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cinnaminsvga · 4 years

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Sweeter than Strawberries | Jungkook

→ summary: at euphoria bakery, seasonal changes also bring seasonal menu items. when you find out that your favorite strawberry shortcake milkshake was phased out after the end of summer, it takes only one puppy eyed look from you for jeon jungkook to make it for you anyway—just don’t tell his boss about it, alright?

→ genre: bakery!au, s2l, fluff → warnings: none unless you count the fact that i’m writing shy!jungkook again :^D, we love mutual pining in this house ex dee → words: 4.5K → a/n: this was commissioned by @ihatemathanal!! i was super stoked to write this bc it’s really cute and sometimes it’s nice to just write happy fluffy things every once in a while (aka zee is turning into a fluff writer jfc) it got a lil longer than it was supposed to, but that’s bc i got carried away lol anyway i hope you guys enjoy!! (ps: this also works for the bgw bingo so... tyg for s2l fics!! let’s get it!!)

For the most part, the beginning of autumn is usually your favorite time of the year. When the tree leaves begin to yellow and the air gains a significantly colder bite, this signifies the end of pit stains and sweaty thighs and the start of sweater paws and chapped lips. Above all, you are most excited, of course, for an excuse to gorge yourself on steaming mugs of hot chocolate, paired with delicious mountains of warm gooey brownies.

For the most part, these are all things that often get you excited for the coming chill. What you do not think to remember, however, is that while these seasonal changes bring more good than bad, there still remains a little snag: a small oversight, if you will. As businesses all over the world begin the annual transition to the colder months, so does your favorite bakery across the street from your university. After all, summer ingredients grow scarcer as the year nears its end, so it’s understandable for bakeries to switch up their menu to keep up with both the supply and demand.

What does any of this have to do with anything? Well, long story short—

Your favorite strawberry shortcake milkshake is about to get phased out. No, scratch that—it’s already been phased out, right from under your very nose, no less!

You shouldn’t have been surprised, really. You have always known it was a specialty drink; your best friend had even been the one to introduce it to you just near the end of your summer classes:

“This is Euphoria Bakery,” Namjoon had said with a smile, waving cheerily at the two boys manning the till. You heard him chuckle in amusement when your eyes nearly popped out of their sockets, staring longingly at the sweet treats and baked goods lining the display case.

Namjoon had stolen your attention away, however, when he pointed to the chalkboard menu on the wall. As it turned out, the bakery also doubled as a cafe, serving the usual coffees and teas while also making the occasional specialty drink for different seasons or holidays. The chalkboard was decorated beautifully, the menu items written out in neat cursive with tiny little doodles littering its margins. On one of the boards, there was a new drink item being advertised in bold pink letters—a great summer treat!—or so it said.

“Jungkook-ssi, can you get me and Y/N a strawberry shortcake milkshake? Extra whipped cream for me, please!” Namjoon called out to one of the boys, startling the younger of the two. The boy, Jungkook, must have been busy fiddling with the cash register that he hadn’t noticed your arrival.

“N-Namjoon-hyung? Sorry, I was just busy counting the money—” Jungkook stopped short in his speech, his tongue getting caught in his mouth when his eyes landed directly on you. He had made a strangled sound, like he had swallowed his spit too quickly and was struggling to regain his composure. “H-Hello?”

You realized belatedly that he must have been greeting you, as you had been distracted by his fidgetiness. His nervousness was cute, if a little bit contagious; you couldn’t help feeling anxious too, like your heart was missing every other beat, even though you had no reason to be. “Hello! My name is Y/N. It’s my first time coming here, but Namjoon says your new summer menu item is really good? I wanted to try it out for myself.”

Jungkook nodded, still staring wide-eyed at you as if in a trance. You expected him to start... well. You weren’t an expert on how bakeries or cafes are run, but you were pretty sure he should’ve started doing something after you had spoken, perhaps ring up your order on the register, or start working on your drinks. Instead, he’s still frozen in place, like he’d somehow short-circuited within the last two minutes.

It seemed you weren’t the only one who noticed his odd behavior because the man working with him suddenly pushed Jungkook to the side, a brief smirk flashing across his face before it was quickly replaced by a more subdued, professional smile.

“Sorry about him. He’s usually my best baker, but sometimes he can get a little... distracted when he’s confronted with sweet things,” the man said nonchalantly, but it seemed that his innocent-sounding comment had embarrassed Jungkook greatly.

“Jimin-hyung!” Jungkook whined, stomping his foot not unlike a bunny. If you squinted a little bit, you could definitely see the resemblance.

Namjoon, who had been quietly watching everything unfold, chose that moment to pipe up. “Oh, I see. I didn’t know you had a type, but after thinking about it—” Namjoon shot a surreptitious glance at you, before turning back to Jungkook with a teasing grin, “—I can definitely see why.”

At the time, you had no idea what was going on, mostly confused as to why Jungkook had suddenly become so red-faced while Namjoon and Jimin giggled like a couple of high school girls. It seemed like you were somehow the main reason for his embarrassment, so you were quick to poke Namjoon in the stomach, effectively silencing him.

“Hey! Stop teasing the poor boy. He’s just being nice,” you said, pointing a soft smile back at Jungkook. “Sorry about him. I’m sure you’re an excellent baker, judging from how wonderful and cute all these cakes on the display look.” Somehow, your praise had only made Jungkook’s cheeks brighten even further. He cleared his throat as if to say something in response, before changing his mind and scuttling away to the back room instead.

“I’m going to start making your milkshake! D-don’t mind me!” He called out from behind the door, causing Jimin to finally break down into raucous giggles, nearly doubling over from his own mirth.

“Aish, that kid. He never learns, huh…” Jimin sighed, but the smile on his face is kind—the sort of fond look an older brother might have for his kid brother. He turned back to you and Namjoon with that lingering softness as he rang the two of you up, before chatting idly with you as you waited for Jungkook to finish making your drinks.

“I’ve never seen you around, Y/N-ssi. Jungkook—sorry, I meant I definitely would’ve noticed you if I did. You go to the same university as Namjoon-ssi, right?” Jimin asked, flipping a pen between his fingers with incredible dexterity. You were slightly distracted by that, faintly jealous of how his short fingers could somehow manage such a feat.

“I—yeah, I do. I’m assuming you’re also a student?”

“Yep. I actually met Namjoon-ssi when we took that one music theory class together. I was handing out flyers for this bakery after class and he happened to be one of the first people to actually come,” he said, winking at Namjoon. You watched with much interest when your friend turned a faint shade of pink, his hand coming up behind his neck—a signature tick of his whenever he was feeling shy or nervous.

“I-It was nothing… I mean, your seasonal drinks are always so good! I remember your old snowman-shaped donuts with the raspberry filling? I still dream of it sometimes,” Namjoon sighed, eyes going glassy for a moment.

Jimin laughed, his eyes crinkling into cute little crescents. “Oh, stop it! I remember how you’d come here even after we stopped serving that donut and you’d beg us to make them again.”

“And yet you never did, even though I know you have the ingredients to make them,” Namjoon pouted, but there’s endearment dancing in his expression.

You chuckled, shaking your head in disbelief. “I never pegged Namjoon as a sweet-tooth guy, so this is honestly all a very big surprise to me. I should be pumped for this milkshake then, huh? Hopefully, you aren’t just hyping it up and I’ll end up disappointed.”

Before either Namjoon or Jimin could retort, Jungkook had reappeared from the back room with two large cups in hand, almost tripping over his untied apron string but managing to get to the counter in one piece.

“Here you go. I hope you won’t be disappointed when you try it,” he said, gaze averted downwards when he hands you your cup. Your fingers grazed each other for a second, nearly causing both of you to drop the drink like it was on fire.

“S-sorry,” you laughed it off, feeling your ears get a little red from your blunder. You pointedly ignored Namjoon’s arched brow, no doubt enjoying your sudden shyness. Without waiting for him to get his own cup, you casually tear off the straw wrapper and take your first sip of the drink.

“So?” Jungkook asked after a while, watching with bated breath as you take a good gulp of the milkshake. “How is it? Is it worth the hype?” You don’t speak for a moment, further aggravating the two bakers as you carefully chewed on the bits of strawberry in the drink.

“This—” you said, speaking slowly for increased dramatic effect. You could hear Namjoon groan beside you, used to your need for unnecessary anticipation. Even as you paused for a moment longer, you could already feel the smile creeping up your face, unable to completely hide your giddiness. “—is fantastic. Show-stopping. Best thing since sliced bread! I could live on this shit alone.”

Jungkook released a breath he didn’t know he had been holding, chuckling in relief as you began to completely devour the treat in mere minutes. “I’m… really glad you like it,” he said with a wide, toothy grin. You were so immersed in your drink that you missed the way he sighed softly, hand gently cradling his chest where his heart would be.

Namjoon had taken his own sip as well, sighing dreamily as the creamy and sweet flavor overtook his palate. “Truly the best drink in existence. If I was a Twitch streamer or some shit, I’d promote this regularly for free.”

His comment made Jimin giggle softly, but his gaze is trained on something else entirely. “I’m flattered, but maybe don’t promote Y/N’s cup, over here. We don’t typically have strawberries and hearts doodled all over our cups,” he said, smirking slyly.

Lo and behold, your cup did have small doodles littering its sides whereas Namjoon’s was just a plain white paper cup. “Oh,” you said, blushing furiously when you finally noticed. Your flush was nothing compared to the one on Jungkook’s cheeks, however. The two of you refused to make eye contact after that, both of you trying (and failing) to silence the amused snickers of your respective friends.

Despite that slightly embarrassing (and heartwarming) experience, that had marked the start of your love for the tiny bakery and their special strawberry shortcake milkshake. You returned to Euphoria Bakery as often as you could throughout the summer, even going to visit it without Namjoon most of the time. You would even occasionally go out of your way to visit the bakery, even after your summer classes had ended and there was really no reason for you to be around the area.

It also didn’t hurt that the boy behind the counter was especially cute, with his big doe eyes and melodic laughter that always got your heart beating erratically in your chest. It hadn’t taken long for you to admit to yourself that you had a not-so-tiny crush and every visit to the bakery only made you fall deeper for him.

Namjoon has assured you that Jungkook clearly has a crush on you too, but you’re quick to shut him down. It is one thing to be shy and awkward around a girl and another to have a crush on the aforementioned girl. As you visited the bakery more and more, you do notice that Jungkook is more reserved when it comes to other female clientele, although, dare you hope? He does seem a little bit more… nervous, when he talks to you, but that could be your lovesick eyes playing tricks on you.

Never mind the fact that he only ever seems to leave cute doodles on your cups alone, but that could just be a coincidence, right? After all, he can hardly hold a conversation with you when you try to speak with him, always eager to rush to the backroom to make your drink.

Your visits usually consist of making idle chit chat with Jimin after greeting both him and Jungkook. The younger boy often dips the moment he sees you through the glass door, automatically going to prepare your favorite summer treat without even having to ask for your order. He never stays to stick around long enough to make conversation, as he eventually excuses himself to do some chore or another. During one of your trips, you tentatively asked Jimin if Jungkook was avoiding you, to which the blonde boy just laughed heartily at your query.

“Don’t worry about it, Y/N. He’ll come around eventually; he’s just nervous. Don’t tell him I told you this, but…” he trails off, peeking over his shoulder to make sure Jungkook wouldn’t accidentally overhear him. When he turns back to you, the smirk on his face is equal parts amused and mischievous. He looks a little impish, though you aren’t sure if he’d take that too kindly. “Jungkook always stares out the door, waiting for you to arrive. I’ve caught him red-handed far too many times for it to be a coincidence.”

Your cheeks flush warmly at his words but don’t say anything after that. You suppose all you can do is wait for him to start warming up to you eventually, and you hope the day comes sooner as the summer days grow shorter and shorter.

Of course, that day does come eventually, but probably not on the day you wished it would happen.

Like all good things, summer comes to its close and so does the summer menu options offered at Euphoria Bakery. Jimin had already told you a week beforehand that your favorite strawberry shortcake milkshake would get phased out as soon as July hit, but you refused to listen. You had hoped that as his regular customer and friend, perhaps Jimin would make an exception and prolong the milkshake’s lifetime for your sake, but it seems that Jimin has made it clear that friendship and business are two separate entities that he will not allow to coincide.

“Please Jimin? Just one more time? I’ll even settle for a small size,” you beg, your entire body draped over the cashier counter like the pathetic plebeian that you are. Thankfully, since you have made it a habit to pass by the bakery when it’s close to closing time, there aren’t any other patrons left to judge your pitiful display. Unthankfully, that also means Jimin is free to flick you on the forehead with no holds barred, leaving a large red welt where his finger hits.

“I already told you that I won’t budge, not even if you licked my Balenciagas. Besides, we’re out of strawberries anyway.” Jimin huffs, rolling his eyes at your pained whines as you grasp your head in agony. “Oh stop it, will you? I didn’t even hit you that hard.”

“I beg to differ, hyung.” Jungkook pipes up, startling both you and Jimin. Jungkook is usually content to wiping down the glass displays or tables while he passively listens to the two of you bicker, humming occasionally to indicate that he’s still listening, so it comes as a small surprise whenever he does decide to speak up. He must have noticed this too, as his ears quickly begin to redden as he scrambles to finish his sentence. “I-I mean, hyung might have small hands, but his finger flicks are no joke. You could break someone’s skull with that thing.”

“Who are you calling small, huh?” Jimin growls, but the playful smirk on his face tells you that he’s just teasing. He pulls Jungkook in a headlock, who surprisingly doesn’t seem all that bothered by the fact that Jimin is actively trying to block his windpipe with his strong forearms. “Take it back!”

“Never,” Jungkook wheezes, effortlessly removing himself from Jimin’s grip. He dusts himself off, not even breathless. “Also, why’d you lie to Y/N like that? We still have strawberries in the back. How else would we make our strawberry jam tarts?”

Jimin squawks indignantly, folding his arms. “How dare you sell out our company secrets! I could fire you for that!”

Jungkook scoffs, bumping Jimin with his hip. Jungkook must also not know his own strength, because he accidentally causes Jimin to stumble a few steps back, nearly toppling over one of their bread racks. “You’re joking. If you fired me, no one would be able to make the bagels in the morning because you never know how to proof them correctly.”

“Slander!” Jimin hisses, pinching Jungkook’s side in retaliation. You and Jungkook laugh at his childish pouts, but the older boy can’t hide his own mirth for too long. “Fine. You can stay. But you,” he points at you this time, eyes narrowing with suspicion. “You better not seduce my boy over here to make your strawberry shortcake milkshake. I have eyes and ears everywhere.” He drags his finger to the corner of the walls, where there is—

“There’s nothing there?” You follow where he’s pointing, but all you can see is a stray cobweb that Jungkook must have missed while dusting this morning. “Am I supposed to be looking at something?”

“Jimin is thinking of installing surveillance cameras soon. He’s convinced that someone is trying to steal his banana cream pie recipe.” Jungkook shrugs. He slings an arm around Jimin’s shoulder, glaringly delighted when their height difference becomes even more apparent while he stands close to him. “Anyway, I promise I won’t get ‘seduced’ by her, or whatever you want to call it. Why don’t you head home early for tonight? I’ll close up and I’ll try to convince Y/N to try our other pastries as a replacement.”

You open your mouth to try and protest, but Jungkook sends you a cheeky wink, making sure that his boss doesn’t catch him in the act. Bemused but interested to see what he’s up to, you decide to keep quiet and wait for him to continue.

“Don’t try and think you’re being slick here, buddy,” Jimin says, closing in on Jungkook’s personal space by pressing his chest against his. “If I see that you break the bakery code and serve her that drink… There will be consequences.”

Jungkook rolls his eyes, sighing dramatically as he gently pries the smaller man away from him. “Yeah, yeah. I got you. No funny business, I promise. Now get out of here, hyung. Leave the rest to me.”

Jimin gives him one last firm look before squinting warily at you, lips pursed tightly. “No seducing,” he repeats, wagging his finger at you. He unties the apron around his neck, throwing it haphazardly at the coat hanger on the back door where his jacket was hanging. He folds it over his arm and points at the corner of the ceiling with his free hand once more before exiting through the front entrance, the soft bells hanging above the doorway tinkling in his wake.

When he’s gone, you release a breath that you hadn’t realized you had been holding. “Well, that was easier than expected. I didn’t think you’d be able to get him to leave. He must trust you a lot, huh?”

Jungkook shrugs. “Nah. He’s just lazy. He hates closing the bakery and will jump at any opportunity to go home early.”

You nod. “Seems like him.” There’s a beat of silence. “So… How much seducing am I gonna have to do to get my milkshake, huh?”

Like you guessed, Jungkook immediately turns red at your words, spluttering and stammering over his spit for a few seconds before managing to come up with a reply. “O-oh, there’s no need for that. I was gonna make the drink for you anyway.”

“But what about the quote-unquote consequences?” you ask, still worried that you might be getting Jungkook in trouble. You’d rather have your arm cut off than have him get punished, no matter how small it might be.

“No need to worry about that. Jimin might pretend to be a prickly old man sometimes, but he’s mostly just full of hot air,” Jungkook snorts, shaking his head in amusement. “He’ll just make me treat him to some skewers or something. He’s just teasing.”

“If… If you say so? I just really don’t want him to get angry with you…” you say, voice turning small as you tried to reign your embarrassment in. “I know I made a fool of myself just moments ago and begged like a baby for the milkshake, but I was just exaggerating…”

“Something tells me that you aren’t, but let’s pretend for your sake that you are,” Jungkook says. You huff indignantly at his teasing, but you’re more overjoyed by the sight of his cute bunny smile. You had only seen it in passing a few times in the past, but seeing it directed at you is an entirely different experience. Because of you, your mind helpfully supplies.

He heads over to the backroom to begin preparing your drink, but he keeps the door open this time so you can see him even from behind the counter. You can mostly only see the large industrial ovens and bread racks filled to the brim with all sorts of pastries proofing for the night, but you do catch a glimpse of the sole blender near the back. Jungkook grabs the glass jar first and then walks over to the fridge just out of your sight, most likely to grab the ingredients needed for your milkshake.

The bakery is mostly silent, save for the sound of Jungkook moving and assembling everything. You rack your brain for some sort of conversation starter, as the atmosphere between the two of you has begun to return to its usual awkward state as you skirt around each other, unsure of where either of you stands. You might have known him for a while now, but today is the most you’ve ever spoken to him and the tension is palpable.

“So.” You clear your throat, heart beating a mile a minute in your chest. “I… guess this is going to be the last time I have this drink, huh?”

The sound of Jungkook chopping on the cutting board pauses for a second. You can only see his left shoulder from where you’re standing, but you can see it tense even then. “I… I mean, will you stop coming over to the bakery if it is the last time?”

There are so many things you want to say all at once, but the words somehow get caught in your throat. You want to say that you love coming to the bakery to see them (though it’s mostly Jungkook if you’re being honest) and that the strawberry shortcake milkshake had just been an excuse to visit for a while now. You want to keep visiting for as long as they’ll have you—but you don’t know how to say it without hot humiliation running down your spine. You don’t want to weird him out by confessing to him all of a sudden. And so, you clam up, not knowing how to respond.

When Jungkook throws in all the ingredients in the blender, he doesn’t turn it on immediately. He tilts his head to the side, not fully looking at you but giving you a view of his beautiful side profile. You see his Adam’s apple bob for a moment, his tongue poking out to wet his lips before he speaks. “Because… If that’s how it’s going to be, then maybe… buying a couple of skewers for Jimin won’t be so bad.”

You freeze. “What? Are you saying that...”

“I’ll keep making the drink for you, even if it’s not on the menu anymore?” Jungkook finishes, turning fully to face you. There’s a shy grin on his face, coupled with the ever-present pink flush high on his cheekbones. “Yes, that’s exactly what I’m saying. We’ll have to be sneaky about it, though. You’ll have to come to the bakery only when I’m closing so that he doesn’t catch us but otherwise…” He scratches the tip of his nose, looking embarrassed. “If… If you’re fine doing that, I mean.”

It feels like an eternity before you can remember how to function like a regular human being again. Your insides feel like molten lava and you’re certain that your internal organs have begun to self-destruct right after that super-effective hit from Jeon Jungkook, super baker boy extraordinaire. It’s mind-blowing how effortlessly cute he can be, making you realize belatedly that his quiet demeanor over the past few weeks had been a blessing and not a curse. If he had been this sweet with you from the get-go, you’d surely be melted butter on a sidewalk by now.

“I would love you—I mean, I would love it if you did that for me, actually.” You stammer, resisting the urge to punch yourself in the tit. You’re thankful for the lack of mirrors at the bakery, for you are positive that you must look like the devil’s blazing red testicles at this point.

“Great,” Jungkook smiles softly. He turns the blender off, pouring your drink into a paper cup. “Oh, before I forget…” He grabs a marker from the small tin can near the cash register, and you watch as he quickly scribbles a few hearts around the circumference of the cup. “There we go. Now it’s done.”

As Jungkook hands your drink to you, you’re hit with a moment of déjà vu when your fingers brush just like the first time you had met. You sense the same familiar shock of electricity when you touch, but instead of pulling away like before, Jungkook surprises you for the third time that day.

When he’s sure that you have a secure grip on your cup, he grabs your free hand with his, unfurling your fingers until he can get a hold of your pinky. He curls his pinky into yours, linking them together with a bashful smile on his lips. “There. Now we pinky promised to each other.”

“Y-yes. Of course,” you mumble, giggling lightly when he still refuses to let go. “I pinky promise.”

Five minutes away from Euphoria Bakery, Jimin sits quietly in his parked car, his figure hunched over the small screen of his phone as he chuckles loudly to himself. There is a tiny video of two people, a boy and a girl, with their hands held together. Despite the quality being grainy and warped, Jimin needs no confirmation as to who those people are; he’s always known, after all.

“All according to keikaku.” He whistles happily, already salivating at the thought of all the skewers Jungkook will have to buy for him.

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nincompoopydoo · 3 years

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PAIRING, BAGELS, REPEAT

— HYMN OF THE LOVESICK ; PART 5 / ?

( gif from this beautiful gifset by @knightwayne )

PAIRING: Bruce Wayne x reader

WORD COUNT: 2k

SUMMARY: Alfred definitely knows something about Bruce that you’re not willing to think about and Bruce has an epiphany that changes the way he sees you.

A/N: Guess who forgot which day pbr is usually posted? This idiot here. God, I’m sorry and this chapter can be boring. Next chapter will have a lot more going on, I promise. Also, this might end in the next chapter or two. Enjoy, folks.

WARNINGS: Kinda dramatic because I’m dramatic.

MASTERLIST ; MASTERPOST

Driving through the Wayne estate gives you a sense of much-needed peace. The never-ending tunnel with walls of identical colossal pine trees as you faintly hum to Aretha Franklin over the low whirring of the running engine. It’s a quarter to noon, and the sun doesn’t seem to shine in the city of Gotham—clouds of grey constantly shield its optimum shine, only to ever allow rays to seep through the gaps in the moving Autumn wind. You don’t mind it and you never did, growing up in the city left clouds unnoticed to you unless it signified the arrival of a thunderstorm. Weather and nature are the least of your concerns but you would appreciate it now and then.

The tunnel of trees comes to an end as a clearing of extensive fields emerges into view. What is left of the Wayne Manor still stands with ostentation, despite its skeleton along with its dignity rotting away to be eventually consumed by mother nature herself. There’s a sense of eeriness to it; you find it odd how a building could seem so alive at times, like it's watching you, despite its apparent decay.

You turn your head away and focus on the road.

A glance at your hand on the wheel, you’re reminded of last night, when his hands held yours—it burns at the mere thought of his gentle touch. And the drive home, silent with the occasional glances and small smiles. You recall how the passing streetlights cascade hues of orange on his wearied expression and how his eyes were bright when they flit to your figure in the passenger seat for just a moment. Something must have changed between the two of you, but you can’t quite tell what. Maybe it’s your undying love for Bruce. Maybe he feels the same way. You snort to yourself, alone in your car, one can only dream but it doesn’t mean they all come true. Bruce may love but he doesn’t commit. You can’t commit too. Now, you’re starting to believe you’ve been lying to yourself.

The glasshouse comes into view as you steer around the bending road and into the driveway. It contradicts everything the manor was but only shared its sense of glory. You like the glasshouse, less deafening and structured with the purpose of bareness and vulnerability but its dark furnishings keep it grounded and secure. Its sense of balance tricks your mind into thinking you’re stable. His car is still around, parked by the porch but you don’t see him, ambling around the household.

Switching off the ignition, you snatch the paper bag from the passenger seat and clamber out of the car. Darker clouds begin rolling from afar, your hair flying in the strong wind. A storm is coming, you’re sure of it. One of the rare times it rains during the season. You dread the thought of having to drive back into the city and across Westward Bridge. Driving over bridges built over the water in the rain scares the heck out of you.

As you swing the car door to a close, you hear the shuffling of feet amongst leaves behind you. Alfred, with a barrel of chopped wood—stocking up for the winter. There’s a glimmer of amusement in his eyes albeit startled by your sudden presence. He mentions your name with endearment; you greet him with a small smile. You always liked Alfred. You enjoyed his company.

“What a pleasant surprise seeing you here,” he says, pushing the barrel aside as he nears you. “I’m afraid you just missed Bruce. He left for Metropolis an hour ago—duty calls.”

You nod, ignoring the clench in your heart. He hadn’t told you anything but frankly, you weren’t expecting him to anyway.

“Well, I just came by to drop off this,” You lift the paper bag, swaying it a little within your grasp. “As a thank you gift, you know.” Alfred smiles at this, gestures towards the house in a beckoning manner. “Come on in, I’ll make you some tea.” Before you could even protest, he’s gently guiding you to the door by the shoulder. It’s hard to say no to Alfred, especially when he offers tea.

Your mind wonders as you watch the drizzle of rain form ripples in the lake. You sit on a chair with a contemporary structure to it; it digs into your lower back, due to your bad posture. Uncomfortable but nice-looking and great armrests. Contradicts everything a chair should be. Alfred emerges from the kitchen with a black ceramic mug in hand, steam from the brewed tea lingering above it. He holds an identical mug, for himself. With two hands, you clasp onto the mug with acceptance, a radiant appreciative smile upon your lips. “Thank you, Mr. Pennyworth.” Alfred shoots you a look of disdain, “I’ve told you many times, Alfred is fine.” Taking a sip, you shake your head, a smile still lingering. “No way. I have too much respect for you to call you by your first name.” Alfred mirrors you, settling for the chair to your right, swiftly sliding the scatter of papers to the corner of the table. You find it easy to fall into a natural conversation with the older man—the two of you are mutuals after all of a certain billionaire. Yet, Alfred is more of a father figure, having practically raised Bruce and you, well, it’s complicated. It always is. You don’t know where you stand in his life, and you're not sure if you want to know.

“Anyway, where have you been? I haven’t seen you in weeks.” It’s true. The usual sight of the butler sauntering around the glasshouse or somewhere in the Wayne Estate was absent during the last two weeks. Alfred is always around, his disappearance was glaring, impossible to go unnoticed.

He shifts in his seat, placing his mug on the table, teaspoon moving with a soft clang. “I was visiting family back in England. I appreciate that you have noticed my absence,” An eyebrow raises, your laugh comes out more like a huff. “Always, Mr. Pennyworth.”

Family. Mother. Dinner—you remember the dinner with your mother on Sunday night, and you’re the host. The host hasn't decided on the menu for tomorrow’s meal. Oh God, it’s tomorrow. Procrastination is your friend but your family’s expectations for you aren't. If you pop enough wine bottles, maybe she'll be too drunk to be disappointed by the end of the night.

And the wedding. The mere thought makes you sick. You don’t want to bring a date, but you don’t want to be alone. Weddings, love, couples—it makes you tick. It’s a glaring reminder of how your love life is an absolute disaster and your inability to maintain relationships. It’s hopeless, you’ll die a spinster and everyone lives happily ever after.

“Are you alright?”

It’s funny how those three words have been the most frequent words you would hear from those around you. You appreciate the concern, really, but you can’t help but feel there’s a stronger and deeper meaning to those words. It’s a question of assurance, a reality check, and a realization that you might be broken. Everyone is broken—in their own ways.

Although you seem reserved to some people, your tendency to open up about your issues to those close to you contradicts that though you instantly regret it. Especially when people tell you to change. You hate change. It’s terrifying.

You pause, suddenly feeling...fidgety. Yet, in the words of Bruce: In Alfred, you trust.

Remember, keep it light. You don’t want to haul all this luggage of yours onto an aging man. He’s already got Bruce’s luggage.

“My cousin’s getting married in two weeks and,” you sigh, he listens intently. “And as pathetic as this sounds, I really don’t want to go to it alone.”

Your words are direct, straightforward and you sound like a whiny teenager or the main character in a Wattpad story but truth be told, there’s an underlying meaning to it and you know, Alfred knows it. You just don’t want to admit it.

He takes a beat, assessing your sentence like he’s a therapist, wanting to select his words carefully. “Well, I don’t think you’re pathetic. It’s...understandable,” he flashes you a pointed look and you find yourself straightening your back. “Why don’t you ask Bruce?”

Your brain must have short-circuited at that moment.

Oh, hell no. Not in a million years.

You’re shaking your head, laughing nervously. “No, no. No. Never. I couldn’t possibly ask him to do that. He’s already done so much for me—”

“You’ve done a lot for him too.”

A pause, words stuck in your throat. You just look at Alfred through confused eyes. You’re not sure what that means. He’s staring at you with a knowing look. You sigh, shaking your head in denial once more. “No, that’s...that’s not true.”

