she got fucking impatient and some dumb shit happened.

unattractive physical traits: eh, not much tbh. I think that she doesn’t particularly like too many body mods that alter one’s face, but honestly again, physically Moe isn’t that picky.

unattractive personality traits: my god uptightness can drive her up the walls. That and thinking you’re the hottest shit without anything to back it up (example: ‘I want to do x because I say I want to and because I am great.’ meanwhile you’ve never left the confines of your estate before). Uninterested or wilfully ignorant and unwilling to learn.

do they have a type?:  probably women that will stop her on her tracks as she’s about to do something stupid and WILL FIGHT HER.

average relationship length: hmmm because of the nature of her work (a bounty-hunter) she just jumps a lot from place to place so she tends to have very short lived romances. The people she often comes across are also not interested in actual relationships and it’s a pity because Moe really would do the long distance thing for the right person. Moe falls in love really easily but can fall out of it just as easily. The only relationship that she had that was out of norm length wise was with a human who was a sex worker in one of the planets in the outer-rim. It lasted around one year before they parted ways. Most relationships really are one night stands.

opinion of public affection:  chef kiss, give it all to her. let her hold your hand, the lower back.

past relationships?: mentioned above! Otherwise most relationships are pretty loose and could barely be called that. She has fun though, and she likes the women.

favourite canon ship: don’t have one! If it’s unrelated to Moe I will say that the side ship that me and @mindsmade​ had was of David (Moe’s younger brother) and Gil (when he still had it in the roster). As it stands now it’s a ship that happens like Dorian and Bull if you don’t romance either of them in DA you know? Otherwise, in the Star Wars universe my brain is empty except for the tragic romance of Darth Malgus and Eleena. Because I am dumb.

favourite non-canon ship: listen non-canon ships are canon in my book as well and I will fight you.

tagged by: @mindsmade (ayy thanks!) tagging: @biirdbone @ardasung (aredhel) @afraidofchange​ (alice) @suresaint​

[is-that-another-soulmate-au]

Hear me out

Zukaang soulmate AU quick fic

Soulmate au: red string

Everybody has a string attached to their hand in some way. Every string is some variation of reds, greys, or browns, mostly natural colors. Regardless. Sometimes things happen, like a soulmate dying or being frozen in ice and living for a hundred years past their original mate, and well the universe has to set that soul back in motion eventually after the other passes.

But when Zuko is born he has no string. Only a knot on his left pinky finger. His mother told him it was a promise, a promise that he'd find his soulmate himself instead of being led to them. But when she left he started to lose hope. And when he was burnt and banished he gave up on that stupid promise. He was sent in search of his honor, so who cared about a stupid soulmate he had to search for and find on his own. He already had one impossible thing to find.

Sitting in the western airtemples letting his uncle dress his burn wound he tried his hardest not to cry from the pain. "Prince Zuko, you are allowed to cry"

"It shows weakness" Zuko spat "why would I"

"I cried when I lost my son, I cried when I watched you burn, I cry when I hurt and I cry when others hurt. It is not a sign of weakness dear nephew. It is a sign of strength to carry such a heavy weight of emotions. It is not weakness and it is not a burden. It is strong and it is beautiful."

Zuko lifted his left hand and turned his head to see it better through his right eye. "If its not a burden, then why does it hurt?" He asked his uncle while putting his hand down, but Iroh took hold of his hand

"It hurts because it is not in your control, and that is not necessarily a bad thing"

Those words stuck with him for each of the two and a half years he sailed in search of a man missing for a hundred years. When he found him he found a boy his age who had been frozen for all of those years. A boy who was a master of air and a boy who had so much open care for the people around him.

His string was still just a knot but so was the boys, or at least it seemed to have become a knot recently. That was one thing they had in common.

Chasing him around was tiring, but it all came to a head when he managed to grab him at the fire sage temple. He had his hands held behind his back and felt a tug at his finger, though he paid no mind to it until after him and the two water tribe siblings were tied up and Sokka seemed transfixed by his hand.

"What are you staring at?" He spat at them

"Your string, it hasn't always been there has it?"

"What string? I only have a knot."

"Look again ponytail" Katara said with narrowed eyes

He looked down and his heart sank when he saw the string, following the string his heart dropped further and further while his eyes widened. It lead directly to the room that only Aang was in. "No." He stared at the door with fear. He's been chasing his soulmate while seeing him as an enemy this entire time. He turned back to the siblings who had followed the line of the string as well and had smug looks on their face. "Please. Please dont cut it."

Their faces went from smug to shocked to cnfused in a matter of seconds "what? Why wouldn't you want to cut it? I mean yeah it hurts, but he's your en-"

"Just don't cut it okay? One of the last things my mom said to me was that the knot was a promise and made me swear to her that I'd accept whoever it was if I found them in this lifetime. So please... just don't cut the string..."

After they escaped Zuko fled to his ship and the Gaang fled to Appa. Once on Appa Aang noticed his string "woah! Its... its a link again.."

"Yeah," Katara turned to Sokka and nudged him to have him continue what she was saying

"Its Zuko"

"What? How would you know?"

"Well he was tied up with us and he sort of panicked and pleaded with us not to cut the string" Katara answered

Back on the ship Zuko was panicking and Iroh was trying to get him to explain what happened. He finally managed to form a solid sentence with "My soulmate is the Avatar and I dont know what to do anymore oh Agni this is so messed up"

They dont meet again until a little run in with some pirates. Zuko only managing to find them with the fact that he is in fact near by and that he's on the water. Without letting onto the pirates that he knew anything he managed to pay for their items and leave in search of the avatar and his group.

Floating down the river he hears Katara's voice and calls for a docking. Walking off the boat he's greeted by an irritated watertribe girl who just puts her hands on her hips and proceeds to half scold have interrogate him in a simple question "are you finally here to join your soulmate or are you still trying to capture us?"

"Uh, the first one- hey! Ow! Hey!" At this point she had grabbed his ear and was dragging him back to the group with the scroll in hand

"Be quiet, they dont know I walked off" and she had him stay quiet until she put the scroll back and she lightly shook Aang awake "hey, wake up, you have someone you need to talk to"

Aang rolled over and stared at Zuko who was just leaning against a tree staring him down. The two met eyes and then turned away quickly. After a bit they sitting on the shore, Zuko with his legs stretched out and leaning on his hands while Aang sat with his legs crossed and his hands holding tight to his glider.

"So..." Zuko started and found himself unable to actually form a sentence

"So?" Aang pressed

"We're soulmates huh?" Zuko said turning to him

"Yeah, I'd say it was shocking but you're the spitting image of Kuzon"

"Kuzon?"

"Oh, sorry, he was my soulmate before... before I went into the ice."

Zuko blinked once, twice, thrice and then looked at him "went into ice?"

"Oh, yeah, uhm, thats how I survived the hundred years while still being 16." He gave a small shrug "stuff happens"

"That would explain why I had a knot instead of a string" Zuko pointed "I always had just a knot and I figured I would never meet my soulmate in this life, let alone that it'd be the avatar"

"Yeah, well, sorry about your luck bu-"

"Why would you be sorry? This is a good thing, well, I hope it is... im not good with making the right decisions, but I promised my mom before she left that I'd choose to stand beside my soulmate if I happened to find them in this life so.. I'm making a decision and it doesn't matter if its right or wrong this time."

Looking at his feet he let out a small sigh "I know you and your group still have to decide if you want to accept me, but regardless of how you decide I won't be getting in your way anymore"

"Zuko, of course we'd accept you, I mean, Im sitting here... alone... well Katara and Sokka are in the tree's up there thinking we don't know they're there. But we trust you enough to have me relatively vulnerable with you so.. uh, welcome to the group."

"Thanks..."

"Oh right... you never learned my name huh? Aang... my name's Aang"

And he travels with them. He travels in the hopes of ending this war. When they finally do end the war, Zuko took the throne, and Aang set off to do his avatar duties. It took roughly six months for them to come back together, and when they did, they became inseparable.

They spent a good 6 years together before either of them decided to propose because the world was healing and they were the heads of this healing so of course they'd be caught up. However when Aang finally decided to propose it was with a ring he spent a good half of a year working on. He carved it out of redwood and used a lightning stone frome the beaches in the lightning pass as the decorative center. The wood had delicate carvings of Ran and Sha on either side of the stone. With the ring finished he held onto it waiting for the perfect moment. But of course it never felt right until one morning when they were sitting by the turtleduck pond.

Aang was tired of waiting for the perfect time. "Whats wrong love?" Zuko said with a small coo as he placed a kiss to Aangs jaw, given that he was at this point taller than him.

Aang pulled out the box and proposed right there, which Zuko in turn pulled out a box of his own, the ring was a delicate gold band with a moonstone decorated with rubies lining the band. The two ended up in tears by the time they got the rings on their fingers.

The wedding was a big event of course, not only was it their marraige it was the joining of the firelord and the avatar. Each nation wanted a small reception and of course Aang being the party type was more than excited to do multiple receptions.

[let-it-raines]

I LOVED your boarding school teacher fic! That's so funny that the entire school is so into gossip!!!! Can we get more please? I don't know what but more!!!

Original prompt: Two boarding school teachers finally, FINALLY get together. Everyone around them is way too invested and knows way too much.

Hi, nonnie 👋 This has been sitting in my inbox for months now, but since @idristardis requested a follow-up to What Would We Do Without Internet? as  her gift for my fic giveaway, I can finally answer your request! @idristardis I believe I got most, if not all of your requests into this story, and I hope you enjoy ❤️ It picks up in Emma’s POV directly after the non-epilogue-ish part of the original!

AO3: Part One | Part Two 

-/-

“How long have you been together?”

“Was it this weekend?”

“Or was it before but we’re just now finding out?”

“Do you love him?”

“Does he love you?”

All of Emma’s day has been filled with those five questions or, at least, a variation of them. Some of her students are more creative with their wording and their questioning, and some of them simply want to talk to her about the fact that they know that she slept with Killian this weekend. How they all know that is a mystery to her. They shouldn’t. It should be a private matter between she and Killian and absolutely no one else.

Especially not one hundred sixteen-and-seventeen-year-old students.

She woke up this morning with the guy she really likes in bed with her and with this stupid smile on her face that she knew would carry her throughout a long Monday, and then she walked into her first period World History class and was bombarded by questions about her dating life.

Decidedly not a good start to her morning when she did not and still does not want to be part of Storybrooke Academy’s never-ending gossip mill. It’s all fun and games until it’s her life being talked about and picked apart by the student body.

(The faculty are definitely talking about her behind her back.)

They’ve got to get internet in the dorms in this place so that the kids have something to focus on other than who’s dating whom and whether or not the headmaster is actually dying from some kind of contagious disease or not.

(Emma sure as hell hopes not on that second part since she had a performance review last week and had to sit in the headmaster’s office for an hour.)

“Ms. Swan,” Jackie whines, “aren’t you going to answer any of our questions?”

Emma shakes out of her thoughts and blinks, taking in the thirty students who are currently sitting in front of her waiting for her to start teaching her fifth period American history lessons.

“Um, no,” she mumbles, “I’m not. I don’t know what you’ve all heard or think, and I really don’t care. I won’t be talking about my personal life or any rumors about it to you all. Now, you have a project due next week. Let’s talk about that.”

When the bell rings and her class is dismissed, each of them walking out the door upset with her as if she owes them details about her personal life, Emma buries her face on her desk and wonders if there’s any way to call out sick for the rest of the day…or the year. The year would be nice.

If the pay here wasn’t so good, Emma would pack her bags and go teach somewhere where she didn’t have to have her entire life displayed for a couple hundred people.

There’s a knock at her classroom door, and when Emma looks up, she sees Killian standing there with his shoulder against the archway. He’s already got his coat on, a fitted blue peacoat that she’s always loved on him, and has a knitted beanie tugged down over his ears so that only the slightest bit of black hair peeks out. She smiles to herself knowing that he’s got a little red mark beneath his ear from her. It shouldn’t bring her so much joy, but it does.

(Her thighs are red with beard burn, and even though she’s a bit sore when she walks, that brings her joy too.)

“Hey, Swan.”

