#but it’s hard when I’m like. 6000 feet away from my feelings because I’m so depressed

[cherrysnax]

I’m in an extremely bad headspace rn but I want to be able to be positive for my friends and loved ones

#it’s been like two weeks and I think it’s time to admit that I’m not doing the best #but I’m never doing the best you know #but I wish it would be at a different time #it’s very inconvient for me to be drepesses rn #idk if I meant positive in my post btw I just mean #there. I’m not good with emotions but i want the ones I love to know I care #but it’s hard when I’m like. 6000 feet away from my feelings because I’m so depressed #I never wanna focus too much on hating myself that I forget to love the ones around me #but I do. often #the most that’s doable is not letting my depression actively hurt them #and even that #when I’m depressed I tend to get more in on myself #and I tend to be trapped in my own head. I find it hard to feel close to anyone #and when u have close friends or partners I feel like that can be a lil hurtful #unless I’m past rock bottom my love and affection n shit for my loved ones never fade even when I’m a lil loopy and detacthed #but #I worry one day I won’t come back from depresso land #what if I rlly do it one day #or what if in my own head I miss out on a loved ones cries for help #I try to be there but I’m not good at it #what if I fail again

[justalittleguest]

Unleash your demons, let me dance with them and know them better

Ok so I’m a bit (a lot) embarrassed about that post but it’s not like I forgot the AU. It’s the quite opposite, so thanks for letting me rant a bit @kredena-dark.

The background + town lore (or what I have of it)

SO the setting of the AU is in a bigger town than the Dreamtale village was, built from its ruins, and it takes place in the early 1800s cuz I said so. The tales of the Tree of Feelings that occasionally attracted travelers and opportunists to the village did so even after the apple incident, which is how its residents’ remains were found. No one knew what happened, but they recalled being told about the twin guardians of the Tree, now a stump without fruit, that were a young golden eyed saint and a spawn of all the world’s evil. The demon must’ve taken the golden apples, then killed the villagers and his brother who tried to stop him, only to disappear. In the aftermath, the relatives of the dead came to bury the human bodies and unidentified dust. Most of them stayed, the journey back being too long and hard to justify going through twice. The generations after didn’t forget the reasons given for their living there or the stories of the demon that feasts on their flaws and fears that will one day come back for them. The world was soon to deny the Tree of Feelings ever existed, despite many future scholars finding the “myth” interesting enough to investigate. But after so many centuries, the townspeople forgot the way to their Tree, and never honored it, having arrived after it was dead and useless.

(When the trio finds it, it becomes a place of worship)

The cult beliefs

I haven’t organized my thoughts very well, but I thought it would be cool for the belief system to be rooted in positivity, though twisted. A kind of “It will get better” mindset, but with the addition of “when all our sorrows are 6000 feet deep”. It’s a guarantee of a kinder world, and one they can achieve with their own actions. The idea is, they can wait until humanity and monsterkind run themselves into the ground, the scars they left on their home and each other invisible thousands of years ahead, buried under new stone and soil, and only then can life begin again- right this time. Or they can end it before the world has to come to that, and choose who gets to make it to the new one.

The mechanics of it are based in an interpretation of the Tree of Feelings.

᯽ They believe that the death of the Tree of Feelings gave the start to a slow decay of their world, and that the entity, guardian, which had caused it has the ability to finish their job. They need a call to come back from slumber.

᯽ They believe that the villagers killed as the Tree was are still roaming the earth as spirits, tainted and disallowed from entering heaven or hell.

᯽ They believe the spirits will be allowed into bodies when life starts again.

᯽ They believe that the event can be repeated, that blood spilt where it had been 300 years ago will be the only way to call out to the dark guardian.

᯽ They believe the guardian will need a body, a lack of which kept them away.

They also believe in fate. Bad things happen for a reason, so make them worth it. No, Horror hadn’t been chased out of his home with his brother by a cruelly calculated famine to feel guilty the rest of his life, he was led to a God who needs his compassion to save the world from itself. No, Dust hadn’t been placed in an asylum and forced into men’s clothes for fun, she was given the strength to do what must be done. No, Killer hadn’t lost all of himself so he could serve some king, he learned thought to overthrow more than monarchy.

(You see how that mindset works if you have unprocessed trauma)

The characters & what’s their deal

So you know how cults all have a charismatic liar to follow? This one has three!

Horror is first because in the story I could but won’t write, he’s the first we get to know. He was the unofficial leader of his rural community, which in the past several years had more and more of its resources taken, and their supplies cut off. They’ve managed small rations for 7 years before the shortage became a famine. Many died giving their limited food to the children, like Papyrus did. Horror couldn’t control that, and he couldn’t live with it. When he got the chance, he left his people without a leader, and took his brother with him. Currently, his contribution to the cult is recruitment and keeping followers in line with his warm and knowing air, his experience giving people hope and giving them confidence to believe what he believes. If you have doubts, you’ll end up by his side, soon newly energised to continue your mission.

Dust had carved out a little life for herself two towns away from her childhood home, after her parents kicked her out a decade ago. She didn’t know they had another child until after they died, and he was sent to live with her. Dust and Papy were a small but happy family for a couple of peaceful years, preceding her many restless months at the asylum. Yes, she ended up “recovering” and was let go back to Papy, but she couldn’t stay recovered for long. And they’d use it against her, they’d take her from her little brother, permanently. So Dust took her deceased parents’ house and moved back. Papy was going to public school again, and Dust was back on the farm, spending her working hours contemplating the life that she dipped into in the madhouse, a life without her baby brother. Her duties in the cult are mostly “blood” rituals and dirty work.

She hikes her skirt to hide stains, since she needs to hike it for work anyway.

I’m not going to write much about Killer, since we should know less, at least at the start. He doesn’t come from a noble family, but ended up serving at the palace as a young man, at some point his job becoming to pour the drinks. When the king died prematurely, and his throne was taken, the new monarch sponsored Killer’s education and many of his trips around the land as a kind of ambassador, but mostly as a scholar. His latest studies led him to the origin town of the myth of the Tree of Feelings, to play a guest to some nobleman who wanted to live farther from politics. He’s the one who first developed his beliefs based on the scriptures and documents and stories he found, and the only one of the three to be able to read them. He preaches the cult, writing & reading out their texts, and knowing the most about the God they pray for.

There’s also Dream and Nightmare (and Blue), but I’m tired, haven’t eaten, and I have too much to talk about, plus this post is too long already…

#I never tag long posts but beware #I know u were joking about unleashing my demons. but that was scarily accurate. #tw transphobia #implied but still #utmv #cult au #the pictures are stuff I already drew u just gave me an excuse to show them btw #<- another proof my sanity hangs on by a thread called ‘utmv cult au but also its in the early 1800s’ #nightmare sans #dreamtale #dreamtale au #horror sans #horrortale #dust sans #dusttale #killer sans #something new #my writing #my art

[husbandohunter]

Boys over flowers [Genshin Impact/Various x Reader] Part 2

Not everything had to be about fighting. Ahem Childe.

Genre: fluff, angst(?)

Characters: Zhongli, Childe, Albedo, Xiao

{Zhongli}

Out of all the bountiful possessions in the land he carved with his very own hands, the glaze lily had always been his favourite.

This flower was a nostalgia stained with time. As much as he loved them, the love he felt was more of a bittersweet sadness if anything. The loss of a friend, his mentor, someone he cherished so deeply, all of it was held into a single glaze lily.

Once as Morax, now as ordinary Zhongli, in those 6000 years he had seen it all. Even his grief for Guizhong faded into a memory.

Sometimes Zhongli felt like he was reading from a story book. Detatched while staring through an omniscient standpoint. It seems that his infinite years brought both experience and lonliness along the way.

"Zhongli? What are you staring at?"

But not when he was with you.

The glaze lily went on many journeys when he met you

He remembers the first encounter on a sunset night just as the petals  were about to bloom. You were there, crouched down, staring into his golden eyes.

“This is for you! Not many can be fully matured like this so make sure to take good care of it,” You held it out to him and he takes the stem out of your hold.

“A parting gift, I appreciate your thoughtfulness,” Zhongli sees it as a sign of a new contract, “It seems you possess a good eye when you were selecting them.”

He remembers the bouquet you presented during his birthday, the garland you placed on his head when he was reading, the vase by his desk always filled to the brim whenever you’d pay a visit to his parlour.

He remembers how the blue petals scattered across the floor the day you two married, everywhere he went so did this flower. Everytime he saw this flower, he thought of you.

Was it okay to feel like this? No one can ever replace Guizhong, was it okay to love again even when this being was much more perishable than she was? Zhongli was use to the experience of tragedy and loss as it was part of life.

Ah, so this must be what it feels like to live like a mortal.

To cherish every passing moment knowing that it won’t last forever. He will embrace it to the end. 

Old memories that were once dust rose from the soil, now reborn into a new beginning. Your curious gaze leans closer to his profile, sitting side-by-side under the blankets of your shared bed, the corners of his lips lift into a small smile.

“I’m only reminiscing, my dear. You don’t need to worry for me.” He kisses your forehead and tucked you to bed. The candle now blown out as his arms wrapped around your waist while spooning from behind.

Zhongli closed his eyes, knowing if he dreamt of a garden full of glaze lilies, there will be no sadness behind it.

{Childe}

Mother fucker would try to turn this into a sparring session.

This is why you NEVER invite Childe. If the valley were the air nomads, Childe was the fire nation. He’d stomp his muddy shoes in front of you just to get your attention simply because he knows it will piss you off.

An angry s/o means a potential fight. Win win situation.

Thus, no one blamed you for giving him a cold shoulder after that.

“Aha, looks like I went a little too far, didn’t I? Alright alright, I’ll stop trampling on your flowers from now on, you have my word. So talk to me, okay? Please?”