It’s almost infuriating how stubborn you can be sometimes that it’s even irritating yourself. You’re staring at your fingers, playing with the tag attached to the teabag by a thread. As far as you’re concerned, Bruce is...the greatest friend you’ve ever had. Through thick and thin, he’s been there for you. He’s always there. It’s partly the reason why you have fallen for him in the first place. Hard. He’s easy to love when he wears his heart on his sleeve. It’s rare but it’s beautiful. You almost feel ashamed to be allowed to see him in that light.

“Bruce will do just about anything for you,” Alfred says calmly as he watches you avoid eye contact. “And I know, you’ll do the same for him.” You throw your eyes at the older man as he cops you a look. Your heart is beating so fast, so thunderous, you hear it in your ears. He’s right and you know it. That accidental kiss to your forehead on the night you asked him to come for the play comes back to mind in a flash. It feels like a mark on your forehead, it feels like it’s burning.

“Would you like a scone with that?” He’s pointing to your tea and with that, he’s off to the kitchen once more, leaving you alone with your thoughts.

It’s late—a quarter to four in the morning. He spends most of his nights in the Batcave, hidden away from all the sounds and tumult of the world, shrouded in the darkness as the light of the computer screen cascades on his tired eyes. He ambles through the glasshouse, weary feet against hardwood floors, body begging to lay on grey sheets though he dreads a vacant bed.

He strains his eyes peering into the gloom when he perceives a paper bag, sitting idly on the table by the window. Nearing it, there’s a yellow post-it note stuck onto the bag and under the gentle light from the moon that reflects against the lake, he can make out words written on it.

It’s from you.

Thanks for coming to the play. I would have bought you something else, but I’m really broke. Sorry. I owe you one.

A drawn heart follows it. It’s tiny. His chest feels warm.

He should have recognized the paper bag because inside, there are four bagels. Four Asiago bagels. He laughs, it comes out more like a puff of hot air, feeling the warmth that resides in his chest spreading throughout his body.

Then, it hits him like a bullet to the heart. The impact is strong, powerful. Your impact on him is strong, powerful. There’s no mystery to his feelings for you but at this moment, he’s completely certain. For the first time in life.

He loves you.

Bruce staggers into the chair, hand carding back the strands of his hair. He can’t keep doing this to you. Whatever the hell is going on. Your friendship, the...stupid agreement. He wants none of it because it feels like he’s constantly going around in circles.

But what do you really want, Bruce?

TAGLIST

@raineeace

#bruce wayne #bruce wayne x reader #batman #batman x reader #bruce wayne imagine #batman imagine #bruce wayne x you #batman x you #alfred pennyworth #justice league

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blueprint-han · 4 years

Text

pickup lines ↠ hhj ♡

↳ inspired from the song i love you by treasure. (no relation to the song idk why i was inspired)

genre: fluff type: drabble word count: 1.9 K ⇥ warnings: none except one (1) teeny tiny kiss (just a peck nothing too suggestive), lot’s of fluff and pickup lines and that’s a warning. 🥺 IF THIS DOESN’T SHOW UP IN THE TAGS THIS TIME I WILL FUCKING FUME. network tag: @stayverse

↯ note: uhfuyewhf please forgive this random outburst that overcame me, fluffy boyfriend hyunjin is just !!!!. Also my first fic woo hoo !! no particular premise of this blurb idk what this is for but i’m still gonna write it. ⇥ dawn.☀️

A long, deep sigh.

A cheek pressed against his palm, resting his head against his elbow as he stared off into space. The library was relatively quiet around him, no other sound other than the timely flipping of the page by the two other people sitting in the almost empty, spacious room.

And of course, the sound of you humming the tune that poured through the earphones you were sporting. Hyunjin could almost swear that he would fall asleep from the tune, if it weren’t for the hard wood underneath him.

Hyunjin pouted when he noticed you completely immersed in your sociology 101 textbook. Studying to be a data analyst was hard, and while it was both yours and Hyunjin’s dream job, (instead of focusing on the plethora of books lying on the table) Hyunjin found staring at the love of his life much more interesting than analyzing any sort of data.

Sunlight poured in through the open window. It was still fairly early in the morning, and while Hyunjin hated waking up early, he was more than ready to do so the moment you called him the previous night, begging him to tag along on the pretext that “it would be boring to go alone.”

And the moment you entered the library, you picked out your books and quickly drowned yourself in them, and in less than five minutes, Hyunjin found himself the one who was “bored.”

You felt a poke at the side of your arm, startling you out of your concentration.

“Hey.”

Pulling your earphones off, you smiled at Hyunjin. “Yeah?”

“You said you’d be the one bored but now I’m the one bored.” Hyunjin humphed, folding his arms across his chest. “Remind me why I accompanied you?”

You laughed, gently pinching his cheek. “Because you’re a good boyfriend.”

Being the dramatic llama that he was, Hyunjin rolled his eyes, though the subtle smile on his lips told you otherwise. “Fine finish it soon now.” He pointed before poking your arm again. “Or I’m gonna leave you and get subway for myself.”

You gasped in fake betrayal, clutching your heart as your eyes widened. It was a known fact that Hyunjin was too smitten for you, far too caring and considerate to leave you alone in the library without breakfast. And you loved to tease him about it.

Anyways, the act faltered in two seconds the moment you giggled at him.

“You’re adorable, have I ever told you that?” You mimicked his position as you faced him, admiring how he looked at the moment. Heavily lidded eyes, messy black hair, and the sunlight from behind him almost made him look like he was glowing.

At your words, Hyunjin felt the tiniest blush creep up his cheeks as he shyly admitted. “You tell me every day!”

“Well I’m going to keep telling you that, so…” you shrugged, turning your attention back to your books as hyunjin internally groaned. The library didn’t allow use of phones either, so he couldn’t just start playing around with it to kill time.

Brushing his hair off his forehead, his eyes sparkled when a thought popped into his head, a smug look on his face. Quickly grabbing his cellphone from the back of his pocket., his fingers moved against the screen — not quick enough for the librarian to notice — but at this point, it hardly mattered. The librarian was almost asleep on his table — he must’ve not adjusted to the early hours of his job very well.

When your phone dinged — signifying the arrival of a message — Hyunjin watched intently as you picked up your phone and tapped the screen a couple of times. When you grinned widely, Hyunjin knew his message had the desired affect. In all honesty, that was Hyunjin — always looking for subtle ways to tell you he loved you, and ways to keep you smiling and happy.

You reached over to push your reading classes up your nose before turning to look at Hyunjin’s direction, raising your eyebrow playfully.

Hyunjin: Guess what I’m wearing?

He had a similar grin on his lips as he silently coaxed you to reply, and so you did just that.

You: What? Your uniform? 🤭

Knowing Hyunjin, you knew that the answer would not be so simple, but nevertheless you curiously waited for the answer.

When the reply came in, the smile on your face turned into a wide, ear-to-ear smile, cheeks almost hurting with how widely you were grinning. You tried desperately trying not to alert anyone of what you were doing, but it was getting harder with how adorable Hyunjin was being.

Hyunjin: No, the smile you gave me. You: usdyuegwydedh 🥺🥺🥺 You: you cheesehead! 😘😤 Hyunjin: But I’m your cheesehead - ;D

Hyunjin, still staring at you was in a similar state. He admitted that watching you laugh and smile was something he could never grow tired of. He treasured that moment, and it always seemed like you lightened up the whole room with just your smile.

“Hey!” you looked at him, books totally forgotten as you stared into his eyes.

“They say the eyes are the mirror to the soul.” Hyunjin said, straightening up his posture as you eyed him confusedly. “You must have one beautiful soul.”

Your jaw dropped open at the sudden explosion of pickup lines coming from your boyfriend, rolling your eyes to the back of your head as you felt yourself grow coy at his compliment.

“Oh gosh, what’s gotten into you.” You whispered, slapping his arm slightly. Hyunjin smiled devilishly when he noticed your beaming face, feeling oddly relaxed — but then again, he was always relaxed when he looked at you.

“ On a scale from 1 to 10 you’re a 9 and I’m the 1 you need. “

You gasped, squealing as you slapped his arm yet again.

“Oh lord, your cheeseball stop being so cute my heart can’t handle this.” You pouted, and Hyunjin bit back the overwhelming desire to squish your cheeks.

He always did everything in his power to make you happy, and it never changed, even after a year of dating. The love between you was pure in every way, and you couldn’t help but feel lucky to have such a caring and lovely angel for a boyfriend.

“Come on, I need to focus now, just half an hour more?” You managed to convince him (only after giving him your traditional puppy eyes which you knew he would never be able to resist), before turning your attention back tot he book.

Twenty minutes passed. Hyunjin had found himself a book to read in the mean time, but he wasn’t the type to be patient. It wasn’t ling before he reached for his phone yet again.

When your phone dinged again, you quickly snapped your attention from where it was fixed on Hyunjin, hiding it under the table as you stealthily read the message.

Hyunjin: Can we go eat now?

You laughed to yourself, brushing hair off your forehead before replying.

You: There’s still 10 minutes left 🤭 Hyunjin: Please I’m hungry 🥺 Hyunjin: pls pls pls pls pls pls pls 🥺

You quickly looked at the watch before sighing, smiling at Hyunjin before shutting your book and stretching your arms out. You’d been there for about two hours, since your college library opened fairly early. As expected, Hyunjin let out a silent squeal of victory, quickly helping you pack up before getting out of his seat, all to eager to get out of the cramped space.

“Remind me to never tag along with you again.” He chided playfully, and like you said before, you knew Hyunjin was too soft to be able to ignore your pleas — and even if he did, you had your secret weapon: puppy eyes. You only giggled and nodded. “yeah, whatever.” Allowing him to intertwine your fingers together as he pulled you out of the building.

Once you were out of the building and walking towards the nearest subway, you decided to go the park (which was incidentally opposite to the subway shop). As you walked in the almost empty park, you munched on your sandwich slowly, whilst Hyunjin had already devoured it all. You figured he didn’t drink his coffee before coming to the library, and you didn’t bother to ask either.

Hyunjin had still not et go of your hand, and every once in a while — out of pure habit — he would squeeze it gently, just as a form of reassurance. It never failed to warm your heart.

The both of you found a clean bench under the cool shade of a tree, enjoying the breeze as you finished your sandwich; while Hyunjin simply looked around the rows of trees and plants that were planted along the edge of the ground.

When Hyunjin caught your gaze on him once again, another thought popped into his head as he smiled yet again. Personally, he had no idea how he was acting so cheesy today, but seeing your reaction did not encourage him to stop.

“Do you have a map?” You boyfriend asked all of a sudden, and you frowned confusedly. Of course, you’d let your guard down from the previous explosion of cheesiness, which only fueled it more.

“Why do you ask?” You murmured.

“Because I keep getting lost i your eyes.”

“Aghhhh,” you groaned, covering your face with your palms as you looked at Hyunjin. “Where do you even get these from?” You pouted at him.

“I don’t know, maybe you bring it out of me?” Hyunjin shrugged.

“Hmph,” You pinched his soft cheek lightly, smiling as you did so.

Next, he grinned, tilting his head to the side as he gazed into your orbs. You sensed another attack coming ahead, but did nothing to stop it, because deep down, you were enjoying this way too much.

“You know at this angle, as the light hits your eyes.” A dizzy smile on his face as he gently fixed his hair, tucking some of the strands behind his ear. “I can see myself and I look great.”

That caused you to close your eyes, erupting into a fit of giggles as your eyes morphed into the softest of crescents.

Hyunjin opened his mouth yet again, but this time, you were quick to stop him.

“Ah, no young man. No more, or I’m gonna combust.” You tucked your own hair behind your ear.

“Nooooo,” He whined, pouting as he gave you the softest look that he could muster. “One more, please? Just one. Please please please please please-”

“okay fine! One more, and then no more, deal?” You looked at him smugly, and he nodded.

“Okay so, kiss me if I’m wrong, but dinosaurs still exist, right?”

Hyunjin had chosen that line for a joke, expecting to get yet another slap on his arm, or a shy turn of your head. What he didn’t expect was for you to blush profusely before you leaned in, pressing a soft peck to his lips.

When you pulled away, Hyunjin’s eyes were widened as you stared at each other silently for two seconds, before you snapped your fingers in front of him, pulling him out of his daze.

“You were wrong.” You stated as nonchalantly as possible, shrugging at him as you got up, grabbing your bag as you began walking towards the exit.

“H-hey, wait for me!” Hyunjin cried, not being able to suppress his smile as he ran towards you, immediately entwining your fingers once again. And the rest of the walk was spent just like that, in peaceful silence as you enjoyed each other’s presence in the cool, moist air.

“You’re such a goofball,” You mumbled at him, gaining his attention as you rubbed your thumb against the back of his hand. And before he could even reply with his loving, playful gaze, you completed the statement yourself, eyes twinkling in content.

“But you’re my goofball.”

↯ note: i pray to every god out there please just show up in the tags for fuck sake i worked hard on this ; - ; ⇥ dawn.☀️

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errthel · 4 years

Text

Route Two : Part Tree I guess

Hey, it's your friendly Lucien simp neighbor from the other side of the world and I come with part three of my fanfiction of @tri3tri 's Second Wife A. Yee yee.

His eyes carefully observed the glowy moon, lack luster look on his face signified his boredom. He had after all watched the moon for more nights than he could count with his fingers.

Lucien's window stayed open as he studied on the desk near the window. A snowy owl had brought over books, for what he assumed was his new school. How kind of them, he wasn't sure if he would have to pay them back though.

Flipping over the crisp white pages of the new book, he was able to find out that he had classes in Magic History, Chemistry, Dancing, Physical Education, and other subjects he was sure he would be able to ace with some time.

The click of his door alerted him of the entrance of either one of his grandparents, judging from their footsteps, Lucien narrowed it down to his grandmother.

"Don't stay up too late Lucien."

"M'kay, but I wonder why you still bring up some snacks."

"I noticed you didn't eat as much during dinner, so I thought you would be hungry now." the tray of snacks hit the desk with a thump, showing off its contents

Tea, chamomile Lucien thinks, some grapes and cream cheese and apple slices.

"I guess you're right, I am a bit peckish. You can go to sleep now Grandma, I'll be showering in a bit."

"Are there things popping up?" the question brought up the questioning things Lucien sees sometimes, be it fangs, a tail, horns, or scales, he would always see something inhuman in the bathroom mirror, but they would always disappear in some time

"Hm, nothing out of the ordinary, but the scales are starting to permanently stay here" Lucien gestured to his forehead, which was covered by his fringe

"Is that so?"

"Mhm, but it's fine, I don't usually tie up my hair so no worries."

"Alright then, I'll take your word, goodnight Lucien. Sweet dreams..."

Lucien watched as Hanna left his room, her white dress flowing from behind. This makes him remember the first day he was here, the day after that wretched day.

As well as forgetting what his family looked like, he also seemed to forget what the tall woman looked like. It was odd, Lucien knows that he has sharp memory, was it perhaps him erasing those memories of his?

Did he lose those memories to trauma? Was is just plain fear, that he forced himself to forget what those people looked like for his own sanity? But he still remembers what happened, he just doesn't remember. Why doesn't he remember?

Long fingers sharply tugged at (h/c) locks, desheviling the strands.

He racked his brain for any recollection of those long past memories. But he couldn't find any, he could no longer take it. The heavy breathing in the room quickened as the room started to become unbearably stuffy.

The quick and sudden drizzling hitting his window instantly notified the boy. The drizzling turned into heavy rainfall quicker than he could realize and thunder started to echo in the town.

"Shit, shit, shit, shit." desperate eyes swiftly moved over to the open window

Lucien immediately closed the window, preventing anymore rain to get inside his room, with a heavy sigh, he cleaned up his desk and went to take a shower.

Warm water cascaded over the slim pale body of the teen, his hair slicked back to reveal very offputting black scales that create an intricate and somewhat beautiful geometric pattern on his forehead. Some traces of bright green could be seen on the edges of the scales which shine brightly under the warm lighting of the bathroom.

Along with the scales was a pair of horns, with the same bright green highlights. Lucien hopes that this form of his won't show up during his stay at Royal Sword Academy, but the likeliness of that happening is closer to zero.

Lucien is aware that there will come a time where he will be forced to show off his other form, and he dreads that day.

After drying up, he changes into a pair of underwear and sweatpants and brushes his teeth. He notices the sharpness of two teeth and sighs once more, he can't catch a break with these sudden appearances of unwelcome features can he. While scrutinizing the existence of his fangs, the slit pupils of his eyes catch his attention and receive a small jump back from Lucien, mostly from surprise and terror.

"Slit eyes... this is definitely getting out of control..." the fearful expression stays on the boy's face as he walked back to his room, ready for bed

"...I wish that when I wake up, these things are gone and never coming back."

The warm, slightly chilly, day arrives, the suitcases that the family of three carefully packed a few days prior were now sitting on a seat inside the silvery pumpkin carriage.

Lucien's grandparents hug him as if it's the last time they would ever see him as Lucien wears the luxurious white garb with silver embroidery and subtle blue accents.

"I hope you'll be alright there Lucien."

"Will be. I will try to find ways to communicate with you when I get there." the comforting words allow the older couple to release their beloved grandchild

They watch as he walked to the carriage, ready to face the world he fears. His feet brings him to sit inside the velvety seats of the carriage as it whisks him away from his family.

He silently watches the view of his town vanish as they reach higher altitudes and by then his eyes have already dropped down, bringing him into a land of sweet dreams.

Royal Sword Academy, a prestigious magic school situated in Twisted Wonderland. Along with it's long standing rival, Night Raven College, they are dubbed 'The Best Magic Schools in All of Twisted Wonderland'.

It truly shows, the moment Lucien stepped inside the school proper, he was greeted with marble and glass, fountains of all sizes, Greek-styled statues made of smooth ivory. He noted the extravagant architecture of the school, like The Palace of Versailles; with its enormous gardens with hedges trimmed to perfection, the delicate carvings of the walls, and the neatness of the school perfectly reflected the students who attended this institution.

Lucien briskly walked over to the well where the sorting of dorms was taking place in. As he sang his name into the well, a delicate chiming ring from the well was heard as a feminine voice sung out, 'The Aurorian Dorm'.

The Aurorian Dorm was one of the several dorms of Royal Sword Academy, founded on the patience of the Princess Aurora, her patience in waiting for her true love helped her defeat the dragon that had been terrorizing their lovely kingdom.

He joined his peers, also dressed in intricate white garb, introducing himself and mingling with them let him establish himself as 'The Kind Freshman'

Lucien was kind, to some extent, he very much was. It wasn't at all fake, why would he bother faking such complex things like emotions? But his kindess doesn't blindly extend to everybody, he is someone who isn't unconditionally kind, and he knows for sure that his peers weren't also kind from inside out.

The Aurora Dorm was definitely cozy, if not a bit overwhelming. Like a small village, cottages dotted the feild that was surrounded by lush forests. Each cottage would be shared by four people and it was a sizable enough cottage, definitely enough for four people with room to spare.

Lucien was put into a cottage with another freshman and two sophomores who chatted with him the moment they entered their cottage.

The freshman was called Brier Rome, a glowy individual with lovely soft blonde hair that curls at its tips and beautiful purple eyes. He was the first one to talk to the intimidating Lucien while he was putting away his clothes.

One sophomore was named Linden, a demure senior, he was almost as tall as Lucien, if not a bit taller. He had green hair with a bit of visible black roots, along with his hair, he had golden eyes that seemed to know everything.

The other sophomore calls themselves Hawthorne, he was shorter than his friend but makes up for it with his loud talking. He also had dyed hair, this time blue, and strangely like his peer, he had golden eyes.

Muffled noises coming from the cabin indicated that the four cabinmates were having the best time meeting each other.

Walking with each other to the central cabin to have some dinner was exhilarating to Lucien, many types of flowers and greens was planted all around and he had a fun time naming the plants with Brier.

In commemoration for the new students, they were going to partake in a picnic out in the flower feild.

The white daisies, purple chrysanthemums, pink carnations, blue hydrangeas, yellow roses, and many more beautiful flowers were present at this feild.

The Aurorian Dorm members talked to each other, sang, danced as they welcomed their new students with great joy.

"Brier Rome! You mean the heir to the throne of the Valley of Flowers?! It's wonderful to met you!"

"Mhm! Nice to meet you as well!" Brier paused a bit before his eyes lingered to the person behind him, he stood quietly, observing the flowers with great closeness, "Lucien!" the blond male called out to his taller peer

Briskly walking up to the taller boy with a bright smile he teased, "You seem to not put alot of effort into meeting your seniors~ what happened to your energy a while ago?"

A deadpanned expression bloomed on Lucien's pale face as he answered, "It's been diminished, I cannot bring myself to talk to people any longer."

"Awww don't be like that!" Brier said clinging to Lucien's arm as he walked him closer to the crowd

"Ah, hello, my name's Lucien (L/n)."

"Wait! You mean you're the special student who was accepted from another world?! How cool!"

"Ehh! Lucien's from another world?" a surprised look overtook the blond haired boy, "Why didn't you tell me~"

"Mhm... I didn't find a good time to really bring it up."

"Alright, I'll accept that. Say, what's your world like?" Brier's question brought eyes to look at Lucien, expecting his answer with baited breaths

"Eh? Well my world doesn't necessarily run on magic, to my world, magic is just nonexistent there."

"Ohhh! That's really weird then, how were you able to get magic then?"

The question brought a bit of surprise to Lucien, before he reverted back to his kind, kind smile, "I don't know."

The cold days of September brought a little chill to his spine, so wearing a lovely wool trenchcoat over his pyjamas, which was just a very loose white shirt and some sweatpants, brought him joy. The warmth coupled with some early morning tea reminded him of life at home, being woken up at ungodly hours of the morning and being forced to carry out your normal activities while being half asleep, yeah definitely home.

The lax atmosphere of the early morning hour of six encouraged the (h/c) haired male to walk the expansive flower feild. After wearing some shoes, he walked out of the cottage and closed the door.

The fragrance of the forest seemed to stimulate his nose perfectly. Paired with it was the smell of a thousand different kinds of flowers. The experience of being in this wonderful place calmed the boy. As of late, he has been feeling a bit overwhelmed... it bothered him. Was he mentally weaker than he thought? Was he actually not ready for this? No, no, he's fine, he should just calm down, the flowers are there after all, it would be unsettling to show them such behavior.

The silence of the feild was broken by some rustling behind Lucien, who was alert and now facing the rustling bush.

"Who's there..." he wasn't so defensive, he was confident that he would be able to take out anyone with any sign of malicious intent

"Ah! Sorry... I didn't realize someone was having a walk." a head of flaming red hair popped up from the bushes

He was a tall person, not as tall as Lucien but tall enough. The person also exuded an aura of authority as he walked towards Lucien. Bowing forty-five degrees, he introduced himself.

"I am Florius, the Dorm Leader of this dorm. We weren't able to meet last night, but I had always wanted to make your acquaintance." smooth, his voice was as smooth as honey rolling of his pink lips

"Ah... um Florius-senpai, as you know, I am from another world so I'm quite curious about something." Lucien said

"Hm? Ask away then."

"Tell me everything you know about the Valley of Thorns."

So we finally frickin arrive at RSA, do note that this is my interpretation on what RSW is like, this has been written in like November of dumpster fire was 2020, so currently we only know about Che'nya and omg, I forgot his name, that Snow White dude. Any mentions of RSA are limited and most of this is what I think RSA is like, your interpretation of RSA can be different from mine and that's fine.

Okay, so I like to think that Royal Sword Academy is like really civil and sends an acceptance letter to their new student instead of kidnapping them, I'm looking at you NRC, and sends them their equipment to warm them up before bringing them to school.

My version of RSA is more of like a replica of NRC but good, I guess??? So there will be several dorms, all based of on the heroes of the Disney movies The Great Seven are from.

#draconia family series #lucien #twisted wonderland #twst wonderland #twst #twst oc #royal sword academy

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parisianprinceling · 3 years

Note

Vincent/MC, 20

You’re the only thing I know like the back of my hand.

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***French translations at the end because I used more French here than usual***

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He was frustrated.

No.

He was livid.

The board of directors weren’t compromising. They hadn’t been since he’d gotten out of prison, but the past week had been a living hell as he pitched idea after idea and they could do nothing else but provide snide remarks, quietly mocking him as they turned their heads to whisper with one another, their laughs giving away their petty conversation topic.

It drained him of every last ounce of patience he had in him.

He had known that he would be treated differently when he returned, but he hadn’t anticipated the absolute lack of respect from those that used to crawl over one another to receive his approval. The whispers he could deal with; the fleeting glances, the rushing off mid conversation, even the outright avoidance, he understood. But if there was one thing he couldn’t stand, it was being disregarded as a joke, having his dignity stripped from him like he was on a pedestal, being tested for their entertainment after years of keeping them under his own heel.

He was humiliated.

He couldn’t entirely blame them for their behavior. It was only natural for them to seek to demean the same man who once controlled their fates, but it made it entirely impossible to run the business properly, and that would have repercussions on everyone if they didn’t let up soon enough.

He had been reduced to working almost every hour of the day, trying as hard as he could to ensure that the business wouldn’t fail while the board and everyone else was having their fun with him. It wasn’t something he had worried about before, but lately he couldn’t bear the thought of having to cut workers, especially not in the atmosphere after the flood.

Much to the chagrin of the American currently cohabiting in his penthouse, this meant he spent long nights at the office, sleeping at his desk and receiving a change of suits from Eugene in the mornings, who he often sent home early when he was certain his work wouldn’t be completed until late.

He tried his best to come home, not wanting to abandon her on her own after they had barely found a way to be together in the first place, but he knew she understood how important this work was to him. How hard he had to work to get back on top.

Fortunately though, this was one of the days where he could come home early, even if just to spend a little time with her.

Or so he thought.

In reality, he got home an hour earlier than she usually returned, and while waiting for her, had managed to fall asleep rather uncomfortably on the couch, his long legs cramped into a position that would at least stop him from tumbling onto the floor.

When she arrived home an hour later, she laughed softly at the sight before turning to hang up her coat and bag by the door.

She made her way over to him on sock-padded feet, hoping that she wouldn’t wake him as she pulled the blanket off the back of the couch (an addition to the penthouse that she’d insisted on after one too many nights of her feet getting cold while reading on the couch) and gently draped it over his sleeping form, grateful he had already removed his waistcoat and jacket so that he wouldn’t be complaining about wrinkles when he woke up.

She leaned down to press a kiss to his forehead and was about to pull away until she noticed how his brow was furrowed in his sleep. She frowned and gently lowered herself onto her knees to level her face to his as she studied it, realizing that he was struggling with whatever dream he was currently having.

It wasn’t the first time she had seen these nightmares. Every few months, he’d wake in a sweat, mumbling profusely in French, apologizing for something, desperate to receive a response he’d never get again. It always took a few minutes to bring him back to reality from his state of fervor, and when she finally did, he would cling onto her like he had nothing else in the world, whispering in French, begging her to never leave, to never let them part over a few bad words and the bitter taste of alcohol. It broke her heart, but she knew it was part of the territory that came with loving him, so she always did her best to comfort him and to hold him in her arms as long as he needed her to, whispering soothing things back to him in French, knowing that sometimes, only his mother tongue would be any good at soothing him.

He didn’t seem to be in that state yet, but she could tell that as his slumber continued, his nightmare was only getting worse as his furrowed brow turned into soft mumbles, cries for something to stop as his face contorted into pain.

Quickly, but gently, she reached forward to cup his face, her thumb brushing against his cheekbone, trying to pry him from the sleep that was plaguing him.

“Vincent, mon cœur, please. Wake up.”

He let out a soft plea that cracked her heart in two as she watched him struggle to get out of his own head.

“Non… non… j’suis désolé… laissez-moi le voir… j’ai besoin de parler avec lui...” (1)

He sounded terrified.

She caught the formality slipping from his tone, the words melding together in the conversational way her friends would often speak to each other, but never him. His guard was down, and she got the notion that this is the way he would have sounded among people he felt comfortable with, once upon a time.

She continued to gently stroke his cheek, leaning in to brush her nose against his softly, hoping that something would be able to ease him out of this trauma.

He sighed softly in his sleep, and she could tell that he was aware of her presence. He started to come to ever so slowly as his mumbles quieted down, and his brow relaxed, but the exhausted, miserable expression never left his face, even as he slowly opened his eyes to watch her.

He couldn’t respond at first, his brain still lagging behind, reliving the images of those days he never wanted to see again. She could see that his eyes were still focused elsewhere, even though his peridot gaze never left her face.

She sighed softly and leaned forward, resting her forehead against his while never breaking his gaze.

“Vincent… tu es ici. Avec moi. Reviens, mon amour.” (2)

She spoke softly, taking the care to pronounce his name with the soft, lilting accent it was given in.

He was silent for a while longer, trying to keep the silence for as long as possible as he allowed himself to leave his own head, his eyes coming back into focus, and realizing that the fuzzy image ahead of him, touching him, comforting him, was his fiancée.

He took a deep breath before trusting his voice enough to speak.

“J’y suis… j’y… je suis… ici…” (3)

He was out of his nightmare, but his voice still shook, somewhat hoarse from the lack of energy he had in him to give his own words.

His eyes weren’t wide open, but she could see that there was a shine to them signifying more than just a reflection of the light. She continued to stroke his cheek softly with the pad of her thumb to try and keep him from disconnecting from their word again. She let him continue to breathe for a minute, giving him as long as he needed to come back down to earth before she continued.

“Tu n'es pas seul. J’y suis avec toi. Ça va…” (4)

He nodded softly before closing his eyes again, taking a deep breath, and opening them again, mostly grounded.