“Hey.”

He cocks his head to the side and raises a brow. “You have time to get lunch?”

“I do,” she sighs, “but I don’t think I can handle the cafeteria or the teacher’s lounge right now. It’s been – ”

“Absolutely insane?” Killian laughs. “Have you been getting the questions?”

She’s not sure if she’s relieved or not that Killian is getting the same questions as she is, but it definitely makes her feel something. Maybe she’s experiencing whiplash. That would explain a lot with how the past few days have been.

“So many questions. I don’t even know where to begin with them.”

“I feel the same way.” He walks into the classroom and holds his hand out for her to take it, and she imagines in his head he’s thinking about always being a gentleman or some other Killian quip that she’s grown used to in the three years of knowing him. She takes his hand, and he pulls her up until she’s standing beside him. “Why don’t we go get our lunches out of the lounge? I have a place for us to eat in privacy.”

“Is it one of our apartments? Because apparently those aren’t private.”

“No, love, it’s actually not.”

It ends up being an old classroom on the fourth floor of the fine arts building, a place neither of them have any business being unless they’re watching one of the semi-annual performances the drama club puts on during each semester, but the ease with which Killian guides her through the hallways makes her think that he’s here a little more often than that. Once they’re in the room, she can see why. It’s perched at just the right spot where if she looks to her left, she can see most of campus and the white snow that’s currently blanketing it, and if she looks to her right, the small town of Storybrooke and the ocean are just on the horizon. Killian’s always had a thing with the sea. Maybe that’s how he discovered this place.

Or maybe this is where he’s taking all of the teachers he’s sleeping with.

She has no idea if it’s only her, and for the first time in a long time, she actually wants someone that’s hers and who she doesn’t have to share. What kind of craziness is any of this? Why did she kiss him? That was such a bad idea looking back. It could have gone horribly wrong, and she doesn’t know if –

“Emma,” Killian interrupts as a table scrapes across the old hardwood until it’s in the middle of the room. He’s got their food, leftover Chinese they both must have taken from her place this morning, already spread out in the middle. “You okay, there?”

“I’m fine,” she lies, quickly closing her eyes and centering herself so that she doesn’t freak out. She won’t freak out. Nope. It’s not going to happen. This is good. This is…fine. “How did you discover this place?”

He doesn’t answer at first, too busy grabbing her a chair and holding it out for her until she sits down, but once he’s settled and taking off his coat so that he’s left in a dress shirt and a vest, he looks up at her with this broad grin that makes her flashback to this weekend once more.

“I was helping move some furniture that the school didn’t want to throw away but had nowhere to keep, and this is where the entire maintenance crew decided to bring it. I don’t know, it’s kind of a fascinating place, and it allows me to have a space to breathe without having to walk across campus to my apartment. You’re the first person I ever brought up here. The view is amazing, right?”

Well, that answers her question about this being the place where he takes all of the women he’s sleeping with. At least, it kind of does.

“Yeah,” Emma agrees, “it is.”

Killian smiles at her again. It feels like he’s trying to encourage her to keep talking, to say something else, but she’s at a loss for words. The two of them have been bantering (flirting) back and forth at each other for years, only stopped talking this weekend when they literally couldn’t anymore, and now she has nothing to say because the only thing in her mind are her own questions about how the hell this is going to work as well as her students’ questions.

“How long have you been together?”

“Was it just this weekend?”

“Or was it before but we’re just now finding out?”

“Do you love him?”

“Does he love you?”

Her life would be far less dramatic if she’d stayed in Bar Harbor and worked at a regular high school where instead of caring about her personal life, her students were freaked out by running into her at the grocery store. She’s only ten years older than a lot of them, and while a decade doesn’t seem like too long, it’s an eternity to her. The fact that her students don’t seem to think so worries her.

“You want to tell me what’s going on in that head of yours?”

Emma jumps, and she knows that she isn’t able to cover herself when Killian starts laughing even as he bites down on an eggroll. “I’m kind of freaked out by the entire school knowing that we slept together. I want to know how they know too. This was supposed to be private and something we kept quiet while we figured it out and now – ”

“Everything is out in the open, and every move we make is going to be scrutinized by every person here?”

“Exactly. No one has a life or entertainment at night and ugh,” she groans, spearing a piece of chicken with her fork. “I just…I love these kids. I really do, but I’m not comfortable having my relationship that I’m not even sure is a relationship be the center of all this attention.”

Killian reaches over the table and threads their fingers together and brings their knuckles to his lips so that she feels a scratchy kiss while her heart flutters. In the good way though. Not the way that would send her to the hospital.

She’s a mess today.

“It’ll die down, Swan,” he promises before kissing her wrist over her buttercup tattoo. “Next week or the week after that, some other thing will happen, and everyone will forget about us. And if you’d like this to be a relationship, I’m more than happy with that.”

“Yeah?”

He nods and places their hands down on the table. “Absolutely. I feel like I’ve already told you this, but I’ve fancied you for quite awhile, Swan. That’s not something that’s going to change even if a nosy student saw me go into your apartment and then not leave for most of the weekend except for the few trips we made up to my place.”

“How would they even know that? They’d have to be in our building and – oh. It was Henry Mills, wasn’t it? He must have been visiting his mom.”

“Apparently, he and several other students were in the building because it was Henry’s birthday, and his mum was cooking for all of his friends. Caroline Abbot saw me go to your apartment from down in the lobby, and they seemed to find entertainment in figuring out what we were doing.”

“That’s creepy.”

“Aye, quite a bit. If the building wasn’t so open, I believe we would have gotten away with it with no interference.”

“You sound like a villain on Scooby Doo.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever had a woman reference Scooby Doo while out on a date.”

“Oh, is that what this is? A date?”

“Absolutely. We’re not going to get a lot of privacy, so I’m taking every opportunity to court you that I can get. If we only counted the quiet moments, I doubt we’d ever get one.”

“You’re so old-fashioned.”

Killian winks, bringing their joined hands to his lips again. “As I’ve said before, I’m always a gentleman.”

“If you say so,” Emma teases. She takes a bite of her chicken. “Do you want to come over for dinner tonight?”

“I’ve got dorm duty tonight and tomorrow. Wednesday?”

“I have dorm duty until Friday. This weekend?”

“It’s my weekend to be on call for chaperoning the trips into town. You could always come with me.”

“And have everyone stare and talk about us more? No thank you. I don’t…I think I’d prefer we don’t show any affection or – ” she waves her hand between them “ – whatever this is. I think it’ll help everything to die down a bit.”

Killian nods, lips tight, and Emma’s stomach twists. Is she disappointing him by not wanting to walk around campus with her fingers threaded through his or with his arm around her waist?

Is this going to be a thing between them that’s going to make it all burst into flames?

“Your heart’s desire, Swan. I promise that’s all I want you to have.”

“The same to you.”

-/-

To say that getting used to dating someone again is difficult is an understatement. Emma may have been the one to barge into Killian’s classroom and pretty much give him an ultimatum (even if that’s not at all what happened) for the two of them to stop dancing around each other and just go for it, but that’s not her, not usually. It was reckless and unthinking, and as calculated as Emma can be now, that isn’t how she used to be.

Sometimes it’s thrilling to still get to be like that and have the rush of adrenaline running down her spine when she does something like that.

Or when Killian looks at her.

God, his smile kills her. He’s got this this soft one, lips pressed together and eyes so incredibly blue, and she selfishly likes to think that the smile is reserved for her. But the soft smile can quickly transform into a wicked smirk that has Emma’s stomach fluttering and heat curling in between her thighs.

The smile, or smiles really, are what keep her sane as February chills into March, snow still fluttering around and the cold clinging to every inch of the ground and each particle of air. The questions from her students about her relationship stay steady for two weeks before slowly tapering off, but not a day goes by where there isn’t some question from a student or inquiry from a fellow staff member. Mary Margaret, bless her, is particularly excited about Emma’s recent relationship development, and she invites Emma and Killian over to her apartment for what is essentially a double date with Mary Margaret and David.

(Emma’s never been on a double date, and despite how much she loves the Nolans, there’s something so peppy about them that it makes her hesitate.)

They end up going.

It’s a great time.

The wine is good, the food even better somehow, and Emma is pleasantly surprised by how easy it is to slip into the role of someone who is happy and does things like dinners with other couples while her boyfriend’s hand rests on her inner thigh under the table.

Is twenty-eight too old to call someone her boyfriend? Partner sounds too serious. Significant other too boring. Lover too creepy sounding even if it’s true. So maybe boyfriend is the best word. Maybe that’s not important.

What is important, however, is that as she and Killian adjust to being together, it becomes easier by the day. They’ve been friends and colleagues for years, which made the stakes seem so much higher at first, but in reality, all it’s done is make this transition smoother than she ever thought possible.

(Smooth doesn’t mean she didn’t struggle. She definitely did, but her fears at the beginning were definitely overexaggerated.)

Emma already knows all about Killian’s work and knows how passionate he is about it even if she knows that high school math teacher was never his ultimate goal and is still not his goal. He likes classical music and reading a book a day and is an absolute and total know-it-all. She knows that he eats far too much fish, and he knows that she absolutely despises fish in all of its forms which is most definitely why he tries to kiss her every time he’s eating it.

The asshole.

Who she really, really likes.

She doesn’t need the gossip around the school to let her know that he feels the same way.

There are days when she wants to pull his hair out and days where she doesn’t want to stop kissing him or laughing with him, and when the school year ends and they’re allowed a month of vacation with no workshops or lesson planning, they get the opportunity to do all of that without any students around them.

None at all.

It’s glorious.

Killian finds them a small one-bedroom cottage to rent out in Boothbay that’s right on the beach and only a short drive away from town, and Emma almost cries in relief the moment she steps in the front door and all of the weights of the school year disappear from her shoulders. She loves what she does for work, but by the time summer inches closer, she needs a break. Getting to go off and live at the beach with her boyfriend for a month is the exact thing she needs even if she knows he’s about to eat a hell of a lot of fish.

“I think this place might be heaven,” she sighs as she walks into the living room and sees the large windows that look right out onto the sand and the cresting waves. She can hear the ocean, can smell the salt in the air, and somehow, it’s different than the ocean in Storybrooke. It’s warmer and more inviting and she can’t wait to dive in until her skin is tanned and wrinkled.

Killian steps up behind her and wraps his arms around her waist and rests his chin on her shoulder, scratchy scruff pressing into her neck. He’s warm and solid, and she leans back into him, content.

“I’m glad you like it, love. Thank you for agreeing to come away with me.”

Emma pats his hand over her stomach. “Thank you for finding a place for us to get away that didn’t make us go completely broke.”

Killian laughs, something deep and low, and for some reason it has her twisting her head and pressing her lips into his. He tastes like the mint of his gum that he was chewing on the drive down here, and it’s spicy on her tongue when his lips quickly part and his tongue runs along the seam of her lips. They haven’t had time to be truly alone and away from students and other faculty during their entire relationship, and it’s what has Emma turning her body and fumbling for the buttons on Killian’s shirt.

There’s a rush of air between them as clothes fall away and hands brush over warm skin, and Emma can scarcely breathe by the time they’re fumbling back toward the couch, falling onto unfamiliar cushions with throw pillows scattering across the room. They may have a month of this, a month of complete privacy and no one but each other, but they come together hurriedly and without much finesse. Killian’s thrusts are quick and harsh, and Emma’s nails hook into the skin of his back while her legs wrap around his ass.

The heat in her belly keeps building, the fire being stroked, and faster than Emma can think about how damn good this feels, she reaches that high. There’s only the beating of her heart, the slap of skin against skin, the feeling of Killian pulsing within her.

There’s only the feeling of Killian.

Of them.

“Well,” Killian pants when they’re both trying to catch their breath, “that certainly didn’t take long.”

Emma huffs. “Next time make me work for it, you know? I feel like I should at least have to take you out for dinner first.”

“A man does like to be courted.”

“You’re ridiculous.”“Aye, but you like me. You’ve said so yourself.”

“Shut up,” Emma chuckles before kissing him again.