Alas you spare him a glance, “Make that a pinky promise.”

He didn’t know you were so serious about gardening. The Feiyun commerce guild took greate pride in cultivating the finest silk flowers in all of Teyvat and you being from that guild held up that legacy. Even if Childe tries to buy back the ones he stepped on, nothing could match the quality of your work.

Needless to say, your little hobby became a normal thing, Childe was very chaotic in nature so something more calm was nice to mediate that attitude. You taught him how to water plants, place the fertilizer and knowing which ones to pick.

But let’s be real, florist Childe isn’t that far-fetched because he is 10/10 waifu material.

Then Teucer comes in and tags along. He wanted to take some silk flowers back to Tonia until Childe informed him they’ll wilt on their way to Snezhnaya. 

“Aww, that’s too bad,” he would say while pouting, “Then I’ll give them to you big sister (Y/n)!”

“How sweet, you’ll be quite the charmer when you’re all grown up, Teucer. Maybe even better than your big brother.”

“Come on now, babe. You know that’s impossible.”

You twirled the silk flower right under your nose, the playful tone never leaving your voice, “Oh really? You and Teucer both share the same genes so yes, it is a possibility.”

An amusing glint dances in the ocean of his gaze as he gleefully remarks, “Well if you put it that way, I think Teucer would be at a very big disadvantage.”

“What do you-”

Before you could finish, Childe covers Teucer’s eyes and leans over to steal a sinful kiss, sliding his tongue inside. He purposely brushed his lips over yours after parting, completely satisfied by your flustered expression.

I love this bastard

{Xiao}

Hip hip hooray for having both Qiqi and Xiao in your party. Must be fun collecting their ascension materials.

“Adeptus Xiao!”

Your dumbass fell off the high cliff while obtaining the violet grass, Xiao yeets in from nowhere and caught you from death’s clutches.

Shall I mention that this had happened TWICE already?

Xiao carries you to safety and gently settles you down to your feet. He shot you the sharpest and most deadpan look he could muster because actions speak louder that words, he was trying to make a point.

You gave him a weary smile as the violetgrass batch limps in your hands along with the qingxins.

“I can hardly fathom how utterly stupid and moronic you can actually be. What did you think would happen when you tried to pull off that stunt? That you’d suddenly grow wings and be able to fly?”

His harsh words put you back into your place like a scolded child, “I’m sorry...I just wanted to help...”

Mah man does not watch what he says and always end up guilty. Your kicked puppy look is really going to be the death of him. He means well, just harsh when it comes to your well-being.

“Fine, give me those. I’ll take care of it.” He wouldn’t allow you to retort, he just took them from your hands and left without a word.

Let’s just say that Xiao isn’t the best when it comes to handling flowers as he would handle monesters, his touch isn’t the most delicate either and would prefer to get the job done fast. 

Sometimes he’d pull the roots our along with it, dirt and mud dripping from the bottom of the stem. Or the opposite. He pulls too hard and the stem just SNAPS and you’re left with just the blossom. 

“Does it matter? They’re only ingredients as you’ve said.”

That gave you a perfect excuse to teach him the ways of gardening and just be more delicate overall. 

At first he didn’t understand why humans were so meticulous about these things but when he saw a man present a bouquet to his wife, Xiao began to reconsider his methods. He doesn’t undersand mortal traditions as much and sticks to something simple and classy.

Don’t be surprised when you find a bunch on your desk for your birthday <3

{Albedo}

The sheer cold of dragon spine could naturally kill any botanical organisms aside from mints. The only flowers Albedo usually sees are the ones he artificially makes.

But being the genius he was, Albedo knew every variety of flowers to exist in the book. In this case, HE was the expert.

To him, the flower was the symbol of life. Albedo only knew the scientific facts of plant life and their natural functions, you on the otherhand were more familiar with the flower languages in a deeper meaning.

Today was a rare day where Albedo figured he’d step out of that freezing lab and conduct his research somewhere warmer, specifically Windrise where it’s quiet and away from the city.

“Dandelions may not be flowers but thei’re the main specialty of Mondstadt carrying the meaning of ‘freedom’! That’s probably how the Acting Grandmaster got her title.”

“Freedom...” He ponders, “I guess you cold say that.”

Albedo can’t understand why people would choose to associate meaning with plants. Where do their ideas come from? And why? Frankly, he can’t see the point in any of it. 

But at the same time, it made him happy to see you so enthusiastic about his research even if it wasn’t quite near the target. Albedo had always been so engrossed in his work and you’d just silently keep him company of the side, not many times where you both fot to nerd out on the same topic.

Emotions were still a mystery to him. It seems that even upon the most boring subjects, they don’t seem boring anymore when talking to his significant other. Soon enough, Albedo found himself putting his research aside and just listening to you talk. 

“And the Rose expresses romance and love. It’s common for lovers to give it to another during Valentines day.”

He hums cheekily, “Are you telling me that just to hint me to give one to you?”

“W-Well, I didn’t say that.”

He got nothing done. Perhaps his research can wait for another day, right now, he was more curious on what other meanings can a flower hold.

#genshin impact #genshin headcanons #genshin impact x reader #genshin imagines #genshin albedo #albedo x reader #genshin childe #childe x reader #genshin zhongli #zhongli x reader #genshin xiao #xiao x reader #nya-writes

[alloftheimaginesblog]

Life Without Colour (PART FOUR)

Soulmate AU: Your vision is in black and white until you meet your soulmate. You and your boyfriend, Steve Rogers, aren’t each others soulmates but you love each other. He introduces you to his friends, the Avengers, and a very odd thing happens.

Characters: Steve Rogers x Plus Size Female Reader, Bucky Barnes x Plus Size Female Reader

Taglist:  @domainoflostsouls​  forgetthisbull  handon-h-art  yourspecialcrush  giulsgotmusic  mrsbarnes-rogers  luosymekawa  linzeyzarcone  forgetthisbull   calamityreads  talgra 

Warnings: this one takes a darker turn; trigger warnings for kidnapping, drugged, threats/slight violence, Hydra, angst

Note: this is over 6000 words, enjoy!! x

PART ONE

PART TWO

PART THREE

PART FOUR

PART FIVE

PART SIX

A few weeks had passed since you first saw colour; a few weeks have passed since you and Steve talked through everything and made peace with Bucky Barnes being your soulmate which mean a few weeks have passed since you last saw or spoke to Bucky Barnes. After your 3am phone call, you hadn’t seen him. You’d told Steve about the phone call when you were both awake the next morning, telling him as much of the conversation as you could remember. He seemed fine with it, knowing about Bucky’s nightmares and erratic sleeping schedule. In fact, he appreciated the gesture that Bucky reached out to ask what you were comfortable with. What Steve appreciated more though was your honesty and the fact you were straight with Bucky and told him that you and Steve were happy together and nothing would change that.

Everything was fine with you and Steve, every issue had been ironed out and in fact, the two of you had never been closer. You were truly grateful for Steve’s forgiveness and now, the guilt had almost fully disappeared. He had helped you to heal that wound and you had helped to heal his wounds with trust; you had proved yourself to be honest and that it was just one slip up. 

Life had been good those few weeks, you spent more time with Nat and got to know about her budding relationship with Bruce. You’d seen the team a bit more than usual as well. No one else - besides Nat and Sam - knew about the soulmate fiasco and truthfully, it wasn’t their business to know anyway. Bucky hadn’t been around much, he’d called Steve a couple of times just to say that he was doing his own thing for a while as per your wishes. Steve was thankful to Bucky for providing that space even if it meant he had only seen his best friend a handful of times since he returned from Wakanda.

Things were good. Until they weren’t.

Steve and the some of the team got dragged to a mission across the country. It was a big one; Hydra were back and trying to infiltrate the systems. Brock Rumlow, or Crossbones as he referred to himself now, was after Steve and he wouldn’t stop until he got him. You didn’t really know what was happening with the mission, Steve was never allowed to tell you a lot about the missions, you just knew that it was a big one and it was dangerous. You hated when Steve was away on a mission; you hated the not knowing part of it all but you supposed it’s what you deserved for falling in love with Captain America.

You didn’t know how serious it was until you had been bringing the groceries into yours and Steve’s apartment and saw four men - three very large, hulking brutes of men - waiting for you. The scream that rose in your throat never found its way out before a gloved hand was forced over your mouth, holding a rag with something strong smelling over your mouth and nose. Brock Rumlow had you pinned in his arms, forcing you to breathe in the chemicals. You tried to fight against him as the fear radiated through your body, trying to put some of those self defence techniques that Natasha had taught you to good use but he was too strong and everything felt fuzzy around the edges. Your eyes were wide as you struggled, trying to escape, trying to scream; trying to do anything that would help to save you. Your heart pounded painfully against your ribcage and you could feel the panic set in when your vision began to blur. You could see the three men approach, weapons in hand but a gruff voice in your ear said, “Stop struggling and we won’t hurt you.” Whether you wanted to stop struggling or not wasn’t up to you but instead, the choice had been taken away and given to the substance that you were breathing in. As the darkness crept in, you heard a faint voice say, “Get Rogers on the phone now.”

Flashes of light, snippets of sound and quick seconds of vision was what you experienced for a few hours as you drifted in and out of consciousness. It wasn’t until a loud bang erupted a few rooms away that you really began to come back to life. Squinting in the low light, you blinked hard, trying to focus on something to figure out where you were. Wherever you were, it was dark and dim and it smelled faintly of the explosion of fireworks on the 5th of November.