His eyes scanned her face softly before he sighed, relieved that she, at least, was still here with him. He slowly raised a hand up to cover hers on his cheek. Turning his head ever so slightly, he pressed a kiss to the palm of her hand, watching her sincerely.

“Je te remercie, ma chérie.” (5)

He tried for a smile, but was only capable of a soft look, still competing with the scenes of suffering within his head that never seemed to disappear.

She smiled softly at him, reassuring that he needed to make no effort right now of consoling her. That she was there for him and him alone. Her hands found their way into his hair, gently combing back into position from where it had fallen in his nap.

“Same dream?” She asked softly, planting a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth.

He sighed and closed his eyes, his brow furrowing once more as he once again remembered the dream he was having, this time by choice.

“Not... the same. But they’re all similar. Different retellings of the same events, playing over and over when they get the chance.”

He opened his eyes again and scanned her face before slowly pushing himself up into a seated position, letting his own hands take over for hers, working to straighten out his hair from it’s tousled state. She joined him after a moment, sitting in the space he had made between his two legs to allow them to sit as close as possible to each other, unhindered by their own limbs.

Her arms found their way around his neck as his settled around her waist. Her head fell perfectly into place at the crook of his neck, and he pressed a soft kiss to the top of her head before his chin rested against her hair. He let his eyes close again as he reveled in their moment of peacefulness.

She had learned early on in their relationship that there was nothing that helped him more after his fits than just holding her tight in his arms, letting himself be reminded that he was not alone, that he had something, someone he could grasp onto now, instead of letting himself fall further into that abyss of grief.

He felt one of her hands lazily twirling the strands of hair at the back of his neck, a habit she often unknowingly exercised when they were together. He knew it was nonchalant to her, that it was just a silly habit of keeping her hands busy, but to him it was one of the most reassuring things in the world, especially in moments like this.

He had never expected this level of domesticity between the two of them. After everything they’d been through, the best he had hoped for was oddly timed meetings and an ever present tension that neither of the two ever planned on acting on. But she had proved him wrong, like she had again and again, but this time, she had proved him wrong in the best way.

He didn’t know where he would have been without her. Their experiences over the past couple of years had certainly shaped him, for better and for worse, and he couldn’t imagine trying to face the challenges he now faced without her at his side. She kept him sane. She kept him safe.

This silly American journalist that had saved the entire city, partly from his own form of destruction, had turned around and saved him too.

He was broken from his thoughts as he felt her breath tickle softly against his neck as she spoke up once more.

“You haven’t dreamt like that in a while. What brought it back today?”

She shifted slightly, pulling back just enough to let her see his face again instead of hiding it away.

He didn’t have the courage to tell her that part of the reason that his nightmares had started to quiet was because of her presence beside him.

He sighed and closed his eyes for a moment, his brow furrowing in frustration.

“The board has me working nonstop. Ever since I returned to the office they seem to have a personal vendetta against me and aren’t letting me continue my work in peace.” He shook his head softly, feeling himself get more worked up at the thought of his present situation. “It’s bad enough that they make those bloody impossible demands just to ridicule me in front of the entire company, but now they’ve started stealing my personal time at home with you and Este-”

He froze for a moment, feeling his eyes go wide as a pair of soft lips pressed softly to his brow, over the place where a nearly invisible scar from a long time ago sat, sectioning his eyebrow into two.

She stayed there for a moment, letting her lips linger before pulling back with a gentle smile, resting her forehead against his once more.

He was used to her throwing him off his rhythm, whether it be ruining his masterplan to control Paris, or straddling him on a bench at three in the morning after being carried home in his arms because she fainted, it wasn’t an uncommon occurrence for her to surprise him.

But this action, this tiny little kiss, signified so much more than that to him. Her kissing the only physical reminder he had of the incident, the only scratch he had gotten when others had received so much worse, made him connect all the dots together in his head, and he momentarily forgot about all his troubles at work.

He wanted to pull her into his arms and never let go. To tell her all the pent-up words inside his head; the paranoia that one day she might grow tired of him, the overwhelming love for her that swelled up so much at times that he thought his heart might burst, and most of all, the crushing fear he lived with that reminded him that one day, she might be taken from him too, and he didn’t know if he would ever be able to recover from that a second time.

He closed his eyes and swallowed tightly, carefully considering his words so that they might not tumble out frantically and so that he might be able to fight off the tears from rolling down his cheeks that were currently building up within his eyes.

“J’ai peur… j’ai peur de te perdre… juste comme je l’ai perdu…” (6)

His eyes opened again and gazed into hers. His walls down. His fear displayed for her to see. There were no innuendos, no games to protect him in this moment. Not in her presence. He wanted her to see everything. To give himself bare to her that she might accept him with open arms.

“Je ne sais pas ce que je ferais si je te perdais… Je ne pourrais pas supporter de perdre quelqu’un d’autre comme toi… donc s’il te plaît... ne me quitte pas…” (7)

He looked at her with the wide, shining green eyes of a broken man. More open and sincere than she’d ever seen him be. She felt her own eyes welling up with tears at the thought, knowing that she, too, could never bear to lose him, and at the knowledge of how he truly felt about her. She never wanted to see him suffering again.

She nodded softly and pulled him just to gently rest her forehead against his, not trying to kiss him or insinuate any other type of affection, just reassuring him that she was here, and that she would do everything in her power to ensure that he would never be alone again.

“Je ne vais nulle part, mon cœur, pas sans toi.” (8)

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

French Translations

“No… no… I’m sorry… Let me see him… I need to speak with him…”

“Vincent, you are here. With me. Come back, my love.”

“I’m here… I… I’m… here.”

“You aren’t alone. I’m here with you. It’s alright…”

“I thank you, my dear.”

“I’m afraid… I’m afraid of losing you.. Just like I lost him…”

“I don’t know what I’d do if I lost you… I couldn’t bear losing someone else like you… so please… don’t leave me.”

“I’m not going anywhere, my love, not without you.”

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

This was a fun one to write! I was thinking about Paul’s anniversary ever since @lostaurum ‘s post, and I wanted to incorporate that here, so I hope you enjoyed!

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trinuviel · 5 years

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Regarding that feather...

Ever since the Game of Thrones season 8 teaser Aftermath was released people have been debating who or what is represented by the feather that slowly falls from the broken railing on the battlements of Winterfell down to the remains of Bran’s wheelchair. Some people think the feather symbolizes Lyanna, other people think it represents Sansa and yet others claim that it represents Jon’s parentage.

I’m here to say that the feather actually represents all three options! In itself the feather is just an object, a prop - what it means is completely dependent on the context in which it appears - and when the context changes, so does the meaning of the feather.

At various moments in the story, the feather symbolizes different things - and it all depends on the context in which it appears!!!!!

In order to ascertain what the feather might signify in the teaser Aftermath, we’ll have to take a look at the circumstances where it has previously appeared. The feather has made appearances in season 1 and 5 as well as in 2 of the promotional teasers for the upcoming season 8.

Season 1

The feather makes its debut in the very first episode of the show, when the whole story takes its beginning. Immediately after his arrival in Winterfell, King Robert goes with to crypts with Ned Stark to pay his respects the Ned’s late sister Lyanna Stark whose “abduction” by Rhaegar Targaryen was one of the events that sparked Robert’s Rebellion, which put an end to the Targaryen dynasty. (Now we know that Lyanna wasn’t really abducted by Rhaegar but this is the official story and what Robert believes).

(GIF by Zulzibar)

Robert has brought the feather of an exotic bird which he places in the hands of Lyanna’s funerary statue. He laments that she is buried in such a dark place and when Ned says the she belongs there because she was a Stark, Robert angrily retorts that she belonged with him. Then Robert says that he kills Rhaegar all over again in his dreams, even after 15 years.

In this context, the feather represents Robert’s love for Lyanna - and it is thus a symbol both of Lyanna herself but also of his love and his loss, which haunts him to this day.

Season 5

The feather reappears in season 5 when Sansa Stark returns to Winterfell to be wed to Ramsay Bolton. Shortly after her arrival, we have a scene where she’s in the crypts, lighting a candle that she places in the hands of Lyanna’s funerary statue, much like Robert placed the feather there. She notices the feather lying at the feet of the statue, picks it up and blows off the dust that have accumulated on it.

(GIF by @thelawyerthatwaspromised)

The showrunners David Benioff and D.B. Weiss explains one of the reasons why they included the feather in this scene:

"The last time we saw the statue of Lyanna was in the pilot episode," explains series co-creator David Benioff. "King Robert Baratheon laid this exotic, tropical bird feather in her hand. As we were preparing the scene [with Sansa], we thought: That feather’s probably still there. People haven't been going down there and cleaning up much. Certainly after Ramsay destroyed Winterfell, there hasn’t been a janitorial crew going down and vacuuming." "We thought it would be kind of a great thing to have Sansa wondering about it," co-creator D.B. Weiss notes. "Hopefully viewers wonder: Where did I see that before? – and then remember that in the first episode of the show, this is something that Robert left to remember the woman he loved." (Making Game of Thrones)

Now this sounds like the feather is just a sort of nice little Easter egg for the attentive viewer to remember. However, the context of the scene adds a layer of significance to this little object because the official story of Lyanna’s fate comes to function as a foreshadowing for what happens to Sansa later in season 5.

Just after she has picked up the feather, Littlefinger intrudes upon Sansa as she pays homage to her dead:

Sansa: Father never talked about her. Sometimes I’d find him down here, lighting the candles. They say she was beautiful.

This shows that Sansa didn’t really know much about her aunt who died before she was born. She doesn’t really have a connection with Lyanna but yet she’s down in the crypt lighting a candle to her. Why? The line quoted above subtly tells us that this is Sansa’s way of remembering her father. There’s no statue of Ned in the crypts but she remembers her father lighting candles to her aunt - and so she does the same as a way of remembering him, which is both beautiful and heartbreaking.

Littlefinger then goes on to tell the story of the Tourney of Harrenhal where Rhaegar first met Lyanna and crowned her Queen of Love and Beauty - causing a scandal. Sansa finishes the story by saying that Rhaegar then kidnapped and raped Lyanna. This shows that while Ned never talked about his sister, her story (or the official version of it) was well known in the North and that Sansa knew about it from other sources. The conversation about Rhaegar and Lyanna also serves as an extremely subtle hint of a big secret (Jon’s parentage) for the discerning viewer, especially one who’s familiar with the books.

As they walk away from Lyanna’s statue, Sansa is still holding the feather! They discuss Littlefinger’s plans for her to end up Wardeness of the North and as he prepares to take his leave of her she says:

Sansa: I expect I’ll be a married woman by the time you return.

We never see Sansa return the feather to Lyanna’s statue, which I think is important to note!

Within the context of this scene, the feather is obviously connected to Lyanna but it also becomes connected to Sansa more than one way. Firstly, because Lyanna’s fate comes to serve as a dark foreshadowing of things to come for Sansa as she is raped on her wedding night by Ramsay Bolton. This narrative connection between Lyanna and Sansa is further elaborated when Littlefinger serves Lord Rhoyce the lie that Sansa was abducted by the Bolton in season 6. Thus, the official story of Sansa’s presence in the North is one of kidnapping and rape, just like the official story of Lyanna is - and it is used to prompt the Lords of the Vale to go to war for her, just like it prompted Robert and the Starks to go to war for Lyanna.

It is also worth noting that Sansa wears her black, feathered gown during the scene in the crypt. The costume design is important but WHEN the costumes are worn is equally important - and Sansa’s gown also sports feathers dangling from her wrists, which the camera work draws attention to in another scene. Sansa is thus already connected to feathers visually and she has quite a bit of bird imagery as well - she’s been called both Little Dove and Little Bird in King’s Landing. So there’s a visual comparison drawn between Lyanna’s feather and Sansa’s costume.

The there’s the fact that the show draws visual comparisons between Lyanna and Sansa in season 7. Thus, Sansa wears her hair just like Lyanna did during her secret wedding to Rhaegar Targaryen.

Furthermore, Lyanna’s wedding gown features a belt that looks very similar to the one that adorned Sansa’s wedding dress in season 3 in the way it cross over her torso and sports an embellished collar. This is NOT a coincidence since costumier Michele Clapton is very particular with her designs and how they support the narrative - and in season 7 she was especially insistent on how each costume detail is symbolic:

We try to be really symbolic about everything everyone wears now.” (Michele Clapton, Insider)

Thus, the show creates a subtle connection between Sansa and Lyanna through the costuming and that adds to the way that the feather connects the two characters through the context of the scene in season 5. In light of this we have to ask ourselves WHY?

Why has the show gone out of the way to connect these two characters?

Crypts of Winterfell - season 8 Teaser

The feather makes a third appearance in The Crypts of Winterfell teaser for season 8 where we see Jon, Sansa and Arya stride through the crypts of Winterfell only to be confronted with statues of themselves. Though we never saw Sansa return the feather to Lyanna’s statue in season 5, it is back in this teaser where we see it cradled in the hands of the statue.

As Jon walks past, the feather is disturbed and it flies away from the hands of the statue as a Lyanna in a Voice Over says: “You have to protect him.”

These are the very words that she spoke to Ned on her death bed, which we saw in the flash back of season 6 - a scene that revealed that Jon Snow is not the bastard son of Ned Stark but rather the son of his sister Lyanna and Rhaegar Targaryen. Baby Jon’s life was in danger because Robert Baratheon would kill any Targaryen he could get his hands on, even a child. Thus the lie that Jon is Ned’s bastard was born.

In this context, the feather comes to represent Jon’s true parentage, which is a narrative bomb set to go off in this final season of the show. It is a secret that promises to radically reconfigure the narrative and have a huge impact on both political and personal relationships.

The feather IS important because the teaser draws special visual attention to it, not just by focusing on it after Jon ahs walked past Lyanna’s statue but also by making it the subject of an extreme close-up at then end of the sequence.

In short, once again the feather is ascribed a new meaning due to the context of the scenes where it appears in the teaser.

Aftermath - season 8 Teaser

The feather makes yet another appearance in a second teaser for season 8, The Aftermath, which I mentioned in the introduction. In this teaser we see a broken and abandoned Winterfell covered in snow. The Stark direwolf banner is torn and as the camera moves about the ruined castle, we notice objects associated with the main characters: the golden Hand brooch of Tyrion, Arya’s sword Needle, Bran’s wheelchair, Daenerys’ chain of intent, Jaime’s golden hand and Jon’s sword Longclaw. However, we don’t see any object that is obviously associated with Sansa. Yet Lyanna’s feather makes another appearance. Right before we see the feather, we get this shot of the battlements:

This particular place is a place where we’ve seen Sansa several times during seasons 5-7. It was where she was threatened by Myranda just before she and Theon jumped from the walls to escape their prison. It is where she talked with Jon in both season 6 and 7 and it is where she and Arya buried their differences at the end of season 7.

Sansa has also been at the battlements alone in season 7, right before she held the trial of Littlefinger. She the ONLY character that is especially associated with this particular location in Winterfell.

After the establishing shot of the battlements the camera zooms in on the wood guard rail that has been broken. Lyanna’s feather rests on it until the desolate wind picks it up.

Then it slowly falls down on the ground.

Right next to the broken remains of Bran’s wheelchair.

The camera focuses on the feather for 9 whole seconds, which is a long time in terms of television, especially in a trailer that is just a little over 1 minute long. In comparison the camera spends only about 3 seconds each on the other character symbols except for Jon’s sword, which the camera lingers on for 9 seconds. This proves that the feather is obviously important.

So does the feather represent Sansa in this teaser? It isn’t a question that can’t be answered conclusively unless the creators either confirm of deny it. However, considering that the battlements is a place especially associated with Sansa, combined with the fact that she was associated with the feather in an earlier scene in season 5 + the visual connection made between her and Lyanna in season 7, I’d argue that there’s a very high possibility that the feather does indeed represent Sansa. But why use Lyanna’s feather and not a more recognizable item, like her necklace, that is more readily associated with Sansa? I don’t really have an answer for that other than the creators have decided to infuse the teaser with some ambiguity and that the Lyanna/Sansa/R+L=J connection that the feather symbolizes will be narratively important in some way.

Another interesting detail is the fact that the sequence with the feather is placed between the shot of Arya’s Needle and Bran’s wheelchair, which brings to mind the promotional photo shoots where Sansa repeatedly has been placed between Arya and Bran.

Having the feather land by Bran’s wheelchair also connects it symbolically with Bran, which activates its symbol value as a signifier of Jon’s true parentage since he is one of the only two people who knows the truth of Jon’s parents as of the end of season 7 where he witness the secret wedding of Lyanna and Rhaegar. Thus, the feather comes to symbolize several things at the same time: Sansa as well as Jon’s parentage, also invoking Lyanna by association.

The Crypts of Winterfell teaser invoked the feather as a symbol of Jon’s true parentage and its importance for the narrative. It is the most narratively coherent of all the season 8 trailers and it establishes the importance of who Jon really is and hints at what it could mean for him politically (”You have to protect him”).

The Aftermath teaser is quite different. It is akin to the season 6 Hall of Faces teaser where the faces of both living and dead characters adorn the walls of the temple of the Many-Faced God. it was clearly meant to remind the audience that no character is safe on this show and to make people worry for their favorites.

Aftermath serves a similar purpose. It teases a grim future where our heroes lose the War against the Dead, leaving behind a frozen wasteland. It teases the ultimate defeat and the death of all the characters, making us worry just like the Hall of Faces teaser did. There’s no room for politics in this apocalyptic scenario and you have to wonder why the camera takes its time to linger long on an item that symbolizes Jon’s parentage as well as Sansa. You have to wonder why they’ve chosen to put so much focus on this humble feather that is narratively connected to both Lyanna and Sansa as well as serving as a symbol of Jon’s royal heritage.

#game of thrones #teaser #aftermath #sansa stark

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wilhelmjfink · 5 years

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“was” pt. 11

previously: And while she watched the van pull away, she continued to call for him repeatedly, as if that would change anything, feeling helpless and broken and alone and… and just numb.

Y/N was devastated, to say the least.

Rick stood patiently outside the door of what should’ve been her and Daryl’s Alexandrian home, but currently only housed her as she locked herself away from the rest of the world.

“I know you’re in there,” Rick hollered against the barrier between them, knowing that she was somewhere inside of the small townhouse curled up, keeping to herself and refusing to leave the safety of the walls her and Daryl once shared.

She didn’t respond. “I’m comin’ in!” He announced, his hand already turning the brass knob in his hand until it clicked before he cautiously pushed he door open. It squeaked and he flinched, the sound the loudest thing he’d ever heard compared to the dark, heavy silence inside of the him.

Just as he’d suspected, Y/N sat on the loveseat with her back facing him, trying to ignore his presence. He knew she wanted to be alone — her and Daryl were similar like that. But he also knew that Daryl had a tendency to be extremely self-destructive and he’d already watched her crash and burn after he’d been taken by Negan’s men the first time. And where they were headed with the army of Saviors against them, they couldn’t afford for her to wallow in the dark, feeling sorry for herself.

At the same time, however, Rick’s heart shattered at the sight of her curled up and hugging herself on the couch: heavy bags under her eyes from the exhaustion of not having slept for the last 48 hours, her skin already porcelain from being ill and unwell and fragile, so thin and delicate that he was hesitant to sit next to her for fear of breaking her entirely.

“Y/N,” he tried to clarify his presence one again as to avoid scaring here out of her trance it seemed she was in, but she looked right over to him. Her normally radiant eyes were dull and bloodshot, puffy and red from her constant crying. One foot in front of the other he carefully made his way toward her. “Hey. It’s me. Let’s talk...”

“What’s there to talk about?” She croaked, her voice jagged like she’d swallowed shards of glass, completely void of the vibrance and attitude of girl he’d known for so long. “I can’t even imagine what they’re doing to him. And it’s all my fault.”

“It’s not your fault.”

“It is!” She was suddenly on her feet, staring him as her balance wavered like she was drunk or dizzy. She pointed a finger harshly in his face. “Dont you try and tell me it’s not. He should’ve taken me!”

When she turned away from him to hide her face, becoming too overwhelmed with emotions, that was when he noticed the small but evident blood stain on her white long sleeved shirt, right over where she’d been shot.

“Y/N, you’re bleeding — “

“He said he wanted me, Rick. So why didn’t he take me?” As she collapsed back down onto the sofa he planted himself next to her, carefully guiding her backwards so that she didn’t collapse on the floor in the fit of sobs that took over her. “Why couldn’t he have taken me instead? Why —“

Rick interjected, unhappy with the guilt that was wrongfully drowning her. “Don’t say that — you don’t want that.”

“No, what I don’t want is Daryl to be suffering because of me,” she spat harshly at him, wiping her eyes on the back of her sleeve. She opened her mouth to speak, but Rick beat her to it.

“Do you know how devastated he was when he heard you’d been shot?” He asked, his tone firm and unwavering. Y/N looked up at him curiously, waiting for him to continue with wherever he was going. “He... he wasn’t Daryl. He was just a shell. He didn’t know how to function without you — he was so sure you wouldn’t wake up. By the third day, he’d already lost hope.”

Y/N’s demeanor fell even lower and Rick quickly corrected himself. “Not in you, but in... everything around him. Life wasn’t worth living to him, not without you. Do you know why he left, Y/N?” Rick was heated, though not angry and as Y/N shook her head no he suddenly paused, halting himself before he stumbled too far into a conversation it wasn’t his right to initiate. “Because everything reminded him of you. And the second that he heard you were awake — the second that he knew Negan was in the infirmary with you... it was like a whole new Daryl, Y/N. I’ll bet nothin’ in the world could’ve stopped him after he heard that.”

Y/N had begun crying harder, impatiently waiting for Rick to make his point by tearing her soul in two, her love for him only growing at his words. They would be reassuring, she thought, if she was worried about whether or not Daryl loved her. But despite his introverted and closed-off nature and his harsh mannerisms, she was sure he loved her, regardless of how hard it was for him to show it; she’d always taken that into consideration and it only confirmed that he really did think the world of her.

But that wasn’t the problem. No — the problem was that he was being held prisoner in the place that already managed to break him once. So despite how hard he fought to keep his composure and maintain a stoic appearance every single day, she was the only one that knew of the nightmares that plagued his dreams every single night; of Glenn, of Negan, of Dwight, of the Saviors in their entirety. Usually, she’d lean closer, hold him tighter, whisper soothingly to him if dramatically steadying her own breathing to urge him along didn’t help. But now, she wasn’t there to hold him and protect him from those demons. They had manifested right in front of her and before they could do anything they were surrounded by them. And they laid into him, punching and kicking and laughing at him before ripping him away from her and dragging him back down to the dark recesses of his mind where she’d spent so much time trying to drag him out of.

“He would’ve ran right back into Negan’s arms if it meant makin’ sure you were safe — he still would.”

It was then that it clicked with Y/N; the point Rick was trying to make was that Daryl was tough and would endure anything for her. He would’ve walked to hell and back twice, three or four or nine or ten times for her, as she would for him. But it brought her little comfort. Everybody had a breaking point, and Negan was well aware of where Daryl’s was and she knew he ended to exploit it the way only he could.

“Just... promise me you won’t do anything stupid, alright? We need ya here.”

Y/N appreciated Rick’s effort — she really did. But she couldn’t help but break down again at the mere thought of him, burying her face in her hands as she cried for him, the tears never seeming to stop.

It seemed like the last four weeks of freedom had been nothing but a fever dream.

Daryl was right back where he started, dirty sweats, moldy bread and all, laying on the floor of the same exact cell from the last time he was prisoner at the Sanctuary. Easy Street still blared — they hadn’t change their tactics one bit. Though this time, instead of the reoccurring nightmares that showed Glenn getting beat to death due to his fault — something he’d only been able to reconcile and come to terms with because of her — it was her screams as he was dragged away, her cries as Saviors yanked her backwards and she desperately flailed and tried to free herself from their grip to reach her. And every time he’d turn toward her, wanting so badly to return to her and hold her and promise he was alright, the Saviors turned to grotesque, rotted corpses and he had to watch them eat her alive as she pleaded for him to come save her.

But he never could; not in dreams nor in reality.

He was easily able to tune the song out at that point. Though he would’ve preferred it over the sounds of her cries that echoed in his head, rattling his brain like a drill and leaving him to fight off his own tears as he felt helpless and worthless and alone. If he couldn’t save her, what good was he?

He’d been through this before — just recently, even. When he’d left the first time in a fit of rage, unable to stop the emotions from flowing upon finding out news he never, ever once in his entire life had even considered having to hear. He was supposed to tell her. He didn’t know how to do it at first. He stressed about it the second that he heard she’d woken up. And when that stress was quickly replaced with the sweetest relief he’d ever experienced in his lifetime, he’d forgotten all about it. Now, even though the initial reminder of breaking the news to her had been so bitter and undesirable, he would still choose having to do that over wallowing in the feeling of loss he was experiencing now. Knowing she was out there waiting for him, and that he would never come.

He succumbed easily upon his arrival back here, still disheveled from the fight and obvious concussion he sustained, but unlike the last time he had absolutely no fight left in him. He’d just got his girl back — fuck, he’d just gotten her back! He hadn’t even been able to speak a single word to her, let alone hold her in his arms or kiss her lips or see her smile, her entire face lighting up when he walked in like it always did — something he would never fucking understand.

Y/N had spent the night racking her brain for any memories she had that withheld valuable information about Negan or the Sanctuary, everything turning up flat. She had no leads; not even an idea on how to get there. But she still hovered over the county map, a red ‘x’ signifying the Saviors headquarters that lay far back in the woods 30 miles away from her. That was a hell of a walk, but she didn’t think twice about it. That kind of thing really didn’t matter anymore.

Daryl had her pack a bag that she’d always kept in the closet that was ready to scoop up and head out, should they ever needed to. He never trusted Alexandria and even after she begged him to just try and settle, he couldn’t say no to her big puppy dog eyes, but still found it hard to ever feel even remotely comfortable. But she’d humored him and packed the bag, knowing deep down it was a practical idea, and she was happy she did. It held a canteen full of water, protein bars and canned goods, an extra set of clothing, a box of ammunition and the suppressor for her Ruger, generic first aid, and other odds and ends they’d learn to appreciate when out on the road with no shelter or steady source of sustenance.

There was a knock at her door and she quickly kicked the backpack with her heel, sliding it under the bed frame she sat on and crumpled up the map that lay sprawled on her lap. She didn’t have to answer — nobody expected her to and they always waltzed the fuck in anyway. She was sick of the pitiful looks she’d gotten lately — yeah, she was devastated, beside herself and even still healing from being shot twice and unconscious for a week to follow, but the broken people often made the most dangerous ones, and she had every intention of going out with a bang.

The door pushed open and she was surprised to see Carl peek in, almost hesitantly.

“Hey,” she greeted him quietly as he made his way into the room, closing the door behind him. She would never get over how much he’d grown up over the years.

“Hey,” he replied. It was obvious something was on his mind and before Y/N could ask, he spoke back up. “Alright. You’re not thinking about going after Daryl, are you?”

She could never lie to Carl. So she hung her head down silently, avoiding his gaze. “Not as long as your dad keeps a tight leash on me.”

Carl nodded — it was true that Rick was making an effort to keep tabs on Y/N, checking up on her frequently even though she never left the house. She’d even seen him talking to those on watch duty and only suspected it was about her when they both had turned and spotted her watching from her front porch, immediately silencing before splitting up.

“I can help you.”

Her head snapped up. “What?”

“I’ve been to the Sanctuary. I can help you get inside. I can tell you where they’re keeping Daryl.”

Though obviously weighing heavily on her mind just the mention of his name aloud tugged on her heartstrings, springing tears of anger and frustration and fear in her eyes. Carl was serious; he stood strong, cold. After a moment of consideration, her unfolded the map you’d hastily shoved to your side and flattened it back out onto the bed.

2 more parts..... what’s gonna happen :/ no one knows!

@crossbowking @jodiereedus22 @apossiblegentleman @mtngirlforever @sourwolf-sterek32 @winchester-angel @qrangr @cole-winchester @the-bottom-of-the-abyss @twdeadfanfic @crazyaboutnorman @deliciousassafrasssandwich @bunnymother93 @96ssi @fireeyes-on-teller-dixon-grimes @mrbarneswhitewolfsir @thatsoragan @lonewolf471

#The Walking Dead #twd #the walking dead fanfiction #daryl dixon #daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl x reader #reader insert #daryl dixon imagine #twd daryl #twd fanfiction #twd daryl dixon #norman reedus

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darling-clemmy · 5 years

Text

Summer Dreams: One (ClemxLouis FanFiction)

Summary: Louis arrives at Ericson’s Camp for Troubled Youth for the third summer in a row. Most everything is exactly the same, except for the new, pretty, junior counselor with curly hair.

Warnings: Swearing and in later chapters some mature-ish themes (NOT smut though!)

Word Count: 2,218

A/N: I have altered some of the reasons for the Ericson’s kids presences (mostly Violet) because I felt like their backstories were too intense/serious to only result in going to a summer camp. Also, this is going to be a multi-part series, but I’m not sure how many yet!

The late June heat seeped into Louis’ mom’s car despite the air conditioner being on high. It was only 9:30 in the morning, and already 89 degrees, which was alarming since it was a cool 60 earlier that morning when they left. It was about an hour and a half drive from their relatively large house to the summer camp which Louis dreaded going to. To him, the only good part about it was seeing his long-distance friends, like Marlon and Violet. And maybe Aasim, too.

Every summer, his father decided he needed time away from his son, still not fully forgiving him for the mischievous frauds committed by Louis years ago. He also believed that since they were so well off financially, it’d be good for him to experience some authentic outdoor time in the blistering heat. This was really just an attempt to humble Louis a little, but everyone at Ericson’s felt he was always going to be a little spoiled. They still loved him, though, and knew he was a genuinely good person under all of his designer clothes and expensive rings.