-/-

Over the weeks, Killian’s skin gradually tans, and it somehow makes the dark patches of hair on his chest more prominent. She’s always loved the little tufts that sometimes show through his dress shirt or over the top of his sweaters, but there’s something undeniably attractive about seeing him walk around with tanned skin and lean, defined muscles and mostly no shirt on. She’s used to seeing him in sweaters and blazers and those awful school-mandated scarves, so having him constantly be walking around in low-slung sweatpants with no shirt or swim trunks with no shirt (emphasis on the no shirt part, obviously) has been a pretty good bonus of this month-long vacation they’re taking.

Emma’s sure that Killian feels the same way about her lack of clothes and sun-kissed skin as well, but none of that matters as she sits on the couch in the living room with a cup of coffee in her hands while she looks at the muscles of his back and the curve of his ass while he stands in front of the sliding doors that lead out to the ocean. The sun is illuminating him, and he almost doesn’t look real.

But he is.

And so is their relationship.

And so is the fact that Emma knows that she loves him. Her stomach nearly heaves at the thought, at knowing that she’s got feelings this deep for someone else again, and if she doesn’t tell him soon, she might implode.

Holding it in for a month has nearly killed her. She’s wanted to tell him, wanted to let him know that she feels about him the way that she knows he feels about her, but that little niggling fear of it all going to shit has held her back.

Emma’s a coward, and love freaks her out so that she can barely breathe.

Right now, she’s thinking breathing might be overrated.

“I love you.”

Killian’s shoulder’s tense, muscles visibly moving, and while Emma’s heart pounds, she watches his shoulders fall and his posture relax. He’s still looking out at the ocean. Maybe he didn’t hear her. Maybe that was all an illusion.

Maybe, maybe, maybe.

But then he’s turning around and smiling at her. It’s the soft smile, the one that’s just for her.

Mine, she thinks.

“Did you mean to say that out loud, or should I pretend I didn’t hear it?”

Stupid man. He’s ridiculous. Only he would actually ask her that.

But she loves him. And it’s not terrifying…unless he doesn’t say it back soon.

Please say it back soon.

“I meant to say it.”

His smile stays the same as he walks closer to her, taking her coffee out of her hands and placing it on the table in front of them. He leans into her and presses his lips to her neck, leaving warm, lazy kisses in all of the spots that send shivers down her spine.

“I love you, Emma Swan,” he whispers, teeth grazing her ear. She may melt. She doesn’t care how cheesy that sounds. It’s true. “You are magnificent.”

“You’re not so bad yourself.”

“Please, I’m fucking amazing.”

Emma’s laugh carries through the house and all the way up to the bedroom where they spend the rest of the day.

-/-

“Who is that?”

“Hmm?”

“Who is that?” Emma repeats, discreetly pointing toward the petite blonde woman sitting on the other side of the teacher’s lounge.

Killian looks up from his lesson plans he’s been studying all week, as if he hasn’t been teaching the same formulas and math drills and whatever else it is he teaches (math is not her thing) for the past nine years, and adjusts his glasses.

“Oh, that’s Tink Bell.”

“That is not a real name.”

“It’s what it said in the email sent to the arithmetic apartment about our new member of the faculty.”

“Oh, so she’s a teacher?”

“Aye, love.”

“Have you met her?”

“At our department meeting yesterday.” He leans over and presses his lips to her cheek, and it’s been weeks since they were at the beach but he still smells like salt. “I need to work on these lessons. Something isn’t clicking, and I want it to be perfect for when the school starts. Can I meet you at your apartment for lunch?”

“I’m eating lunch with Mary Margaret. You can come with us if you want.”

“I think I’ll let you girls catch up, but I’ll see you at dinner.”

“Sounds good, babe.”

-/-

As with the beginning of every new school year, the first day is pretty much pointless. All of the students are back together from spending the summer with their parents or on vacation and living in a world with internet access wherever they go. It’s an adjustment for them, especially since they feel the need to catch up on all of the latest news (gossip) while crammed together in classrooms instead of in their dorms at night, and Emma has almost zero control trying to go over the syllabus.

And, of course, the returning students want to know if she and Killian are still dating.

Yes, she tells them, trying not to smile.

And no, she won’t say anything more than that. Killian won’t either.

As the weeks go by and school fully gets into a steady rhythm, Emma is able to keep her students in check and actually work through her lesson plans. There’s the ever-present rumble of gossip and questions, and Emma can’t go a day without having a teenager ask her about her romantic relationships. But it’s fine and normal (at least for her), and as tired as Emma is some days, it’s good to be back.

It’s great to be back.

She loves this job and this place even with all of its quirks.

What she doesn’t love is how little time she and Killian are getting to spend with each other.

Their dorm nights never match up, so if Killian is the supervisor for his dorm on Monday through Wednesday, Emma is the supervisor Thursday through Saturday. They’ve tried to get it changed, but their headmaster has informed them that he won’t be changing their schedules simply because the two of them are dating.

Asshole.

Mary Margaret and David have matching schedules, and no one complained about that.

But it is what it is, and they deal with it. They mostly deal with it in trying to eat at least one meal together a day and making sure to text while in the dorms. Sometimes they have time to find their secret spot with a view of the campus, but those visits are few and far between. It’s different and not what they want, but Emma is happy. She’s happy, and she’ll do what she can to stay that way. Killian’s been her friend for years, and none of that is going to change.

She’d simply like to have a few more opportunities to make out with him.

That would be more than nice.

Emma sees him often walking across the courtyard with Tink Bell, the two of them chatting away.

Good. Killian deserves to have friends who he can geek out about math with. She likes that for him.

What she doesn’t like is when the rumors start.

It starts small. There’s a whisper of Killian and Tink eating dinner together in town. It’s nothing. Emma knows they were both in-town weekend chaperones that week, and they’re friends. Friends get dinner.

But then there’s the two of them eating lunch together on campus on the days that Emma has a different lunch break than Killian and the talk of both of them happening to run at the same time in the mornings. Killian runs at a ridiculous hour, usually when the sun hasn’t risen, and Emma can’t understand why anyone else would want to be up that early to run.

Never in a million years.

Tink Bell likes to get up early to go running.

The rumors may start small, a whisper here and there, but then they spread like a wild fire until Emma is wrapped in a blazing inferno.

And it’s ridiculous because Emma doesn’t listen to rumors at this school. She doesn’t. They’re inane and often untrue, and she has other, better things to do with her time. It’s also ridiculous because she knows that Killian loves her. Their schedules might not match up well, but when they do spend time together, it’s the same laughter filling the room every single time.

They’re fine. They’re good. They’re great.

But Neal.

She had loved Neal too, and Neal had said that he loved her.

But the revolving women coming in and out of his bed told her otherwise.

That’s not…she’s not…trusting again after being cheated on isn’t easy, and Emma hates herself for being this way. She does. Because Killian has been her friend for years, and he has never done anything to hurt her. Not on purpose. Her heart aching over him not knowing about her feelings for him was all on her. That wasn’t on him.

This isn’t either.

It doesn’t help her from thinking all of these insane thoughts.

It certainly doesn’t help keep her from blurting out all of her thoughts and feelings and years old scars of Neal to Killian in the middle of one of the rare moments of them spending time together. She wasn’t going to say anything. She really wasn’t, but apparently some of the students have been rude to Tink because they think she’s trying to get between Emma and Killian and they just can’t have that.

None of this is okay.

“What would possibly make you think that I’m like him?” Killian asks after Emma pretty much word vomits all of the feelings she’s been having for the past month.

“I don’t.”

“You obviously do or else we wouldn’t be having this conversation.”

“That is not fair.”

“Hell, Emma,” Killian huffs before threading his fingers into his hair and then running his hands down her face. She feels sick. “I don’t know what you want me to say. You’ve dumped a hell of a lot of information on me, and all I want to do is punch that absolute ass in the face. I want to hurt him for what he did to you, and I want to hurt him for making you not trust me.”

“You think that’s what this is about? That I don’t trust you?”

“Is that not what this is about?”

“Of course I trust you!”

“Then why are you pulling away from me? Why are you saying all of this and getting it into your head that these fucking ridiculous rumors are true?”

“Because everyone I’ve ever been with has left me,” she breathes out, her heart heavy and voice cracking. “No one has ever stayed. They’ve all left, and I don’t know what I’d do if you left me. I don’t…every single person in this place would know and would look at me strangely, and I’d be this shell of a person acting like I was okay when I’m not.”

“Emma,” Killian whispers. Her name is so quiet that it gets tugged away with the air. That’s impossible for so many reasons, and Emma has no idea when in the world Killian stepped so close to her. “I don’t intend to let you down.”

“I know.”

Because deep down, she does know.

His lips curve into a half-smile as he reaches forward and tucks her hair behind her ears. “Nothing is ever going to go on between me and Tink. Nothing has, and I know you know that. I know that you let the gossip get to you and that your mind ran wild with thoughts. You’re not crazy for thinking them. You’re human.”

“I feel like an idiot.”

“You’re not.”

Emma huffs and leans forward into Killian, collapsing into his arms and the undeniable warmth of him. She could stay here forever. Maybe she wants to. “I’m sorry. I just – do you want to forget this ever happened and order a ridiculously expensive takeout dinner?”

“I have ingredients for pasta. Why don’t I cook for you? I’ve missed you these past few days, and I’d love to hear about how your first round of exams went.”

She pulls back and looks up to Killian while still holding onto his back. “Only a fellow teacher would care enough to ask me about the first round of exams.”

“Darling, if I did the weather for the local television station, I’d still ask you about the first round of exams.”

“That’s the most romantic thing anyone has ever said to me.”

Killian tilts his head back with laughter before dipping his head forward and brushing his lips over her forehead. Her heart is fluttering in that good way again. “If you want, later we can change into our pajamas and talk over next month’s lesson plans.”

“You are talking dirty to me right now.”

“Good,” Killian mumbles, gently pressing his lips to hers. He’s soft and pliant, and she melts into him. “And if that really gets you in the mood, we can even catch up on our Netflix queue later while eating pop-tarts I have hidden away in the cupboard for you.”

“Have I ever told you that I loved you?”

“Aye, but I wouldn’t mind hearing it more often.”

She presses a kiss against his jaw. “I love you.”

“Damn right you do,” Killian teases before squeezing her ass and pulling back from her to walk backward into his kitchen. “And don’t you forget it.”

Ass.

He’s an such an asshole. Who she loves. Like, a stupid amount.

This entire month has had her all out of sorts, and she’s ready to be back on track.

That starts with sitting their students down and telling them that harassing Ms. Bell is never okay. It doesn’t matter that they were doing it out of wanting Emma and Killian to be together. It’s not appropriate or their business.

No, they’re not breaking up, they tell the students.

Yes, we’re still together.

Mr. Jones and Ms. Bell are just friends.

Ms. Bell and Ms. Swan are also friends.

Just because you hear something doesn’t make it true.

It’s weird and not something Emma ever wants to do again, but when it’s over, she’s relieved.

She feels better actually talking to Tink and getting to know her too.

-/-

“I’d like to live off campus one day.”

“Yeah?” Killian asks, tapping his foot against hers as they sit in their secret spot in the fine arts building and watch January snow fall past the windows, a few flakes sticking against the glass.

“I mean, yeah. If you live off campus, they put your housing here into your paycheck, and you get more privacy. Plus, bigger spaces. Can you imagine having a normal apartment or house like an actual adult and not being someone who’s pretty much living out high school again?”

“Why don’t…we could go look for a place, Swan, if you want.”

Emma arches a brow. “Are you asking me to move in with you?”

“I’m asking if you want to move in together.”

Emma almost chokes on her food, but she manages not to, only a slight cough to keep breathing. “Are you serious?”

“As I can be. We don’t have to, of course, but I do happen to know how much you enjoy sharing a bed with me.”

His brows move up and down his forehead, and Emma’s laugh rumbles through her. “We wouldn’t have to do dorm duty, so that’s sounding like a good idea.”

“Really? Not having to do dorm duty is what’s enticing you to move in with me?”

“Pretty much, yeah.”

Killian’s laugh is on his lips when he kisses her.

-/-

They go house hunting in Storybrooke three weeks later.