You weren’t hurt, your neck ached from the position you’d been in for what you could only assume was the last few hours. You went to move when you realised that your hands and feet were bound. That’s when you really began to wake up. What the fuck? Your memory was hazy but you remembered Rumlow and his goons in your apartment. You pulled at your hands, trying to get loose but the bonds that tied your hands were too tight. Squinting, you looked around the room, it was dark, with a metal door and a few wooden boxes in the corner. You were sitting on a wooden chair, hands and feet bound to the arms and legs of it. 

Your mind thought of Steve, oh god, Steve. You knew this had been Rumlow’s doing, what if he had gotten to Steve? What if- what if he- No. You couldn’t think like that. Steve had been on a mission states away from you. Rumlow had come to you because he obviously couldn’t get to Steve, he was drawing Steve out and you were the bait. Steve’s going to find you, (y/n). He said he’ll always protect you and he’ll keep that promise.

The more you panicked, the more you began to struggle; trying to break free of the ropes. Your breathing was quick and ragged as you struggled, your heart rate increasing with every passing second. Tears welled in your eyes as your mind raced with the horrors of what was going to happen to you. You froze when you could hear grunting outside, it sounded close.

Fear kicked you hard in the stomach, making you feel light headed and nauseous. You’d never been this terrified before. You thought that the most you could be scared was that time a spider ran across the bed when Steve was in a shower and you had to deal with getting it out of the apartment but no, tied to a chair after being drugged and kidnapped with explosions and not knowing what the fuck was going on... yeah, that’s a whole new level of fear. You tried to slow your breathing as you strained to listen to the commotion outside of the room you occupied. You could hear grunts and what sounded like punches before the metal door of the room was thrown open and there stood Sam Wilson. A sob got caught in your throat as you saw him.

He pressed his earpiece as he rushed to you, kneeling to help untie you, “I got her, Steve. Second floor, take a right, fifth door down. She’s okay.”

“Oh my god,” you sobbed as relief flooded your senses, “Oh my god, Sam!”

Sam murmured words of comfort as he worked on the ropes that bounded you to the chair, “It’s okay, they’re not gonna hurt you. We’ve got you now.”

He managed to get the last one untied when Steve ran into the room. He wore his Captain America gear sans the mask and carried the shield. As soon as he saw you, he tossed his shield to the side and rushed to your aid. Sam stepped to the side, picking up the shield and playing around with it as he allowed you two a moment to reunite. He was muttering about how the shield was much lighter than it looked.

“Steve,” you whimpered, throwing your arms around your boyfriend and allowing him to pull you up. He held you tightly, breathing heavy into your neck.

“I’ve got you,” he whispered into your ear, pressing a kiss to your neck, “I’ve got you, sweetheart.”

“Sorry to interrupt but we gotta move,” Sam said after a minute, “before we get any more company.”

“Are you okay to walk?” Steve asks you, pulling you back to look at you, “Are you hurt?”

“I’m okay, I’m okay,” you say, wiping your eyes, “Tired but I can make it.”

The three of you hurry out, Steve tells you not to look at the bodies on the floor but you do and you instantly regret it. “Are they-”

“Knocked out,” Sam says, answering your question before you finish it, “but won’t be for long so we gotta hurry.”

Everything’s a bit of a blur as Steve and Sam usher you out, careful to take you the safest and quickest path. You feel queasy after seeing the blood and the carnage of the few HYDRA men so your eyes are trained to the ground until Steve has you safe and sitting in the quinjet. 

Steve doesn’t let go of you, always touching or holding onto you in some way or another. You’re silent as Sam begins to fly the jet. Steve’s talking to you but you can’t focus on anything other than his hand in yours, “I’m tired,” you whisper, “I’m so tired.” You lay your head on Steve’s shoulder and darkness quickly encapsulates you.

You gasp awake, jolting upwards, “Whoa, (y/n), it’s okay!” A voice says quickly, “You’re okay, you’re safe remember. It’s Steve, sweetheart; it’s Steve. Look at me, (y/n).”

Your mind whirs, the tendrils of the nightmare still creeping around in your brain. Hands on your face force your eyes to stop fleeting from wall to wall and instead focus on the person in front of you. Steve stares at you, telling you that everything’s okay and that you’re safe now. Steve’s hands are on either side of your face as he makes you look at him. You blink hard, as your eyes struggle to focus on him. You hear the rapid beeping of the machine and you register that it’s your measuring your heartrate. His face finally sharpens and you can see him properly now.

“Slow breath in, sweetheart. You’re safe, I promise you. Copy me.” Steve takes a deep breath and you follow suit, trying to calm the rapid beating of your heart. Steve repeats to you that you’re in hospital and you’re safe, “No one can hurt you in here.”

You look away from him after a few seconds to look around you and sure enough, you are in hospital. The walls are pure white, too white and you’re in the hospital bed, “How did I get here?”

“We got you and you passed out again, I took you here just to make sure that whatever drug they gave you was out of your system. It’s leaving so you’ll be okay, sweetheart.” He brushes your hair back, “How are you feeling?”

“I don’t ever want to be an Avenger, I know that’s for damn sure,” you mutter as you close your eyes and fall back against the pillows, “How you guys deal with the fear is beyond me.”

Steve smiles but it’s sad. You open one eye, “What’s wrong?”

He shakes his head, “Don’t worry about it. You get some rest and I’ll be right here, (y/n). I’m not going anywhere. Doctors want to keep you in overnight just to make sure it’s all out your system, okay? I’m going to wait by your side all night and don’t worry, we have agents at every door in the hospital.”

“Rumlow?” You asked him, voice trembling, “Where’s he?” 

“SHIELD are closing in on him, sweetheart,” he sighs, stroking your hair back gently, “Don’t worry... He can’t get you in here.”

As Steve looked over you as you slept, Sam came into the room, “Coffee delivery.” Steve sipped at the hot coffee happily, “How is she?”

“Had a nightmare about it but she’s okay. She’s scared.” Steve’s eyes were trained on you as though we were watching a newborn infant to check its breathing, “God, what if we hadn’t found her in time?”

“But we did and we got her out. She’s safe, Steve.”

Steve shook his head, “But for how long?” He asked as he rubbed his face tiredly with one hand, “How long before Rumlow or HYDRA or someone else targets (y/n) to get to me?”

Sam swallows, “What are you thinking then?”

“She has to go somewhere safe, somewhere away from the chaos and the danger.”

“How long?”

Steve shrugs, “I don’t know... At least until we know all of Rumlow and his men are locked up.”

“You’ll go with her?”

It’s a big decision and he knows that you should be involved in it but he knows exactly what you’ll say; you’ll say that you want to stay with him and stay by his side even if it means living in terror of every bump in the night. He had been reckless, Steve had thought he was untouchable, he thought that you would’ve been safe but Steve underestimated the lengths these sorts of guys go to in order to win.

He shakes his head, hating the decision that he’s about to make but it’s for the best. It’s the only thing he knows that will protect you; it’s the only way he’s happy with you leaving, “No... but I know someone who will.”

Sam shakes his head, knowing exactly who he means and he raises his eyebrows, “You’re kidding, right? That’s a stupid decision, Steve, and you know it.”

Steve scoffs, “I wish... but... he’s strong, he’s good in a fight and I know that he’ll protect her no matter what.”

“But what if... what if they... you know?”

Steve takes a breath and releases it slowly, “Then I’ll deal with that when the time comes. I need to keep (y/n) safe and this is the only way...”

Sam’s hand is heavy on Steve’s shoulder as they watch you, “She’s not gonna like that decision.”

Steve laughs, knowing fine well that you will fight against the decision for all its worth, “Oh, yeah, I know. Probably won’t forgive me in a hurry either.” Steve stands up, “Will you watch her so I can go make a phone call? I’ll just be outside the door if you need me.”

Sam nods, taking Steve’s seat, as Steve grabs his phone from his jacket, dialling one number. He waits outside the room, just across from the two agents that Fury had placed outside of (y/n)’s hospital room 24/7.

“Steve?” He’d been sleeping, the one time Bucky Barnes is getting a decent sleep and his phone rings and wakes him. He always answers when it’s Steve though, regardless of the time or where he is.

“Hey, Buck... I need to ask you a favour.” Bucky asks what Steve needs and Steve begins to tell him, “Rumlow and HYDRA are after me. They kidnapped (y/n), she’s okay, in hospital but no injuries. She’s shaken up pretty bad and... Bucky, this is going to be a big ask.”

“Whatever you need, Steve, I’ll do.” He’s sitting, tugging a shirt on with one arm,  “What do you need?” Bucky Barnes would go to the ends of the Earth for Steve Rogers and he knows that whatever Steve needs, it’s something big.

“I need you to take her to a safe house.” Bucky freezes, he had expected Steve to ask him to come help for extra protection or something like that but this... this is huge, “I need you to take her. I don’t know how long for, a few weeks maybe months? No one else, it can only be you.”

“But... Steve...” He doesn’t say much but Steve knows what he’s saying. But Steve, I’m your girlfriend’s soulmate and you’re asking for me to take her into a secluded house alone? Just the two of us for god knows how long? Are you sure that’s a good idea?

Steve sighs heavily, “I know, Buck.” His tone almost sounds defeated, “I know... We were finally back on track and the universe hits out with this... I just need her to be safe, Buck, regardless of who he soulmate is or who she ends up falling in love with; I want her to be happy and I want her to be safe.”

“Why can’t you go?”

“They’re after me, I can’t let you or Sam or the team pick up my mess. I have to deal with it. That’s why I need you to go with her. You’re just as strong as me and... I know that you’ll keep her safe. I know that whatever happens, you’ll do everything you can to protect her... I need you to take her until we have Hydra locked up.”

Bucky licks his lips as he thinks about it. He doesn’t really know how to feel about it but he doesn’t really have to, Steve needs him and he’d follow that scrawny kid into the depths of hell if it mean he’d be helping him, “Okay, I’ll help. I’ll need a few days to find a safe house and get it prepped then I’ll fly out, okay?” He agrees to Steve’s ask though he has a niggling feeling in the back of his mind that all of this won’t go to plan. 