Lost in thought, Louis barely noticed when his mom returns to the car, jiggling the locked handle outside vigorously. He reached over to the driver’s side door and pulled the handle for her. She smiled at him and slided into her seat, placing the bulk of requisite paperwork in her lap.

Louis groaned and slumped his head and shoulders back. “Really? Paperwork, again? They should know I’m a regular now, especially after last year because of the whole laundry detergent accident.”

“It isn’t an accident if you meant to do it,” his mother reminded him. “And don’t get all fired up, I already filled it all out for you.”

“You know, I bet we’re the only family that has to fill out all of that crap every year.” He turned to face his mom, prematurely smiling at what he was about to say. “I bet we only have to because Mr. Ericson totally has a thing for you.”

She rolled her eyes while trying to repress a smirk. Light-heartedly, she said, “You’re crazy. He probably has a lovely wife and four amazing kids and maybe, like, a golden retriever, or something.”

“Mm, nope, he has some kind of pit bull. Her name’s Rosie—she bit some kid in that area last year.”

“Anyway,” she replied after chucking a bit. “I’m sure if your dad was the one to drop you off he’d have to fill out all the same stuff.”

Louis adverted his eyes and became quiet for a moment before mumbling, “As if he’d ever want to drop me off.”

He didn’t mean for it to come out so bitter, since he really was more sad about it than anything else. A good relationship with his dad was something he had wished for every year as he blew out birthday candles. He prayed that somehow everything would change. Of course, it never really did.

His mom sighed and placed a hand against his arm. “He does love you, Louis. You’re his son, his only child. Nothing can break that, even millions of mistakes.”

He nodded, still not meeting her dark brown eyes.

“I love you, sweetheart. You should start heading into the main building. I think I saw Marlon and his mother earlier.” She said, making Louis perk up a bit in hopes of seeing his friend.

“I love you, too, Mom. I’ll try to call as soon as I can,” Louis scrambled, stepping out of the car. Quickly, he grabbed his two suitcases out of the trunk and headed towards the front court yard, smiling back once at his mom.

+++

The dining hall was a familiar place to Louis. He had spent nearly every night in there for the past two summers, playing juvenile card games and eating the same bland food. The chatter of dozens of voices, the occasional clang of pots in the kitchen, and the long oak benches had become comforting to him. It was always a place of good memories, with more to be made in the upcoming weeks. Every camp season’s orientation was in here as a meeting place for new and old camp members and counselors.

Louis and his large group of friends sat together, taking up most of a section in the back. To his left was Marlon, sent to camp for extreme anger issues and fits of violence. On his right was Violet, who was sent for “not having any emotions,” according to her mother.

“So, Violet,” Louis starts. “I see Minnie and Sophie aren’t here. Do you know why?”

She blushed a pale rose at the mention of her annual summer-time girlfriend. “No idea. Maybe they did some acts of good service or some shit and their mom let them stay home.”

“That’d be a real shame, wouldn’t it?” Marlon teased, poking his head into their conversation.

“Fuck off,” Vi replied. “Why don’t you and Brody go get a heads start on sucking face in the bathrooms?”

Louis chucked, “And probably other parts of their bodies—“

He was cut off by the shrilling sound of an older man’s voice—Mr. Ericson’s voice, in the introduction of the same bullshit speech he gave every year about their mission to help each individual personally.

“While we stick with the same foundation to Ericson’s,” he went on. “This year, we have decided to make a change considering our counselors.”

Everybody started chatting once again, most in hopes that they finally fired Larry, the oldest and strictest counselor at Ericson’s.

“Settle down, everyone,” the old man interrupted. “No, we have not fired anybody, though Larry has retired. This year, we have hired some junior counselors to tag along with a senior one. They’re all teenagers, like yourselves, so that you can really see examples of responsible, well-rounded young adults.”

Marlon shifted towards Louis. “You think any of them will be hot?”

Louis shook his head. “Nah. Even if, they’re ‘well-rounded young adults.’ They wouldn’t go for us.”

“Well, if there are any, I call dibs.” Marlon stated, forcing a laugh out of Louis.

“We’ll see about that.”

Marlon roller his eyes subtly before turning back to face the front.

“Alright, everybody! Start heading to your assigned cabins and get rested for the first day of activities tomorrow. If you see a new counselor, make sure to introduce yourself! They won’t bite!” Mr. Ericson said, making only himself laugh.

+++

Later that night, once the moon was at its peak and everyone else was asleep, Louis crept out out of the cabin he shared with three others—Marlon, Mitch, and Justin. It was still moderately warm outside, but thankfully accompanied by a brisk wind which would pass by every so often. Clad in just sweatpants and an old provided green camp t-shirt, Louis made his best attempt to rush over to the music and arts hall as quick as he could. Dirt crunched beneath his shoes, making him worry he’d awaken somebody in his pursuit.

Finally, he made it to the small building which held his favorite past-time at camp, the grand piano. He had always loved music, although most nobody took him seriously when they heard him play, except for his mom. Even Marlon couldn’t hold a straight face when Louis played him Für Elise, which he had finally mastered after three straight weeks of learning it. Louis kept playing, though, even if it had to be in the dead of night.

He tip-toed up the rickety stairs to the front door, grabbing the rusted door knob once reaching the top. It didn’t budge.

“Dammit,” he whispered.

Suddenly, a nearby door creaked open, allowing dim light from inside to drain out onto the ground. Louis pressed his back against the door, still peaking his head to see in front of a pillar. All he could really make out was the silhouette of a girl, appearing to be carrying a small plastic bag out to a trash can. She clearly wasn’t a senior counselor, leaving her only to be a new camper or one of the new, dearly beloved junior counselors. Louis figured he wouldn’t get in too much of trouble if he just started walking back to his cabin then. And he may get to meet somebody new while doing it.

He started making his way towards the group of trash cans where the mysterious girl stood, pushing down whatever she just placed in. As he got closer, he was able to discern more characteristics of the figure, like her curly hair tied into two full pigtails. While this was expected to make someone seem child-like, Louis could already tell from the back of her that she could pull it off.

Once he got a few feet away from her, he greeted in a muted shout, “Hey!”

She jumped a bit in her place, instinctively turning around, curly tendrils hitting against her jaw.

The first thing Louis noticed about her were her eyes—bright even in the darkness and the color of ancient amber. They startled him, but he still found them beautiful, enchanting, even. She was on the shorter side, yet still held herself as if she was tall. She wore a pair of black exercise shorts and a baby blue t-shirt, signifying that she was in fact a junior counselor.

He supposed he was wrong earlier that there wouldn’t be any attractive ones. This girl was so much more than attractive, though.

“Hello?” She responded, curiously and dragging out her word.

“Sorry to disrupt your nightly chores. I’m Louis,” he apologized before holding out his hand.

She grasped it and shook it, suspiciously. “Clementine.”

“Well, I guess I should cut to the chase. See, the music hall is locked, preventing me from becoming the world’s next best pianist. Now, I know I’m not supposed to be awake, but neither are you most likely. So I was wondering if maybe you could unlock it for me?” He rushed out, flashing a toothy grin at the end in hopes his charm would woo her.

Clementine sighed before looking at him quizzically. After a moment, she gave in and shrugged her shoulders. “I guess it wouldn’t hurt to do. You’re lucky I have the keys to it.”

Louis pumped his fist in the air, really not expecting her to say yes. “Booyah! Thank you, Clementine.”

She smiled kindly at him and started walking towards the music hall. Louis followed behind her, jogging to catch up. He looked over at her and realized her eyebrows were now furrowed together as she reached up to her lanyard to grab the set of keys, fingering one silver one over the others.

Once they reached the cabin, she swiftly jabbed it in and unlocked it. As soon as the door opened, Louis could smell the scent of waxed floors and oak. In the back left corner lay his favorite piano, tempting his fingers to spread across the white notes. He cooly walked over to it and sat down, trying not to let Clementine see him get too giddy.

“How long have you been playing?” She asked, leaning against the cover.

“A few years, I mostly play when I come here, though,” he explained.

“So you’re a regular camper? That must suck.”

“It has its pros,” Louis shrugged. “You clearly aren’t the biggest fan of this place. Why’d you wanna’ work here?”

Clementine walked around the piano, sitting down next to him on the stool. “It pays well and seemed easy, but I don’t know if I’ll have this job for too much longer if anyone finds out about this.” She looked around the room.

“You really aren’t being that good of an influence on me, but don’t worry, I won’t tell.” He said, winking and splaying his fingers across the board.

He started playing a song from memory, not remembering which one it was. His palms felt sweaty with Clementine sitting right next to him, observing each melody played. She sat quietly, and from Louis’ peripheral vision, she was grinning loosely.

“You’re quite good, you know,” she complimented. “I’m not sure why you feel the need to do this at one in the morning, though.”

He played one more chord before stopping and meeting his eyes to her’s. “Maybe this was all just a master plan to talk to a pretty girl like yourself.”

She blushed, glancing down at the floor before standing up. “I should probably start getting back to my cabin. Need to be up early tomorrow.”

“Right. So do I, I don’t want Marlon to wake up and call for, like, a rescue team,” Louis joked, raising up next to her. “Let me walk you back to your cabin. It’s the least I can do.”

“It’s only like a hundred feet from here. I can handle myself, but thank you.” Clementine ticked her hair behind an ear before pacing over to the front door. “See you around, I hope.”

He raised his hand and waved. “Goodnight, Clementine.”

“Goodnight, Louis.”

She closed the door behind her as she left, leaving Louis alone, standing amidst the dying candle light.

He could feel his heart beating the whole walk back as he thought about the way she’d said his name when she wished him goodnight.

#clouis #clementine #louis #louisentine #the walking dead game #twdg #clem #lou #twdg louis #twdg clem #fanfiction #summer au #highschool au

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bluerighthand · 6 years

Text

Growing Up A Shelby - Chapter 3: 1901

Previous Chapters: one two three /?

Chapter Summary: Ada starts school, Tommy thinks about girls…and boys, and a furry friend is introduced to the family (much to Polly’s distress).

This chapter is basically a load of domestic things strung together. Fluff, family shenanigans, minimal angst (but there is a whole storm of angst heading your way).

Notes: Due to recent events I’m taking a break from tumblr/the internet, but here’s me resurfacing to post a new chapter and add more stuff to my queue. I’m really sorry for the wait, but I hope you enjoy <3

Words: 5,654

AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15542805/chapters/38607311

Warnings: homophobia, brief mentions of death, gun violence and child abuse

“Oh, will you sit still” Polly groaned, smacking the back of John’s head. He stopped wriggling, for a grand total of five seconds, before resuming his task of trying to kick Arthur under the kitchen table. “John. I will shave your head right off I swear to God” said Polly, attempting to guide the razor across the back of his head.

“I am sitting still!” he protested, bringing his feet behind the chair legs to prove his innocence. Arthur’s legs could still reach however, and he waited until Polly was deep in concentration before sending a hard kick to John’s shin. At his cry, Polly slammed the razor down onto the table.

“Out” she said, pointing Arthur towards the door. She didn’t want to actually cut anyone, despite them both driving her absolutely mad. “Acting like a bloody child”.

“That’s a bad word” John informed her. Not as bad as the ones she wanted to use. Arthur took his time, dragging his feet along the floor and ‘accidentally’ knocking John’s arm on the way out.

She needed wine. And whiskey. In the same glass.

Ten minutes later, John’s hair was done. He scurried off immediately, leaving Polly’s warning about kicking his brother hanging in the kitchen. Cleaning the razor, she called for Tommy, but there was no answer. The imminent return to school (signified by the fresh haircut) must have him up to his neck in summer homework, she thought optimistically. Who was she kidding…

Cutting Tommy’s hair in the past had been a long and arduous task. It was easier now he was older, but he still hadn’t fully recovered his dignity from the baldness incident of 1896, and was therefore extremely cautious when it came to having his head shaved.

She entered the boys’ room to see Tommy leaning out of the window, arms resting on the sill. Thin wisps of smoke curled above his head, and Polly shivered, the autumn air from outside chilling the room.

“Thomas” she said warningly. He jumped, quickly flinging his cigarette down onto the street below, and spinning round. She glared at him in frustration. “Where do you keep getting those from?”. He shrugged, but at least had the decency to look sheepish under her gaze.

“It’s bloody freezing” said Polly, tugging the window down and flicking the latch. “Let’s get your hair sorted and you can go and play”. Tommy followed her out of the room.

“I’m too old for playing” he lied, eyes falling on his wooden horses on the landing even as he spoke. Polly shook her head, remembering a time when nothing could prise Tommy away from his toys. She’d seen the way he stared at older gangs on the streets, his natural curiosity pulling him into something that was very hard to get out of. She pushed the thought away. Tommy was only eleven for God’s sake, he had years before his father’s devilment emerged.

Haircut done and school bag packed for the following day, Tommy returned to his spot on the window sill. Arthur was on the street below, and having tired of annoying John, was throwing a deflated ball up for Tommy to catch. Arthur didn’t play with him as much as he used to, so Tommy was happy to join in, missing the hours they used to spend dreaming up worlds together. Tommy was the first to see Ada and Uncle Charlie heading down the lane, and he waved, grinning as Ada held her new school bag aloft. She spent the rest of the evening buckling and unbuckling the thing in excitement, and hardly slept a wink that night. Tommy didn’t have the heart to tell her school wasn’t nearly as fantastical as she was imagining.

The morning arrived, bright and chilly, and the family gathered in the kitchen for breakfast.

“Our Ada, all grown up” said Arthur, holding Ada’s hand as she twirled, crumpled pinafore fanning out. Not quite a ball gown, but it could have been for the way everyone cheered.

“And you’re going to be in my class Ada!” John cried.

“God help their poor teacher” said Polly under her breath. Tommy laughed, pulling on his jacket. After Polly had extracted three cuddly toys and a plate from Ada’s bag, they left the house, Arthur and Polly waving them off at the door. Arthur had finished school in the summer, and now worked in Charlie’s yard, chopping wood, hammering nails, fixing things. He was good at all that stuff. He wasn’t paid much, but earning three pennies a week was a lot more than others his age were doing for their families.

Polly was ecstatic either way, as Arthur’s income enabled her to quit her cleaning job in the evenings, and enrol in an accountancy class at a night school across town. The first class wasn't for a month or two, but she was already beside herself with excitement. Finally, finally, her life was starting. She was slightly apprehensive about leaving the kids on a regular basis; who knows what trouble they’d get up to, but she’d given Arthur a nice long talk about responsibility, some of which had hopefully stuck.

Jane was there of course, but she’d spent the vast majority of the past few months’ asleep upstairs, which unfortunately Polly didn’t see changing anytime soon. At least there was an adult in the home, in case Arthur decided his friends were more important than babysitting.

Ada kept up a constant stream of chatter on the way to school, about exactly what she should learn and exactly how it should be taught to her. Tommy tried to cut in with some brotherly advice; listen, do your homework, don’t punch anyone with these surnames or I’ll be the one to get it in the neck etc., which was naturally ignored. It would be okay though. Ada could look out for herself, and already had a mean right hook on her if anyone got nasty, much to Polly’s delight and their mother’s horror.

By the time they arrived, the yard was bustling with kids, and Tommy quickly lost sight of his siblings as John pulled Ada off towards the schoolhouse. Spying Freddie and Danny amongst their classmates, he elbowed his way through the crowd to reach them.

“Alright Tommy” greeted Freddie, throwing an arm around his shoulders. “You’ll never guess what Danny’s got”. Tommy looked to Danny, who grinned widely as he pulled him close to whisper in his ear.

“No way” Tommy said when he pulled back, in an equally hushed tone.

“Found it in me dad’s coat last night. He’s gonna sort that Whitton out I reckon” said Danny.

“Or that mad horse of yours” said Freddie, laughing at his friends’ matching frowns.

“Jus’ cause you don’t even have a horse” said Danny.

“When can we see it?” asked Tommy eagerly. Guns were not uncommon in Small Heath, far from it in fact, but he’d never actually held one, never fired one. Blades were far easier to steal, so staring at the outline of his father’s gun through his jacket was the closest he’d got thus far. Arthur Snr had never let his gun out of his sight, even when he was drunk, and Polly used to joke that it was the only thing he could be relied upon for. He’d taken Arthur out shooting once, to Tommy’s jealousy, but his rather graphic descriptions of what he’d do to anyone who stole his gun was enough to put Tommy off.

Danny’s dad was as forgetful as anything, much like his son, making this gun a far easier target.

Before they could make plans however, the bell rang, and the boys reluctantly made their way towards the extension. This building, made for the older kids, was far more makeshift and patchwork than the main schoolhouse, and Tommy wasn’t looking forward to their winter classes. Other than that, things were looking up if Arthur’s time in the top class was anything to go by.

He’d hardly turned up for one thing, and whenever he caused trouble a sweet smile was enough for Mrs Changretta to look the other way. Unfortunately, school restructuring meant that Tommy missed out on Mrs Changretta altogether, and instead ended up with a rather frail looking elderly man called Mr Pearson.

He seemed to live in a constant state of exhaustion, and also looked partially sighted, meaning Tommy was looking forward to bunking off without Pearson even noticing his absence. After ten minutes of silent work only disturbed by the whizz of paper balls Billy was lobbing at the back of Tommy’s head, Pearson went so still in his chair that they all began to speculate whether he was still breathing or not.

Turns out, he was, and Tommy let his daydreams carry him off for the rest of the morning rather than listen to any more drivel about algebra. Lunchtime rolled around, and he, Danny and Freddie entertained themselves by acting out what would likely happen to poor Whitton at the hands of Mr Owens’ gun.

It was strange to see Ada running around the yard. She’d never liked being left behind while her brothers went off to school. And now here she was with them, wearing an oversized pinafore that used to be Polly’s, a wide gap toothed smile on her face and her freshly cut bob dancing around her shoulders. She bounded up to Tommy a few minutes later, holding hands with another girl, and Tommy just managed to catch that her name was Jessie before the two ran off again.

After school, Danny’s mother was waiting by the gates, Danny turning back to shrug apologetically at his friends as he was pulled away. Tommy and Freddie glanced at each other uneasily. They decided to go the pasture that afternoon, instead of playing in the streets…not that they were scared or anything. And if they walked John and Ada home first, nobody had to know.

An hour later, Tommy and Freddie were stretched out on their backs in the field, horses galloping around the paddock nearby as clouds meandered across the sky. It was almost too cold for this now, and Tommy wanted to be outdoors as much as possible before he was forced into Arthur’s old winter coat every time he left the house, which was too thin to keep him from the chill, and merely stopped the free feel of the breeze against his skin.

“Do you like anyone?” asked Freddie. The question came out of the blue, they’d been discussing Danny’s father a second ago, and Tommy turned his head to look at Freddie, his profile clear against the sky.

“I’m not that cold am I?”.

“Not like that” Freddie laughed. “I mean a girl. Do you like any girls?”. Tommy had known what he’d meant. All he heard from Arthur these days was ‘girl talk’, when he wasn’t ignoring him in favour of Irene, or Erin, or…who was it now?

“Do you?” Tommy asked.

“Yeah” said Freddie sadly, “but she doesn’t like me back”.

“How do you know?” said Tommy, propping himself up on an elbow. He didn’t like the sound of this. It was the first he’d heard about it, and he and Freddie told each other everything, didn’t they? Freddie turned his head away before he spoke.

“Because she likes you Tommy” he said, the intonation giving away his annoyance. Tommy frowned, before sitting up fully.

“Is it Greta?” he asked. She was the only girl who ever played with him, other than Ada of course. She was funny, smart, and pretty too. Freddie nodded, not moving from his spot on the grass. “Freddie” groaned Tommy, poking his friend in the shoulder. “She probably only likes me cause I’m the only boy that talks to her”. Freddie shrugged.

“Are you going to kiss her?” he asked.

“What? No!” cried Tommy, realising too late that his reaction was far more opinionated than Freddie was expecting. “I mean” he tried again, “she’d like you much more if you only tried speaking to her instead of putting worms in her desk”.

“Hey” protested Freddie, “how was I to know Billy had moved seats while I was ill?”. They laughed for a while at the memory, before Freddie spoke again.

“I’d like to kiss her”. Tommy felt a sinking sensation in his stomach. Maybe he was getting ill. But as his eyes flicked down to Freddie’s lips as he smiled, Tommy wondered if there was another reason his insides were full of butterflies.

He’d pondered this matter rather a lot lately.

The first thing he’d heard about homosexuals had been from his father. They’d been walking home from the boxing ring a few years ago, Arthur Snr having had one too many whiskeys, and come across two young men in an alleyway shortcut to Watery Lane. One was leaning against the wall, whilst the other rested his hand on the bricks behind his head, leaning in close. They were just laughing and talking, and Tommy wouldn’t have given it a moment’s thought if his father hadn’t stopped dead in the street, turning down the alley.

The men were already long gone by the time his father had staggered to their spot, but he spent the rest of the trip home muttering about them, and it was the most Tommy had ever heard him speak of the Bible. He’d been too young to understand it then, but now?

He sighed.

He probably didn’t need to worry much about what his father thought anyway. They’d only seen him once since their disastrous trip to London, when he’d turned up one weekend at the boxing ring. He’d bullied Arthur into fighting him, and then left whilst his son was still bleeding on the ground. He hadn’t even gone to see their mother, nor Polly.

Tommy had been close to confronting him, but Arthur wouldn’t let him, holding firmly onto his wrist as blood dripped down his chin. Tommy thought about him sometimes, wondered where he was, but was nevertheless glad to have him out of the way.

The walk home was quiet, both Tommy and Freddie lost in thought. A dark raincloud had settled over Small Heath, and didn’t let up for weeks, sending everyone into an irritable mood. Danny’s father had died in hospital, from multiple gunshot wounds. Of course Tommy knew guns could kill; that was the point of them, but…weren’t they only supposed to kill bad people? The hero never died in his storybooks. Maybe Mr Owens had been a villain after all.

The approach of Christmas and the school holidays cheered everyone up a bit, as did Danny’s return to school at the end of November.

Tommy also had a new hobby; dancing. Smoking around the back of the town hall at night had become something of a habit. It was quiet, as quiet as you could get in Small Heath, as the majority of the pubs and gambling dens were on the opposite side of the town. Tommy liked to lean against the brick wall and smoke, gazing up at the night sky. In the summer, they opened the windows, and Tommy could hear violins and cellos and countless other instruments from within, tapping his foot along with the rhythm.

Freddie often accompanied him, but Tommy wasn’t sure how he felt about Freddie these days. It was nice to spend the evening alone sometimes, away from his siblings and friends. Tommy had wandered across to the hall, hoping to hear the music, but the chill of autumn had been supplanted by a bitterly cold winter, and the windows remained firmly shut. He shivered, regretting this decision somewhat as he saw a mother and son cross the street ahead of him, both decked out in thick fluffy coats and scarves. Night had fallen, and he could feel his fingertips going numb as he deliberated what to do.

The large clock on the building opposite chimed nine, and Tommy made his decision, slipping in behind an elderly couple entering the hall. He ducked behind a column, watching people in their fineries enter the main auditorium. There was a door on the right, marked with that tempting ‘Do not enter, staff only’ sign and when there was a lull in arrivals Tommy crossed the empty hallway and pulled open the door to reveal a staircase.

Pleasantly surprised it wasn’t just a cupboard, or something equally boring, he climbed the stairs to the top. Judging by the amount of dust on the handle, nobody had been up here for a long time. Tommy blew the cloud of fluff away, pushing open the door to reveal the loft. Boxes littered the floor, the sad remains of bent flutes and snapped violin strings poking out. There was a dusty old gramophone, and a few cracked records strewn about the place, but other than that it was all beams and lead pipes and spider’s webs.

The building was old, and the boards creaked dangerously under Tommy’s feet as he made his way across the attic. The screws in the floorboards looked loose and rusty, and Tommy could see gaps where they’d fallen away up ahead, providing chinks of light where the missing tiles in the ceiling offered only black.

Not stopping to consider the fact that this could be a very bad idea, Tommy continued walking, swinging around a beam and crouching down at its base. Through a small gap, he could see the orchestra far below, a few metres ahead. The rows of seats to the side of the dancefloor were mostly full, and Tommy was surprised to see what he assumed were people of standing in the audience. Small Heath wasn’t exactly known as a cultural centre.

He moved further into the room, and decided a stronger looking horizontal beam would be a good place to sit and listen to the music. He clung to a dusty pipe for support, swinging his legs across and pushing himself up onto the beam.

It wasn’t the most comfortable; in order to balance himself he had to twist around awkwardly to grab the post behind him, but when the music started up again and he caught glimpses of the dancers swirling below him, it was worth it.

The sound here was much better than from outside, and the protection of the mostly formed roof prevented the bite of that chilling cold that numbed his fingers and wound its way down to his bones. He swung his feet in time to the music, the thrill of being somewhere he definitely shouldn’t and nobody knowing it putting a giddy smile on his face.

“What are you doing?” came a voice. Tommy started, craning his neck to see a girl standing in the doorway. She was dressed well, too well to be a Small Heath kid, buttoned into a crisp white blouse and a navy petticoat. The long blond hair trailing down to her waist made her look like the princess in Ada’s storybook.

“The door was open” she said. Shit. “It’s staff only, so I thought I should take a look”.

“You’re staff?” said Tommy, disbelievingly. She had to be at least three years younger than he was.

“My mum’s performing” she said proudly. “I can go where I want”.

“What does she play?” asked Tommy, peeking back through the gap in the floor, relieving the strain on his neck.

“Don’t you think we should talk about this after I’ve rescued you?” she said, exasperated. Tommy squawked indignantly.

“I don’t need rescuing!” he insisted, trying to look relaxed in his precarious position. The girl looked at him expectantly. Right, of course. Time to get back without falling through the floor. Tommy scanned the area, noting the spots he’d used to get here, and the surrounding beams. It suddenly looked a lot more complicated than it had ten minutes ago. Steeling himself, and slightly annoyed that this girl had interrupted a perfectly enjoyable evening, he slid off the beam and began to make his way back across the floor. The girl was shifting nervously, and brought a hand up to bite at her nails when a board gave a particularly loud creak.

“Not there!” she cried suddenly, and Tommy flung an arm out to stop himself instinctively, glaring at her.

“You’re not helping” he said. She fell silent for a moment, watching him right himself and manoeuvre around a couple more beams.

“I’m Grace, by the way”. Tommy didn’t answer, more focused on removing his foot from a floorboard that looked as if it had mere moments before it snapped. “What’s your name?”. Tommy jumped, swinging from an overhead pipe for a second, which protested loudly at his weight, and landed in front of Grace. He did a mock bow, and she laughed.

“Tommy”. A smile.

“Your clothes are filthy” she said, gesturing to his dusty attire.

“Yours aren’t, rich girl”. Brushing himself down, he leant against the doorframe. She held out her hand.

“Do you want to dance?”. Tommy was slightly taken aback by this.

“I don’t know how” he said after a moment.

“I’ll teach you. It’s easy, come on!”.

“Which one’s your mum?” asked Tommy, once Grace had pulled him through the hall, on the right floor this time, and up to the stage.

“The singer, right at the front” said Grace, beaming. “We’re staying in hotels and travelling around England so she can perform. Isn’t she brilliant? They say I could be a singer myself someday”.

“I’d like to see that” said Tommy.

“Come on, let’s dance” she said, pulling him into the crowd. Tommy was stiff and self-conscious at first, treading on Grace’s feet and glancing around the room for any familiar faces. Grace laughed when they stumbled, but not in a cruel way, and Tommy soon found himself smiling and pulled into the rhythm of the music. By the time the orchestra took a break, Grace had taught Tommy some basic steps, and they twirled amongst the other dancers for an hour or so until they collapsed, exhausted, into chairs next to the stage. Grace’s mum came down from the platform to greet them, eyes widening as she glanced at her watch.

“Say goodbye, Grace” her mother instructed, glancing at Tommy distractedly, and waving over a friend to take Grace back to the room.

“There’s another concert next Friday” she said, “this is our last stop before we go back to Ireland. Would you like to come?”. They made plans, and Tommy waved goodbye and slipped out of the door before Grace’s mother could ask any questions.

His walk home turned into a run in an attempt to warm his blood, but his fingers were still shaking by the time he slid his key into the door. Polly had finally been persuaded to get him one cut after she’d found him half way up the house, clinging to several knotted sheets at three am, Arthur half hanging out of the window in an attempt to pull him up. Avoiding the creaky stair, he crept past Polly’s door and into his room.

John was fast asleep under the covers, but Arthur wasn’t home. It wasn’t uncommon these days for him to be gone, but Tommy usually lay awake until he heard his brother’s footsteps on the landing, or the rustle of the sheets as he slid into bed. He didn’t come back at all that night. Tommy caught a few winks of sleep, but woke whilst the sky was still dark, watching the street from his window until the orange sunrise dragged itself wearily over Small Heath, the dark clouds finally dissipating.

Arthur turned up around lunchtime, mostly sober, and Polly, having had quite enough of the lot of them pressed a few pennies into their hands for the fair. Charlie came round in the afternoon to visit his sister, and enjoy a hot cup tea away from the yard.

Polly took advantage of his visit, enacting her plans to rearrange the sleeping arrangements in the house without the hindrance of her nephews and niece. The boys were getting far too old to be cramped up in one room together. In the past year, Arthur had started growing at a slightly alarming rate, much to Tommy’s distress. He could wear his father’s old clothing now, which was useful, but his long limbs were also causing some problems. He'd been shaken awake by an indignant Tommy on more than one occasion, having accidentally smacked him as he rolled over in bed.