The first house is a lovely three-story Victorian, but they’re teachers, not doctors, and they can’t afford it. Maybe one day.

The second is smaller than the dorms at the school, and Emma would rather live at the school with no privacy than in an apartment that’s the size of a toddler’s shoebox.

The third is a nice loft apartment, but the bathroom not having a door bothers Killian too much.

“You have to afford a man a little privacy sometimes, Swan.”

The fourth, however, is perfect.

It’s a two-bedroom apartment five minutes from the beach, which Killian loves. The kitchen is pretty much all white with clean lines, which Emma loves even though she probably still won’t cook, and the closet and bathroom are big enough that they won’t get into fights over having enough space.

Hopefully.

“I love it,” Killian says, bringing their joined hands up so he can press his lips there. “What do you think?”

“It’s so much better than our apartments.”

“Aye,” Killian laughs, smiling down at her in the way that makes her heart pound and her lips stretch into the biggest smile.

-/-

They sign the papers for the apartment that day even if they can’t move in until June.

-/-

“Where the hell are we going?”

“Language, darling.”

“You literally use the word ‘fuck’ like it’s my name. I don’t think you can talk to me about language.”

“I’m British. We’re not as uptight about cursing as you Americans are.”

“You say that like you don’t live and work in America and aren’t dating an American.”

“Ah, well, we all make sacrifices.”

“Shut up,” Emma laughs, pushing into his shoulder as they keep walking through downtown Storybrooke in the opposite direction of the car that can take them back to the school. “Seriously, babe, where are we going. It’s February, and I’m wearing a dress. I’m freezing.”

Killian stops walking and shrugs off his coat to put over her shoulders. She’s got a jacket, but it’s not doing anything for her legs. She doesn’t think Killian’s coat is going to do anything but have him freeze to death too.

“Thank you,” she says anyways, tightly tugging it around her before wrapping her arm around his back and rubbing her hand up and down. “Now will you please tell me where we’re going? We had dinner, and we should go home and curl up under the blankets and have another glass of wine.”

“Five minutes, Swan. Give me five more minutes, and then I promise we can go home and get ready for bed like the elderly people we are.”

“Five minutes. No more. No less.”

By the time five minutes have passed, Emma’s toes and fingers are frozen, and the whipping of the wind near the sea isn’t helping warm her up. It’s doing the exact opposite, and she’s going to murder Killian on their first night living together.

That’s got to be some kind of record.

“You lied to me, Jones,” Emma mutters as her teeth clank together. “You’re a big, fat liar.”

“You were walking much slower than I thought you would.”

“These are tall heels.”

His brows wiggle while his lips curl into that damn devilish smirk. “Don’t I know it?”

Emma huffs, her breath coming out in white puffs in the night air, and she has to resist rolling her eyes. “So can we go home now?”

“Give me two minutes.”“I don’t trust you anymore.”

“I know.” His hand moves down her back until it’s caressing her arm, from elbow to wrist. Little bumps pop up over her skin, and they’re not from the cold. “Emma Swan, my love, I know you’re freezing and hate me and probably desperately want to go home and take your bra off.”

“I do.”

Killian chuckles and leans forward to brush his icy lips to her nose. “And we will do that as soon as possible if you could do me a favor and hand me the box in the right pocket of my jacket.”

Emma’s an actual idiot because she hands Killian the palm-sized red velvet box without realizing what she’s handing him. The asshole knows she didn’t figure it out too because as he kneels to the ground, he can’t stop snickering underneath his breath.

“Darling,” Killian starts at the same time as Emma’s heart wells up in her chest, “you are the kindest, wittiest, most caring, and most compassionate person I know. You may not believe those things about yourself, but I think they’re true. I’d like for you to give me a chance to prove that to you every day, and I’d like to do it as your husband. So, what do you say, Swan? Will you marry me?”

She almost makes a joke about only marrying him if he can get her out of the cold, but she figures now isn’t the time for jokes when the man who she loves and thinks all of those wonderful things about is asking her to marry him despite the fact that she is always a mess.

“Yes, Killian, of course I’ll marry you.”

His little, joyful laugh makes Emma chuckle as he slides the diamond ring onto her finger before she helps to pull him up to her height so that she can wrap her arms around his neck and kiss him. He tastes like the damn fish he had at dinner, but she doesn’t care.

She doesn’t care about anything except the two of them and the happiness that is spreading across her body and permanently inking itself into her skin.

“I love you,” she whispers between kisses, her teeth hitting his in her joy.

She can’t seem to stop smiling. Killian can’t either.

“I love you,” he repeats back. “More than anything. Do you think you’d like to go inside now?”

“I think I’m good staying here for just a few more moments.”

“Yeah,” Killian says before resoundingly kissing her again, “me too.”

-/-

They don’t leave her apartment the entire weekend.

But they do unfortunately have work, and as Killian walks her to her classroom Monday morning as he always does, Emma turns to ask him if she should take off the ring since they haven’t told anyone yet.

“Nah, keep it on. I think it’ll be okay.”

“Are you sure?”

“Aye.”

He nods his head toward her classroom, and through the window Emma can see a large banner that reads “Congratulations Mr. Jones and Ms. Swan!”

“How the hell do they know everything?” Emma laughs, her cheeks flaming red. “Seriously.”

“Well, love, I think this one might be on me. Right after I proposed, I saw Caroline Abbot and a few of her friends walking by us. I believe they must have seen the entire thing and reported it back to the school.”

All Emma can do is laugh and be thankful that they are getting their own place now…even if the gossip seems to reach them there too.

It doesn’t matter because she’s happy.

And she loves this stupid school.

(But she’s thrilled to actually get her…their own place in June.)

-/-

-/-

Tagging people who enjoyed the first part: @shireness-says @resident-of-storybrooke @nikkiemms @tiganasummertree @jennjenn615 @lfh1226-linda @jonirobinson64 @kmomof4 @singersdd @spartanguard @jamif @twopulse @notoriouscs @mayquita  @captswanis4vr @shardminds @stahlop @shady-swan-jones @hooksmoak @397bartonstreet @eleveneitherway @mariakov81 @snowbellewells @ultraluckycatnd @galaxyzxstark @captainsjedi @teamhook @stunningswan @karenfrommisthaven @a-faekindagirl @odonowest @xemmaloveskillianx @blowmiakisscolin @thejollyroger-writer @ekr032-blog-blog @superchocovian @onceuponaprincessworld @andiirivera

[clxvdd]

Self Control- Rock Lee

Summary: Rock Lee and the other Shinobi go out to celebrate a job well done, but his favorite person is nowhere to be seen. Chaos ensues, and his favorite person is the only one who can stop it.

Warnings: drinking, mourning, fluff, tiny bit of angst

Characters/Pairings: Rock Lee x Reader, Naruto, Tenten, Habu (Waiter), the rest of the gang

(fem!Reader)

Word Count: 1903

“Where is (Y/N)?” Lee couldn’t stop himself from asking as his trained eyes searched through the group of ninjas all crowding together at the bar.

He knew it was a bad idea to come in the first place, but he had more self control now and he knew the effects those drinks had on his body. After all, he was here to celebrate and spend time with his friends. They scarcely spent time all together like this.

But it seemed as though someone was missing.

As he entered with Neji at his side, his friends came in waves to come and greet the two with kind smiles and swift hugs, none of them seeming to notice the lack of the shinobi that had caught his eye the most and who was the greatest reason for him to show up. When his teammate herself went to pull away from the greeting, he caught her arm and looked into her eyes with a concerned look.

“Where is she?” He said breathlessly, his mind racing with a thousand different reasons as to why the girl in question was not present. Even without speaking her name, Tenten knew of who he was inquiring about, being (Y/N)’s best friend as well.

“She said she was going to be a little late,” Tenten shook her head lightly, “she had something to take care of.” She plainly stated, not having any more information to give. Pulling her arm out of his grasp gently, she patted his drooping shoulders in solace.

Of course, Lee knew that with everyone’s busy lives and their responsibilities of being a shinobi that not everyone would have time to show up, although he had hoped that person at least would not be her. It was a one out of more than ten chance, but Lee always had the worst luck.

“Come on, Lee, don’t be so down,” Tenten whined as she lead him over to the group again, “she will be here. You can be sad any other night.”

He shook his head but straightened up anyway. The kunoichi was right, tonight was a night of youth and celebration, not of despair. He would live his best moments as (Y/N) would want him to.

Lee didn’t quite know why he was so drawn to you. It wasn’t like his former crush on his, now friend, Sakura. That was simply an infatuation, but with you it felt like more. Like he lived and breathed every day to be able to see your face, and he died a little inside when he couldn’t. You brought out the best and worst in him all at once and he couldn’t explain how, yet no matter what it reigned true.

Again, he shook his head, forcing himself out of his own thoughts and threw himself down into the booth seat next to Naruto. He was determined to be his normal, youthful self without you for a little while, and if he couldn’t– well I’ll just have to do 3,000 more pushups during tomorrow’s training.

“Nice to see ya, buddy!” Naruto exclaimed at the boy, slapping a hand to his jumper clad back. The signature wide grin that he sported was enough to convince him that the night would have to be great. He needed it to be.

Not long after, a young– and bored– waiter rounded the bar to Lee’s table, in one hand a notepad and the other a pen. He cleared his throat lazily and spoke up at the group with a tone similar to the one Shikamaru always used, nearly making Lee laugh at the thought.

“What drinks would you all like to get started off with?”

The table boomed with a variation of drinks, ranging in simplicity and taste, although the overwhelming majority was alcoholic some way or another. Lee had struggled to even hear himself, but requested a simple glass of water nonetheless. The waiter rubbed his forehead and focused in on individual requests, but they all blurred together and he just nodded and retreated back to his station, never even marking the paper with his pen. Thinking he had just been overly intuitive, Lee told himself that he shouldn’t be worrying so much. After all, he had promised himself to enjoy the night. Taking a deep breath and relaxing his previously furrowed brows, he listened in on Naruto’s and Shikamaru’s conversation, soon forgetting all about his anxieties.

It seemed like seconds before the same waiter came back with a tray, for Lee was so busy having fun and joking around with his friends. Setting the tray down and passing around the drinks, the waiter, whom Lee now noticed was named Habu, gave each of them a once-over before speaking again.

“Would you guys like any appetizers or something from our happy hour menu to go with your drinks? They’re 15 percent off for the next 20 minutes,” He glanced at his watch to confirm. Upon hearing this, the group– Kiba, Choji, and Naruto mainly– began throwing out orders in a chaotic fashion, not even bothering to take their time. Lee grasped the glass in front of him with a loose shake of his head and proceeded to take a long sip of the still, clear drink, believing it to be the water he asked for.

Of course, he realized it wasn’t when the familiar burn of his throat and tastebuds reached his brain and his eyes widened before drooping as he lost his grasp on his supposed self control.

Meanwhile, across the village was a girl, made small by her posture crouched over a large stone burial site with flowers in her hand. Her long hair fell over her face in wisps and her shoulders heaved, taking a long sigh before placing a finger to the cool rock.

“I miss you, mom,” she whispered as she took another shaky breath, blowing her hair out of her face, “I have so much to tell you.”

“For starters, I completed another successful mission yesterday,” the girl continued staring solemnly at the letters she had imprinted in her brain from reading over and over, “I’ve grown a lot. I’m not a little girl anymore,” she huffed then followed it with a breathy chuckle. Nervously picking at the skin of her fingers, she spoke again.

“I met a boy. Surprising, I know, but I really think he could mean something,” she smiled faintly as she thought of the boy with the bushiest brows and brightest attitude she had ever seen. He always made her feel important, like she was ruler of everything in the universe, but she was just her. Plain little (Y/N) from the village hidden in the leaves. Nothing more, nothing less.

“I’m going to see him again tonight. I know you would like him, mom,” again she leaned her head down towards the grave, a tear slipping from her eye, staining the gray surface, “you really would.”

Then, all at once, (Y/N) stood up from her position and heaved. This was hard. Even though she had been coming to her mother’s grave frequently for almost 3 years, she never knew how to say goodbye. She didn’t like it. It reminded her of the last time she had meant it. Wordlessly she turned away, beginning her walk back into the village where she would be meeting her friends to celebrate their successes. Hopefully that would cheer her up.