“Thank you, Bucky.” Steve closes his eyes as he leans against the wall, “You can’t tell me or anyone else where you’re going or where you’re taking her. I probably won’t be able to contact you so-” I’m leaving you with my girl alone with no contact from me or the team for weeks or months potentially, “- you gotta keep her safe. I’ve got some cash together for you to buy everything with that so you’re untraceable. Fury’s giving us more cash since we don’t know how long you’ll be away for.”

Bucky swears on his own life that he’d protect you with everything he has. Before Steve hangs up, Bucky says, “Steve, I just want you to know that no matter what happens... no matter what feelings arise... I won’t- I won’t do anything, I won’t act on anything, I won’t try and do anything about them...”

It’s the reassurance Steve needs and he feels a lot lighter now that Bucky’s said that. He smiles as he release a long breath, “I know you won’t, Bucky. I’ll see you soon.” Steve hangs up and walks back into the hospital room where Sam has Marvin Gaye playing quietly on his phone, “Do you just play Marvin Gaye to anyone in a hospital?”

Sam rolls his eyes, “It was too quiet, man! How did it go?”

“He’s onboard.”

Sam claps him on the shoulder, “You sure this is what you want? You know that I could take her or you could and I could hold the fort?”

Steve sighs, “It has to be him.” He shrugs, “I... I can only hope that nothing happens but god knows... All I know is that she’ll be okay with him.” The pair look over you as Steve’s thoughts swirl. This might be one of the last times you’re together in a romantic sense, he doesn’t know if you’ll come back loving Bucky or hating him and it makes him feel sick at the thought but he’s okay with it. He wants you to be happy and if that means it’s with Buck, then so be it.

“Absolutely not.”

“(y/n), come on-”

“No, Steve!” Your voice is raising due to the sheer stupidity of his request, “You’re saying that because you’re being targeted that means I’m a target too, I understand that, but what I don’t understand is why you’re asking me to go live in a safe house with Bucky for god knows how long! He’s my soulmate, Steve, I- I can’t.”

“The plans have already been made.”

“Then unmake them!” You’re angry and he gets it and to be honest, he doesn’t want this to happen either but it has to. He’d told you the next morning when the drugs were completely out of your system. Sam was back at the apartment checking for bugs, just in case Rumlow’s gang planted some when they were in and then he’d take you back to the apartment for you to pack a bag, “I’m not going Steve.”

“Yes, you are.” He crosses his arms over his chest and looks at you with a furrowed brow. He understands that you’re an adult who can decide their own fate but Steve is choosing this one for you, “You might not understand right now but when you come out the other end of this safe then I hope you’ll understand then.”

You shake your head as tears threaten to fall. You’re angry at Steve, that he made this decision and you knew you would be going no matter what fight you put up. It annoyed you, made you feel small and made you feel like a child who couldn’t make their own decisions, “Not without you, Steve. Why can’t it be you?”

“I’m trying to keep the fight away from you,” he says softly, hand on top of yours, “Bucky’s the only way you’ll be kept safe.” Silence falls for a moment before he speaks again, “I know what this means. I know what this could mean for... for us. I know that you could come back in love with Bucky and he for you. I know that you could come back and break up with me on the spot... That’s a risk I am willing to take.”

You shake your head, “No,” you whisper, “I’m not willing to take that risk, Steve.” You could trust yourself, that wasn’t the issue. You knew that no matter what, you wouldn’t do anything to jeopardise your relationship with Steve. But... you and Bucky were soulmates and that had to be for a reason and it worried you that being alone with him for an unlimited amount of time would cause something to stir. You trusted yourself not to cheat on Steve but you didn’t trust your heart not to hurt Steve.

Steve crouched down beside the hospital bed and lifted your hand to his lips, “I know, sweetheart,” tears burned at his own eyes as he spoke to you, “I know the risk. I know that you could come back and we could break up instantly and if you want, we could break up right now so that whatever happens, you wouldn’t have to feel guilty about it-”

You swung your legs out of the bed, throwing your arms around him, “No,” you wept sadly into his shoulder, “that’s the last thing I want.”

He held you tightly, knowing that this very well could be one of the last times that the two of you had together in a relationship, “I’m doing this because I want to protect you, (y/n)… Bucky can protect you.”

“I-I love you, Steve,” you whispered, pressing a soft kiss to his neck. My god, how you loved him. He had changed your life, brought so much joy and happiness to it, “No matter what, I love you.” The two of you stayed like that for a long time, just needing to feel each other and needing to be with each other because... who knew what would happen over the course of the next few months?

With doctors granting you permission to leave the hospital and after having Sam debug the apartment, Steve took you home for your last night with him. The car ride to the apartment was quiet and your hand never left Steve’s as he drove you both home. You had relented with the decision, knowing full well that regardless of whether you said yes or no to leaving with Bucky, you would be going anyway. You and Steve had talked things over, about Steve’s duty to the job and to taking down Hydra, about Bucky and how he wasn’t going to overstep a line with you or anything like that. The pair of you spoke about the non-existent contact you’d have.

“Hopefully it won’t be too long,” Steve said, “maybe just a few weeks but these days, Hydra is everywhere and nowhere all in the one, it could be months. Bucky managed to find a safe house relatively quick. For obvious reasons, I don’t know where it is or what continent it’s on but he said that it’s secluded and it’s safe. He said that it comes with minimal furniture so tomorrow morning, you’ll leave.” You squeezed his hand tightly, not wanting to speak for fear of bursting into tears. Steve glanced over at you and gave you the tiniest of smiles. He lifted your hand and pressed a soft kiss to it.

When you reached the apartment complex, there were three black SUVs parked out front, Steve saw you looking, “SHIELD agents,” he told you, “We’ll have agents outside the apartment and one in each of our neighbour’s apartments.”

“Jeez,” you murmured, “I’m only here for one night, it’s like I’m a bloody Kardashian.”

Steve smiled slightly, glad to hear you make a joke, he wrapped an arm around you as you walked into the building, “Only the best for you, my love.”

You were rather apprehensive about going back into the apartment. It had been yours and Steve’s safe place and now... it seemed compromised almost. Steve seemed to pick up on your worry, “Don’t worry, sweetheart,” he said as he took the keys out of his pocket, “It’s been cleaned, debugged and also...” He unlocked the door to reveal red rose petals running from the front door into each room.

“Steve,” you whispered, looking at him with a smile. You walked into the apartment, hanging your coat up and kicking your shoes off. You followed the petals into the kitchen where there was a candlelit dinner waiting for the two of you.

“It’s not much but I had Nat come round and make it special since it’s our last night together.” Note; ‘last night together’ is different from ‘last night together for a while’. A pang of sadness shot through you, you leaned up to kiss him softly, whispering that you loved it.

“There’s a bath waiting for you if you want it. Some Chinese takeout if you’re hungry.”

You hugged him tightly, “Just hold me for a while.” So, the pair of you stood in the kitchen, holding each other in the dim light not knowing what would happen next. 

It was a few minutes later Steve tugged you to the kitchen table where you both sat down, “You remember our first night here?” He asked you as he handed you some take out cartons and began to eat.

You stifled a laugh, “Yeah, no electricity for three days and no hot water either!”

Steve laughed with you, taking a fork full of chow mein, “Yeah, having to eat Chinese take out on the floor with torches and candles all around us. Could’ve cried when the electricity finally turned on.”

You rolled your eyes, “You could have cried?! What the hell, Rogers? You teared up like you were watching your first born son marry!” 

The ice had been broken and the two of you could freely talk and laugh without boundaries. You both carried on as though it were a normal night, a date night with no mention As the night went on, you had a nice romantic bath as Steve cleaned the dishes and when you were finished, things ended in the bedroom.

You always loved laying on his chest, listening to the slow rhythmic beat of his heart and his steady breathing. Most people, if they knew it was their last night with someone would probably fuck until dawn but neither of you wanted that. You wanted nothing more than to lie with him, talking and just being there and being present. Steve wanted to hold you, wanted to tell you how much he cared and loved you and he just wanted to be with you.

“Whatever happens,” you said softly, “I just want you to know that this was real; this is real - that although we’re technically not soulmates, I truly believe that we are.”

Steve pulled you tighter into him, pressing a kiss to your forehead, “I want you to know,” he said, “that no matter what feelings you start to have for Bucky, no matter how you feel towards me in the end up... I won’t blame you. I won’t expect you to love me like this on the other side. I won’t expect you to still want to be with me. I know that I’m forcing you into this situation and that kills me to do but I have to do it so whatever happens, it’s not your fault.”

You look up to him as you both whisper your confessions of undying love before kissing him gently. It’s a soft kiss, full of emotion and full of such sorrow. It’s a goodbye. You would say goodbye officially tomorrow but this was the real goodbye, this was the intimate goodbye, the letting go of the intertwined hearts and this was it. The kiss soon turned more passionate and then the two of you were confessing your love in the most intimate of ways.

“How are you feeling about all of this?” Natasha asked you as she sat on yours and Steve’s bed. You were in the process of packing your bags.

“I feel like I’m perpetually on the verge of tears,” you answered, as you folded some t-shirts and squeezed them into the bag, “It’s hard, you know? I understand why but my god, Nat, I hate this.”

Nat studied you carefully and you knew the question that was on her mind. What if you fall for Barnes? To be honest, it had been the question on everyone’s mind that morning.

“I’m shit scared,” you admitted to her, dropping the bag onto the bed beside her as you ran your hands through your hair, “I am terrified. I am so in love with Steve and what if I come back madly in love with Bucky? Or better yet, in love with the two of them?”