But Tommy’s nighttime wanderings and susceptibility to nightmares made it clear he still needed his older brother. However much he’d deny it. John, although small, was extremely messy, and seemed to relocate every single toy in the house to their bedroom floor on a regular basis, which infuriated his brothers to no end. Despite John and Ada bickering at least five times a day, they were inseparable, and so close in age it only made sense for them to share a room.

Polly felt no remorse in chucking out her brother’s old boxes of files, endless sheets of paper and grand business plans, which took up an entire room on the landing. Who the hell needed two offices? Especially if they were never even home to use them?

Curly was called in from the stables to help, and soon John’s bed was squeezed through the doorway and moved into the now clean and empty room down the hall. Ada’s new bed, courtesy of Charlie, followed, and Polly inwardly cheered about having her own space back after four years of sharing with the youngest Shelby. Jane managed to make it downstairs to see the new arrangement, and say a sentimental goodbye to the Shelby cot.

“I remember putting little Arthur in here” she said, running her hand across the wood. Polly smiled at the memory. She was only seven at the time, and was beyond excited to have a baby to look after.

“I reached through and he gripped onto my finger” said Polly fondly. Little teeth marks, John’s handiwork, covered the posts, and Polly had an exasperated smile on her face as she observed the marks where Tommy had actually removed two of the posts and wiggled out. She’d found the empty cot and loose posts on the floor the next morning, and was in complete panic until she found him curled up on the floor under Jane’s bed. God knows how he’d done it.

“I’ll keep it out the back” said Charlie, “then you can have it again if you need it”. He quietened, a deep crease in his forehead.

“We won’t need it” said Polly, firmly.

Jane nodded sadly, before giving Polly a teasing smile.

“Maybe for children of your own, ey Pol?”.

“Give over” she laughed. She’d had quite enough of putting children before her career for the time being. But…maybe one day they’d use the cot again.

The boys’ room looked huge without John’s bed, and they spread out Arthur and Tommy’s, Charlie surprising Polly later that afternoon by delivering a small desk he’d been working on. It slid neatly between the beds, making the room look cosy and far more practical than before.

It was a far cry from a few winters past, where the cold had been so bad, and the price of wood so high, they’d chopped up the beds to burn in the fireplace. They spared the cot; John was only a baby, and Jane’s bed, but the boys and Polly were on mattresses until the following summer. She’d tried to make it fun, like a camping game, but the novelty wore off after a few nights. Even when they had beds again, Tommy would wake up in a cold sweat more often than not, thinking he could feel bugs crawling over his skin.

Later that evening, Polly glanced over her library books one last time. It had been hard to remind her brain how to do calculations after such a long time, but she felt more confident now she’d got some practice in. She couldn’t believe it was finally happening. Practically jumping with excitement, Polly entered the kitchen to grab her bag, stopping in her tracks at the scene within.

The entire floor was covered in hay. Her first thought was that Tommy had brought one of the horses into the house again, but this time the culprits were Ada and John. They were sprawled in the middle of the floor, heads together, giggling at something Polly couldn’t see. Their heads snapped up when she coughed pointedly, gesturing at the mess.

Curled up in Ada’s lap, was a small shivering rabbit. It was white in places, but its paws and sides were a dirty grey, the fur matted and unkempt.

“Ada” Polly said calmly. “Why is there a rabbit in our kitchen?”.

“Because she’s cold”.

“It’s a boy” said John.

“Is not” retorted Ada, cuddling the animal close. To its credit, it didn’t seem to mind. Any other being that could tolerate the Shelby children should be given a medal in her view. That being said, it was still a dirty rabbit, and it was still in her kitchen.

“I don’t care if it’s cold, put it back where you found it. And look at the mess you’ve made” said Polly, moving some hay out of her path with her shoe.

“Aunt Pol, you just destroyed the turret” whined John.

“Turret?”

“We made her a castle to live in” said Ada. “Out of hay”.

“For God’s sake! Get it out, now”.

“No!” Ada cried, “we found her all alone outside, she doesn’t want to go back out there”. Polly pinched the bridge of her nose. She didn’t have time for this. And she would not have her good mood ruined a by a bloody rabbit.

“Ada Jane Shelby, you listen to me. If that rabbit is still in this house when I get home tonight, you’ll not sit down for a week”. Ada glared right back, and would have likely folded her arms if they weren’t full of fluff. John leaned over, holding something orange out to the creature. It sniffed the air, nose twitching, before tucking in.

“That’s not the carrot I bought from the market today is it?” Polly asked in a low voice. John shook his head, the lie written all over his face.

Slamming the door, Polly marched down the lane. Let Arthur deal with the bloody thing, just think about the class, she told herself. Despite her anger about the mess and the wasted food, she was still excited. It was quite a trek to the school, but Polly supposed accountants in training didn’t want drunkards bursting in on them halfway through a lesson. She arrived right on time, and swiftly closed the door on the frigid air she’d left behind.

By the time the lecturer arrived, there were around twenty students, most of whom had clearly travelled from out of town. She was the only girl, which she had been expecting, but it still sent a shiver of unease down her spine as the men turned to stare at her. No worries, she calmed herself, it would only take one woman to put this lot to shame. Deliberately busying herself with her books, she avoided their gazes and glanced over the course overview once again, trying to concentrate. Bloody rabbit. Arthur had better get rid of it.

“Something troubling you?”.

Polly started slightly, and looked to her left. A man had slid into the seat next to her, leaning on the desk as he smiled. His eyes were a deep blue-green colour, and his dark hair was styled upwards, a few strands falling around his face.

“Just- just a rabbit” she said. He laughed, and Polly faced the front quickly as the tutor called for their attention. If this stupidly attractive boy made her mince her words, she’d have nothing to do with him. She’d learnt that lesson four years ago.

The class was just as she’d hoped. She couldn’t quite process that she was actually here, and the life she’d dreamed up for herself when she was just thirteen was finally starting. Polly was pretty sure she spent the entire two hours with a deranged smile on her face, but she didn’t care. She caught the man’s eye from time to time when he smiled at her, and became more confident, even leaning over at one point and correcting a mistake he’d made. She wasn’t sure how he’d react and could imagine the earful she’d get from her brother if she did such a thing to him, but the man just nodded and listened, eager to learn. She liked that.

The class ended far too soon, but Polly packed up quickly, thoughts of what the kids could be getting up to in her absence taking precedence. She paused near the door, glancing back at the man she’d sat beside. He was engaged in conversation with some friends, and Polly smiled before ducking out of the room.

She was already anticipating the following week, planning to get some practice at the harder problems before the next class. She made it halfway down the dark street, before she heard loud footsteps behind her, instinctively reaching for the pocketknife hidden within her coat. Spinning around, the man from the class had caught up with her. At her expression, he waved his hands in apology.

“I didn’t mean to alarm you” he said, “I just-”

“I should be going” said Polly reluctantly, thinking of the children.

“Stay” he said, reaching for her hand, “have a drink with me. If not tonight, perhaps some other time?”. She bit her lip, enjoying the feeling of his fingers intertwining with hers. Should she go for this?

“I don’t even know your name” she said.

“Edward” he replied, kissing her hand. “Edward Gray”.

#my writing #growing up a shelby #guas au #peaky blinders fanfiction

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nezzfiction · 5 years

Text

ENMY Chapter 86 - Learning Curve

Chapter Synopsis: With the threat of a Grimm army looming on the edges of Vacuo, the Kingdom faces even more adversity with Salem’s personal arrival to see the war’s end. Meanwhile, Team ENMY must develop the skills they need to combat the Witch the only way they know how. Trial by Fire.

Series Synopsis: Team RWBY is disbanded, and Yang must find herself new allies. For her, that might very well be yesterday’s enemies. Joining up with the likes of Emerald, Mercury, and Neo, the four will comprise Team Enemy(ENMY).

Links to read the series: Ao3 or FF.net

Or hit the jump below

Learning Curve

Proper teaching is recognized with ease.

You can know it without fail,

Because it awakens within you that sensation,

Which tells you this is something you have always known.

“I know I have a rep for being my team’s punching bag,” Mercury started, “but this end of the deal feels rawer than usual.”

“Heh heh, feeling intimidated, boy?”

“That’s an understatement.”

Temujin regarded the young man with a keen eye.

The two were alone, in the middle of the desert. The soft lapping of Vacuo’s beach cascaded just a mile to the east. Nothing but gold sands and hot winds around to keep them company.

“Why me?”

“Reasons,” Temujin shrugged. “Mostly due to the similarities of our style.”

“Yeah, I don’t see it.”

“Enough talk! You must learn with your body!”

“Wait, what?! Is that all the—”

Before Mercury could raise anymore protests, he felt the atmosphere around him collapse. The space he inhabited started to close on him. He couldn’t even fill the air in his lungs, as he inhaled desperately.

“Finished already? True to rumors, you are very quick,” Temujin frowned. “—at dying.”

Mercury instinctively activated his Semblance.

The winds collected at his heels, and then expelled his immediate proximity. But he could feel Temujin’s enclosure pressing in once more. With no other option, he propelled himself back through the air, out of his opponent’s territory.

“Running away, are we?”

“CRAZY OLD BAT!”

“I’m afraid you won’t get very far.”

Temujin dug her cane into the ground, and slashed it upwards. What started as a small whisk of the sand, became a miniature sandstorm in the from of a blade. Mercury could only kick a wave of compressed air to match.

The two forces collided. Equal was their strength, but when the resulting impact settled, Temujin reappeared at a closer range.

She used it as cover to close the distance?!

“Much to learn…” the elder shook her head.

Mercury noticed sand clogging the turbines in his prosthetic. The jets of his legs sputtered, before shutting down. Though, he landed on his feet, he was well within Temujin’s zone of influence once more.

“You brats really lack some formal training, but that’s alright.”

The young man felt the sun beat down harder than he had ever felt it. It was like he was being roast alive. The sand underneath him mimicked the sting and burn of a million fire ants.

“We were all practically self-taught as well. That alone, might be the reason we are most suited to teaching you brats.”

“S-top…!”

“Don’t you worry. Myself and the others will cram a whole lifetime’s worth of experience into your little bodies.”

“I can’t…breathe…!” he rasped dryly.

“We can’t afford to waste any time. So, we’ll go with the method your team is so very adept at,” Temujin commentated with a wicked grin.

Mercury’s conscience was now fading. He was clearly dying.

“I might be going too far, but it should be alright. Even if you experience some memory loss, the body always remembers!” the old woman said, like it was someone else’s problem.

“Trial by fire really is the best way.”

X X X X X

“This is a joke, right?” Emerald asked.

“Do I appear to be in a joking mood?” Minerva Calico returned the question.

The two stood within a landscape that was ever-changing. Their environment was continuously built, and then demolished with rapid course. Time and space obscured beyond recognition. Reality and imagination intertwined.

It was the Never Realm.

“You know, Temujin’s plan to get rid of the Cuckoos is insane,” Emerald said.

“Quite so.”

“Even if we could possibly pull off what she’s suggesting, don’t you think this is the wrong way to go about it?”

“Possibly.”

Emerald threw the Headmaster a narrow look.

“But you’re going through with it, anyway.”

“Temujin’s judgment has rarely proven wrong. If she believes you are capable, then so shall I.”

“That trick with the hallucinated dream was something I developed over a year! It’s a bit more than just a leap going from that, to what she needs for Operation Gun Dog!”

“Then, we shall endeavor to make several leaps over the next few days. The foundation is already there, dear. We need only build on it.”

The mint-haired girl could only stare back slack-jawed.

“I thought you were the level-headed one in Vacuo! How come you’re buying into this plan?”

“Hm. It is my experience, some of the most troublesome students exhibit the most potential.”

“I don’t think anybody has as much potential as what you guys need.”

“Maybe, so. But If anyone is capable of attaining such an impossible standard in a short amount of time, it will be you four.”

For the first time Emerald could see, a fleeting expression of cat-like mischief traced the Headmaster’s expression.

“There are no greater troublemakers than Team ENMY, after all.”

“……Ah, fuck.”

With one wave of her wand, Minerva caused their whole reality to slant ninety-degrees. The sudden change in incline practically threw Emerald off into freefall.

Emerald stretched her mind out into the Never Realm. Trying to right herself physically would only backfire. What used to be the floor, was now a full-on avalanche. She needed to rewrite reality like she did hallucinated dreams. In this world, they were similar concepts.

But the sensation of freefall just wouldn’t go away. If she corrected the angle, she might die from the impact, or buried under all the debris.

Think fast, think fast, think-fast, thinkfast, thinkfastthinkfast!!!

She braced her body and crossed her legs. Emerald conjured her reality with desperate haste. A moment later, her body jack-knifed into the water below.

Once buoyancy negated her fall, Emerald made her way towards the surface. She avoided the giant, sinking boulders that followed her. For a brief moment, she enjoyed the feeling of cool water against her skin. But that relief ended instantly at seeing Minerva standing on the ocean’s surface—or more accurately, the ocean’s surface frozen over.

“You can do better.”

Emerald felt the underwater prison seize her, as she became trapped in ice as well.

The gap in skill was too much. Their masteries over the Never Realm was apparent in the scales of their conjurations.

Just as Emerald was panicking to come up with a new counter to the threat, Minerva continued to brandish a teacher’s bemused smile.

“Remember, dear—”

“There is no spoon.”

X X X X X

Yang barely strafed away from the fist that threatened to cave her nose into her skull. Safety was a word that did not exist in front of her opponent. The next attack was coming before the previous one even ended.

Nai bound after her, his large hands wrapped the back of her neck in a Muay Thai plum clinch. Using his momentum, he pulled his lead knee into her stomach—then, another and another.

Yang felt her abdomen pummeled into soft meat. Not only that, but she could feel venom coursing through her skin. Nai’s Semblance was nastier than she expected.

She tried to break away, and for a brief moment, she succeeded. One of Nai’s hands freed from the clinch. But what followed was the fighter using the space to deliver an enclosed elbow-strike.

The downward slash made Yang see stars. A deep cut opened just above her right eyebrow, painting red into half her vision.

This isn’t a spar!

I need to use my Inheritance!

Yang’s Aura surged. The crystalline crown signifying her newfound power took form around her head. Fire rushed out from her Ember Celica, as she aimed for a close-range uppercut.

But Nai already read the move. He deeply inhaled a moment before, and with a great huff, exhaled a thick cloud of poisonous gas. Yang’s punch whiffed, and she rocketed out of the smog after.

*Cough! Cough!*

Yang hacked uncontrollably, before falling to her knees. The contents of her stomach emptied out onto the arena’s grounds. Whether it was due to the poison, or the repeated knee strikes to her gut, or both, she did not know.

Was he holding back before?

Yang turned her single clear eye to see Nai, waiting patiently not a foot from her. Her iris was dyed a slight pink. A faint signature of Neo’s Aura lingered there, granting her keener sight. But for all the good it did.

Their current fight was a far cry from when Nai attempted to capture her the other day.

He’s fighting to kill...

I can’t believe he’s forcing me to use the powers of a Maiden.

“Is that all the strength you can muster?” Nai’s voice rumbled down like rain.

“HELL NO!”

Yang pulled one foot under her, and kicked off with it. The blistering right hook missed, as Nai swung his body back. An immediate counter was incoming, when the Spring Maiden backpedaled out of the way.

The punch missed, but as the arm stopped short, the numerous chains wrapped around it gave way. The glove of metal links whipped about like barbed tentacles. Each lashed at Yang with the strength of countless limbs. The blue rings on Nai’s skin glowed with a fervor, lending his Venomous Semblance to his whips.

Yang assembled the shambled remains of her consciousness. She remembered her discipline. Her gauntlets went up, blocking the onslaught imparted on her. Once she was used to the rhythm and the feel, she started to parry the attacks one after another.

Finally, the rain of blows let up, and she took a much needed breather.

Damn it…

Damn it…!

DAMN IT!

Yang didn’t have to look to know. Nai was still standing just ahead of her. He stopped his attacks on purpose—watching, waiting, measuring.

She grit her teeth in frustration. At the corner of her eye, she watched the crackling veins in Nai’s body shift like broken glass. Her Semblance showed her the flaws and strengths of her opponent’s Life. But it meant nothing, if she couldn’t actually capitalize on it.

With all the miraculous feats Yang was capable of, none were compatible with dealing with the threat that was Nai’s simple strength. She could perform grand forces of nature that verged on being labeled catastrophes, powerful enough to level a city and countless Grimm. But the lone individual standing before her was a harsh awakening.

Nai didn’t allow her any space to breathe. The second she tried to muster any sort of defense or offense, the man was already crushing it. He truly outclassed her in three simple ways—mind, body, and technique.

Nai exemplified something she had been gradually straying away from. The warrior was the very personification of a weapon.

No.

A fighter.

Yang winced down at her own fists with a bitterness.

Right.

Before I’m a Maiden, I’m a fighter too.

She forced her glare ahead to her opponent. Yang felt unnecessary things shed away like deadweight. Her stray thoughts, her preconceptions, all of it would only hinder her. She needed to return to her basics, her origins as a fighter.

What the future held, whatever complicated situation she was in,

Nothing else but victory should be sought beyond her fists.

And the fire in her heart stoked once more.

“Come on!” Yang roared. “I’m not dead yet!”

She could have sworn she saw Nai’s lip curl ever so slightly.

“Very, well. I will grant you the mercy of warriors.”

Yang could already feel the venom eating away at her insides. In all honesty, Nai didn’t have to attack. He could simply wait for her to collapse on her own.

But the Fist of Vacuo hurdled towards her. At the same time, Yang braced her gauntlets under her chin, making her own dash towards the center of the ring.

…

There was only a single exchange.

He’s got a good straight-right.

Was all Yang could think of, before her body crumpled into the middle of the Gladiatorial Arena.

“Now, you will taste death,” Nai muttered to the corpse in front of him.

“And, you will rise again.”

X X X X X

In a humble training room, the tip of Raven’s katana dragged across its polished floor. A threatening ring played across the stone surface.

“Time to see those pearly whites.”

Neo obediently put two fingers on the inside edges of her lips, and pushed them into an exaggerated smile.

“…You know which ones I mean. Are you forgetting I saw it the first time we met on that train?”

“…?”

“You wanna keep playing dumb? I’ll kill you, brat.”

“…”

“Your swordplay needs a lot of work and you’re not using all the tools you have. After exchanging your Aura with Yang, that should have gotten stronger, too. It’s not as dormant as it was before, right?”

Neo’s empty grin turned into a bitter frown.

“Like I said, I know what I saw that day. There’s no way you would’ve lived through it, if you didn’t. So, I’ll say it again. Show it to me,” Raven commanded with a deadly tone.

Neo still made no moves to answer. She only continued to refuse meeting the swordswoman’s eyes uncomfortably.

“Fine, have it your way. I’ll pull it out of you, whether you’re willing or not.”

Raven coolly returned her sword to its sheath, while hovering her hand over the hilt. Her form dropped low into an Iaido-drawing stance. Her irises gleamed with the red of her Reaper’s Semblance.

Neo was getting ready to pull her own weapon, when Raven’s quick-draw cut just above her cheek. A move that could have easily severed her head, if the swordswoman didn’t purposely aim elsewhere.

The sound of Raven returning her blade to its scabbard resounded with a piercing clink.

“That was a warning, you won’t get a second. You’re making a mistake if you think this is a spar.”

Neo traced a trembling hand to the blood trickling down.

“Next one, I’m aiming to kill. Do your best now. I wouldn’t want to explain to my little girl, why her newly-wedded bride was too weak.”

Raven performed a flurry of blows that encompassed a range wider than the length of her blade. Neo parried what she could, but the sheer speed and accuracy of her opponent knocked her back with each step. She was blinking the color of her eyes, when Raven disappeared through a quickly-opened portal.

She’s right.

I have to use it.

Raven appeared just to Neo’s left, midway through another Iaido-draw. The swordswoman made a vicious, horizontal slash. The motion mimicked an artisan’s practiced pen stroke. Less than a figure of a sword, it became the imitation of a paintbrush.

Neo brought her parasol up in time to block it. In her irises, glinted a pale silver.

“About time you got serious. But what happened to the evasiveness you’re so specialized in?”

Neo could only glare back in frustration.

“Well, at least we’re finally taking steps in the right direction. I hope you’re ready, brat. I’m going to pound the training in you that took Summer years to learn.”

Without waiting another moment, Raven dashed at Neo again. While the petite girl tried to predict her opponent’s motions, something eerie played across her senses. Something abnormal-no, impossible unfolded before her enhanced vision.

Two arcs of Raven’s katana split the air. One cut downward, while the other tore in its opposite. Rather than consecutive strikes, it appeared that two afterimages of Raven diverged at once. The result being, Neo’s mirror clone being cut open by a narrow X.

“Your usual tricks have limits, Blake and Adam should have already shown you that.”

The petite girl was still blinking her eyes repeatedly in disbelief. Her brain worked desperately to figure exactly what was the feat she just witnessed.

“You’re wondering how I did that?” Raven lorded over the girl’s confusion with a deadly smile.

…You attacked twice at the same time.

Not fast.

At the same time.

How?

“You and Yang aren’t the only ones who’ve ever exchanged Auras, you know. I have my own gift from Summer.”

The Never Realm?

“Sorry, but there’s no point in explaining it. It’s better to just experience it yourself. Don’t worry, though. By the time I’m through with you, you should be able to do something similar.”

Raven sunk into her stance once more.

“Try not to die, before then.”

X X X X X

In the dense vegetation of the Grimm’s Black Oasis, Salem hummed a gentle tune to the sleeping creature above.

Connected between two great cliffs like a bridge, was a colossal cocoon. Its outer shell was crusted in the bone so closely associated with the Grimm, while the sinew holding it up was a viscous black. At the center of its mass, a dark-orange orb could be seen pulsating.

“Magic wand, make my monster grow~♪”

Salem let out a small laugh at the end.

“Just kidding.”

*Ahem* “Salem?”

The Witch turned around with a feigned smile of surprise.

“Bean. What can I do for you?”

Standing there with a slight uncomfortableness was Bean and his partner, Inna.

“Yes. Report update on army’s status. Everyone is ready. Continuing to maintain standby on your orders.”

“Good. I thank you for your exceptional work.”

“…”

Salem smiled pleasantly, while slightly titling her head.

“Is there something on your mind, Bean?”

“I…” he paused. “We wonder the reason why our host delays making another siege attempt on Vacuo. Are we awaiting the birth of that Grimm?”

The three looked to the massive cocoon hanging from the sky.

“No,” Salem answered. “She will awaken when the time is right. Have no worries, Bean. We will march on Vacuo very soon.”

“And what time will that be?”

The Witch gave a sharp stare at him from the side. It made the boy gulp under the pressure.

“Wish to know estimated time for our attack,” he resumed. “Optimum conditions, crucial—dictated by various war doctrines. Atlesian Fleet due to arrive. Attacking Vacuo before reinforcements arrive, ideal.”

“Ah,” Salem’s expression softened with understanding. “You make a very capable general. Rest assured, our attack will commence before Atlas has chance to interfere. As to the exact moment of our battle, I cannot say for sure.”

“…”

“Believe in the assignment entrusted to you. Command our forces when the time comes. That will be well enough. Leave it to me to set the stage of our victory.”

“…”

Bean continued to stare down at his feet sheepishly.

“Is there another matter that bears discussion?” Salem asked.

“We’re not used to bein’ kept outta the loop like this,” Inna answered for her partner. “We usually have at least a rough timeline to work with.”

“I see. I can certainly empathize with your dissatisfaction. But it is times like these one must, ‘keep one’s cards close to the chest’. Even if the chances are unlikely, I’d like to keep my intentions from being discovered as sure as possible. Where is Raven, by the way?”

“She’s…” Inna stopped herself.

“Oh, do not fret. I’m quite aware of her frequent visits home.”

Both Inna and Bean froze stiff.

“She is allowed to assist Temujin as much as she likes, but she cannot stand against me. There are strict stipulations of such regarded in our contract.”

More silence pervaded the other two, which caused Salem to relent just a little.

“Oh, to be young and restless. For you children, I know the initiative is something to be seized and acted upon at first sign. To make the first move is to assure certain victory.” The Witch chuckled lightly. “Believe me, I have seized the first move since before any of you were born. This is planned patience, not idle waiting, my children. There is a purpose in all of it, predetermined ahead of time.”

“So… you are aware of Vacuo’s next course of action?”

“Oh, yes. In one form or another. Either they will continue to minimize the amount the Cuckoos sap away at their strength, or drastic measures will be taken.”

“And, then?”

“We shall commence our siege,” Salem answered simply. “Regardless of what Vacuo intends to do—”

“Heads, I win. Tails, they lose.”

X X X X X

“…”

“Are we dead?” Yang asked, breaking the silence between her teammates.

“The last thing I remember is Temujin killing me for the eightieth time,” Mercury shrugged. “Dying and getting resuscitated so many times—maybe, I’m finally experiencing permanent brain damage.”

“More or less the same on my end. Without the Maiden’s inheritance, I would’ve been pushing daises after my second round with Nai.”

As the two conversed in their dreamlike state, Emerald stayed silent. Her attention was taken away by their immediate surroundings.

They stood on the massive roots of what appeared to be an enormous tree. Its girth was too large to fathom, but at the same time, they were granted a certain insight. The Never Realm broadened their senses to an unnatural degree, and even gave them hints to where they currently resided.

“So, this is the Tree of Balance,” Emerald muttered, while touching the tree’s trunk.

She could feel the opposite elements at war. A violent flux of light and dark transmuted from the surface to her touch. It stirred something within her.

The girl then, remembered a distinct part of Temujin’s memories.

My body and soul sunk into the deepest depths. I don’t know what it was, but I swear, to this day—I grasped something at the core of our world. Some form of enlightenment, perhaps?

Emerald had to rip her hand away in order to stop herself from getting caught in the Tree’s grasp. It was only then, she noticed little roots and branches twined around her body. They only receded when she mentally rejected their embrace.

Did they all experience this?

Emerald’s thoughts went to Nai, Minerva, Raven, and finally, Temujin.

I wouldn’t be surprised if the old lady made her Khans go through the same thing she did.

“This is totally a dream, right?” Yang asked the question that was on all their minds. “We won’t remember, when we wake up?”

“I’m getting a headache,” Mercury added.

“It probably has something to do with Vacuo.”

“What, like this place isn’t harsh enough, it’s the place where dreams are shitty, too?”

“I mean, think about it. Besides the mines in Atlas, Vacuo has the highest concentration of Dust and Bane in all of Remnant. And let’s not forget the Grimm are practically a different breed here.”

“…I get it,” Emerald muttered. “This place is probably really close to both the Never Realm and the Tree of Balance. But, why would—” she paused at a realization, and touched the base of the trunk again.

Memories flowed into her, ancient stories of times long forgotten. Enormous creatures waging endless battle against Fairies. And then, a meteor shower that laid waste to both armies.

“Fragments of the moon are embedded here. Vacuo used to be a base for Titan’s army, before the Witch dropped Oberon’s world on top of it. Ground zero.”

Yang pressed her palm against the tree, as well. She viewed the same recollections Emerald was having.

In the whirling flux of the Cataclysm, a spark created between the frictions of two warring elements. From the ruin, an existence stepped out from the ashes. It had two feet and stood upright. Within it, shined a substance of boundless potential.

“The first soul was born in Vacuo,” Yang said with a reverent tone. The moment carved an impression on her that would not fade upon waking.

Her eyes opened and widened at the sight unfolding around her. Threads of light coursed the “sky”. An immeasurable amount of energy flowed in their environment. Life surrounded them.

“The birthplace of Aura…” she awed.

“It explains a lot,” Emerald commented.

“Huh.” Was the only thing Mercury managed to say.

“Oh, come on,” Yang exasperated. “I know history usually puts you to sleep, but you’re saying this is not just a little bit cool?”

“No, I’m wondering where Neo is.”

“…”

Yang and Emerald glanced at each other.

““Huh.””

…

“WAAAHHHH~!!! YOU’RE SO CUTE!!!”

Neo, who currently resided on a different side of the Tree’s roots, was being hugged tightly by a mysterious stranger.

“I can’t believe I have another cute daughter~♪!” the woman’s voice rung excitedly. “Seriously! Raven could’ve gone easier with her teaching. But I can’t blame her, I guess. Everything she learned was taught by Temujin and Athos. And they weren’t the most gentlest of teachers either. You might have to just forgive her for that. Ehehe…”

If any other person had done such a thing on their first meeting, Neo would have stabbed them without hesitation. But being embraced so tightly with such transparent affection threw her off. There was an overwhelming calm to the strange woman, who was only slightly taller than Neo. She found the smell of the stranger’s scent very mellowing. The pitch of her voice pleasant.

“…?”

“Who am I? Oh! Yeah, I guess I should’ve started with that,” the woman released her with a soft cough of composure. “It’s nice to finally meet you, Neo. I’m Summer Rose, Yang and Ruby’s mother.”

Neo’s lips pursed with uncertainty.

“I’m not like Raven, I promise! I’m really happy for you and Yang! You’re both really cute together!”

“…?!”

“Yeah! You have my approval! Yup! One hundred percent!”

Mommy!

Neo threw herself into Summer’s embrace once more.

“There, there. Ahaha~ Awww, it’s too bad you won’t remember much after this. Just means I have to give you my blessings in person, when we finally meet.”

“…?”

“But, enough of that,” Summer separated Neo from herself, and moved back a few steps. “There isn’t much time, so I’ll give you your wedding present now.”

Neo smiled excitedly.

With a sharp ring, a pair of blinding chakrams appeared from under the woman’s cloak.