Along the way she passed many shops and buildings, most of them closed for the night. The scenery at this time was beautiful, though, and she took her time in making it to the bar she had been invited to.

As she turned the corner, a stream of people, all panicked and hurried, pushed past her away from the direction she was headed. Confused, she kept towards it and the kunoichi approached closer to her destination, the chaos growing with screams and loud sounds of breaking, cracking, pushing, demolishing.

With one glance she gasped, her hands dropping to her side as she ran towards the once bustling building.

“Where is she?!” Her ears perked up with the familiar voice in such an unfamiliar tone. She knew it had to be Lee, there was no doubts about that, but what he was doing was another story. And who was this girl that he had mentioned?

“Where is (Y/N)?”

Another gasp left the girl’s lips and she furrowed her brows in determination and understanding. If it was her he wanted then it was her he would get. She had heard stories about Lee’s troubles with the burning liquid, but she wrote them off as exaggerations and never had she seen it for herself until now.

“Lee?” She almost whispered as she warily opened the door to the destroyed building. A chair flew past her head as she ducked and squinted to focus on the taijutsu specialist. Noticing he was distracted with his back turned towards her, he towered over the group of shinobi before slurring again.

“Where is she, where is she, where is she??!” he growled as he stomped his feet and evaded every attempt his friends had to try and catch him, “I want her! I want to see her!” He stomped again, swaying slightly before he heard a gentle voice from behind him, almost too soft for his ears.

“Lee?”

The raging boy turned as his eyes landed on the girl he had been calling for. All of the sudden he felt guilty. He felt everything. Dropping the furniture that had once been raised over his head, he swayed his way over to her, stopping just short of arm’s length.

His breath caught in his throat when his half-lidded eyes ran over your concerned face. Your hair was loose, messy even, but it was still the most beautiful he had ever seen you. The red in your eyes was a clear tell that you had been crying and he reached a hand out with a pang in his full heart. Your eyes never once left him as he grew closer and closer to you, his hand holding yours.

One step, he was close enough to hug you.

Another step, you could feel his breath on your cheeks and smell the alcohol on his tongue.

Another, he pressed his chest to yours, still holding your hand as you gazed up into his glittering eyes.

“I’m here, Lee,” You whispered.

Your heart was beating so fast it could’ve quit on you right then, but you wouldn’t have noticed. All you had on your mind was Lee. Lee and that stupid face of his.

“I’m right here.”

And you took him into your arms, letting out a breath you didn’t know you were holding. His arms came under yours to drag you impossibly closer to him and the next thing you knew his lips were on yours.

Tender. Gentle. Soft. All uncharacteristic of Lee, but when your lips moved together as one of a whole it felt just right, like everything was meant to lead up to this. You knew he felt the same.

[haleviyah]

I just want to be clear ^^;

For future reference, and the fact I keep being asked about this, I am NOT a Christian.

I have not been to church in years, I have even been ousted by Christians over the littlest and most ridiculous reasons that occurred before I even published “Rose of Sharon”. I was policed and harassed by these said people online, and it resulted me to be disbanded from them not just for my safety and well-being but also for their’s as well…

Long story short, we don’t get along. I tried (emphasis on TRIED) making bridges with them, which resulted in these sheep always knocking it down… Geez. Sound familiar?  

HOWEVER, I am a person growing in Biblical philosophy. The reason why I don’t (and even refuse to) share verses of the Bible on social media anymore is not because I don’t believe in it. It is simply because:

I need to, and would rather, fully understand what these verses are contextually saying FIRST, before sharing. It’s pointless of me repeating phrases I don’t understand.

Call me old fashioned, I prefer to walk before I talk now a days. I don’t speak verses unless I apply them personally first.

I treat the Bible like how I treat my marriage: privately. Just the fact that I read the Bible should never be paraded so I can look good to others. If you want to share verses, feel free to share, but don’t do it to portray as the good guy or that ego going to bite you in the ass.

I rather let people judge me by my character and not the labels I wear or what I so happen to post here. That’s all I ask. (Common sense, if a woman loves her man she’s faithful to him, same context should apply to what I am reading from the Bible...same damn context!) 

So, I’m not aChristian technically speaking. I came, I saw, but they saw me too, hated me and… I left. And again, I am biblically growing, does this mean I hate other people by default? Uh, Hell no.

I mean, what gives me the right to damn another person who has just as much potential as I do?

Unpopular opinion here, I’m a woman who took Dr. Martin Luther King Jr.’s words more seriously than “certain movements” that have been trending on social media for the past few month. I prefer to judge by the content of character. It’s effective and helps you find real friends in the world. 

I really don’t care if you’re gay, American, Asian, African, atheist, Catholic, Jew, or even physically/mentally injured, I really, really don’t care. What I care more about is the continuity of your character.

It’s simple: If I see your are open and willing to listen, then we’ll talk. However if I see you are apathetic and expect me to psychically know your philosophies/issues without clear, adequate explanations from you, then I won’t understand you. Or if you expect me to kowtow to you because you’re “x” label, we will have issues. 

On a side note let me also say this: I have made the mistakes like many others here. I have made unjust judgements (I mean, who hasn’t?) and I have started fights that I to this day do regret even if I did apologize for them. Bottom line, I have learned from those cringe worthy mistakes. And with that, I know what leads a person to see the world through “Black and White” or “Kingdom of Light and Kingdom of Darkness”. It’s called ‘ignorance’. That simple.

That very filter of division does drive you mad, and turns you into the exact devil you claim to be fighting against. Arguably, (based on experience) that kind of divided mentality never truly unifies people - doesn’t matter if you’re religious or not. Living like that doesn’t really give chance for Truth and what is consistent in this world to speak up and guide or correct you. As a matter of fact, that kind of philosophy doesn’t even encourage you to accept correction or rebuke maturely; which is extremely dangerous! This “my way or the highway; if you’re not with me you’re the devil” mentality is more disgusting than snuff films. I’ll be frank...

In recent years, I’ve learned that there are different shades of grey in the world, different hues of light. Some people are dim sparks and other’s are bright stars; but each flame tells a story wether it be of tragedy or triumph, we can learn regardless from each person. But I challenge those who view the world divided, how can you reach out and unify these sparks into a beautiful light show if you are too damn picky of favoring the brightest, whitest lights? You’re going to go blind like that. If you’re playing favoritism like this you’re not the wiseman, you’ve become the fool in that case.  

I’ve said it before, and I will say it again: Ignorance breathes fear, fear breathes hatred, and hatred breathes destruction. Fear cannot be cured by committing genocide on everything you hate, it can be cured by simply educating yourself. Empathizing others.

What does it mean to empathize? Empathy simply means the act of placing yourself into the shoes of another and seeing the world through their perspective while investigating why they act and think this way. This move demands absolute humility and being empty of your personal opinions. Or how Christian’s constantly preach of “Being dead to yourself”. Unlike sympathy which is usually moved by emotion and usually only rewarding one person, empathy is moved by genuine willingness to understand another. It helps give opportunity for both people to grow and become stronger individuals through each other’s understanding. To have a clear picture of it, Sherlock Holmes is great example of empathy (the original novels, not the recent tv show). Pretty cool if this is your first time hearing empathy, huh?

Unfortunately, this requirement of humility, self-disesteem, and sacrifice of personal opinions is exactly why people don’t like empathy. Because humility by nature has a habit of getting you out of your comfort zone; out of that safe space so you can can understand your true place. Empathy is very self-convicting, but that’s what makes it so powerful and unifying than just holding riots in the streets with signs.  

That’s a mere brush up, but I hope that’s enough.

But going back to explaining myself. I’ve learned too much in the past year alone to just bow the knee to the demands of just anyone. I’m NOT doing that because this year has made me bitter… No. I am honestly putting the foot down for the sake of the other person. If I bow the knee to them, that rewards any bitterness that is eating them up inside, and thus would blind each of us to what is honorable and just in this world. In short, it would just kill us.

I am not for treating a person according to their sins, but I’m rather for rebuking them according to the potential they have and what they stand for. Of course everyone has a choice to listen or not, but let mine be the just thing to do.  

Do unto others and you want others to do unto you. We know who recited that phrase, but He also said “You shall be condemned (or held accountable) to the words you speak (what you uphold/ or the philosophy you live by).”  

So, back to original statement. After reading all this, do I sound or act like a Christian? What defines one since there are so many variations out there anyway?

Everyone is welcome here on my blog. I’m not going to push anyone away just because you are different from me, but I’m not expecting everyone to love me. I can be blunt sometimes, but it’s better than me lying to people. I am not going to shove the Bible down your throat because simply I find that stupid and immature. If you don’t like me you don’t have to follow me, just don’t resort to emotional retorts... it’s not going to make me do anything. 

If you’re open to me, I’m open to you. If you’re closed up from me, I won’t force you to open up… But please…

PLEASE! Don’t expect me to understand you if you don’t explain yourself.

It’s all that simple.

[lost-in-sokovia]

The Period

ha ha why helloooooooo. so bottom line i’m obviously fairly new to having so much attention and if you haven’t picked up yet, i’m a feminist and i’m very open about periods. so why not write about them! i hope you enjoy this peter fic (with a little bit of ned thrown in there) where he takes care of you while you’re on your period! i hope you enjoy!❤️

Warnings: blood (lots of it), periods, pain, stress, sadness, fluff

-imagine peter parker taking care of you while you’re on your period, and forcing Ned to help him-

You could hear the horns and sirens of Queens before you even opened your eyes. Once you did, your (Y/C/H) hair blocked you eyes. Brushing it out of the way, you unintentionally let the sun blind you through the broken blinds on your small window.

“Argahhh,” you groaned, flipping over.

And that’s when you felt it.

There was a cold wetness on your lower half, and you gasped. You slowly pulled up the gray bed sheets to reveal the bloody mess your uterus gifted you with. Tears of frustration formed in your eyes and you grabbed your hair and yanked it, staring at your ceiling. Sunshine had filled your room and it seemed like a perfect fall day.

For the rest of Queens, maybe. Not for you.

Your phone buzzed from your nightstand and you grabbed it, using only the upper half of your body to prevent further discomfort down there. You wiped a tear off your eye so you could see the screen clearly.

Good morning, (Y/N)❤️

Your boyfriend, Peter Parker, had sent you a good morning text. This would’ve been a way cuter way to start off your Saturday, if only previous events hadn’t occurred. The gray texting bubble reoccurred and you watched the dots move up and down until you recieved a new message;

What was the algebra homework from yesterday?

You giggled. Peter was an intelligent kid, an Avenger let alone, but sometimes he needed you to keep him on his toes.

Peter I need you to come over.

You weren’t going to waste any time being mushy. This was a time you were straight forward and told him what you needed. You put your phone back down and, with a burst of confidence, pushed your sheets off you to clearly view the mess. A sharp chill hit you and your legs shivered. And surely, your gray sheets and pink pajama shorts wore the variations of red loud and proud, almost as if to be patriotic.

You yanked the pillow out from under your head and screeched into it. Your phone buzzed and you slowly grabbed your phone.

Alright, what do you need?

You rolled your eyes, sniffing. You replied and slammed the phone back down, closing your eyes.

Just get over here ASAP.

After taking care of all your bloody laundry and rinsing off in the shower, you put on a sweater and layed on the couch in the living room of your small apartment. Windows were cracked to let in the nice fall chill, and you could hear the chattering people and sounds of the highways. You kept the lights off and let the room flood with the golden morning sunlight.

You layed there and waited impatiently for Peter. You wanted to eat, but your stomach felt too cramped and you couldn’t even move. You had the apartment all to yourself, your parents were away for a month-long business trip. Nothing made sense and you just wanted to cry.

Not minutes later there was a knock at the door and a text from Peter. He sent you a picture of him and Ned standing at your door. You jumped up and opened the door so quickly a wind blew your hair.

“Hey (Y/N) I brought you-“ before Peter could finish or walk inside you jumped into his arms and put your legs around his waist. He stumbled then held onto you, hugging you back.