Nat stood up, placing a gentle hand on your arm, “Hey, whatever happens, it’s going to be okay. You can’t stress about something that might not even happen. You have to take it day by day and if you fall for him then so be it. If you don’t, great. If you’re in love with the two of them then that’s something you and Steve have to talk about and sort out when you’re back. Don’t stress about it now.” She pulled you in for a tight hug, a very un-Nat thing to do, “Just know that I’ll be helping Steve sort out the Hydra mess, I’ll keep his ass safe and in line and hopefully it won’t be too long before you’re allowed to come home.”

“Thanks, Nat.” The two of you pulled apart, “You’ll need to keep a diary or something to update me on everything I’ll miss... especially with you and a certain Dr Banner.” You placed your phone on top of the counter, you couldn’t take it for fear of tracking so there was no point in having it. You sighed as you placed it down.

Nat rolled her eyes, “Yeah right. Let’s get this wig sorted.”

The Avengers were never too good at disguises, it usually always consisted of sunglasses and a cap so, in order to hide your identity further, Nat had brought you a wig the opposite colour, cut and style to your hair just now and some contact lenses of a different colour to your natural eye colour.

After a few minutes, you looked in the mirror, staring at someone who looked like a stranger, “Oh god, I hate it.” The top you wore wasn’t at all flattering for your body type. You tugged it down, wishing that it wasn’t quite so figure hugging. You didn’t mind things that clung to your body, you’d worked through a lot of the body issues you had but the top was a horrid colour and paired with this hair and these contacts... you didn’t feel like a Kardashian anymore. 

Nat laughed, “That means it works. Honestly, you look fine, stop worrying... Let’s go show the boys.”

You walked into the living room with your packed bags to see Sam and Steve standing talking. Steve smiled when he looked at you, “You look... interesting.”

“Shut it, Rogers.”

“I mean, it definitely works because I look at you and I don’t see (y/n), I see a complete stranger,” Sam offered.

“You ready?” Steve asked softly, taking the bags from you, “Got everything?” You nodded, murmuring a ‘think so’. He smiled and pulled an envelope out of his back pocket, “I wrote this letter this morning. I want you to read it when it’s time...” Your confused expression made him explain further, “I want you to read this letter when you start to feel things... things for Bucky. If that happens.” You took a breath, mind whirring with the possible things that could be in that letter,  “You’ll know when to read it.”

It was then that there was a knock on the door. Sam answered it to see Bucky Barnes standing wearing a cap and, you guessed it, sunglasses. He wore leather gloves to cover his metal hand and carried a bag over his shoulder. He lifted the sunglasses to look at you, “Ready?”

Oh god, it’s happening.

“I don’t want to cry because I’m scared of the contact lenses,” you whimpered as tears threatened to fall. You hugged Nat and Sam, thanking them for their help, before Steve said that he’d walk out with you both. He picked up your bags and the three of you left the apartment to the black car that was outside. Bucky packed the three bags in the trunk before hugging Steve.

You couldn’t hear what the two of them said in the brief encounter but you supposed that it would be Bucky reassuring Steve that you’d be safe and that he wouldn’t act on any feelings that may grow. Steve clapped him on the shoulder and Bucky got into the driver’s seat of the car.

Steve turned to you and wrapped you in his arms. God, you just wanted to cry. You wished that you didn’t have to go, you wished that you could just stay with him but you couldn’t. You had to leave. They’d already gotten to you once and Steve wouldn’t dare let it happen again.

“I love you,” you told him softly, “I love you so much, Steve. I-I love you.”

He held you tighter, “I love you, sweetheart. Everything’s going to be okay. I’ll get this sorted so that you can come home to me.” You pulled back and he brushed your cheek, wiping your tear gently, “No matter what happens, it’s okay.” You hugged him again before he leaned down and kissed you softly. Bucky, who had been watching in the rear view mirror, looked away, “Goodbye, (y/n).”

“Goodbye, Steve.” He opened your car door and you slid inside.

“Thank you, Buck,” Steve said, clearing his throat, “Be safe.” He closed the door and Bucky started the engine, pulling out of the apartment complex. Your eyes were trained on the spot where Steve was, watching as he got smaller and smaller until you couldn’t see him anymore. It was only when he was out of sight that you allowed yourself to really break. Fuck the contact lenses, I’m too sad to care. 

Bucky glanced at you as he drove, feeling a pang of sadness for you as you wept in the seat beside him. He knew that part of the reason you were so upset was because it was him that was taking you, had he not been your soulmate you would have probably been okay but because he was your soulmate, it filled you to the brim with worry, guilt and pure sadness. All he could do was drive. Nothing he could say could help you. He reached to his side, taking a pack of tissues from the door’s compartment before handing them to you.

“Thank you,” you whispered, taking them from him. He couldn’t do much to help but he had done enough to make you feel comforted and to make you feel as though you weren’t alone. You wiped your eyes as you stared out of the window, wondering where the next few weeks would take you.

#lwc #life without colour #steve rogers x reader x bucky barnes #steve rogers #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x plus size reader #bucky barnes x reader #steve rogers x plus size reader #steve rogers x reader #reader insert #plus size reader #steve rogers/reader/bucky barnes #marvel #soulmate au #avengers #reader #steve rogers/reader #bucky barnes/reader

[nomazee]

Komorebi (6)

komorebi, final.

synopsis: Tsukishima dislikes the amount of parallels there are with you and Hinata. He dislikes the way you’re so energetic and exuberant when you want to be, and the way you can get along so well with people. He dislikes the way that people are naturally drawn to you, and the way you’re so willing to put time into your dumb gifts and snacks and treats for a team of boys you barely know. But Tsukishima does not dislike you. And he supposes that’s part of the problem.

series content: developing relationship, (sort of) ooc tsukishima, strangers to (sort of) friends to lovers, angst, fluff, slow burn

part one | part two | part three | part four | part five | part six

(the final part!! i don’t wanna ramble too much for right now so all of my final thoughts will be at the end! 

love yall :) )

☾.:°∗★.:☆:.★∗°:.☽ 

Just like that, Tsukishima is back to square one. 

The world goes silent for a few days. He hates to admit that he’s losing sleep over you, but at this point he’s too far gone to care what anyone thinks about him. Except for you--and while he knows that assuming things is bad, he can only conclude by the way you looked so scared of him before, that you do not think he’s a good person. 

(The gifts you gave him nearly contradict that assumption. But he ignores those for the most part. The scarf you gave him a while ago rests on a chair in his room and more often than not he finds himself staring at it during the deep hours of the night. He hasn’t worn it yet.)

Yamaguchi keeps giving him glances during class--not that that’s any different from before, but it irks him more now that he’s actually seen you. The blonde wonders if his friend knew about you, knew that you were going to drop something off in that moment and just never thought to warn him. Maybe you two were plotting that together, like an odd sort of revenge tactic. 

He doesn’t know. He doesn’t know a lot of things. What he does know is that he’s tired, and he misses you, and he wants to be warm again. 

The morning is cold when we wakes up. He wasn’t really sleeping--it was one of those nights of a daze of exhaustion where he kept blinking himself awake. At five-thirty AM, he sighs, staring at the blank, matte wall of his ceiling. Tsukishima wills himself to crawl out of his bed and get ready for school. It’s still dark outside, the flames of daylight creeping up on the horizon while he steps around his room. 

He’s ready to leave by six. His mother is awake, sitting in the kitchen sipping hot tea and scrolling through her cellphone. She catches a glimpse of her son walking through the front door--Tsukishima feels her pensive gaze on him but refuses to say anything, just like always. 

The air is cold. Despite the long-sleeved uniform he’s wearing, Tsukishima feels ill-prepared to face the day, in more than one way. Nevertheless, he lets go of his reluctance at the door and trudges onward in the frigid air, nose flushed with red and cheeks going numb in a matter of seconds. 

(The scarf is in his bag now rather than his desk chair, hidden beneath his books and folders and pencils. He wants to wear it, knows he should, but his guilty conscious tells him to leave it unworn for now.) 

The walk passes by quickly, far too quickly for his comfort. Before Tsukishima knows it, he’s faced with the front doors of the very school he dreads to enter. 

His fingers tingle with numbness as he pulls at the metal handles of the door. The school is quiet, empty for the most part. The faint shuffle of teachers in their classrooms echoes throughout the halls as his feet lead him to Class 1-4. 

There’s a faint pitter-patter of footsteps from inside the classroom. Tsukishima passes it off as one of his teachers, again, but the sight he’s met with when he walks through the doorway gives him a disturbing sense of deja vu. 

You’re there, at his desk--the same bracelet from a few days ago resting on top of a box that  you seem to have just placed on his desk. You blink up at him owlishly. He can only return the gesture, dumbstruck as he is. 

It’s too reminiscent of the events from a few days ago. Once again, his eyes are prickling with stinging pain and his throat dries up. 

He doesn’t know what to say. He doesn’t know what to do.

What does he know, he wonders. He knows he hates crying. It’s unfortunate that that’s the only thing he seems capable of doing. 

It’s all overwhelming for him. The cold of the outside lingering on his skin, the sheets of sunlight pouring through the window as the sun rises, your eyes, your sheer presence in front of him. It piles on his shoulder and soon he feels liquid heat pouring down his cheeks. 

Tsukishima Kei is crying. In front of you, in a classroom, watching you grip the box in your hands and stare at him, unmoving. 

His throat hurts. He tries to choke down any audible sobs, but loud, ugly sniffles echo throughout the room. He wants to fall through the floor, squeezes his eyes shut so he doesn’t have to look at you. He can’t bear to know that you find him pathetic, even more so than he already seemed in the last few weeks. 