“Summer Rose’s Super Special Training Session will now commence!”

Neo’s expression immediately became distraught. Without any communication at all, her face could only read, “worst wedding present ever”.

“Despite how I come off, I’m not actually a really gentle teacher either! Just so you know, in advance!”

“…?!?!?!”

Why are you so fired up about this?!?!

Summer ignored her, and her figure faded into the ether like a ghost.

Only a haughty voice rung from all around Neo.

“PREPARE YOURSELF!!! Convince me you’re worthy of my daughter!!!”

#rwby #yang xiao long #emerald sustrai #neopolitian (rwby)#mercury black #ENMY

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cherry3point14 · 6 years

Photo

DON’T YOU FORGET ABOUT ME

DESCRIPTION: It’s a regular ol’ witch hunt when you find a hex bag stuffed down some poor suckers throat, that is, if you could remember what a hex bag was. A/N: Based during S12, E11 - Regarding Dean. I actually, kind of love this. OK. Thanks, byeeee. Pairing: Dean x Reader, Sam and Rowena are also there. Words: 11,579. Warnings: Feelings, brief in passing mentions of a threesome, NSFW-ish almost sex dreams.

AO3 link here if you would prefer.

The leaves scrape against your boots as you run with no consideration for your surroundings. Crushed plants underfoot, tree roots that you barely notice in time to jump over, there’s only one thing on your mind, the same as it’s on Dean’s mind. Getting the witch.

You hear Dean fire a shot so he must be closer, or closer than you at least, you change direction heading towards the sound. You think you’re catching up when you hear it, a rustling. Changing direction again you find yourself coming up behind Dean, his gun raised, and his shoulders tense. You know he’s seconds away from shooting, so you whisper, “Hey handsome.” It won’t make him any less inclined to shoot but it will mean he doesn’t instinctually spin around and aim at you instead.

It works, as always. There’s a nod, that indiscernible nod that only you see as he keeps his gun trained on the witch. You join him, your own weapon now poised, safety off and finger edged on the trigger.

“You people. You never learn, do you?” Dean’s voice has that low and gruff tone he reserves for lamenting at monsters. “Always trying to run.”

The witch turns around at this. First, you think it’s an act of foolish bravery, look death in the eye and all that, then you see the almost hypnotic purple light. It looks like it’s actually pulsating from the tree, an intricate carving in the wood. It makes both of you lower your guns, not completely but, for a split second, neither of you are toeing that line of almost shooting. You're both lost in the trance for a split second too long.

The light becomes something else, stronger, resonating. It starts to fill the clearing, wiping away all trace of the night, until it’s occupying your entire vision.

The last thing you hear, before you’re thrown backward and land unconscious is, “Dearmad!”

“Y/N, baby, wake up.” This might be a normal wakeup call if your body wasn’t immediately aware of some things that were very unlike every other morning.

There’s the uneven ground you’re lying on, the smell of tree sap, the feeling of chill morning air that signifies the outside.

Then you open your eyes and look up at Dean with mud painted up one side of his face and neck, plus a few leaves poking out of his hair.

“Dean? What happened?” You’re trying to remember but it’s unmanageably fuzzy inside your head, and when he hears your question you can tell he doesn’t remember either.

He’s helping you up, one strong hand on your back and one holding your hand as you leverage up from the floor. “I was hoping you’d remember.” His smile is sweet and innocent, and you only wonder how much you’d both drunk.

You laugh once you’re standing, “why have I always got to be the responsible one?”

He ignores your question when he hears your stomach growl. He glances down at the sound and back to your face, “lucky for you I know where we’re getting breakfast.”

“Breakfast?” Your eyes light up and a smile tugs at your lips. “Waffles baby, I’m taking you to get waffles.” He wraps his hand around yours, fingers intertwined as he tugs you along. Somehow, you’re not expecting him to pull you out into a park full of morning joggers. It seems too normal a scene to be set against a mysterious wooded area that you just woke up in.

You reach into your pocket with the hand that isn’t being used to lead you, “should we call Sam?”

Except what you pull out is a broken shell of what used to be your phone. You’re frowning at it when Dean turns back to you.

“Nah, I already called him and… huh. Your phone too?” He seems curious and not concerned at all, which is a little frustrating since you’d liked that phone

“You mean yours is broken too?”

He shrugs, continuing towards the waffle house you can now see in the distance. “Yeah, I borrowed some jogging ya-hoo's phone and told Sam to meet us for waffles.”

Your voice is all disbelief as you ask, more to yourself than him, “what the hell happened last night?”

“Oh. Hey, did you bring any, um…?” Dean asks while you look up from your stack of fluffy, heavenly waffles to see Sam sauntering in, all self-satisfied and smug.

Sam shakes the pill bottle as he sits down and that’s something that catches your attention. “Sounded like you could use it.”

You make grabby hands, which Dean interprets by giving you the first two pills he pours out, before shaking out some for himself.

Sam seems even more amused now as you pop them in your mouth, “you too Y/N?”

“Rough morning. And not the sexy kind of rough.” You answer with no appreciation for how amusing Sam is finding this.

“What happened? I mean you guys went out to get some food?”

Dean is attacking his waffles again, “I don’t know.”

“What does that mean?” You can see Sam is trying to understand.

Unfortunately, he’d need to drink a lot to truly understand. “I guess we blacked out. And judging from this hangover, it was epic.” Dean sports a waffle-y grin.

You grimace at the pounding in your head and Dean’s mention of alcohol, which you were never consuming again, probably. “Can you two be any quieter please?”

Sam lowers his voice as he continues, “Well, I tried calling you. Both of you.”

Dean flashes Sam his broken phone, “not sure how that happened”.

You’re leaning over Dean to get to the fresh stack of waffles that were delivered as Sam arrived when you flick your fork in his direction, “mine’s smashed too.”

Sam does it. You’d been expecting it since he arrived and thus far, you’d been disappointed. He’d been far too jovial up until this point. Finally, he sighs and purses those lips of his into a classic, disapproving Sam scowl, “great. All right, well, I’ll text mom and make sure she knows to get hold of me in case of an emergency. And Cas, in case he tracks down Kelly.”

There’s a large piece of whipped cream covered waffle in your mouth when Dean knits his brow in confusion. Despite the food, you still try and speak although it comes out garbled, “wh-ooo?”

“The mother of Lucifer’s love child?” Sam asks incredulously.

Dean nods like he knew that all along, “right, right. Yes, the Devil baby mama drama. Say that five times fast.”

You chuckle as he tries to, and he looks at you with an appreciative smile for acknowledging his comedy brilliance.

“Ok, Dean. You’ve had a good run, but let’s maybe pump the brakes a little bit. I mean you’re not twenty anymore. And Y/N, I thought you were better than this? You’ve only got a few years on him.” Sam hikes a thumb in Dean’s direction as he finishes scolding you.

“Okay, one, the rat pack partied till the day they died. And B, I can still kick your ass.”

You playfully nudge Dean, “you sure can,” before you frown at Sam.

Sober Sam seems like he’s getting to the end of his rope now, “ok well the morgue opens in, like, ten minutes.”

“The morgue?”

“Yeah, the autopsy results. Are you still drunk?”

“I don’t think so.” Dean considers carefully.

You at least make an attempt to play along, even if it’s a struggle to do so, “Right the results for the um—the case, right?”

Exasperated Sam recaps. “The dead guy. Throat stuffed full of money. Any of this ring a bell?”

Dean manages to remember more than you as he pulls the victim’s name out from some recess of his mind and you find yourself impressed. You wouldn’t have remembered that name for a million dollars.

He continues with a run-down of the case you become a little worried. It’s only as he describes the crime scene that the images pop back into your head. As if they hadn’t been there until he told you about them.

“I’m gonna go scope out the body, have fun with your waffles.”

Although you hear Sam’s voice it’s Dean slamming down his cutlery that pulls you back to the present. Yes, you should go scope out the body because maybe that’s why you couldn’t remember. Maybe you didn’t go to the crime scene yesterday, maybe you just needed to get more involved.

As you get up to leave with them a girl appears from nowhere standing in front of Dean, although her face goes between you both as she says, “hi.”

You smile back at her despite both not knowing who she is and the unexplained jealousy bubbling away under the surface. Dean grins boyishly as he asks, “who are you?”

Or that jealousy might be called for after all, as her reaction to his question is a very angry slap.

Your mouth forms a perfect ‘o’ of surprise as Dean recovers. She stops mid-way through walking away, “like I said, you can do better.”

Dean looks at you hoping you have some insight since she spoke to you, but you shake your head with wide eyes. He takes your hand again like you might decide the random diner girl was right and he pulls you closer before all three of you leave.

“Yep, epic night.”

“I gotta get out of here.” You manage, somehow, fighting against the upchuck reflexes before you push your way out of the room.

Luckily you don’t meet any employees on the way out of the building who might question the professionalism of an FBI agent who can’t handle a dead body. Let alone when the boys will come out, once they’ve finished, and question a hunter who can’t handle insides.

You normally can handle insides. And the blood-soaked money that has been inside someone else, it’s just this hangover. The swirling mess inside your head feels like you’re trying to mix oil and water. And now the sight of all that blood has been added to the concoction. That must be what’s making you feel sick.

You find a bench outside that you fall onto, greedily taking up as much space as possible. Your legs part as much as your skirt will allow, elbows resting on your knees and your head bowed. Your eyes are unfocused in the direction of the floor as you try to calm your threatening gag reflex.

It’s fine though. It’s fine. You were going to be fine. This wasn’t the first dead body you’d seen, and it certainly wouldn’t be your last. You were a big girl and you could handle this. Just take some deep breaths and remember the time that Dean ate so many hot dogs that he almost threw up. That always makes you smile. And it does, at first. Until the hot dogs turn on you as well.

You sit up suddenly, ignoring the head rush when you hear a man calling you.

“Y/N?”

He’s tall, long hair tucked behind his ears and he looks at you like he knows you so you take your best shot, picking the first name in your head, “Dean?”

His face twists, eyes squinting in confusion, “no, it’s Sam. Wow, how much did you guys drink last night?”

Of course, it’s Sam. Obviously. It’s Sam who loves lore and running, for God knows what reason. It’s Sam.

“Sorry, Sam. The-the light was in my eyes,” you lie miserably as you stand up. He seems to accept your excuse even if it was badly delivered.

“Why aren’t you in the car?” He questions as he walks you back to the… the Impala. Clearly.

“Needed a bit of air. Sorry about what happened in there, with the…” he seems to take your inability to recollect the word as you not wanting to mention the… not alive guy? The stiff? The deceased? None of them is the word you’re looking for.

“It’s ok. Turns out our dead guy was offed by a witch. Forced to swallow a hex bag.”

“Dead!” you exclaim as you reach for the back door of the car. He smiles stiffly as you slide in to see Dean, the right one this time, sifting through his keys.

Any concern he had for you is now transferred to his brother.

“Wow. Man, you were serious about epic. It’s the square one.”

Dean seems agitated by this, as if he knew it all along, “yeah. I know.” Except when he starts the engine and looks behind him the car lurches forward, hitting the newspaper racks that you had been sitting next to minutes ago.

“R for ‘reverse’, Dean.” Sam snaps at the guy in front of you.

You should probably be concerned that you had been sitting near there. Or that you couldn’t remember the word ‘dead’ a few minutes ago but it’s difficult to focus. The oil and water feeling is back except intensified. It’s not painful, just messy. Things are cloudy, foggy, and nothing is where you left it inside your own mind. But maybe, maybe that was the shock of the sudden but small crash?

“Listen, guys, I know we haven’t had it easy lately. This thing with the Devil’s kid and getting tossed into West Guantanamo makes me wanna crawl into a bottle too, sometimes.” He was talking but nothing he was saying was making any sense. “But dude, you’re wrecked.” He turns his head to you, “and you’re not much better. We’ve got a case to work so you both got to get it together, all right?”

There’s a beat. You’re not sure why they are being so quiet up in the front seat but you’re silently trying to shake the dizziness of the car while it’s not even in motion.

“Dean? Dean?”

The guy in the driver’s seat asks the question you’d like to know the answer to as well, “who’s Dean?”

The room is already covered in little yellow sticky things. Sam had told you what they were called but you’d forgotten that too so next to the stack was a note that said ‘post its’.

You’d thought Dean calling the lamp a light stick was funny until you’d called the toilet a pee bowl. Since then he asked you whenever you got up if that’s where you were going, to the pee bowl. However, right now neither of you were wrongly naming things, you were trying to drink your problems away. You're cross-legged on the bed holding the tiny vodkas Dean found while Sam talked to someone on the phone.

“Hey, who’s Rowena?” You ask Dean in a whisper, slightly tired of Sam’s face whenever you forgot something.

Dean, remembering more than you, for now, gives you a brief synopsis, “she’s a witch. Pretty sure you’ve met her before. You might have tried to kill her.”

It was frightening that he knew that much more than you. Actually, it was more frightening that you didn’t know how much you’d forgotten. You’d feel normal, having a regular conversation and forget a word suddenly, and other times like this you’d forget an entire person that Dean was ‘pretty sure’ you’d met. Oh and possibly might have tried to kill.

“I’m gonna go get some ice, be right back.” He smiled at you since Sam wasn’t listening to him.

You find yourself laughing as he walks away since he’s stuck a yellow sticky—a post-it—on his back that says ‘Dean’. You can tell he wrote it himself since the handwriting is different from all the ones that scatter the room. As he leaves though, the door slightly ajar, the idea that he felt he had to label himself fills you with a creeping sadness.

“All right so…Dean?” Sam starts as he clicks to end his call.

You look up from the bed you’re sitting on, tiny vodka bottles nestled in your lap and waiting, “he went to get ice.”

“He went to get…? Y/N he could have… Dean!” Sam trails off as he runs out the door and you sigh. It’s all big and sad as you lean back against the headboard left waiting for one man to find the other.

While you’re waiting you decide to start playing your new favorite game. It’s called ‘my name is’ and you invented it thank you very much.

My name is Y/N and I am a hunter.

My name is Y/N and I have been a hunter for five years.

No, wait, six. Six years.

My name is Y/N and when I was a kid I had a dog called Rolo. I named him that because my mom- no my dad used to buy me Rolo's as a treat.

My name is Y/N and my dad died six years ago.

My name is Y/N…

You can feel your breath hitch in your throat, this is an easy one. Your last name. You just had to remember your last name.

Your fingers twitch. You know enough to know there’s a collection of ID’s in your pocket, one of which will be real. You could slip it out and check and you wouldn’t have to go through this ache of trying to remember.

But you want to remember, you need to remember. It’s your last name. You’ve had it as long as you’ve had Y/N. It’s always been yours and just because it isn’t right now doesn’t mean it’s gone. You just needed to remember.

When the door opens and they come bustling in, Dean dropping the ice by the door and Sam talking about yesterday, you’re holding your ID in your hand. Defeated and weak and staring at your name. Y/L/N. As much as you’d tried to convince yourself that you hadn’t lost it the name feels distant. Like all your ties with are slowly being snapped, or never were there in the first place.

“Y/N?” Dean asks. Your Dean with his name on his back to make you laugh.

He’s at your side when you look up at him and he sees the anguish on your face.

“Baby, what’s wrong?” You don’t know if he’s genuinely forgotten that you’re both forgetting things, but it doesn’t matter. He calls you by a nickname he frequently uses, that you actually remember him using, and it’s good. It’s warm in your chest and hearing it from Dean you feel more connected to it than your own last name.

You reach out and run your thumb over his cheek, feeling the wash of scruff against your palm, “say that again, please.”

He frowns but complies, “baby, what’s wrong?”

You suck in a deep gulp of air and let it envelop you. Dean makes you feel safe. Dean makes you feel like you haven’t forgotten anything important because you haven’t forgotten him.

That in itself is enough to perk you up. It’s enough that you crack your face with a forced smile and swallow the sadness. “Nothing, it’s fine, really. Sam found you then?”

Sam speaks up now, “yeah Rowena says we need to kill the witch, so we need to retrace your steps.”

You could easily sink again at his words. The fact that Sam’s plan rests on retracing the steps of two people who can’t remember what an ice bucket is called without having a yellow sticky note on it. But you don’t because Dean saves you from admitting that you don’t remember a single thing from yesterday.

“Ok, so the last thing I sorta remember…”

The whole time you’d been standing in that office you hadn’t felt a dam thing. You hadn’t had Deja vu, no flash of a memory, nothing. The only thing you’d managed to say when you first got there was, “and I was here with you yesterday?” Because you couldn’t believe that you’d ever stepped foot in that room before.

You hadn’t needed to try and remember Sam’s concerned face because he was wearing it while he looked at you and nodded. Eyes all full of the same sadness that filled you up whenever you knew that you were forgetting.

But you’d been there ten minutes and besides Dean stealing a cigar, which makes you roll your eyes, neither of you had remembered anything important.

And then Sam had started dragging you around burger joints and each time he’d ask you with the same hopeful tone if either of you remember anything. It was getting difficult to keep disappointing him, and worse, disappointing yourself. Every time you didn’t have an answer for him you ended up with a hundred new questions.

“Wait. It’s–it’s her from, uh, from the waffles.” Dean says as you’re about to leave the third place.

You look up and see it was indeed the girl who slapped Dean that morning and you all rush over to speak to her.

“If you’re gonna apologize you’d better make it quick”, she tosses at Dean with a fresh batch of side-eye.

“Me, apologize? You smacked me.” You try not to laugh but that morning was one of the few memories you could remember so yes, you were going to bask in the visual image of Dean being slapped. Even if you loved him.

When you look up you realize they’re chasing the poor girl, so you run to catch up with them as she says that Dean told her his name was Springsteen. Your stomach drops and you’re not sure if you want to know what happened here. Besides the whole FBI thing, the only other time Dean used his fake names was when he was trying to pick up a girl. You’d spent enough time in bars with him, before you were together, to know his game.

“This is actually serious, we think my partners here might actually have been roofied. If you can tell us anything that happened that would be a big help.” Sam rambles.

Although she doesn’t seem to believe the story she complies anyway. “Sure. They ordered burgers to go. It was gonna be a minute. We were slammed. Then you both decided that you were gonna start drinking tequila and you guys threw back what four or five shots? He put some ‘sick jams’ on the juke.” She makes air quotes and you snort but she wasn’t done, and she was coming for you next.

“Then you both hit the bull.” She says matter of factly.

“They what?” “I what?” “Both of us?”

Every variation of the question was the same but different, and all uttered in unison.

“Oh yeah, he had the hots for Larry as soon as he walked in here but you.” She turns to look directly at you, ignoring the absolute horror on your face, “decided that if he could do it, then you could do better. You hollered that you 'like being on top’ anyway.”

Dean is the one that feels the need to ask, “was I any good?”

“You were amazing, she was better.” Your cheeks were still burning from the being on top thing but now they’re on fire in the dim light of the bar. “Anyway, we got to talking while she was kicking ass, and I thought we were just going to blow off some steam.” She pauses and throws you a look of apology. "I didn't know you guys were together at that point, but then he started trying to talk me into… you know?”

She looks back to Dean like staring at him will be enough to jog his memory. His still clueless face seems to make her realize that it’s all true. He didn’t know what she was talking about, neither of you did.

“Wow, you guys really don’t remember. Ok well, he was trying to talk me into um, well, joining you guys.”

Sam’s face pales of color as you spin on your heel, “WHAT!?”

The waitress looks like she made a mistake. “I mean, that’s why I told you last night that you deserved better after you got all hot and heavy at the bar and I knew he was serious.”

Dean, after looking everywhere but, finally settles on looking you in the eyes, “what? We’d talked about it!”

You drag a hand down your face in frustration, growling through your teeth. “Yes but you don’t- you don’t just go and pick up someone in a bar without talking to me first.”

“You don’t know that I didn’t talk to you first!” Dean says like he’s won the argument. He should know by now that he hasn’t.

Sam finally cuts in, “I’m sorry, did you see either of them talk to anyone else?”

The waitress decides the safest course of action is talking to Sam from now on, “yeah. My bartender said she saw him run out like his pants were on fire and she followed after him.”

“Great, does this place have security cameras?”

The witch was dead. You knew this because there was a sticky note that said as much, stuck to the wall of the motel. Witch is already dead. Someone else had added a frowny face underneath in a different color pen. Even while holding the pen in question you had forgotten that it was you.

You referred back to the notes you’d been writing on the monogrammed motel notepad you found. Sam is the tall one. He had been reminding you about things that you’d forgotten all day, but more and more you were finding that you didn’t realize that you’d forgotten. Making your own notes at least helped you keep up to date with what you didn't know.

“Hey! No, D-Dean, wait a second,” you hear Sam, the tall one, say as Dean, the hot one, responds to a knock at the door.

It’s when Sam stands up that you call out from the bed, “oh my god why do you have a gun?”

He turns his head to you, gun still raised at the door, with an annoyed glare. Apparently, his patience was wearing thin.

A harmless enough looking woman saunters in like she owns the joint. You look down at the notepad to remind yourself that in fact ‘Super 8’ owns the place although that leads to more questions than it answers. Are all 8 of them really that super?

“Who are you?” Dean asks, saving you the trouble.

“Spells progressed, I see.” She looks at the tall one.

If Sam wasn’t annoyed when he stared at you then he definitely is now, “I wanted intel Rowena, not a house call.”

“Oh, I have a feeling you’ll come to thank me.”

You jot down Rowena has amazing red hair because she immediately seems like the sort of person who will refuse to wear a sticky note.

Dean notices the hair too because he tells her it’s so bouncy and you consider crossing out your previous comment immediately. But your need to remember names trumps the hot feeling in your chest when Dean compliments her.

It doesn’t stop you calling out though, “do you need to keep touching him? I mean I got blasted too, or so I’m told.”

She turns to you with a warm smile, “don’t worry lass. I know, I know, he’s all yours.”

“What do you mean he’s all mine?” You cross out the hot one on your notepad and replace it with the shorter one, in case writing it down is how she somehow found out about your crush.

Tall one intervenes now, “Y/N? Who do you think this is?” He asks with a hand on the other man’s shoulder.

You really try, honestly, you do. You hadn’t told them that you didn’t remember their names because you didn’t want them to be sad. Except now you’re on the spot and you can’t stop your eyes from flickering to the pad that’s resting on your knees, “D-Dean. That’s Dean. He’s um-” Don’t say it, you will yourself trying not to look at the words with a line through them, “he’s the hot one.”

Dean grins and winks at you and you sigh. He could take you right there. Although you look away as red flushes your cheeks. However tall guy seems extremely concerned about the whole situation. He walks calmly to you while you’re still eye flirting with Dean and grabs the pad that was in front of you.

“The tall one? Sam is the tall one?” He questions like your description of him might be offensive. You’re not sure how unless he is somehow unaware of how freaking tall he is. He does soften when sits beside you though, handing you back the notepad and putting a hand on yours. “How long have you not known who we are?”

You shrug, “I don’t know. You just seem really upset about something, so I didn’t want to cause a scene.”

He looks up at hot guy, “Dean, do you know who this is?”

For some reason, your chest constricts while you wait for an answer, although you only feel defective when he looks at you and says, “that’s Y/N.”

Sam presses him, “yeah, that’s good Dean but who is she to you?”

He looks at the ground guiltily as he answers, “I don’t know.”

It’s as Sam sits him at the end of the bed you’re on, with the TV for a distraction that you lean over to whisper to him, “it’s ok if you don’t remember me. I mean I don’t know if it’s ok, but I don’t remember you either so maybe we don’t know each other that well.”

He looks at you and smiles, “You must be right. Pretty sure I couldn’t forget you if I tried.”

You playfully slap his arm before settling next to him to watch the cartoon, “shut up you flirt.”

“Whatever you say, sweetheart.” You ignore the way your still tight chest loosens when he calls you that.

“…would take time, more than they’ve got. Especially Y/N, she’s farther gone than he is.” You don’t know why your ears perk up then, but they do. “They’ve already begun to forget themselves, and anyone they’ve ever known and loved. Even each other. Even you. Soon they’ll forget how to speak, how to swallow and then they’ll both die.”

You look down at your pad again to remind yourself it’s Dean who speaks, “sucks for those two.”

Tall guy had taken you and hot guy into the bathroom. He’d said neither of you had time for him to talk to you separately. You had no idea why you didn’t have the time if he was the one telling the story.

Then again, you’d thought that before you heard the story.

He’d told you that you were both under a spell. He’d told you what you both did for a living and he’d made a joke about the fact that you don’t actually get paid so maybe it wasn't a living. You saved people. You killed monsters. Monsters are real, made it onto your notepad. So many random little notes were added that you’d need to rewrite them later just, so you could read them.

If you had a later. Sam, he’d told you to call him Sam, had said that eventually, this spell would make you forget everything including how to live. He’d told Dean his story and then apologised to you saying that he could only fill in some of the blanks. He’d told you that the only person who knew your history as well as you was Dean.

Then he’d told you about your life since you’d met them. This was a group story starring all three of you. Memorable hunts. Hunts are where you find a monster to kill. Times together in the bunker. The bunker is where you live. He told you how you and Dean got together and how even when you argue you’re both happy. It’s when he’s talking about your relationship that you’d found yourself unable to breathe.

You don’t know if it had been those green eyes staring at you while Sam speaks. Or if it’s Sam telling you this romantic love affair that you don’t remember. Maybe it’s that you don’t have a lot of time left and you need to see the stars. Whatever the reason you stand up from the tiled floor you had been curled up on and tell them both that you need some air.

Sam calls after you, as does the red-haired lady does when you walk through the other room, but you’re already out the door. It's only a few steps before your flight response is overpowered by fear. You don’t know where you are, or where you live, or something as simple as what day it is. The anxiety of getting lost forever keeps you stuck in place until you eventually give up. Sinking to the floor beneath the window and looking up at what you could see of the night sky.

The cool night air is refreshing, and it lightly whips stray hairs around your face. You write that down even though it seems irrelevant. It’s cool outside at night. You like it. Flipping through the pages that you’ve filled already the parts that jump out at you are the opinions. Not the facts that people have told you but the things you’ve decided for yourself. There’s not many but they’re littered about and they feel like, well honestly, they feel like words on a page. It’s difficult to conjure emotion to all of the sentences just because you want to feel. But they are, at least, the most coherent things written down. The facts are written hard and unwavering, your name is Y/N Y/L/N. But the opinions, they’re like a friend talking to you and they’re sometimes completely useless, you like crunching on the ice after you’ve finished your drink.

“That was a good idea you know.” A voice rings out from behind you before it’s owner sits down next to you.

“You don’t have to sound so surprised.” You attempt to jest but the lilt of your voice isn’t there. It’s too uneven, too broken.

He humors you though with a chuckle, “I’m not. You always have good ideas, I’m missing your good ideas right now.”

You’ve given up pretending now. You find the place on the first page of your notes to double-check his name before you speak, “Sam. I know- I know I don’t have a lot of time left…”

“Hey, don’t. We’re going to figure this out.” He interrupts you with a reassuring smile.

“Ok, but let’s say that we don’t. I know you just told us all that,” you wave your hand to signify everything that happened in the bathroom. “Those are stories. Can you, I mean if you don’t mind, but I don’t remember who I was. Can you maybe tell me what I’m like?”

He looks at you like you might have just broken his heart, but he nods anyway, clearing his throat while he figures out what to say. “You hate heights because they give you vertigo. You love winter more than summer because you hate it being too hot. You’re funny but you still laugh at Dean’s bad jokes. You love Christmas and you’ve decorated the bunker every year since you moved in. You’re competitive to a fault. And you can’t sit and read for more than five minutes without humming something and not even knowing you’re doing it, which is not helpful when we’re doing research.”

You look up at him with watery eyes, a desperate smile clinging to your face. “Thank you. It still doesn’t… you could have been telling me about a stranger you know? But thank you. It helps, I think, to know a little about who I used to be.” You tap the notepad where you wrote down every word he said, “at least I have a reference point now.”

There are a few minutes that you sit there, trying to make a connection between his presence and what it would feel like to be friends. Nothing’s there. Although there must have been at some point, right? He knew you, maybe not as well as Dean, you’re told, but he knew things about you. He’d been the one to carefully tell you things all day.

“Y/N, I’ve got to go but you’re going to stay here with Rowena.”

You pull a face, but he leans over your shoulder to point out her description you’ve written, “with the amazing red hair.”

“It’s unnaturally red.” You correct him as you both stand up.

“You’re going to be ok, you and Dean. I promise.” He wraps his arms around your shoulders in an attempt at comfort but his eyes are red, and you don't think from lack of sleep.

“I would say don’t make promises you can’t keep but I won’t remember it anyway.”

Maybe Sam was right, you were funny.

You wake up stretched out on the back seat of a car. The leather is worn and soft, an equally fitting description for the hand that is currently shaking you.

“Hey, wake up, erm. Miss?”

You sit up, a little too quickly when your eyes finally open. “Who are you?”

He holds up a white note, “I don’t know but our brother has been kidnapped by a witch.” Then he holds up another note, “and we have to stay here.”

“Our brother?” splutters out of your mouth. You couldn’t possibly be related to this stranger, could you?

He shrugs one shoulder, “that’s what the note says.”

You check your pockets while the man, your brother possibly, faces forward again looking out of the windows into the forest you're parked in. The only thing you find is a miniature bottle of vodka and a notepad.

“Hey, how tall are you?” you ask trying to gauge which description he adheres to.

He whips around worried by the question, “I don’t know. I should know that right?”

You nod seriously, “yeah you should. Why don’t you know that?”

He frowns at you, “ok then, how tall are you?”

Your mouth opens and shuts wordlessly. Why didn’t you know how tall you were?