“You guys are gonna make me puke,” Ned gagged. Peter slowly sat you down and handed you a box of donuts from a local bakery in Queens.

“You seemed kinda bummed, so I brought you these,” he said shyly. You dug into the box without further word. Peter blinked and Ned laughed.

“Woah are you totally not yourself today!” Ned continued to stare. “What, are you on your period or something?”

You halted, with a donut half up to your mouth, and shot Ned a nasty glare. He stopped laughing and Peter slugged him in the arm. They weren’t stupid. They probably knew it before they got to your house. You put the donut back in the box and sighed.

“I need you losers to go to the store for me,” you declared. Peter shrugged and Ned looked petrified.

“I’m not going into a store, in public, to buy you stuff to shove up there to clog the bleeding.” Ned was dead set on not going.

“Don’t listen to him, (Y/N), he’s happy to help me.” Peter smiled. You got a warm and fuzzy (even though you were freezing from standing outside for so long) and kissed him on the cheek.

“I need pads, tampons, pain killers, and tea,” you told the boys. Peter made a mental note and Ned had already spaced out.

“We’re on it. We’ll be back in 30 tops,” Peter replied as he gave you one last hug before starting off into the bustling streets of the city. You closed the door and plopped right back onto your couch. You could trust the boys, right? They’re not stupid.

Yeah, it was gonna be fine.

Peter walked at a fast pace through the people on the sidewalk. He stared at the ground, watching dead leaves blow past in the chilly breeze. He wrapped his arms around himself. He was grateful to Mr. Stark for the sweater, but sometimes you just need a bit more to keep you warm.

“Dude.” Ned poked Peter in the arm. “When you got a girlfriend I didn’t sign up to go buy her period products with you,” he complained. Peter ran a hand through his hair.

“Yeah well she would do the same for us,” Peter replied matter-of-factly. Ned didn’t argue. Spotting his destination, Peter sped up his pace and walked into the small general store, hearing the bell ring as he opened the door.

He knew the setup of this store with his eyes closed, but he seemed lost looking for this particular item. All the normal candy, chips, cigarettes, water, lighters, booze...

“Pain killers,” Peter whispered as he snatched a box off the shelf. He scanned the back until he found the key word; menstruation. “These’ll work.”

Ned wandered around, grabbing various items as he pleased.

“Hey Peter, do you think (Y/N) would want some of these?” He held up five dark chocolate bars. Peter shrugged.

“Hey man, it can’t hurt.” Ned nodded and stuffed them in his pocket. Peter moved on to a different aisle and finally found the feminine hygiene products. His brain exploded; there were so many items to choose from. What’s a cup? He didn’t know those existed! What’s the difference between maxi and ultra? He quickly grabbed his phone from his jean pocket and called you.

You fell asleep on your couch. You felt the buzzing of your phone and you opened your eyes, startled. You saw it was your boyfriend and quickly answered.

“Hey Pete, how’s the shopping coming?” You asked.

“(Y/N) what am I supposed to choose?” He asked with complete cluelessness.

You giggled. “Is there just a basic pad or something there?” You asked, getting up to heat some water for the tea you were hoping he’d return with. You spun around on the floor with your socks until you got dizzy and had to stop.

“Yeah, but I mean it’s asking what kind of flow you’re having, and to be quite honest- HEY (Y/N) ARE YOU STILL ALIVE?” You heard Ned yelling in the background. Peter scoffed at him and said something to the effect of “shut the hell up Ned!” and how he was going to kill him.

“Peter, honey, just grab a maxi pad and some tea and come on back,” you said softly. He sighed.

“Alright, see you soon. Love you.”

You got shivers. “I love you too.”

You saw the boys walking back from your bedroom window, the sky now cloudy. You smiled and jumped up, running through the hall into the living room to answer the door. The windows had been closed and the lighting was darker. Peter and Ned hurriedly walked in, shivering.

“Goddamn, (Y/N), it’s freezing out there!” Ned rustled in his pocket and threw the chocolate bars onto the table. Peter pulled out a box of pads and a box of tea and walked past you to take your spot on the couch. You smiled, patting Ned on the shoulder and walking over to lay next to Peter.

“You boys are my heroes,” you mused. Peter smiled as you curled up next to him. Ned walked over and sat next to the two of you.

“Oh, and these.” He pulled out an already-opened box of tampons from his jacket pocket. You cocked an eyebrow.

“Why are they already open?” You asked skeptically. Peter and Ned looked at each other and started laughing.

Uh oh.

Ned pulled out his phone to show you a picture of the two of them in the small and dirty convenience store with a tampon shoved up Ned’s nose and Peter holding one in his mouth.

“Who knew tampons were so much fun!”

You rolled your eyes and sighed. You reluctantly got up from Peter’s grip to go to the bathroom and replace your pad. He reached out at you as you grabbed the fresh box and started to walk away.

“Hey dork,” you said to a sleepy Peter. Eyes closed, he just raised his eyebrows.

“Hm?”

“Thanks... I love you.”

He smiled. Ned crossed his arms.

“You too Ned,” you added sarcastically.

“I know.”

As you closed the door, you heard Peter say groggily to Ned, “She never told me the algebra homework.”

i hope you guys liked this peter one... i thought it was pretty cute! thanks for reading and don’t forget to request!💙

[until-theend-oftheline]

Rose Gold

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

Warnings: Kobik is kinda a warning in herself but just fluff.    

Word Count: 2000ish

Square Filled: Teacher AU for @marvelfluffbingo

A/N: This is written for @carryonmyswansong challenge and my prompt was You are my child’s teacher trope.

Betaed by: the amazing @sebs-potato - thank you so much for your help Ida!

***My fics are not to be saved nor posted on any other sites without my express written permission.***

Bucky had been more than a little worried about taking Kobik to school the first time six months ago, but out of all the scenarios he had pictured in his head, he had never once seen this coming. The worst thing of all was that Sam Wilson of course had to witness his misfortune.  

Kobik loved her new school and it had been great for her. Even if there had been a few incidents like floating chairs (with kids still sitting on them) and a swimming pool suddenly appearing in the hallway, she was doing great.

Her teacher was beyond amazing. Each time Bucky had been summoned to her school over one of the said incidents, she had been smiling and laughing. She saw Kobik like a kid. A special kid, but not a danger or nuisance. If the other kids tried to make Kobik use her powers Y/N was always quick to step in and explain why they couldn’t ask that of her. She was firm but gentle and kind hearted. She was just the teacher that Kobik needed, but more than that, Bucky was absolutely smitten with her.

Of course Sam had picked up on that a few months in when he and Steve had come with Bucky to collect his six year old, superpowered trouble maker. Had it only been Sam’s teasing, then it would have been a hell of a lot easier, but of course Steve and Kobik had overheard the birdbrain. The two of them didn’t tease, they offered advice. Much to Bucky’s frustration neither of them were very helpful.

“Have you tried to talk to her?” Steve asked as the three men and little girl headed for the park. It was a cool autumn day, but the sun was shining and the leaves made the world glow in a million colors. Normally Bucky would love a day like this, but at the moment, given the misery his two so called friends were putting him through, he hoped it would start pouring . At least that he give him an excuse to flee back to the Tower to hide in apartment he shared with Kobik.

“He barely talk to us Steve,” Sam smirked, “I’m not sure he can form coherent sentences in front of a woman.”

Bucky glared at Sam, but before he could say anything the little girl came to his defense.

“He can too. He talk to her all the time. Why don’t you ask her out Buckaroo?” Kobik looked up at him with big hopeful eyes and Bucky’s heart sank. She liked Y/N, he knew that. The kid deserved a family and Bucky wasn’t sure he could ever give her that. Kobik didn’t see him the way everyone else did. She didn’t judge him for his past and even if Y/N didn’t appear to either, there was a huge difference between teaching an ex brainwashed assassins’ kid and going out with one. Even if she did say yes, Bucky came with a shitton of bagage and Y/N deserved better than that.

“It’s not that simple, kiddo,” Bucky sighed, giving his adopted daughter a small sad smile, causing her to frown.

“I still think you should ask her out.” Steve gave Bucky’s shoulder a friendly slap and to Bucky’s surprise Sam nodded.

“It couldn’t hurt to ask. It might be awkward for a few days if she says no, but she seems  cool. It’ll be fine. And hey, she might be crazy enough to say yes.” Sam couldn’t help but tease a little even if Bucky could see he was being sincere. Sam and Bucky might be torturing each other every chance they got, but underneath the foolishness they respected and cared for each other. Bucky had no doubt in his mind Sam wanted what was best for him, just like Steve did.

“I could just change things a little so she is already my mommy,” Kobik offered, causing Bucky to stop in his tracks and blink. It wasn’t the first time Kobik had offered to change reality for him and he suspected it wouldn’t be the last. That wasn’t what threw him, it was her choice of words. If Kobik wanted him to ask Y/N out because she wanted her to be her mom, then the little girl viewed Bucky as her dad.

He saw Kobik as his kid, of course he did, but she never called him anything but Bucky or some variation thereof. She had never once referred to him as Dad or Daddy, so naturally her words threw Bucky a little. It wasn’t until she spoke again, looking up at him with those big innocent eyes of hers, that he managed to collect himself.

“Do you want that, Bucko? I can do it right now,” she offered again.

“Kobik.” Bucky knelt down in front of her so he was eye level with the little girl. “We talked about this remember?”

“Right. Sorry.” She hung her head a little and Bucky quickly pulled her against him for a hug. He buried his face in her neck to hide the tears that had threatened to spill with her previous words and smiled as he felt her small arms close around his neck.

“I didn’t mean to make you sad, Buckaroo,” she whispered and Bucky gave her a small squeeze before drawing back to look at her. He gave one of her pigtails a gentle tug as he smiled.

“You didn’t. I’m very proud of you,” Bucky assured her causing Kobik to beam with happiness.

Bucky wasn’t sure what had happened between then and now other than a few months had past. There had been a few pitiful attempts of asking Y/N out, but everytime he had chickened out last minute. He could have sworn the last time he had seen disappointment in her eyes, but Bucky wasn’t sure that wasn’t just wishful thinking.

Right now he wished he had grown a pair, because that would probably have spared him of the humiliation of this moment. He wasn’t sure exactly the reason for his misfortune, but he was sure who the culprit was. Bucky also knew her well enough to know she would only use her powers on him to make him happy. So whatever the entire reason was for Kobik’s little power display Bucky wasn’t convinced it didn’t have something to do with Y/N. Bucky groaned walking through the main area as Sam was on the floor laughing his ass off, while Steve and Clint stared at him slack jawed.

Bucky didn’t say a word, he just groaned much like an angry bear as he passed Sam on his way out of the Tower. He pulled on a jacket to cover up his now pink arm as he rushed towards Kobik’s school, where he was of course greeted by a very happy little girl.

Bucky picked up Kobik as she ran to him and let her hug him tight. He closed his eyes, letting himself enjoy the embrace, like always he was reminded there was no need to be angry with her. No matter how unfortunate her little power displays were at times, she never once used her powers to hurt anyone. She only used them when she thought it would make other people happy, or when she got excited about something causing her to literally float on air.  

“Kobik.” Bucky tried to sound stern with her after he let her back on her feet. He knelt down in front of the little girl as he took of his jacket, his arm showing as he was only wearing a t-shirt underneath. “What’s this?”

“Oh my…” Y/N’s voice sounded behind Bucky before Kobik had a chance to answer and he quickly turned his head to see her biting her lip, averting her eyes from his as she shifted on her feet.

“I’m so sorry. She was asking me a bunch of questions earlier. I didn’t see any harm in answering,” she rambled, causing Bucky to frown as he fought to catch up.

“Her favorite jewelry is rose gold,” Kobik said proudly, making Bucky’s eyes widen as Y/N giggled, kneeling down next to him in front of Kobik.

“Bucky is not a necklace, sweetie.” She bit her lip, trying to hold in her laughter as Bucky lost his fight. He laughed, tugging Kobik’s pigtail, before growing serious.

“Kobik. We talked about this remember? What can’t we do?” he asked, and the little girls smile fell as she looked to the ground.