Distantly, he recognizes the sound of footsteps coming closer to him but tunes them out in hopes that he’s just imagining them. A hand finds its way to his shoulder--it’s warm, and he flinches. He knows it’s yours, knows by the heat of it and the comfort he feels from a simple touch. It’s the first time he’s felt your touch, but he feels so light now--so warm and comfortable and cloudy. 

“Kei.” It’s your voice. It swims through the air and into his ears, sobs only increasing in severity at the sound of his first name on your lips. Your other hand comes to rest on his cheek, both sets of fingers gently brushing away the pouring stream. 

Fond. Tsukishima Kei is very fond of the feeling of your skin on his. He hopes he can become well-acquainted with it, if he tries hard enough. 

“Kei, it’s okay.” You’re so soft, voice low and lacking any hostility he expected you to have. Your thumbs pat at his under eyes, soaking up the wetness that pools. 

“Can you look at me?” He’s stubborn, hand coming up to grip your wrist and lips clamped tightly shut to reduce the shiver of his entire body as he weeps. A gentle shake of his head makes you sigh--he knows the way he’s acting is so uncharacteristic but he can’t help it. Not with the feel of your hands on his face, your voice, the sound of his first name spoken by you still ringing in his ears. 

“It’s okay. It’s alright. I’m here.” 

You are here. It seems impossible to him, but you’re here. With him. With your hands giving him warmth and comfort and fondness. Everything he ever wanted. 

His eyes blink open. Tsukishima Kei looks at you--really looks. Your lips are upturned, gentle as is the rest of you. The sun is halfway above the horizon now, the light from it filtering through the leaves of the trees that are planted outside the window. The golden rays hit your eyes perfectly, changing the hue the slightest bit and making him stop his tears momentarily--just to admire you. 

You blink at him. You smile. Tsukishima Kei is in love, just a little bit.

☾.:°∗★.:☆:.★∗°:.☽

(so... this has been a wild ride. 

first off i wanna say thank you for all the support i’ve received throughout this whole thing! it really means so much to me. i love you all so much. 

im very proud of myself for finishing this. this is by no means the greatest product i could’ve created--it was a little bit messy, and the word count of the entire series (ab 6000 i think) is lower than some long oneshots i’ve seen.

there’s a lot of things i could’ve done better--no doubt about that. but i am very proud of myself for making this. for finishing a WHOLE multipart series,,,,yes it was short but......its here! i did it! i’m finished! very happy with this. 

this series was mainly set in tsukishima’s own head--and i know it was probably at least a little disappointing that it was NOT action-based---and the fact that it was tsukki-centric was definitely a downer to some people because you didnt really get to feel what.... YOU would feel in that situation. we didnt get to see that here. 

and its okay if that’s what you disliked most!!! in truth i think that was one of my biggest weaknesses writing this series. but i liked it this way, i think. i like trying to analyze characters within my writing and i think that, at the very least, this was a good challenge for me to try to take on with characterization and the like.

anyways....that’s it i think! thank you so much for supporting me, really. i’m very thankful for everyone whose liked or reblogged any of the parts to komorebi. you are all incredible i love you. <3) 

(pssst!!! i’ll be talking about my 200 follower event soon. if you wanna participate, be on the lookout for that!!)

#haikyuu x reader #haikyuu x you #hq x reader #hq x you #tsukishima x reader #tsukishima x you #tsukishima kei x reader #tsukishima kei x you #kei x reader #kei x you #kei tsukishima x reader #kei tsukishima x you #tsukki x reader #tsukki x you #haikyuu fanfiction #haikyuu oneshot #tsukishima fanfiction

[shhhlikeme]

Hi there!! Welcome to the writing committee! I just wanted to say you’re so beautiful and i love what you’re doing so far! Here’s a request for you, maybe with Bokuto where him and his girlfriend sneak out for a late night snack. Thank you so much and keep it up 😊

Thank you so much babe it means a lot! 😘 Bokuto is a jewel omg. Hope this suffices!

————————————————

Bokuto & Operation: ‘Sneak My Girlfriend Out of Her Strict Parents House for Late Night Snacks’

Bokuto x Reader

——————————————

“So, your code name is ‘Sexy Thighs’. And mine is ‘Thigh Guy 6000.’” Your boyfriend Bokuto whispered seriously. He easily lifted you through your ground-floor bedroom window to join him outside.

Your heart was racing due to the slight adrenaline rush. You clung to his strong arms until your feet met the ground of your backyard. You turned and stuck an arm through your window so you could cover the open space with a pillow. You had to leave the window open so you could crawl back in upon return.

“I agreed to sneak out but I draw the line at cheesy code names—“ You whispered back to him. You dusted off your outfit and finally looked up at your sulking boyfriend. Immediately, you caved.

“Fine. We can use code names.” You whispered.

A wide smile crept up on his face and he lifted both of his arms in the air in triumph. “HEY! HEY! HEY! Operation: ‘Sneak My Girlfriend Out of Her Strict Parents House for Late Night Snacks’ has officially commenced!”

“Shhhhhhhhhhh!” You swatted your boyfriend on the arm when he whisper-yelled his famous battle cry, glaring at him to quiet down.

You loved him, but he was sooooo loud all the time sometimes.

Bokuto nodded and grabbed your hand. Holding it tightly, he crouched down by the side of your window as he motioned for you to crouch down too.

Humouring him, you did. You followed him as he glued the side of his body to the side of your house and stealthily tip toed over to the end of the brick.

“I’m going to check if the coast is clear, and on my word we make a run for it. Got it?”

You stared up at your boyfriend in the dark and only now realized he was decked out in all black, including a black beanie that covered his familiar grey and black hair. God he’s dramatic. But you had to admit he looked super cute since his handsome face stood out more without the visuals of his unique hair. You gave him a nod letting him know you were listening to him. ‘Go.’ You mouthed.

Bokuto proceeded to peer around the corner like he was in a Spy Kids movie. He leaned slightly to check but he must have seen something because he quietly gasped and whipped his body back behind the wall. He shut his eyes in fear. In an instant, his arm jutted out in front of you like a shield, pushing you flesh against the wall too in an act of protection. You panicked.

“What?!” You whisper-yelled. “What is it Bokuto?! Do you see someone???” Your life flashed before your eyes because if your mom or dad caught you sneaking out you were DEAD dead. Bokuto didn’t respond.

“Bokuto! Who is there???”

Your boyfriend stuck his nose up in the air, turning away from you in a dismissive pout. He was purposely ignoring you.

You sighed in exasperation, pinching your nose and closing your eyes. “Boku—“

“That’s not my name.” He snapped in a whisper. He shook his head childishly.

You grit your teeth together to keep yourself from stomping on his foot. “Okay. I’m sorry, Bokut—I mean: Thigh Guy three thousand–“

“Six thousand!” He corrected you.

“Thigh Guy 6000.”

You watched Bokuto’s pout transform into an ecstatic smile. You continued. “Did you see someone over there?”

He looked down at you. “Oh.....no. I was just practicing my protection pose in case I did.”

You swat him harder on the arm than the last time and he winced.

“You know, for such a small chick you are really strong.” He rubbed where you hit him.

“Poor baby.” You whispered sarcastically. “And can I just add that you don’t need to practice a protection pose for me— if my parents really were there it’s you that would need to run for your life.”

Bokuto chuckled quietly. “Sexy Thighs, need I remind you that I’m one of the Top 5 Ace’s in the Country? I think I can handle a little dash of strict parents.....”

You rolled your eyes at your conceited boy even though he couldn’t see it in the dark at 1:30am.

You watched as he peered over the edge of your house again.

“The coast is clear, Sexy Thighs. We ride east at 0600 hours.”

“We’re going west, and that’s not how military time work—“

Your boyfriend interrupted you. “Let me live, will you?! Let’s go.”

Operation: ‘Sneak My Girlfriend Out of Her Strict Parents House for Late Night Snacks’ phase one: Escape was a success ✅

You and Bokuto were able to walk downtown easily in the cool night. Summer was transitioning to fall so it wasn’t cold enough for a jacket, but it definitely wasn’t warm enough for a t-shirt. Your boyfriend looked very attractive in a his hoodie, shorts and beanie while you settled for a skin tight blue thermal zip-up, and black lululemons.

Bokuto loved when you wore leggings for obvious reasons.... and he couldn’t resist smacking your ass a dozen or so times in the 15 minute walk downtown.

Barely anyone was on the street on your peaceful night walk

You both loved it. The night sky, the quiet, the fact that you felt safe pressed against your man and he felt elated whenever he got to see his girlfriend outside of your parents’ strict ‘boyfriend time’ hours

Once you both got downtown it was flooding with College Student’s leaving the bars. It was very loud and bustling

Bokuto anxiously looked around to check if the coast was clear and you were far enough from your house so he could,

“Hey! Hey! Heeeey!” He exclaimed to no one in particular. People looked at the crazy boy screaming and you put your head down from embarrassment. “Man.” He smiled. “I hated whispering that before. So I had to.”

Bokuto took your hand in his again and pulled you in the direction of the food stands.

On the way, unfortunately, you were cat-called and whistled at quite a bit by obnoxious drunk college boys leaving the clubs

Bokuto gripped your hand tighter

He wanted to rip their faces off but he knew he couldn’t risk going to jail tonight or getting you caught by your parents

He just held you closer to him and shot death glares at the guys who backed off

You loved him omg

Past the clubs, Bokuto practically skipped to a stop in a food truck line. He was smiling again and you couldn’t help but smile too

His energy was so infectious

You asked him what food you two were getting and he just told you it was a surprise and to trust the process

Bokuto was so happy to be with you he could barely contain himself. He was bursting at the seams at the fact that you actually agreed to sneak out with him. His parents were the opposite of yours and it was hard to date you when yours had such strong restrictions but he would do anything if it meant spending time with you.