The notepad in front of you, in its own way, answers all the questions for you when you finally read more of it. You are under a memory loss spell. There’s a lot written, some of it so rushed on the paper that it becomes squiggles rather than words, but you read that you hunt monsters apparently. Monsters being real is enough of a revelation, but you’re dumb enough to go out there and hunt them?

“Do you want to be Sam or Dean?”

He turns around again, leaning across the back of his seat, “why are those my only options?”

You hold up the pad triumphantly, “because I have two options here. So, unless you want to be something called a Rowena then you need to pick. Are you Sam or Dean?”

He pulls a face like he can taste something rotten, but his eyes continue to scan the answers you’re proudly displaying, “so I can be the tall one or the hot one?” Fine, I’ll take Dean.”

You lean back with a finger on your chin and a smirk on your face, “you sure? Maybe you’re tall?”

He pouts, throwing his entire bottom lip out for effect, you don't know why but the sight makes you concede defeat instantly. “Ok, ok. You can be Dean and I’m called Y/N? Wow, I don’t know if I feel like a Y/N.”

“I like it. So, Y/N, wanna bust out of here?”

You feel the grin fill up your face, “you mean run off into the woods with the hot man I’ve only just met? Beats sitting here waiting for the witches to find us.”

As you get out of the car and stretch your legs you hear him behind you, “so you admit I’m hot.”

The guy you’ve been calling Dean just shot a woman and then another woman, who had been magically suspended in the air, fell to the floor. This was not exactly normal, so it was no wonder that you kept your own gun raised.

When two men come running down the stairs Dean’s gun goes between them until one of them attempts to explain. “Brother,” he says pointing at himself, and then pointing at the other man, “witch”.

You look at Dean to confer, “he is tall.”

Dean agrees with a bullet fired off at the man in the funny glasses and a thumbs up at the man who may or may not be his brother, and your own brother?

“Dean, Y/N what are you doing here?” He asks as he comes down the stairs.

“So, you are Dean!” you exclaim, excited that you’d assigned the correct name.

“I told you Y/N suited you.” He replies with a happy smile.

You’re all stuck there for a moment. You and Dean are caught in this little bubble of post teamwork happiness and Sam is also there.

Then something happens that knocks you for six. Literally.

Your legs buck beneath you and you tumble to the floor. Both men rush over to you and frustrated tears spring to your eyes as they try to help you up, your legs flailing around beneath you.

“I don’t- I don’t know how to do it.” The words seem so abstract and foreign and ridiculous. That moments ago, you were doing what they’re doing, on two legs and now you felt like the limbs were a separate entity from your body. You willed them to do something, anything, but you couldn’t find the right command inside your head. “What’s- what’s happening to me?”

It’s the woman, tiny and fiery, that answers. Well, not you but she speaks to the tall guy about you, “we need to reverse this spell before she forgets how to do something important, like breathe.”

All you can manage is hot tears that glide down your cheeks as one of the men—you can’t remember his name and right now you don’t care—scoops you up and carries you up the stairs.

The purple light surrounds you, it seeps into every pore and you’re not sure you’d want to escape it if you could. Somewhere far away there’s a voice chanting words you don’t understand but that doesn’t matter. Because the warmth of the purple glow is everything for those few beautiful minutes.

You only know that you passed out at some point because you're aware of becoming conscious again. Hearing heated voices from behind your closed eyes.

"What do you mean she's out? It's your spell!"

"This is very ancient magic, I can't be sure about every little thing. She was further gone than you! She's still breathing isn't she?"

"So, we don't even know if it worked?"

"Not until she wakes up."

That seems like as good a moment as any to open your eyes. "What happened?"

"Y/N" Sam and Dean both call out at once. They're both by your side as you sit up, the hard, wooden floor you'd been laying on making your muscles ache.

"Hey, boys," you look between them with a smile, groggy like you've been asleep for a few hundred hours and yet, you want to curl up and put your head back down still.

"What's the last thing you remember, sweetheart?" Dean holds one of your hands between his as he asks, knotted brow, and lips just parted. You're not sure how long he's been holding you but now that you're aware you have to fight the blush on your cheeks. The last thing you wanted to do was ruin your friendship while he was clearly worried about you.

You scrunch your face while you try to remember. It does nothing to help but at least they'll know you're trying.

"I guess the last thing was… Oh! That hunt we finished a few days ago. The Rugaru in Albuquerque."

It's not the right answer. You don't need to be a psychic to know that. Dean's face falls, you've never seen him look so sad, and Sam looks like he's struggling with some deep turmoil.

"Y/N that was..." Sam starts but Dean jumps in quickly.

"Don't." His voice is low and hard. It's frightening enough that all you can do is stare as he drops your hand and spins around to the woman standing behind him. "Why can't she remember?"

"Dean, calm down." Sam jumps up to put an arm on his brother. Well, that's nice, they were worried about you for all of thirty seconds.

Whoever she is she's rightly scared by the way Dean is towering over her. "I told you this is old magic, maybe with a little more time I could find another way."

"No" he grinds out. "No more magic, no more messing with her head."

"HEY!" You shut out to get their attention. "Does somebody want to tell ME what's going on?"

It's Dean who looks at you and sighs, his entire body seems to exhale.

"Baby, that was three years ago."

He doesn't even seem to notice the nickname that slipped out. You look between them for the joke but find only truth etched on their faces.

"Oh, fuck."

The three days immediately following Rowena's departure had mostly involved screaming matches and solitude.

Dean wasn't telling you something and he'd sworn Sam to secrecy like it was some kind of fucking game. Like it wasn't your life and your three years' worth of missing memories.

The ride home had been a nightmare from start to finish and Dean had pulled over three times only so he could turn around and yell at you properly. Not that you didn't scream back but you weren't driving so you couldn't be all dramatic and stop the car to make a point.

How Sam endured it you'll never know. He gave up trying to referee somewhere around hour two.

Not that he was totally off the hook and you'd both screamed at him at least once during the drive. You told him, at the top of your lungs of course, that he had no right to keep secrets from you, it was your life. Dean, eloquent as ever, told Sam that if he said anything then Dean would murder him.

As soon as you'd got back to the bunker you'd taken a big, over the top whiff and sighed, "home sweet home, OR IS IT, DEAN? DO I EVEN LIVE HERE ANYMORE?"

"WOULD I HAVE BROUGHT YOU HERE IF YOU DIDN'T?"

"FUCK YOU ASSHOLE"

"IN YOUR DREAMS, SWEETHEART"

The funny thing was. He was kind of right.

It had been weird to walk into your room and get the feeling that you hadn't been there in a long time. Like a static photograph of how you used to live. It had been weirder still that there were items of clothing missing and the ring—your mothers ring that you kept on a chain—wasn't on your desk where you left it when you sometimes forgot to put it on after a shower. But you'd moved past that weirdness.

Stranger still had been your dream that night.

You were in a bar that you didn't recognize holding a white check between your fingers and laughing, nudging Dean and asking him how he eats so much. Only to then make him promise to share his chili fries with you in your next breath. He smiles at you, no it’s not a smile it’s a grin, and it softens the pretend annoyance in his voice as he asks you why you don't order your own. Because, obviously, then you wouldn't be able to share his. It's your idea to start drinking tequila because you have more fun that way. It's his idea to keep drinking tequila until you've lost count of how many you've had. The next thing you know Dean is getting on the mechanical bull and watching him raises goosebumps all over your body. He saunters over to you when he gets off, high on the noise of the crowd. As hot as it was you want nothing more than to wipe the smug smirk off his face. Maybe to get him a little hot under the collar too, but mostly you know you can do better. You keep steady eye contact with him as you unbutton the bottom of your shirt and tie it in a knot at your midriff. His eyes are dark pools of lust as you wiggle your eyebrows and go over to mount the beast. You wink at him before the rocking starts and after it does your hips slide forward and back smoothly to match the movements beneath you. You understand why Dean loved this so much. The whoops and cheers of the crowd matched with the swinging metal beneath you is exhilarating, and when you raise an arm in the air as if you're swinging an imaginary lasso the hum of the people gets louder in approval. The guy working the machine tells you that you lasted a full minute longer than Dean. When you haughtily tell him as much he looks pleased that you’ve beaten him. He doesn't say a word as he wraps a hand around your now bare waist and leads you back to the bar where he orders two more shots. His fingers on your skin make you shudder in anticipation. The burn of the alcohol has barely subsided before his mouth is on you, lips crushing yours, tongue delving into your mouth like he already has it memorized. Your hands meet around his neck, pulling him closer if possible. Your nails scratch at his scalp, feeling soft hair against your fingers and resisting the urge to pull it. Not until you get back to your room, you think. You stay like that, pawing at each other, lips either locked with each other's or attached to skin until some guy calls a number that you remember is yours. You press your lips to him one last time and whisper into his mouth that you have to get those burgers. He groans like you've physically hurt him and, considering the hard bulge of his pants as he presses it against you, maybe you have. The waitress holding your bags of food is waiting with a strange look on her face when you walk over. She tells you that Dean's a pervert and you can do better. You've had enough to drink that you laugh it off, taking the paper bags and looking around for your pervert but you see him running through the bar and out the door. The burgers forgotten as you follow him, reaching for your gun from it's hiding place as you burst through the door.

You're covered in sweat as you bolt upright, chest heaving and mind reeling. Unlike a regular dream where you more you clutch at it the faster it slips away, this dream wouldn't leave your head. In fact, the more you thought about it the more intensely you felt every second of it. As you sat in the relative darkness of your room, shaking, it was all you could do to not feel the hungry press of Dean's lips and teeth as they trailed over your throat. Biting and sucking at the sensitive spot that he wasn't supposed to know you loved.

Why was your brain making you dream of him? You'd had enough of him while you were awake and now you had to have bizarro sex dreams about him as well?

Presumably, in the three years you were missing, you never managed to get over your dumb crush.

The next day you keep to yourself, leaving your room for only food and necessary trips to the bathroom. You had your laptop and a few books, so you were not going to run out of entertainment any time soon.

The following day you plan the same, but Sam catches you in the kitchen with toast hanging out of your mouth and coffee in your hands.

"Y/N?"

You take the food out of your mouth before answering because you're not an animal, like some people you can think of. "Yeah Sam?"

"Can we talk for a second?" He motions to the door so you know this is a sit-in-the-library-serious-talk.

You follow him anyway. No matter how early it is, no matter how much you don't want to talk to him, or anyone else right now.

He sits down like with his hands crossed in front of him and the expression he normally uses on victims to make them talk.

"I'm sorry Y/N." You try to resist but you have to admit that his apology does weaken your angry resolve a little. "I know it's hard to understand when it feels like we know everything and you don't, but Dean has his reasons for not wanting to…"

You open your mouth and from the sneer, he can tell that you're not going to say something nice.

He waves a hand, "...that's not, I know you've heard that before, that's not why I wanted to talk to you. I told Dean I wouldn't be the one to tell you the things that he doesn't think you should know. But that doesn't mean that I agree with him about keeping you in the dark. I thought maybe you could help yourself."

"What?"

He doesn't answer immediately as he slips a notebook out of his pocket. It's one of those cheap ones that the chain motels leave around like you're going to write to your loved ones on their crappy motel paper. This isn't blank and unused like these notepads normally are though. This is covered in writing, and by the looks of it, there are pages and pages. And upon closer inspection, it's all in your handwriting.

Some of it is the loopy cursive you use when you're taking your time and some of it is the squiggly scrawl your writing becomes when you're rushing.

"When you started forgetting things you wrote stuff down to help you remember, well not remember but as a reference at least. It's not everything but, I thought it could be a start. And I don't think I'm technically breaking any rules."

You smile at Sam, the crafty little minx he is, "You're hoping to get off on a technicality?"

He holds his hands up again, this time nonchalant as he gets up and walks away, "Get off for what crime? That was probably in your bag when we left the motel, you just forgot about it.”

He has the audacity to wink at you before he goes. Although you want to tell him it's too soon to be joking about your memory you're much more curious to read, in your own words, exactly what you didn't want to forget.

It takes a while to get through it. There's an insane yet elaborate system of cross-referencing in the first few pages where things loop back on each other. You end up spending a bit of time figuring those parts out. You'd apparently made up some key in your head to make it easier to find information, but hadn't thought to write the key down, despite the fact that you were losing your memory. As you progress further it gets more scrawled with more writing fit onto each page. Clearly, at the start, you weren't forgetting everything but the further you read the more you seem to lose everything about yourself.

The tall guy put on a cartoon about a bunch of teenagers who hunt ghosts. Although they don't seem to hunt real ghosts like the hot guy says that you gank. Gank means to kill.

You're sitting cross-legged on your bed when you get to it, something that feels important. It's on page fifteen that you start writing fast and heavy like you don't want to miss a word. And you start this page fresh like you had a pre-warning that it was going to bw significant. It's a few more pages in, past the stuff about hunting and the spell, that you start writing something unexpected.

Sam says that he doesn't know all of your past, but he knows the past four years, that's how long you lived with them. He says the first year was the worst because of all the tension between you and Dean. He says Dean fell for you the first time he saw you and he doesn't know when you fell for Dean. Eventually, it was obvious that you both liked each other, to everyone but you both. He says if you weren't fawning all over each other when the other one wasn't looking, then you were at each other's throats. Sam almost locked you in a room together but in the end, he didn't need to. He said that once you were both told you couldn't have sex because you joined a church chastity group the tension got, his word, weird. Sam says you're both in love.

There's a pause there. You stop writing on that page so the last thing that written is that you're in love. You re-read the words a hundred times. You have to put the pad down for a second and take a break.

You think back to the look on his face when you said you didn't remember anything from the last three years. You remember wondering why he looked so torn up about it. It starts to make sense

But were you…? Were you in love with him? Sure, you definitely had thought about him like that. It would be hard not to after that dream a few nights ago but Sam had been right about at least one thing when he told you your story. You had a crush on him, you had feelings that were, as far as you remember, unrequited. But that was the point, right? You didn't remember.

Just because you didn't remember does it mean that it didn't happen?

It's as a distraction when you pick up the pad again and turn to the next page. Forgetful Y/N had questions too.

If Sam says I'm in love with someone, that I have been for years, does it make it true? How do I know if it's true? Sam says that you make each other happy. He says that's important and he doesn't want you both to lose that. Sam doesn't seem like a liar. It's cool outside at night. You like it.

You wish you knew what happened that made you so abruptly stop thinking about this. It's a choked laugh as you think, maybe you forgot about it. What did you think about this when you re-read it while you were under the spell? Did you re-read it at all or write it down, in case?

You want to go find Dean but you're still not sure what to say or how you feel. You can't bear to see that look of sadness on his face again and you're not even sure if any of this makes a difference if you couldn't feel it?

You're still arguing with yourself as you fall into a fitful sleep. The notepad tucked under your pillow.

Sam was a sneaky fuck.

He'd lured you out of bed with the promise of a case. Let you get dressed and waits until you’re loading your duffle into the trunk to come out. He tells you and Dean, who was already in the driver's seat ready to go, that he was staying behind.

Stomach problems he'd said while patting his flat and perfectly functional gut.

How dare he.

And worst of all is that Dean hadn't even yelled. Sam had left so quickly after his excuse that all you'd seen through the back window was his shoulders slump. He didn't hate you, he wasn't angry, he was too exhausted to be doing this, alone, with you.

You'd almost run into the bunker and told Sam to stop dicking around and get in the car. To tell him that he was causing more pain than was necessary and he needed to stop. But Dean had finally expressed himself in the form of an extended honk and then a gruff, "you coming or what?"

That's how you'd ended up sitting in the passenger seat, as close to the door as humanly possible, while Zeppelin fills the space between you both. Ensuring not one of you thinks of talking.

It's got to be two hours in when you fall asleep.

Not that you mean to fall asleep, it's a pet peeve of yours if you're the only passenger. You've delivered very strong lectures in the past about it being the only passenger's responsibility to stay awake and keep the driver entertained. But it's been two hours without a word and it wouldn't be the first time you've fallen asleep with the music as loud as it is.

The dream this time is as real as before.

You're in the Dean cave. The man in question is sitting on his recliner and you are curled up on his lap, back pressing against his chest and eyes glued to the screen. You're watching ‘Home Alone’, one of the top five best Christmas films, and your lips move silently along with about 80% of the dialogue. Dean's arms are wrapped around you, one hand drawing shapes into your thigh. He leans in to press his lips to the back of your neck and although you lean into him your eyes never leave the film. A few minutes later and he's sucking the skin between your shoulder and neck, that sweet spot that always makes your knees wobble. Even as you let a small moan escape your lips you don't look away. Not when it's 9 pm and Harry and Marv have shown up. He keeps his lips on you for another minute, pulling another moan from you when he trails a hand from your thigh to the waistband of your sleep shorts. You pick up the remote and pause the film. You pout at him and ask him if he's even watching the cinematic magic that is happening on the screen. He thinks he's being funny when he answers no, but you're prepared for his shenanigans. You say you're sorry for distracting him from the film and get up and move to the empty recliner. Even though your body objects, you were enjoying yourself after all. But Dean clearly had no idea how seriously you took the holiday season and he needed to learn. You give him a shit-eating grin and a wave before you press play again. You tell him you hope he'll be able to appreciate it now without distractions but it's his turn to pout. He presses out his bottom lip knowing that you never can resist it. Tonight, for maybe the first and last time, you manage the impossible. You might squirm in your seat while you continue watching, you might drum your fingers against the arm of the chair but you don't give in. You finish and you're smiling, and everything seems magical. That is until you look over at Dean with his head back, mouth open, and light snores rumbling from his chest. You shut the TV off and double-check the door is shut before you slide out of your sleep shorts and panties, leaving you only in the big, fluffy sweatshirt you're wearing. You deftly slide back onto his lap but facing him this time, legs either side of his, as you slide your hands up his chest. He startles awake at the sudden contact, but it takes him all of a nanosecond to realize what's going on. He at least gives you the courtesy of looking sorry that he missed the end of the film while his hands glide up your legs and over the globes of your ass. The moment of recognition when he realizes you're not wearing anything, except the sweatshirt, is priceless. You wish you could take a picture and keep it forever. And then he growls against your lip as he pulls you in for a kiss, the sound pooling in your center and…

There's a bang on the roof of the car that wakes you. You open your eyes shakily to see Dean is already out of the car, his duffle hiked over his shoulder while he wanders over to the small office to get a room.

You move out of the car and to the trunk for your bag in a trance. In a hot, post-almost-sex-dream trance that's left your entire body tingling.

These dreams are too vivid, too specific to be the product of your ridiculous crush on him. And that's when the obvious answer hits you straight between the eyes.

What if they're not dreams? What if they're your memories?

Your mind goes back to your notepad, the one tucked into the side pocket of your bag, and those words written in your own hand. Sam says you make each other happy. Then you think about the bunker and your room that seems like it hasn't been lived in. And the folder of photos you found on your laptop the day before of you and Dean. Dumb selfies taken when the other one least suspects it like it’s a long-running game.

You might not be ready to say that you love Dean Winchester but maybe you could make each other happy?

He returns with a room key and mumbles that there's only one room free. You follow him wordlessly, wandering into the room and sitting on one of the two beds and not knowing what to say. How do you start a conversation like this? The only actual conversations you’ve had since you'd forgotten a huge chunk of your life, were screaming matches.

And then it comes to you, "Dean, have you ever seen Home Alone?"

He's sitting at the small table in the room, the case file in his hands, and scanning the contents. He looks up like it's an innocent question at first, "yeah, we watched it..."

His eyes go wide but the rest of him doesn't move, "how do you- how did you know about that?"

You want to look at your hands or the floor but you force yourself to look at him. "I've had a few dreams that I'm starting to think aren't dreams."

You start walking towards him. You can see the heavy gulp in his throat as he asks, "Yeah? Dreams, huh?"

"Yeah. They're too real to be dreams but they're all about me and you and..." You never finish because as soon as the words 'me and you' tumble out of your mouth he's out of his seat meeting you halfway. Both his large, calloused hands cupping your face. He's inches from kissing you when he looks into your eyes and lets that nickname fall from his lips, "baby, do you remember?"

You look up at him through your lashes. You can't seem to settle on one thing to look at, his lips, his eyes, everything about his face is perfect down to the way he’s staring at you. "Not everything but, I mean, bits and pieces. And I want to remember the rest if you'll help me catch up."

He kisses you to answer your question. And to you, it's like a first kiss all over again, it's new and hopeful and it makes you feel complete even if you're still missing time.

It's hours later when you're lying in bed, naked, with Dean. Dean Winchester. There's a part of you that still finds it unbelievable because there's a part of you that has never done this before. A part of you with a dumb crush that you thought nothing would come of. A much bigger part of you can't believe you'd forgotten the feeling of home that came with being wrapped up in his arms.

He's telling you random stories, whispering them to you in the now dark room like secrets. He told you about your first time and you tell him you can't wait to have that dream. He tells you about one of the many times Sam has walked in on you both. Apparently, because you find him so irresistible and can't help yourself. You don't admit it but he's completely right of course.

He falls asleep before you after he finishes the absolute lie that you make him a pie every week. You remind him that your memories will all come back eventually, and he'll pay for it then.He smiles in his sleep, pulling you close, and you think, maybe you will make him a pie every now and then. You might not be ready to tell him you love him—you had some catching up to do before that could happen. But you don't need a notepad to tell you, that you want to make him as happy as he makes you.

#supernatural #supernatural fanfiction #supernatural x reader #supernatural reader insert #reader insert #spn #spn reader insert #spn x reader #spn fanfic #dean x reader #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester #dean x y/n #sam winchester #is also there #my gif #IDK #trash probably

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comradecrossing · 6 years

Note

hi do you have any tips/recs for someone who’s just starting new leaf? i had it a long time ago but i stopped playing, and now i want to start playing again but i don’t remember it well 🙈

Hi! This might be long but! When I restarted this last time I was worried it would get boring real fast like with my first save, so I planned out as much as I possibly could ahead of time.

Think of a theme that makes you happy! Do you love witchy/fairy things? A specific color? maybe a season? particular villager animal? Aliens??? If you can figure out a theme you can build around (and it can be ANYTHING) then you will have much more confidence when you first step foot in your new town!

Now I’m gonna use my town as reference, so, I really like the Witchy/Fairy aesthetic and I knew immediately thats what i was going to do. I’m bad at town names, but i like Pokemon and remembered they have a fairy town, so I looked it up and got my name and figured why stop there? That’s how Laverre City became one of my sole inspirations for my town. I was inspired to restart because of hackers so even though I cant hack, I think about things I might like to do, or really want to do when/if i ever can and i have some big ideas lol im so sad. So ultimately i settled on a fall themed town (not perpetual fall but looks best in fall and the dreamcode will be of the town in fall) with lots of pink cosmos and regular saplings to give off a resemblance to Laverre City :)I then looked at a lot of forest and dreamy type towns to get some inspiration like mushroom rings, layout ideas, and items or PWPs to use. I also checked sites like animal crossing wikia to make a list of PWPs I might like in my town and chose 30 possible options (you can only build 30) and check the space requirements.

Once I start for real with a vague idea of where I want to put things I look at all the maps available and if they don’t have specific traits i want (secret beach, desirable town tree location, diving cliff, ponds in places that wont get in the way of projects and landscaping ideas, good spot for the cafe, etc) I restart until a map comes up that I like. Once I arrive in town its time to check my native fruit and rock locations and make sure its up to my standards, and if a resident is important for you to have/not have make sure to check the map too!

Once you get a town you’re happy with and you’ve found the perfect place to call home its time to get serious >: |It’s time for your first shovel and axe.Now, I have always been anti-axe in previous games but this last save changed me. I got a hold of that first axe and chopped down every tree that wasn’t a southern cedar tree! (southern cedars are only possible at the start! If you plant them they’ll only grow in the North, thats the top half of your town.) Now your town will feel barren at first and this is the ugliest stage but also one of the funnest -imo- so lets open up your patterns and get started. Now that you have a blank canvas use your green & blue tiles to signify trees/bamboo and bushes, you can even redesign it and write “T” or “B” respectably and start laying them out. You can also use the Yellow to lay down where you want PWPs (make sure to surround two spaces further than the project requires. a 3x3 fountain should look more like a 5x5 area to ensure no one moves directly next to where you want to build). You should have lots of fruit piled up (remember to stack them) so you can layout bush tiles and plant fruit if you’d rather have a better idea of how its gonna look. I planted all my peaches and would later go back and replace certain ones with new fruit i acquired. Its good to have a “this is all a process” mindset because it will take a while to get your town done even if you time travel, but thats good! because the game is all about making your dream town!

So now you have a good amount of the town planned out and probably have some ideas of what to do next. The next few days will be spent checking out how things are growing and making sure you planted things in the right spots. if there’s anything you’re not liking - change it! Your town Your rules!

Now while you are waiting for things to grow and get pretty its time to gather aaaaaallllll the flowers you can find and organize them in a large free space so they are all diagonally touching (XXXX), this way you can get hybrids early on :)Make sure they are the same breed and check hybrid guides so you know which colors work best to make the hybrids you most want and make sure to water them everyday as they will wilt if you don’t have the beautiful ordinance. Hybrids are good to have for trades when you dont have much money.

After all this you should be off to a pretty good start. Try to keep in mind villagers you would like to have and try to make friends online or IRL that you can adopt from (I always post when i have some one leaving and who I am hoping to replace them with and I usually get an offer fairly quickly, even for villagers I was desperate to get out. No matter who they are someone likes them :)) But if your town is set up in a way that you’ll be devastated if your dreamie moves in that one perfectly made up spot, it might be a good idea to plot set &/ reset.Plot resetting is when you make a *NEW* character save to check and see if anyone moved in overnight, and more importantly, if they moved in an undesirable place. If this happens restart and select the new save option until the villager plots in a spot you like. Once they do that build your tent somewhere and save quit. This will make the new residents spot permanent and then you can select the new save once more and delete their home. This could take quite a while if you have lots of “open” space. “Open Space” is how I refer to non-tiled/pwp or house occupied areas and the way I go about this is covering my town in about 75% tiles and spacing out pwps to where there are as few places houses can plot in as possible. Houses wont build over tiles and will plot at least 2 spaces away from other buildings, rocks and projects and one away from clifs and ponds/rivers. They dont care however if there are trees, bamboo, items, bushes, or flowers so be sure to lay out tiles in any place at risk to being plotted on. I refer to this as “Plot Setting” as you can make 3x3 empty plots you surround with tiles which will help villagers know where to plot. If you do a good job and plot everything out just right, you’ll never have to worry about someone messing up your hard work.

Now here’s the kinda sucky part of ACNL and that is The Limitations.Annoying programmed rules that seem to only get in the way such as the 2-space rule between pwps/buildings. This can mess up your aesthetic a lot and sometimes you will have to completely replan things due to a small fact you may have overlooked or not noticed and suddenly your garden isnt looking right so im gonna name off the biggest hassles and how I have gotten around some of them.

Bush + tree + bush: You can line up 12 trees/bamboo and bushes in a line. This works both straight and diagonally. only 12. Now you can leave gaps in some places that will reset the count or do intricate designs like one cedar in the middle of 4 bushes, a line of bushes with trees spaced out directly behind, a pattern of bushes and chopped bamboo, etc get creative. Visiting others towns or looking at pics people post can help you get lots of ideas. Bushes can touch each other but trees & bamboo still have the one space between rule.

PWP 2-space rule: now I’ve already mentioned this a few times but this rule is always the one that I seem to forget when planning. YOU NEED TWO SPACES. I cant tell you how many times i have planned project locations weeks in advance only to not be able to lay them out as i wanted because I got the space requirement wrong or only left one space between other objects :/

Beach Rules: You may have seen cool towns with pwps, cedar trees and hibiscus bushes scattered around their beach and Ive got some bad news; Those are hacked towns. The only thing that can be planted on the beach naturally is coconut and banana trees, flowers, and clovers. Nothing grows on the beach, not even weeds. No pwps can be built there either, even though it was initially programmed to be possible. I currently use the space for hybrid breeding since i have no space to elsewhere ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Tear Down and Build Up: I will say though that even though only maybe 15% of my original plans came to life, my town looks way better than i had ever imagined it would. Don’t be afraid to tear things down and try out different locations or setups you might figure something out that looks amazing compared to your original plans.

Finally, while you can participate in the Happy Home Ratings, you dont have too. Decorate how ever the flip you want. Find new things to do everyday as the game can get old fast and you might get temped to Timetravel (which isnt a bad thing if thats what you want to do, but be careful you dont lose your villagers/flowers! Even though I have the Beautiful ordinance, I water all my flowers incase they pop out a hybrid. I try to earn all the badges, I visit dreamtowns for inspiration, redesign areas of my town, farm PWPs, make patterns, try hunting down items to decorate my house with, etc, this is another area where having a theme can help as you will find inspiration easier, and make you feel more immersed like you’re playing an RPG.

I’ve gone on a lot here and I have more to add but I’ve spent over an hour typing this, but let me know if you have any other questions or need clarification on anything :) I’m not gonna add pics rn but if you need photo reference send another message and I will address it separately and add it here later.

Now heres a bunch of links to help you get invested:MoriBD - A catalog of every in-game item and an option to make a wishlistHybrid Guide - By @nooklingPWP GuideVillager Adoption Further Info on Plot ResettingPWP Farming Towns/interiors I found inspirationalSome QRsHacking info (if youre interested)How to upload your screenshots & Make your screenshot pretty!

Pick the right face when you startOnce you get the QR reader (talk to sable 7 days) you can use these

Please let me know if there’s anything else I can do to help :)Just putting it out there too, I am always happy to help people get whatever they want/need for no cost whether it be fruits, bamboo, mushrooms, items, hybrids, etc, I will always do what I can to help you out, whether you’re just starting or on your 5th year.