“Use our powers on others,” she answered, making Bucky smile a little.

“Especially?” he pushed, and a small pout appeared on her face.

“Especially not when they don’t know I am doing it. I’m sorry, Bucko. I just thought since you’ve been trying to ask miss Y/N out that if your arm was her favorite color she might ask you instead since…” she rambled, before Bucky managed to shush her.

His cheeks were almost the same color as his arm now, and he didn’t dare look over at Y/N next to him. He should have just waited to talk to Kobik until she got home, he scolded himself.

“I’ll turn it back,” she promised and within a second his arm was back to it’s normal black and gold color.

“I’m sorry.” Kobik threw her arms around Bucky’s neck, and he hugged her on instinct. “Please don’t be mad at me, Buckaroo.”

“I’m not, Kobik. It’s okay. Just try and remember okay?” Bucky said softly as he ran a hand up and down her back soothingly.

“I will,” she promised as she pulled back, “can I go play with the others now?”

Bucky nodded, and got up as she ran away. He shifted awkwardly on his feet, painfully aware of Y/N’s presence next to him. She had heard everything and he had no idea what to say to her now. Should he apologize? Or try and ask her out again? Or maybe pretend as if nothing had happened?

“Bucky.” Her voice was soft and Bucky felt a jolt of electricity through his body as she laid her hand on his arm. “Please look at me.”

He turned around to face her, but it took him a few moments to gather to the courage to look into her eyes. He felt as if the wind was knocked from his lungs when he did. Her eyes were shining brightly as she smiled at him and Bucky swore in his long life he had never seen anything or anymore more beautiful than her.

“Yes,” she said causing Bucky to blink, wondering if he had said something without even realizing.

“Sorry?” he asked, and he wanted to kick himself with how stupid he sounded. Y/N didn’t seem to mind though. She just laughed, biting her lip, making Bucky want to lean in and kiss her.

“I figured since you had trouble asking, according to that daughter of yours, I’d spare you having to keep trying.” She smiled and Bucky swore his heart stopped for a second.

“So yes. I’ll go out with you,” she giggled, giving his right arm a small squeeze.

“Yeah. I’d love that,” Bucky managed to stammer, before squeezing his eyes shut, scolding himself as she laughed.

“You’re doing better than you think.” She smiled reassuringly when Bucky reopened his eyes. “How does Friday sound?”

“Perfect. It sounds perfect,” Bucky muttered, trying to prevent himself from doing a small happy dance as she started to back away.

“I better get back to the kids. My phone number is on Bik’s call sheet,” she reminded him with a radiant smile.

“I’ll call you,” Bucky called after her, as she turned around making her spin back towards him sending him a wink.

“I’ll look forward to it, Bucky,” she insisted before disappearing into one of the classrooms and Bucky was finally free to pump his fist in the air as he turned around heading back home. A pink arm was sure as hell worth this outcome, even if Sam had seen it. Bucky owed Kobik the biggest ice cream on Manhattan he decided, and she was going to get it when he picked her this afternoon.

Please reblog; help me spread my work - Leave a comment. Feedback is fuel

Sebastian Stan/Bucky Barnes Tag Team

@emilyevanston @sea040561 @feelmyroarrrr @holyfuckloueh @evansrogerskitten

@smoothdogsgirl @roxyspearing @mizzzpink @blacktithe7 @grace-for-sale @thinkwritexpress-official @percywinchester27 @mizzezm @yknott81 @thoughtsofdarc @mysupernaturalfics @becs-bunker @docharleythegeekqueen @jamersgang  @v-2bucky @cd1242 @scarlettsoldier @angelsandwinchesters @danijimenezv @girl-next-door-writes @hellaqueerangelofthelord @jamesbarnesappreciationsociety @thisismysecrethappyplace @marvelismylifffe @sebs-potato @vvishous @sebsunshinestan @averyrogers83 @thejourneyneverendsx @xdreamseb @serienjunkiegirl

[ahomeganeyatsu]

Ran Off in the Night (Part 5)

On his walk to the bus stop, Lucas had resigned himself not to see the guy again. It was clear he had no plans of being caught. It was still strange why the guy showed up in the common room when he had been completely gone the whole day. Or why he let Lucas meet his eyes. Lucas was still unsure if the guy even existed. If he was even real. If he had really seen him. Like he said, his tail had been completely silent the whole day. Lucas probably conjured him from say, desperation. 

His friends had also sensed his plummeting mood but made no comment. They didn’t even stop him when he told them he was heading home first, only giving pats, a side hug and another hair ruffle. Variations of “Take care, Lulu” following after him. He knew he had to tell them what was bothering him at some point. He just didn’t know how.

He should probably start out by coming out to them. The only thing stopping him was the gaping unknown that was their reactions. He knew they had no problem with it. He had seen the boys interact with Mika, and none of them had been aggressive. But what if? What if they weren’t okay with Lucas? What if it changed their friendship? What if they didn’t want to be friends with him anymore? What if? What if? What if?

And then, there was the thing with his ability. He wasn’t even sure he wants to tell the boys about it. Being, well, gay already separated him from most people. Lucas didn’t want anything more to put a divide between him and his friends. Plus, he didn’t want to put that kind of burden on them. He would rather have them living oblivious about the things in the dark than live the rest of their lives always looking over their shoulders and cultivating an amount of distrust for the world.

Like right now for example. He was just walking to the fucking bus stop of all things and yet he kept checking if someone was following him. If he had to avoid anyone to keep himself from any trouble. To be safe. And dammit, his tail for the past week had seriously made him more paranoid than ever. With a quiet frustrated huff, he stopped and stood in front of the shed and checked the schedule of the next bus.

As if the universe had heard his desperate plea, Lucas spots the guy just right across him.

A seed of doubt planted itself into his mind. Should he approach him? Or should he continue to ignore him? He had done for the better part of the week. Except, what if he poofs out of existence like well— like a ninja just when Lucas was so close? What if this was just a mirage? What if Lucas had been dreaming all this time?

With all these thoughts, Lucas came to one unchanging fact. He needed answers. He needed to know why he had been following him; why he had been watching him; why he was so familiar. He probably had an idea why Lucas’ memory had been spotty about Saturday evening. And honestly, if the guy was going to keep on tailing him, Lucas deserved to at least know who he was. Dream or otherwise. He was the only thing that made Lucas completely suspicious of his situation.

He took a deep breath and pursed his lips. Okay, he was actually doing this. Lucas approached silently, steps determined and tentative at the same time, as if he still can’t believe this was happening. Which pretty much summed up the whole of it. It wasn’t like he approached guys all the time. Figments of his imaginations or not, Lucas was shit scared when it came to seizing an opportunity. Especially right after the Yann debacle. (Come to think of it, he always somehow manages to develop a slight crush on guys linked to Emma. Fuck, he seriously has a problem.)

The guy remained unaware of Lucas. So, the brunette teen took this time to observe. He stood in front of the vending machine. His shoulders were hunched, fingers rubbing anxiously at his lips. His eyes stared at the machine with a look of deep contemplation—one more suitable for something philosophical rather than deciding what snack to choose. Then again, Lucas couldn’t blame him. The teen understood the great intricacies of choosing the right snack.

“Number 24 isn’t bad,” he heard himself suggest. Things happened too fast for Lucas to comprehend. One moment, he was staring at a broad back. The next thing he knew, he was facing the end of a blade. A weirdly glowy, wickedly sharp blade.

“Shit.” The guy’s eyes widened at the sight of him and Lucas tried not to move, fearing the blade would nick him. He flicked his wrist and the blade disappeared up into his sleeve. A movement so quick Lucas wondered if it even happened at all. A frown made an appearance on the guy’s face and Lucas can’t help but think how unfair it was that he still looked handsome. “You really can see me.”

“No shit, Sherlock.” Lucas blurted. His muscles were still tense. Body keyed to run at the first sign of danger. He could see the strange marks peeking under the guy’s shirt and Lucas latched onto the dumb stereotype of tattoos-equals-trouble. Not one of his proudest moments he knew, but give him a break. He just had a blade pointed at his face literal seconds ago. He was allowed to lose a few decent brain cells.

“You’re a mundane.” There was no bite to it. No hidden disdain. Lucas still found himself reacting negatively.

“Are you calling me boring? You don’t even know me!” He scowled at the guy and a spike of annoyance rose within him when he saw the guy’s lips twitch, trying to hold back a smile.

“No, I mean. You’re human,” he explained, tilting his head and Lucas wanted to pull those stupid messy locks. “Normal.” Like that made any more sense. Of course, Lucas was human. He just had this freaky ability that lets him see things other humans don’t. He was also getting tired of being referred to as mundane like he should know what that meant when they threw the term at him. It wasn’t like the dictionary provided any helpful answers. It didn’t hold the nuances of this other world that he was sorely missing.

He noted how the guy’s eyes sharpened. Face becoming shuttered as he took a step closer to Lucas. It happened in such a short span of time that the teen couldn’t even react. Suddenly, there was barely any space between them. And this close, Lucas becomes aware of how tall the guy really was. It rankled that he had to strain his neck to meet those eyes. Lucas could feel his breath on his cheek as he looked down at him. Stormy-greys eyes staring deeply into his. Roaming all over his face and seemingly seeing right through him.

“Or are you?” His voice was soft, sounding more of an exhale. “You’re certainly pretty enough to be one of the fae.” Lucas could practically feel the way the blush crept up his cheeks. “Or maybe you’re a warlock? You could easily glamour your mark that way. Your eyes certainly can’t be this blue to simply be human.” A finger brushed his cheekbone with the gentlest of touches and Lucas can’t breathe. “She certainly could have lied to keep you safe.” He added as an afterthought.

This was real. This was fucking real, his mind screamed. He could actually feel the touch. Feel his breath. Smell him, like the hoodie, a voice whispered. He smells like the hoodie!

“Are you actually flirting with me?” incredulity strained Lucas’ voice. His brain didn’t even try to comprehend the guy’s words. Too focused on the not so subtle compliments the guy was aiming at him. And the thought that I’m not dreaming. Oh god. Seriously, what the fuck?

A wide, bright smile broke across the expressionless face. Stormy-grey eyes brighten, the blue standing out more, and they dance with mirth. Lucas’ heart fluttered.

“Wouldn’t you want to know.” The guy took a step back, leaving the teen confused and bereft. “I have to go now Lucas. We’ve got a lot to talk about, but I can’t stay any longer. Don’t look for me, I’ll come find you.”

He uttered a surprised sound. “Oh, and here,” he reached for one of Lucas’ hand that held the strap of his bag in a death grip. He felt his hand loosening as the guy tucked something in it. He heard the crinkle of the wrapper before he could even look. His brows still rose all the same upon seeing the Crunchy Choco he had just been given him.

Before Lucas could say anything else, ask how the guy knew his name, someone interrupts them. He turned and Chloe was right there, smiling at him. His stomach turned. Anxiety instantly pumping through his system.

“Hi!” she said cheerily. Lucas reciprocated the pleasantries automatically, albeit lacking the same amount of enthusiasm Chloe was exhibiting. “You left without saying goodbye.”

Lucas fetched for a response that wasn’t, Kind of the plan since I don’t want to talk to you. And shuffled his feet. He twisted his head a bit, hoping to catch a glimpse of the mysterious stranger, but he wasn’t there anymore. Lucas wasn’t even surprised. Disappointment stirred heavily in his chest but he stomped on it quickly.

Chloe was still looking at him expectantly; she waited patiently for an answer Lucas could not provide. Not without offending her. And like Superman swooping in to save a hapless victim from being pancake on the ground, the bus pulled in. “Uh, that’s my bus. Bye Chloe,” he said and ran like a bat out of hell.

He didn’t even turn around. He just rushed into the open doors of the bus. He walked to the back, stopped at a seat in the second to the last row and pressed himself against the window. He let out a breath as the bus door closed and it lurched to drive away. He was finally able to breathe. Alone with his thoughts, his mind easily drifted to familiar stormy-grey eyes, that handsome face and the sound of his name being uttered by that voice.