In the line, he leaned down to pick you up so you both were face-to-face

“I love you, Sexy Thighs. Y’know that right?”

You squealed when he picked you up but melted at his words. You kissed his nose.

“I love you more..” You smiled.

“You love me more, what?” He waited.

“I love you more, Thigh Guy 6000. Now put me down.”

He didn’t listen to you and kept you propped up in his arms as the line started moving forward. He loved having you flushed against him like this. The guys that were cat calling you would know that you were his, and It also gave him a handful of your amazing ass.

To bystanders, the public display of affection wasn’t even that odd — you two just looked like a young couple that are very much in love

Which is true

You rested your head in the crook of your boyfriends warm neck. As much as you hated when he showed a mass amount of PDA, you were so comfortable and happy in his arms. You nuzzled into the neck and absentmindedly placed soft kisses there.

“Sexy Thighs....” Bokuto warned, holding back a groan. “You know what that does to me....”

you pulled your lips away from his neck.

“Sorry. Habit.”

Now at the front of the food stand line, Bokuto used his one strong arm to support your weight and used the other to point to the menu. You could hear him ordering

“Can we please get a number 2, a number 8, another number 2, and a number 11. Oh, and two hot chocolates please. One with extra marshmallows.”

You smiled. You’ve only mentioned that once in passing and he remembered you were a simp for hot chocolate with extra marshmallows.

He paid. 5 minutes later you heard who must be the food truck worker say,

“Here you go sir.”

Bokuto reluctantly had to put you down to collect his order.

You saw him thank the worker exuberantly and drop a great tip into the the tip jar. The worker thanked him profusely.

That’s one thing you loved about your boyfriend—his attitude was literally addicting and it spread to anyone he was near

He took your hand again and walked you to the river that was close to downtown. You noted that there were other couples here, holding hands, stargazing and talking. Bokuto found an empty bench and you both sat down

“Babe, you cold? You want my sweater?”

You shook your head. You felt absolutely fine and the hot chocolate made you feel even better. He was such a softie, always worried about you. It made you feel like royalty, honestly.

“I’m perfect.”

He smiled before unpacking the bag of late night snacks. You looked down at everything that was displayed in front of you.

You saw churros, deep friend oreo, a deep fried mars bar and caramel corn. Your favourites.

You smiled at him before leaping up to hug him. He chuckled again and ran a hand down your back.

“We don’t have a lot of time, Sexy Thighs. Your parents usually check on you at some point so we should hurry.”

Nodding, you kissed his cheek and turned your attention back to the snacks. You fed eachother and ate as much as you could until the sweets were too much.

You thanked your heaven sent bf again as you threw out all the leftovers.

You were on cloud nine it was an amazing date !!!!

Well, most of it. Bokuto tried feeding the churros to the birds who would not eat it lol

When you realized it was almost 3am the two of you rushed back to your house

Bokuto almost immediately went back into Spy Kids mode and even did a front roll to land in front of your bedroom window again.

You clasped a hand over your mouth so no one could hear you giggle.

Bokuto looked backs at you expectantly.

Knowing what he was silently asking for, you threw caution and your dignity to the wind and copied his somersault to land beside him

You beamed at eachother before Bokuto fixed your disheveled hair and leaned in kiss you—

Suddenly you were interrupted by hearing your bedroom door swing open

The two of you froze in terror as you listened to your fathers voice from outside of the bedroom window

He sounded like it was speaking from your door entryway

You both covered each other’s mouths with your hands.

“She’s dead asleep, honey.” Muttered your father tiredly. “She has the covers over her entire body like she used to do when she was a kid. She must be really tired.”

Then you heard the click of your door that signalled it was closed again.

Since you couldn’t move, Bokuto checked for you. He sighed in relief and only then did you let out the breath you’ve been holding in.

“Sexy Thighs, you are brilliant. How did you think to put pillows in your place on the bed?”

You told him you saw it in a movie and he looked at you like you were a superstar

Bokuto helped you back up into your window silently

You thanked him and you both leaned through the opening to kiss eachother goodnight.

“So I guess Operation: ‘Sneak My Girlfriend Out of Her Strict Parents House for Late Night Snacks’ was a success, huh?” He whispered onto your lips, leaning in for another kiss. He really didn’t want to leave. “I can’t wait until we move into together, Y/N. We could do this all the time.”

You smiled lovingly, kissing your boyfriends nose again. “I can’t wait either. And I also can’t wait until your next mission, Mr. Sexy Thighs 6000.”

Bokuto’s eyes lit up. “Really? Have I corrupted you?” He smirked when you mouthed ‘maybe.’

“Well I’m glad to hear that you don’t mind being my partner in crime because my next mission is called Operation: Send Your Boyfriend a Booty Pic in your Panties Because He Loves Those Leggings on You And He Wants To—“

You interrupt him with one more chaste kiss. “Goodnight, Bokuto.”

As you shut the window you can hear your boyfriend whisper-yell: “You know if you want to keep calling me ‘Sexy Thighs 6000’ I won’t complain!”

You blew a kiss his way and waved to your boyfriend through the window before shooing him away.

He salutes and you laugh as you watch him stealthily somersault out of your view.

#bokuto x reader #bokuto #bokuto xy/n #bokuto kotaro #fukurodani #haikyu #haikyu requests #haikyuu requests #haikyuu boys #daily haikyuu #fem reader #haikyuu fluff #bokuto fluff #fluff

[thefatedthoughtofyou]

Soft

(((i've wanted to write something like this for awhile. and i ranted to a friend (@tinyboop thanks lovely!!!) and finally did. My depression has been acting a fool the last week or so, so i may revisit this concept and like... flesh it out, and add more things and just... i dont know. do more with it. but for now, have this. enjoy lovelies i hope you like it! <3 thanks for reading as always!)))

Ao3

The sun shining on him through the windows of the bookshop was warm, verging on hot really, for how long he’d been laying in it. It was perfect. He had his arm draped over his eyes, listening to Aziraphale rattling around the shop. He heard cups clinking in the kitchen and smiled to himself, he could see the angel, washing all his forgotten cocoa mugs that had been gathering around the shop. Crowley rubbed his eyes, shifted deeper into the couch, and the sun, and threw his arm back over his face. Settling into his sunspot with a wiggle and a sigh.

He hears the angel’s footsteps and nearly smiles again. But the footsteps are coming toward him and he doesn’t want to risk it. He listens to him pace. A frown creases his brow under his arm. Aziraphale pacing never bodes well. He keeps still, listening, waiting to see if he’ll stop. Or say something. It’s usually one or the other.

“Am I –“ Aziraphale starts and then pauses.

“What angel?” Crowley asks, encouraging him.

“Am I soft?” Aziraphale asks, standing still now. Crowley snorts into his elbow.

“Of course you’re soft angel.” He says it like it’s obvious. Because it is.

Silence.

He moves his arm off his eyes the smallest amount.

More silence. And then a small tinkling sound.

Crowley sits up quickly, looking around at the, now empty, bookshop.

“Angel?” his voice is quiet. He shoves himself to his feet, peeks into the next room.

Empty.

“Angel?” a little louder.

“Where in the…” he sways in a circle, his arms flailing and then falling to his side. His stomach sinks as he checks the other rooms. No angel. He sighs, grabs his sunglasses, shoves them onto his face, and walks out the door, flipping the sign to closed as he goes, locking the doors with a snap as he crosses the street to the Bentley. He watches the bookshop for two hours. The sun drops behind the horizon and the windows stay dark. He sighs again and drives away.

Two weeks.

Two weeks and nothing.

All of Crowley’s calls go unanswered. There are several calls. More than Crowley would ever admit to. The windows of the bookshop stay dark. Crowley swears, one day, he’d seen the lights blink out just as he’d rounded the corner, he’d sat outside that day. Waiting. He didn’t know for what.

He pulls up to the bookshop, the sun long gone down, the streets long empty, and the lights. The lights in the bookshop are shining. He climbs out of the Bentley and walks to the door nervously. He shouldn’t be nervous. This was ridiculous. It was Aziraphale. He didn’t need to be nervous. He was pretty sure he didn’t need to be nervous. But things were different now. After everything that had happened, maybe he should be nervous. He looked down at the fancy French chocolates in his hand, rolled his eyes at himself, and stepped through the door silently.

He blinked slowly, not sure exactly what he was seeing. Aziraphale was there. But he was wearing… was that a track suit? A bright, white, track suit with baby blue pinstripes up and down the sides. He was doing some kind of stretching, facing away from Crowley. His neck was red, flushed, and Crowley could see the sweat dripping off him. He was suddenly very hot. His fingers drummed quietly against the box of chocolates as he watched Aziraphale bend down, touching his toes and then back up again. Crowley bit his lip and watched the angel rest his hands on his hips. He could hear him breathing heavily, he licked his lips as he watched his shoulders rise and fall heavily.

“What in heaven are you doing angel?” he can hear how off his voice is, all high and squeaky. He clears his throat, opens his mouth to say more but something isn’t right. Aziraphale is looking at him, all red faced, and sweaty, and… beautiful. But there’s… something else. Crowley cocks his head to the side. He looks… sad. And tired, dark circles coloring the skin under his eyes.

“Angel…?”

Aziraphale is silent. His hands clasped together in front of him as he looks at the floor. Crowley clears his throat again.

“I erm… Listen I’m not… sure. What I did to upset you. But I know that you are upset, and I’m sorry.” He walks toward the angel slowly, holding out the chocolates at arm’s length. Aziraphale looks up at him, takes the chocolates gently, and then seems to deflate.

“Oh Crowley.” He sighs, and collapses onto the couch. His track suit replaced by his normal threads between the moment his knees begin to bend and when his thighs hit the cushion. And Crowley, like they’re magnetized, follows him. Knee pressing against Aziraphale’s thigh, and he notes the way he pulls away slightly, tries to make himself smaller. And it clicks.