#ref #tutorial #animal crossing #acaddicts #animal crossing new leaf #i might have to go through and edit this later #but im too tired rn #blanca

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muselin · 6 years

Text

Hearth - Day 1: Midnight Visitor (Huedhaut/MC)

This is a request for @juliettebbgamer who wanted a Hue/MC story. I wanted to challenge myself with this because Huedhaut is one of the gods I find it hardest to relate to, and this somewhat backfired on me. It was harder to write than anything I’ve done and it’s not finished yet. I will be posting the other parts as I complete them.

The premise: a winter tale in a remote mountain village in the buildup to the New Year. Hue chooses this time to go to Earth and see who his goddess has become, but instead of a short anonymous trip he ends up spending one week with her new incarnation isolated in a cabin. Will he recognise her for who she is now? What will she think of this mysterious stranger who’s turned up at her door?

DAY 1

——————————————-

Her breath came out in thick white plumes as she rubbed her hands together. It was cold in the cabin and she was alone, having arrived before her friends.

They’d rented out the cabin for a week for the holidays, planning to spend the time together and return on New Year’s Day. They’d agreed for her to go a day before everyone else since her holiday began earlier, and make sure that everything necessary had been delivered to the cabin like they’d asked: firewood, bedding for the four bunk beds, towels and groceries for the week. She didn’t mind taking care of all that, she enjoyed feeling useful.

However, when she arrived the cabin was far from the condition it was supposed to be in. No firewood, no bedding, only bare mattresses and pillows and only one old towel. Not one for pessimism, she was grateful it was at least clean.

It was a small village in the mountains that she lived near. She’d spent a summer there once but since then the village had become unrecognizable. Hardly any residents had remained and the cabins around the one she’d rented were all empty. Thankfully the only shop in the village still operated and she managed to buy some food.

Now she was looking around for firewood in the cold, underfurnished cabin, hoping there would at least be matches or a lighter left somewhere since the shop hadn’t had any. She found none of the three.

“Great…”

The sharp noise of her phone ringing cut through the quiet and she jumped.

“He-hello?”

“Hi sweetie,” the voice of her friend greeted her from the other side.

“Hey, what time do you guys get here tomorrow? There’s been a couple problems here. Tell the guys to bring firewood, there isn’t any here.”

“Yeah… about that. I don’t suppose you’ve heard the news yet..?..,” her friend’s unsure voice worried her.

“No, I only get one bar of signal here and you know my car doesn’t have a radio. What happened?”

“We… uh… we won’t be able to come over at all. There were warnings of a flash blizzard and it’s already started. Apparently the road to the village has already been closed and they won’t send snow ploughs until the snow stops.”

“Oh…,” she fidgeted with the gloves in her lap, “Hiyori, I can’t access the news from here. When is the snow expected to stop?”

The couple seconds of tense silence from the other side did nothing to alleviate her growing nervousness.

“They don’t know… At the moment it’s looking like at least four days… And the ploughs will take at least another two to clear the road. The road won’t be accessible until at least New Year’s Day.”

“…”

“I’m so sorry, honey! I wish we could have come so that you wouldn’t be stuck there alone!”

“It’s alright, Hiyori, we couldn’t have foreseen this. Hello? Hello?”

She looked at her phone to be greeted by the “No Signal” icon.

“Great… Completely cut off from the world now…”

The prospect of being stuck alone in the freezing cabin for a week suddenly became reality and sent a wave of anxiety that left her restless.

She went to the door, determined to go back to the shop to ask the owner if he could spare any firewood but as soon as she opened the door she changed her mind. Snow was already falling heavily, blanketing everything in sight white. Resigned, she decided to wait out the first night, cold as it was, then wait for a break in the blizzard to go back out to the shop and try to convince the owner to give her or sell her some of his own firewood since the shop didn’t sell it from stock.

The hours trickled on slowly as the light faded and gave way to night. She had bundled herself up in all the clothes she could put on, using the rest as bedding and the towel as a blanket, and spent the time with the book she’d brought. The original intent was to read a bit before bed each night but now it seemed the book would be her only company all week.

The quiet was unnerving, broken only by the occasional creak of the ceiling boards under the weight of the piling snow and the whistling of the wind outside. She took a break from reading to eat one of the sandwiches she’d bought and switch on the lights. The lights in the cabin worked but were very weak, forcing her to strain her eyes to keep on reading. Soon enough the effort became too much and she felt her eyelids become heavy.

She put the book on the floor next to the lower bunk bed she’d chosen to sleep in and huddled in, trying to get warm enough to sleep. She was tired but the cold was just enough to keep her awake, a mild torture added to the already uncomfortable surroundings. She let her mind wander and eventually, her thoughts became vague dreams as she drifted in and out of a light sleep.

KNOCK! KNOCK! KNOCK!

She gasped, startled at the sudden noise and bolted upright. Fear was the first emotion that struck through her body and she willed herself to calm down and rationalise.

She glanced at her phone which blinked zeros, signifying midnight.

KNOCK! KNOCK! KNOCK!

The knocking continued, not very loud but insistent and she willed herself to step towards the door.

“Who is it?”

Her voice shook but she managed to get the words out.

“Terribly sorry to trouble you at this hour. I was hoping you might have blankets I could borrow?”

The male voice on the other side of the door jarred her in a good way. It was deep, smooth and calm, the stranger’s words polite but hopeful. It calmed her racing heart and she opened the door.

“Oh, sorry Sir but I’m afraid I don’t have any….”

The words died on her lips when she came face to face with the man on the other side.

She was certain that he had to be the most gorgeous man she’d ever seen. Tall, slim but well-built, with hair that was nearly black but still had tints of blue in the dim light, and his eyes… His eyes pierced her and time seemed to stop for a few long moments. His eyes were calm yet intense at the same time, a painfully beautiful shade of sapphire blue. He looked almost otherworldly and she realised she was staring, quickly averting her eyes in embarrassment. Yet, despite his decidedly unusual, attractive but unfamiliar appearance, a feeling rose up in her chest, making her rib cage feel too narrow. The feeling that somehow, somewhere, she’d seen him before.

“Miss?”

His gentle voice forced her to look at him again and this time she noticed that he was far too underdressed for the weather. He wore a simple white and grey striped button-down over what looked like a V-neck white t-shirt.

“Oh goodness, you’ll freeze like that! Hurry, come on in while I look through my stuff. I might have something you could borrow.”

He raised his eyebrows in mild surprise, appearing not to expect to be invited in. As the wind outside blew in a particularly bone-chilling gust, he didn’t question her and stepped inside the cabin.

“That was not entirely necessary but I’m grateful regardless,” the stranger said with a hint of a smile.

She looked at him for a moment, taken aback by the remark. It sounded a bit rude but she didn’t read much into it.

“Oh.. well I thought it was preferable to making you wait outside in that blizzard.”

She left him to his own devices as she switched the lights back on. In an unfortunate coincidence, three of the four lights buzzed ominously, flickered a few times and went dark. A solitary light near the bunk beds was left weakly illuminating the cabin.

“Damn it,” she whispered tensely, flicking the switch on and off again.

“I doubt they’ll come back on the fifth time if they haven’t come back on the first four.”

She gave him a poorly-concealed look of slight offence.

“Well… I’m just going to find you something warm to put on.”

She rummaged through the clothes in her backpack, eventually pulling out a fleece-lined blue hoodie. It was too big on her and she thought it might fit him.

“Here, put that on,” she said, handing it to him.

He looked her in the eyes as he took it.

“You know, I never asked your name,” she added as she laid more clothes on the bed to add to the warm pile she’d been sleeping in.

“I’m Huedhaut.”

“Come again?”

She blinked blankly, the name having gone over her head.

“Hued-haut,” he said slower. “Hue to you though, to make sure it sticks.”

“That’s okay, I’ll remember it, Huedhaut,” she said a bit coldly, having caught his slightly patronising remark.

“I suppose I should be on my way and leave you to your book then,” Huedhaut said, glancing to the book which she had left haphazardly splayed open on the floor, “And thank you for this.”

“Are you staying in the village?”

“No, I was just passing through,” he replied as he headed for the door. When he opened it, she noticed that the snow outside was now knee-deep and the blizzard was showing no signs of letting up.

“Wait, Huedhaut!”

“Hmm?”

“Haven’t you heard? All the roads have been closed. You won’t be able to leave.”

“Well that is a tad inconvenient,” he said sarcastically, seeming to choose his words carefully.

“Do you have anywhere to stay in the village?”

“I don’t. Like I said, I was just passing through. I wasn’t intending to stay.”

“Well…,” she hesitated, looking up at him, “You could stay here for tonight and we’ll see how things are in the morning. Is that acceptable?”

Huedhaut finally looked at her, seeming to deliberate. Something in her eyes made him lean in closer, trying to see in the dim light.

“What…?”

She looked away, slightly embarrassed at their closeness, but Huedhaut reached to put a hand on her shoulder, making her look back at him in surprise.

“You… You still have her stars in your eyes…,” he whispered, his face suddenly lighting up in disbelief. “Her stars…”

“Excuse me?”

He blinked, as if suddenly remembering something, and let her go abruptly.

“Pardon me, I… I just got confused for a moment.”

He closed the door, the sound of the howling blizzard outside quieting down.

“I’d like to stay, thank you for the offer.”

“Oh, you’re welcome. You can pick one of the beds and I’ll give you some of my things to keep warm. I just arrived here today actually, I was meant to be here with my friends but they couldn’t make it past the road closures. We were meant to stay here until New Year’s Day.”

“So you would have stayed here alone had I not shown up?”

She smiled sarcastically.

“Not much choice in the matter. I have food, clothes and toiletries for the week, what I don’t have is any means to heat this place. The owners were meant to leave firewood for the week but they haven’t, and I couldn’t find any.”

“Hmm, perhaps in the morning we can ask around the neighbouring cabins.”

“They’re all empty,” she said.

“Oh? Then perhaps some of them have weak locks,” Huedgaut quipped, smirking.

“Um… Did I make a mistake inviting you in here,” she said, her face darkening in suspicion. He might have been a thief or a burglar after all. You could never be too careful with people.

“Why, I’m offended,” he feigned, raising an arm dramatically. “I don’t take pleasure from breaking and entering, but given the circumstances, we might freeze to death if we don’t bend our morals just slightly.”

She didn’t say anything more but only nodded. Then she gave a few sweaters to Huedhaut to cover himself for the night and she got into her own bunk.

“What do you intend to do all week here, then,” Huedhaut asked as he adjusted the pillow on the lower bunk across from hers.

“There isn’t much to do. My friends were going to bring games to play, we were going to go for walks, sit around the fire and just have a good time. Since none of that is happening though, I suppose I’ll just have to spend the time reading.”

“Luckily I also have a book with me. I’d be interested to read yours too, if you’ll lend it to me in exchange for mine.”

“Deal,” she said.

“You sound tired,” Huedhaut pointed out as he lay down, bundling up in the sweaters she’d given him.

“That’s because I am,” she yawned. Unexplicably, she felt herself relaxed in Huedhaut’s presence. There was something very calming about him and she felt safe.

“You should sleep.”

“I’m sorry, it would have been polite to ask you more about yourself but I’m just so tired for some reason.”

“Rest now, there will be time to talk tomorrow,” Huedhaut said, his deep voice taking on a surprising gentle tone, almost sounding familial.

“There’s food on the counter if you’re hungry,” she said instead of good night. By her breathing, Huedhaut could tell that she was asleep a minute after she said that.

He listened to the even sounds and took in the cabin. Plain, with a table and chairs, the bunk beds, a kitchenette and a small bathroom. The wood floors were unlacquered and so were the walls. It gave the cabin a rustic look which he suspected was intended to be appreciated with a fire crackling in the fireplace, but unfortunately appeared drab instead with the weak lighting and the bitter cold. Her backpack and snow boots were at the side of her bed and her book now lay at the side of her pillow.

Huedhaut made sure she was asleep, then quietly snapped his fingers and switched off the light. He had no need for sleep but he knew that even if he did, he wouldn’t be able to rest tonight. He’d seen them. The stars in her eyes. She was his goddess. Yes, she wore a different face and didn’t remember him, but her soul was there. Her beautiful essence he’d falled in love with that brought her to life. He could feel his heart beating fast from how close she was.

It had been so long. All he wanted to do was reach out and touch her. But he could not. He’d have to be satisfied with watching her sleeping form tonight. He propped himself up, looking over her face. It looked peaceful as she slept, undisturbed. His goddess wore a different face but even this unfamiliar face was beautiful. The hours trickled by as his eyes never left her.

#star crossed myth #scm #scm gods #scm fanfic #scm fanfiction #scm stories #scm huedhaut #scm fan fiction

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darisu-chan · 7 years

Text

Death & Strawberry

Prompt: A Perfect End

Summary: There really was no questioning it. From the beginning, it had always been the two of them, and that is how it’d remain forever.

You can also read it here.

“Why are they taking so long?” Rukia muttered as she paced around the room she was at on the first squad’s barracks.

“Relax, Rukia. I heard that Zaraki-taichou and Ikkaku are late.” Renji said, shrugging. “You know how Captain Zaraki is, he probably got lost on the way here.”

Rukia chuckled a little at that. “Some things never change.” Then, the woman looked around and frowned once again. “Speaking of which, where is Ichigo?”

Renji gulped nervously, and scratched the back of his neck. “I… I don’t know. Maybe he’s showing Zaraki-taichou the way here?”

The woman sighed loudly. “It figures than on this extremely important date, Ichigo would run late.” She ranted, crossing her arms.

Renji gulped again, cursing his friend. He knew from experience that getting on Rukia’s nerves was like a death sentence. He silently prayed for Ichigo’s well-being. “Look, I’m sure he’s gonna be here soon.”

Rukia scoffed, and then smiled at her childhood friend. “Thank you for being here, Renji. It means a lot to me, to us.”

The man smiled at her. “Well, since I’m a lieutenant I had to be here anyway. But I’m glad I could help you.” He joked, and his friend snorted. It had taken a lot of time, actually, and it was only until very recently that they had started talking to each other like they did before the drama of their failed relationship. It was nice to recover their old friendship. Renji didn’t love Rukia in a romantic way, anymore. He was just happy to have his friend back.

Rukia wanted to add something, but was interrupted by the noise coming from outside the room. “Hey! Maybe that’s Ichigo!” Renji said and they both peaked to look outside the room. They found that Soi Fon and Kenpachi were having a disagreement. Ichigo was nowhere in sight.

“I’m so going to kill him.” Rukia muttered through clenched teeth. Renji sweatdropped.

More commotion could be heard outside, and then a breathless Ichigo walked into the room. His jacket was wide opened, revealing his perfect abs. “Yo!” He greeted them.

“Yo?! That’s what you have to say?!” Rukia shouted, completely enraged at his appearance.

Renji took that as his cue to leave. “See you two in a bit!” He said, and then rushed out of the room. No way was he going to witness his friend getting murdered by his wife.

“I’m sorry I’m a little late. I had something I needed to do.” Ichigo excused himself, scratching his neck.

“And pray tell me, what was more important than being here on time?” Rukia said sarcastically.

Ichigo smirked at her. “You’ll see.”

She rolled her eyes. “At least fix your uniform. You have to look presentable!” She scolded him.

The man winked at her. “Do you like what you see?”

The woman would have added something else, but was interrupted by Isane, who entered the room. “The ceremony is about to begin.” She informed them, and went away.

“Ready?” Ichigo asked her, taking her hand.

“Ready. You?” Rukia told him.

“More than ready.”

They walked hand in hand, waiting for the ceremony to begin.

On the hall, all of the captains of the Gotei 13 were standing in front of each other, with Kyouraku Shunsui, the Captain Commander, standing in the middle. His two lieutenants were on his right and left, while the rest of the lieutenants took their places behind their captains. Once they were all set, Kyouraku, with a booming voice, called them. “Will the new captain and lieutenant please enter!”

Rukia fidgeted on her place. Ichigo squeezed her hand gently. “Hey, it’s going to be okay. And, if you want, I can trip on my way there, so all the attention is on me.”

She smiled at him, feeling more at ease after his joke. “It won’t be necessary.”

“Introducing, the captain of the Gotei 13, Kuchiki Rukia!” Kyouraku said loudly.

Rukia, already wearing her haori, took a step forward, her cheeks flushed. “Present!” She said loudly, trying to sound as commanding as possible even if she was a jittering mess.

“Introducing, the lieutenant of the Gotei 13, Kurosaki Ichigo!” Kyouraku spoke again.

Next, Ichigo, who had been admiring his wife, entered the room. “Present!” He was already wearing his armband, the one that had previously belonged to Rukia.

The other captains and lieutenants clapped and congratulated them, welcoming both into their ranks. Finally, after ten long years, all major positions in the squads had finally been filled. Kyouraku looked pleased with the new captain and lieutenant of the thirteenth squad. Byakuya was extremely proud of his sister and even of her husband. He was the first to congratulate them. Ever the lively bunch, all the lieutenants congratulated Ichigo and invited him to a round of sake. He politely declined, saying he had something else to do. They immediately all joked about Ichigo being whipped. He didn’t deny it. Meanwhile, Rukia accepted Kyouraku’s words about Captain Ukitake, and how proud he would have been of her. She almost cried. Next, she spoke to Isane, Lisa, and Soi Fon, the latter seemed pleased to have another woman as captain. Once the celebration was over, and everyone returned to their squads, Rukia finally turned to look at Ichigo, glaring at him.

“What were you thinking?” She hissed.

Ichigo chuckled. “I was thinking on planning a surprise for my wife, given the fact she has just been promoted to captain. I thought she’d like it.” He said cheekily.

“Do not act cute in front of me, Kurosaki Ichigo. That doesn’t explain why you were half naked!” His wife kept scolding him.

“Oh, but I thought you liked it when I showed you my abs.” He teased her, speaking huskily, and taking a step forward to her. She took a step backwards.

“Not if all the Seireitei saw you looking so indecent!” Rukia continued saying. “I don’t want anyone else having a look at those abs!” She exclaimed, blushing and looking irritated.

Ichigo grinned. He took another step forward, and grabbed his wife, hugging her. “I love it when you get jealous and hormonal.”

“Do not tease me, Kurosaki-fukutaichou, I’m mad at you.” She said, but didn’t pull away. Putting her head on his chest, and wrapping her arms around him. “It’s your fault I’m hormonal, after all.”

Ichigo smiled sweetly at that. His arms descended from his wife’s arms, and he put his hands over her stomach. With her Shinigami uniform, and now the haori, it wasn’t as noticeable, but it was there, he could feel its roundness. He rubbed Rukia’s baby bump gently, making her smile. “You weren’t saying that when we found out. Besides, we’re happy to have you here, baby.” He said, speaking to Rukia’s belly.

She snorted. “You’re such an idiot.”

“But I’m your idiot, forever. You promised.” Ichigo said, grinning from ear to ear.

Rukia scoffed at her husband, but smiled nonetheless. “So what was the surprise you were talking about?”

Ichigo smiled. “Oh, you’re gonna need to see it to know.”

“Then what are we waiting for! Let’s go!”

“Aye, aye, Captain.”

They walked in a comfortable silence, their fingertips brushing with each step they took. The whole Seireitei knew they were married, and had been so for two years already, but they didn’t like to display their affection in front of everyone, much less of their squad. They had enough to deal with the gossip on the monthly Shinigami Magazine ─written and published by the Shinigami Women Association─ as it were. They preferred being subtle. Sometimes, they would brush their fingers, or pat each other on their shoulder. They rarely hugged in public. However, they did smile a lot at each other, conveying with that simple gesture all that they were feeling.

They continued walking, thanking all of the Shinigami who congratulated them along the way. They both smiled, feeling proud of each other. Truth be told, their promotions were a dream come true. Rukia wanted to honor Ukitake, who had taught her so many things, and was always there for her. Meanwhile, Ichigo wanted to honor Rukia by being a great lieutenant. After all, she wasn’t only his wife, but she had also been his first mentor. What he knew about being a Shinigami came directly from her. Their promotions also signified one thing: together they made a great team, which was something they were already aware of, but now everyone knew.

They passed by their own squad at last, when Sentarou and Kiyone greeted them.

“Taichou! Fukutaichou! Congratulations!” They said at the same time, surrounding the couple. It felt good to once again have both a captain and a lieutenant in their squad. They felt complete.

“Ah, Kiyone and Sentarou, thank you.” Rukia thanked them. Beside her, Ichigo nodded his thanks too.

“We’re so proud of both of you!” Sentarou said.

“But I’m prouder!” Kiyone added, prompting another fight, which Rukia was already used to by now.

Ichigo rolled his eyes. Those two should confess their feelings already. The pent-up sexual tension was getting too much for him to deal. Besides, everyone in the squad knew they were in love. It would be easier if they just went and said it. Although, their bickering did make him laugh from time to time.

“Kiyone.” Ichigo interrupted them. “Is everything ready?” He asked cryptically.

The girl grinned at him, and gave a thumbs up. “Everything’s all set, fukutaichou.”

“Excellent.” He said.

“What is she talking about?” Rukia asked him.

“Oh, you’ll see. Let’s go.” He took her hand and led her away from the squad.

“See you in a bit, Captain!” Both third seats exclaimed, as Rukia followed her husband.

“Where are you taking me?” She enquired.

“Somewhere close. Are you tired?” He asked her. She was pregnant after all, and had had a long day.

Rukia shook her head. “Not really. I can rest after the surprise.”

Ichigo chuckled. “That’s the spirit.”

They kept walking until their house came into view. It was close to the thirteenth squad, so that they would never arrive late. It was smaller than the Kuchiki Manor by a long shot, but the size was just fine for them. It was medium sized, and it had a beautiful garden along a koi pond, which they tended to every day. It also had enough space for their growing family, and to even house a few guests, like Ichigo’s family whenever they came to visit. The spouses loved it. They had both bought it, with their salaries it hadn’t been so difficult. Byakuya, as a wedding present, had helped them furnish it. Other people had given them items for decoration here and there for the last two years. Currently, it was filled with baby stuff everywhere.

“Why are we home?” Rukia asked Ichigo, with wonder. But before he could answer, a bunch of people she knew came into view.

“Congratulations!” All their friends and family shouted the moment they saw them.

Rukia gasped, and turned to look at Ichigo, clearly shocked. “Is this the surprise?”

“Yes, hope you like it.” He winked at her.

Then, they were surrounded by Ichigo’s family.

“Oh, Rukia-chan, congratulations on that promotion!” Isshin said as he hugged his daughter-in-law. When he hugged her, he felt the bump and smiled. “Oh, let me look at you! Is that my grandchild?” Then, he put his hand on Rukia’s belly, trying to see if the baby would kick.

Rukia laughed, while Ichigo got annoyed. “Can you please stop touching my wife?”

“Shut up, Ichigo! I’m just excited!”

“Oi, aren’t you going to congratulate me too, goat chin?”

“Don’t listen to dad. Congrats, Ichi-nii, Rukia-nee!” Karin said next. Briefly hugging each of them.

“Thanks, Karin.”

Yuzu approached them next. She was carrying a baby on her arms. “Rukia-nee, onii-chan, congratulations! We’re so proud of you! Aren’t you proud of mommy and daddy, Mamoru-chan?” Yuzu said, looking at the one-year-old baby.

The baby boy gurgled the moment he saw his parents, and raised his chubby arms, trying to reach them. “Mama, dada!” He said gleefully.

“Thank you, Yuzu.” Ichigo said. Meanwhile, Rukia giggled when she saw what her son was wearing.

“What is this, Mamoru? Who dressed you like this?” She said, taking her son in her arms. The baby was wearing a bunny suit, which included a hoodie with bunny ears.

“That’s why I got to the ceremony late. Mamoru here didn’t want to wear the suit. He grabbed by robes, and opened them. He was that angry! I agreed it was ridiculous, but that it’d make his mommy happy.” Ichigo said, gently rubbing his fingers on Mamoru’s head.

“Don’t listen to daddy. You look very cute!” Rukia said, and looked into her baby’s eyes, which were of the same color as hers. The baby gurgled in reply.

“Rukia-san, Kurosaki-kun, congratulations!” A heavily pregnant Orihime said, accompanied by Ishida, who was holding her hand.

“Ah, thank you, Inoue.” Ichigo said simply, while both women held each other. The man took his son in his arms. Mamoru started to play with his dad’s hair, which was of the same shade of orange as his.

“Need I remind you she’s not Inoue anymore, Kurosaki.” Ishida said.

“Tch. It’s the same to me. But thanks for coming, Ishida.”

Meanwhile, Orihime gushed on the baby. “Oh, Mamoru-kun, you’re a cutie! Are you going to play with my baby?”

“Oh, yeah, how much longer until she’s born?” Rukia asked Orihime, pointing to the other woman’s large baby bump.

The woman smiled and rubbed her tummy. “Two months.”

Rukia smiled. “Congratulations, Orihime.”

“And how much longer until the new baby comes?” The human woman asked next.

Rukia rubbed her tummy too. “Five months. We still don’t know what it is, but we both have a feeling this time it’s going to be a girl.”

“Excellent! Then our daughters will play together!” Orihime clapped, excited.

“Ichigo, Rukia, congratulations.” Chad approached them next, carrying presents for the couple.

“Thank you, Chad.” Ichigo said, as he clapped his friend on his back.

“Can I carry him?” He asked, looking at the baby on Ichigo’s arms.

“Sure.” Mamoru giggled as Chad carried him and started playing with him.

One by one, all of their friends and the rest of Ichigo’s family approached them. They all congratulated them on their promotions and on the new baby. Mamoru passed from one pair of arms to another, all the guests excited to see the couple’s firstborn, especially their friends from the human world, which had rarely seen the baby. Grimmjow and Nelliel had also come to the party. Grimmjow was specially intrigued by Mamoru, and wanted to ‘test his abilities.’ Everyone promptly kept him away from the baby, with Byakuya being the most worried about his precious nephew associating with such people. Urahara tried to carry him, but Mamoru started crying, which resulted on an angry pair of parents, and Yoruichi being amused.

“Too bad you’re not good with children. What will you do with ours?” She said ironically.

Urahara paled. “Ours? What are you talking about? Wait, Yoruichi-san!”

All of the guests talked about what they had been doing recently, in an effort to catch up. Ishida’s clothing business was thriving. Apparently, he had gained fame after one of his designs had appeared on a fashion magazine, being modeled by his own wife. Orihime had had to put on hold her job at the hospital. It was tiring being pregnant and having to attend patients at the same time. Chad had opened his own gym, where, among other things, he taught kickboxing to both children and adults. He was very happy about it. Tatsuki, after winning a lot of medals, decided to open her own dojo. Mizuiru worked in a legal firm, where he had met a lot of women, he still didn’t want to settle down, though. Keigo remained a bachelor, but was very happy with his job as an accountant. Yuzu had just finished studying to be a chef, and worked at a restaurant nearby the clinic. Isshin still worked at his clinic. Karin had pursued a career as a professional soccer player, and had made it into the big leagues. As for Urahara, Yoruichi and Tessai, they kept working at Urahara’s shop, aiding the Shinigami who went to Karakura, as well as keeping the amount of Hollows to a bare minimum. The Vizards which remained in Karakura helped them with that. However, honestly both Hiyori and Hachigen spent more time in Soul Society than in the human world. In one way or another, everyone had found their place in the world.

Later that day, Rukia and Ichigo lay in bed, holding each other. Ichigo rubbed Rukia’s belly, while she played with his hair. Mamoru was asleep already in his own room, having been exhausted after a whole day of playing.

“Do you remember when we met?” Ichigo asked suddenly.

Rukia snorted. “Of course. How could I ever forget? You were the weirdest human I had ever come across.”

He laughed. “And I thought you were a burglar.”

“Yeah, you even kicked my ass!” His wife said, feigning outrage.

“Well, it’s not like you haven’t already taken revenge on that. In fact, that day you used Kido on me and painted a moustache on my face!”

“Oh, right.” Rukia snorted. “I had forgotten about all that, Your Highness, Mr. Baron.” She teased him.

“Shut up.”

“But why do you ask?” Rukia asked again, turning to look at his face.

“I’ve been thinking about that.” Ichigo said, shrugging.

“Is it about destiny again?” She asked him, remembering a similar conversation they had had.

“Not really. Well, it has to do with destiny, but that’s not all. I’ve just been thinking about that, when we met, I never thought you’d be so important to me. And now, we’re here, married, with a beautiful son and a baby on the way, and we’ve just been promoted. It seems amazing to me how my life changed so much. One day I was a normal human, and the next I was a Shinigami.” Ichigo expressed himself, animatedly.

“You were never that normal to begin with. You could see spirits.” Rukia jested.

“Yeah, but I never imagined how life after death was. Then, when I knew, I found myself feeling more alive as a spirit than as a human. I found my purpose and even more than that. I found love, and I got my own family. I would have never done that without you.” He said earnestly, taking her hands in his.

Rukia smiled tenderly at him. “Before I met you, I felt so lonely. In a sense, I was more than dead. But now, I fulfilled my goals, and I have a family of my own. Most importantly, I found you, Ichigo.”

He pecked her lips softly. “We’re better together, huh?”

“The best team ever.” Rukia nodded.

Ichigo started playing with her long her, as he spoke again. “And it will continue to be so, for a long time.”

Rukia smiled, and the baby inside her kicked, as if agreeing with her father’s words. They were the Death and the Strawberry, after all. Nothing would ever change that. The blade had already been swung down.

#ichiruki #ichirukimonth #ichiruki fanfiction #my fanfiction

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