He stared at the snack in his hands. As if it would summon the guy through sheer force of will. And lo and behold, it didn’t. He blew out a disgruntled sigh and proceeded to unwrap the treat. He bit into it with undeserved violence. It was unfair really. The guy knew his name and Lucas still had no idea who he was. All Lucas knew was he carried a strange blade, wore black clothes, sported strange tattoo-like marks on his skin and had a habit of stalking a sixteen-year-old boy, flirt with them and give them their favorite snack before disappearing all together. Again.

At least Lucas finally knew this was real. That he really hadn’t been imagining him. (It wasn’t like Lucas was that imaginative to come up with that face.)

I’ll come find you.

Stupid Teumessian fox. Paradox be damned, he wasn’t going to just sit here and wait. He still needed answers. Lucas was going to catch himself a sneaky, smooth fucker if it’s the last thing he had to do.

Ten minutes later, Lucas realized he got on the wrong bus. 

Somewhere above, the stars were laughing at him.

[cacophony-eg]

Sentinel Au (Inspired by Uraraaaaaaan)

@uraraaaaaaan  Alright, after reading up more on this Sentinel AU I think I have a feel for how this would work for kidge. Just bouncing ideas at this point so feel free to add to it.

World Building:

Sentinels have super-heightened senses, (usually only one of the five, it’s uncommon to have two or three, but it’s not unheard of, on the other hand, it’s extremely rare for someone to have all five.) These height senses often lead to zoning out or becoming overly focused on one sense, and the only thing that helps them out of a zone-out state is their guide. Pretty much a Guide can help the Sentinel control his senses in ways they couldn't on their own, or help ground them when their abilities get overpowered.

Now I’m going to put a little twist on the Guides, they have their own needs as well, as they quite often have uncontrollable spikes in emotion, such as Anger, Fear, Joy, Sadness, etc. And the only one that can truly ground their emotions is their Sentinels.

The way Sentinels can recognize their connected Guide and vis versa, is that they can see each other's spirit animals (this may be a no Voltron AU but I'm going to fit the lions in any way.) Even though Guides can ground their emotions when around Sentinels, the Sentinels can still often see their Guides real feelings just by watching the guide's spirit animal as they don't hide anything.

Personally, I would probably go with a no Voltron AU, there are still aliens, like Galra, Altean’s and what not. Not all species have a Sentinel and Guides, Some even have a variation on the Sentinel and Guides, and I like the idea of Earth sort of being a galactic hub for a lot of different species. There are still waring planets but it’s usually a 1vs1 kind of thing, no huge Galactic level of war.  

Galra doesn’t have Sentinels and Guides but is very intrigued by them.

Altean’s have the ability to make up to five spiritual contracts with others, that allows them to gift their charge with one enhance sense. (For example. Lotor’s four charges: Zethrid has enhanced smell, Ezor has enhanced touch, Axca has enhanced sight and Natri has to enhance hearing.)

For Human’s about 25% of the population is either a Sentinel or Guide, that makes them fairly common knowledge. Thanks to a breakthrough by Slav; made over a decade ago, there is now a biological way to detect if someone is a Sentinel or Guide, the best/easiest time to test on humans is when they are 15 years or older.

During the present day, it is common to get tested at this age, though because it’s an expensive procedure only those that show some kind of external sign or are request to be tested by an existing Sentinel or Guide get tested. Also because these people can be very dangerous, all the testing is done through military resources.

Pidge and Keith

Let's start with Keith.

This AU will have Mama Krolia and Keith's Dad alive and a part of his life.

Keith is very gifted but has a very hard time controlling his emotions, and thus has a lot of issues at school. Getting angry and in fights easily even though he has decent grades and has a lot of natural gifts when it comes to physical or quick reacting activities. He's often considered a troubled child. Krolia and Keith's Dad try to be as supportive and help Keith in every way possible, they are still limited with how they can help Keith.

At a young age, Krolia tries to help Keith with all his pent-up emotions by letting them out through training, to physically get his emotions out, but that only helps to a degree, but she is trying her best, to help her emotional baby. Keith’s Dad (I call him Trevor after his voice actor) tries to get Keith to talk about what happened why he feels this way, trying to get Keith to at least understand his own emotions so they don’t feel so out of control.

Then comes in Shiro, a world renown Sentinel that can heighten all five of his senses. Shiro sees the signs and personally request Keith to be tested. Keith hoping he's a Sentinel so he can be like Shiro but is sorely disappointed to discover that he's a guild. (he dreamed of doing cool stuff with heightened senses)

Soon after being tested, he is enrolled in the Galaxy Garrison and Shiro personally mentors him, he's not a guild himself but stills helps ground Keith better than anyone else can. All while the Garrison tries to match Keith up with a Sentinel, Keith and the Garrison staff spend two years looking for his match. Some students making fun of him for not having a Sentinel by now, and tell him he must be a broken Guide that no Sentinel would want. (that leading to quite a few fights on their own.) Worst of all Keith's starting to believe them.

Now Katie/Pidge

Katie is a Sentinel has enhanced sight, hearing and touch, she uses them unintentionally all the time, overhearing conversations she never means to, but other kids have accused and pick on her of being nosy and an eavesdropper since she was little, so she pretends not to hear a lot.

She can visually register so much at once, because of the combination of enhance hearing and sight she can listen to and watch multiple people at once and register what they're all saying and doing, this also makes studying easier as she can watch cartoons while listening to a lecture and reading a book at the corner of her eyes all at once, but sometimes it can be very overwhelming, so she made glasses to damper her sight to make things a little easier on her. Though she still has a hard time focusing and that often makes teachers accuse her of not paying attention or daydreaming during class.    

Though the part that bothers Katie the most and finds the most overwhelming is the hypersensitive touch, she can tell so much that it often makes her freak out when other people she's not used to touching her; it always feels like a punch to her senses. She's been like this since she was very little so she has tried to avoid interaction with anyone outside of her immediate family.

Pidge is smart enough to see the signs and knows what she is, but Pidge doesn't want to go to the Garrison and have to share a room with someone she doesn't know; Guild or not she likes her own space. So avoids getting tested for as long as she can.

NOW THE KIDGE BEGINS

One day Matt calls Shiro when he's out with Keith desperately needing some help, his sister refuses to leave her room and go get tested. Matt hoping that maybe Shiro; a well known Sentinel, could help him convince Pidge to come to the test.

Since Shiro was out with Keith doing hoverbike drills. Shiro chooses to bring Keith with him, it’s Keith’s first time at the holt house. He has met Matt before and Mr.Holt a few times, but never Miss Holt or their Daughter.

As soon as they park Keith freezes seeing a green lion made out of leaves, vines and wood standing at the holt’s front door. Keith partially throws his helmet off and runs to the spirit animal, it's his first time seeing a spirit animal it's the first time he's ever gotten even a clue as to who his Sentinel is, and he is not going to lose his chance.

Matt opens the door to greet them, but almost gets run over by Keith as he runs through the doorway past Matt, into the house. He doesn't listen to Shiro or Matt calling to him, Keith is afraid this is his one and only chance to find his Sentinel.

Pidge is curled up in her room, wearing noise-cancelling headphones on, sitting under her soft bed blankets while watching a show on her tablet, when she noticed the light in her room fluttering through her blanket seems to have changed through her, she pulls the covers off to see what was causing the change. Pidge is awestruck seeing a red lion made out of flames and molten rock standing in her room. She gets out of bed just to try and touch the spirit animal. But it walks away from her before she can untangle herself from the blankets and walks through her bedroom door.

Keith rushing upstairs after the green lion seeing it disappear into a closed door, Keith's reaches to grab the door handle but before his hand can grip the knob, the door swings open.

Keith and Pidge pause looking past each other, Keith staring at the green lion standing behind the short girl with long brown hair, and Pidge looking at the red lion behind a dark-haired guy with soft violet eyes.

Pidge's mind is quick enough to realize what this person is to her, though she doesn't have the social skills to really know what to say. Keith knows it has to be her but doesn't know what to do what to say, his emotions are spiking fear of being rejected, thankful there really was a Sentinel for him, the overflow of relief he's not alone.

Pidge gets halfway through a squeaky 'Hi' when Keith lunges forward and grabs her hand. He needs the reassurance that she's real, that she won't disappear. Not expecting the calming sensation that washes over him, his own emotions finally feel like they won't drown him.

Pidge flinches when he grabs her hand, expecting her sensitive touch to punch her senses like they always did when it was someone she didn't know. But get's a pleasant shock when all she really feels is the warmth of his fingers and the slightly smooth surface of his fingerless gloves. Her fingers curl around his hand and held his hand tight cause he's the first person she can touch without worry.

Matt and Shiro finally get up the stairs, Matt going in protective big brother mode, Shiro holding him back, calming Matt down and assure Matt that Katie didn’t need to get a test anymore.

When they enter the Garrison

they are both inseparable, they have rarely seen more than a few feet away from each other at any given time which is not completely unusual with new Sentinel and Guild pair, but doesn’t stop people from teasing the lone wolf and the unsociably kitty Kat, being so close to someone. (and thanks to all the cat(Kat) jokes she starts going by Pidge one of her brother’s nicknames for her to stop the stupid jokes.)

They share a dorm room, but because their different genders bedroom parts are separated with a shared bathroom connecting the two rooms together.

Discovering Pidge can finally touch someone without being able to feel how many hairs they have on their knuckles and if they washed their hands before leaving the washroom, and countless other things. Pidge realizes how starved she is for touch, and will take every chance she can to touch Keith's hand or fiddle with his hair, cuddle with him, sit on his lap when they watch movies or shows or study.

Although Keith doesn't really know how to handle all this closeness, he honestly really likes Pidge snuggling up to him, when she touches his hair it's really relaxing and having her hold his hand reassures him that she's right there beside him and he isn't in some coma dream after a bad accident.

Though Keith is forever too embarrassed to admit it, so whenever she asked to hold his hand he just says sure, or when she asked if he's okay with her touching his hair, he says it's fine (forgetting Pidge can see his lion purring like a happy kitten whenever she does it, so she knows he likes it but still think it's better to ask, just in case.)

The two also become very protective of each other, someone tries to pick on Pidge because she’s one of the smallest students (and easily the smallest Sentinel (possible the record smallest but she refuses to check)) Keith makes sure anyone tries to physically push her around he makes them regret it, and thanks to Pidge’s presence, he can stop himself before going too far.

Pidge; thanks to her abilities, can hear all the things other students say about them behind their backs. She’s used to people putting her down, but hearing them talk down about Keith, she will not tolerate.

Keith always asks if she’s okay, noticing her green lion looking angry, but she always assures him she’s fine and gets back at those individuals through… creative means, whether it’s a malfunctioning food dispenser that makes food spray out when said persons ID card is used on it, or there's a strange mix up on the digital schedule that makes a certain group of people have to do the dirties chores in the Garrisons for multiple days in a row. None of it them able to track back to Pidge.

Even though Pidge is extremely smart, with her pilot skills growing every day and Keith is a very gifted fighter, along with the best pilot in their class. They both still get made fun of a lot because their roles should be reversed, usually the athletic one is the Sentinel and the smart calm one is the Guild.

And yeah even though they're both very gifted their both terrible at their special Sentinel and Guild base classes, they're constantly finding loopholes around their usual rolls and passing the requirements in their own way.

Though it infuriates many of their teachers cause they're not fulfilling their represented rolls properly. They got each other, they got Matt, Shiro and the rest of their intimidate family if everyone else doesn't like them, Keith and Pidge really don't care.

(though Hunk, Lance, and Allura will eventually worm a friendship out of them, I'm still figuring out their roles)

Bonus Matt and Shiro

Matt would be Shiro's Guild, and because Shiro can enhance all five senses, during his time before meeting Matt, Shiro would have to use sedatives and prescription tranquillizers to dull his senses enough just so he could function (probably injected through the thingy on his wrist) and still has to use them whenever Matt isn't around for long periods of time.

Timeline wise I would say Matt and Shiro crossed paths about a year before Shiro meets Keith.

Shiro's spirit animal would be a black lion with a mane made out of a night sky and dark red and white wings. Matt's I would picture be a large Owl made out of leaves, vines and wood.