He'd asked if he was soft. And Crowley remembered the way Gabriel had talked to him. The way he'd looked at him. All hard judgment and sharp edges. And his chest aches. He reaches out. He can’t help it. He always wants to touch him. Needs to. His hand falls gently on Aziraphale's thigh, closer to his knee really. And he feels him move away again. He squeezes his fingers, pressing them into Aziraphale with a purpose.

"Angel." and Aziraphale won’t look at him. His cheeks still red. Almost the color of cherries now.

"Aziraphale. Look at me." and he does. Because it's Crowley. And no matter how upset he is, he'll listen to Crowley.

"You're soft."

Aziraphale frowns, his hands wringing in his lap.

"Hey. Soft is good."

Aziraphale snorts.

"No it is!" Crowley argues, his fingers pressing harder into the meat of Aziraphale's thigh. He notes the way Aziraphale squirms, doesn’t stop.

"I like you soft. Softness fits you. You're... you're comfortable. Like a... eh... em.. uh... like ..." he stammers.... words failing him as they often do. He pulls his sunglasses off and rubs at his eyes with his free hand, trying to find the right words.

"Like your favorite comfy reading chair!" He pulls out of nowhere, shouting it a bit too loud. But Aziraphale looks at him for a moment and then smiles. So it doesn't matter.

"I'm a reading chair?" He asks, and Crowley can hear him suppressing amusement. He nods, moves his hand up a bit higher, making Aziraphale’s eyes lock onto it, his throat making a little sound as he tries to swallow.

"My favorite reading chair." He says with a smirk. Aziraphale rolls his eyes.

"You don’t even read." He dismisses.

"I don’t read books." Crowley corrects. Aziraphale looks him, puzzled now. Crowley sighs, swallows down his nerves. He moves closer. His hand moving to rest on Aziraphale's soft stomach, Aziraphale tenses under the touch, Crowley presses closer still, crowding into his angel’s space.

"I don’t read books." He repeats, his voice low.

"But I've been reading you for almost 6000 years." Aziraphale's breath catches.

"Crowley-" 

"I've been reading you since we met and I can tell when somethings wrong. I can feel it angel. And I promise you." He moves his hand to Aziraphale's side, his thumb moving in slow circles.

"There is nothing wrong, with you being soft. It's not a bad thing to be. You being soft is perfect. You're supposed to be soft. It’s part of who you are. It's part of why I -" he cuts himself off and Aziraphale stares at him, eyes moving over Crowley’s face, stopping at his mouth more than once and Crowley swallows hard again.

"Part of why you what?" Aziraphale whispers, his hand moving to Crowley’s shoulder, finally moving toward him instead of away.

"I um... well.... it's uh..." he sighs and drops his head on Aziraphale's shoulder suddenly. He can feel Aziraphale press closer, feels him smile into his hair.

"Oh go on, you've said so many nice things already. Might as well finish your thought dear." His hand moves up over Crowley’s neck and into his hair, Crowley shivers and hums, a strange sounding rumble in his chest that makes Aziraphale smile again.

"Stop fishing for compliments. It doesn't look good on you" Crowley mumbles. Aziraphale chuckles, moves his fingers over Crowley’s scalp slowly.

"I think we both know you think most things look good on me." His voice low now, deeper than usual. Crowley’s head shoots up and he stares at the angel, he can feel his eyes changing, can feel the yellow in them bleeding out.

"I-"

Aziraphale smirks at him.

"You?" And he's positively insufferable now, nearly wiggling with delight in Crowley’s grasp.

"I... I love you." He breathes, a sigh, like a breath of air he's been dying to let out and finally can. Aziraphale's cheeks tint, just the smallest amount. And then he's smiling, grinning at Crowley, and he can feel his own cheeks heating up, he goes to drop his head again but Aziraphale catches him. His hand on Crowley’s cheek.

"I love you too. You must know that." Aziraphale's eyes are so wide, so honest. Crowley swallows again.

"I- I hoped. I didn't- I wasn't-"

"I do. I do very much." Aziraphale reassures, not letting him finish. Crowley nods. He doesn't know what else to do. Aziraphale does though. Because he always does.

"Let’s make a deal." Crowley’s eyebrow jumps, curious.

"I'll stop this working out and worrying nonsense, no more thinking I’m not- not good enough." Crowley’s nodding already, Aziraphale smirks at him.

"If you, stop wearing those retched sunglasses." Crowley frowns, his stomach drops, he tries to pull away, doesn’t want to talk about that, not right now, Aziraphale holds him still.

"Not always. Just here. Just with me. When it's us. Here. Together.” He moves his thumb against Crowley’s cheek.

“I do so love your eyes you know." He moves his hand to Crowley’s face, finger tips trailing gently under Crowley’s eye, and then up along his cheekbone.

"You do?" He sounds skeptical, and Aziraphale frowns at him.

"Of course I do. They're part of who you are." He smiles, a soft thing. And Crowley can’t help himself, he needs to taste that softness.

He presses forward. Aziraphale sighs into him, holding him close. Their lips move together for a moment. Or maybe several moments. Or maybe no time at all. Crowley doesn't know. Doesn’t care. It doesn’t matter. They move apart at the same time, together. Crowley rests his forehead against Aziraphale’s, trying to level his breathing. He can hear Aziraphale trying to steady himself as well. He opens his eyes and finds his angel matching his smile. He moves his hand to Aziraphale's hip, fingers pressing in again, Aziraphale moves into the touch with a sigh.

"Deal." Crowley sighs, and pressed forward again, already needing more. Always more.

#good omens #good omens fic #good omens ficlet #ficlet #Ineffable Husbands #crowley x arizaphale #ineffable husbands fic #my writing

[theres-a-goldensky]

32 Reddie Fic Recs

In honor of the joy I feel in finally getting out of this miserably terrible fucking year of my life, I thought I’d do something fun and make up a list of Reddie fic recs, since this has fandom has taken over my life recently. Strap in, friends. This is gonna be a long one.

These recs are in the order in which I read them. 

As ever, feel free to reblog and check out my other rec lists for the following fandoms:

IT chapter 2 list part two - Reddie

Good Omens fic

The Untamed list one and two - various pairings, mostly Wangxian

Various BL Series fic (fandoms: Love By Chance, TharnType, 2Moons series, My Engineer, Until We Meet Again, 2gether, History3: Trapped)

Or just head over to my bookmarks on AO3.

All fics are Reddie, all are complete.

** - denotes personal favorite

1. first love / late spring by vowelinthug - ~36,000 words, explicit - They both survive It, but not without some injuries, both physical and psychological. Richie takes Eddie to a secluded cabin to help him recover. And then they accidentally make a podcast. Nice slowburn, a good Richie characterization. I liked the conversations between the two of them, in particular one about Richie’s disdain for shoes that was pitch perfect.

The doctor’s evil eye is on both of them now. “Your friend is gonna be fine. Broken collarbone and a lot of blood loss, but the arm stays on, for now anyway.” Probably at the way Richie sags in relief so hard he groans in pain, the doctor stops looking so severe. “He’s a tough guy. I’ve never seen anyone regain consciousness from that much blood loss just to give me a full medical history.”

“Oh my god,” says Richie, covering his mouth. “I like him so much.”

Bill pats his shoulder in sympathy.

2. the fireworks that go off when you smile by zach_stone - ~10,000 words, teen - Post-movie the adult Losers, including Stan, go on a vacation together. There’s just lots of Richie staring at a wet, shirtless Eddie and pining.

Richie blinks at him, his stomach doing a fucking somersault, pinned under Eddie’s weirdly passionate stare. He swallows another mouthful of beer to stall for time, shifting his gaze away. Spread out before him, the lake looks like flat, black glass. “Jeez, is the risk analyst really telling me to ignore the risks? What’s the world coming to?” he manages to joke.

He expects Eddie to roll his eyes, to huff and lean away again, but he doesn’t. He says, still earnest, “I just think some things are worth the risk.”

And Richie doesn’t know  what  the fuck to do with that. He resolutely tells himself not to puke on Ben and Beverly’s porch, because he thinks if he did it would just be the words  I love Eddie Kaspbrak a hundred times over, all puddled on the slats of wood. He stands up rather abruptly. “I should go to bed,” he says, aware that he’s talking too loud, being too fucking obvious. “I’m jetlagged as fuck. Also maybe a little drunk.”

3. oh, i want the truth to be known by ShowMeAHero - ~7000 words, explicit - Richie sees Eddie die in the deadlights and then manages to save him at the last second, but It skewers him instead. I’m honestly not sure why there isn’t more fic with this premise, because Richie sacrificing his own safety for Eddie and then Eddie losing his shit is absolutely, 100% my jam.

The claw isn’t in Eddie’s chest. Instead, it’s in Richie’s, caught in his side, pinning him to the ground. He chokes on a scream, caught in his throat, and pushes at Eddie, just trying to get them away. He rolls into him, ripping Pennywise’s claw through his side to get away, but once he’s free, he’s scrambling into a half-stumble and dragging Eddie with him until they’re hidden under an outcropping of rock. His side is bleeding, he can feel it, and his entire fucking abdomen hurts, and, for a moment, it’s all he can process.

“Holy shit, Richie,” Eddie exclaims. The pain shuffles to the back of Richie’s mind so he can focus on Eddie instead. He sounds winded, but he’s fucking alive, unhurt and breathing and okay, and Richie huffs a laugh. He’s in so much fucking pain, but he can’t even figure out where it’s all originating from, and the only thought cycling through his brain is it’s okay, he’s okay, Eddie’s okay, it wasn’t real, it wasn’t real, it wasn’t real, over and over.

4. we'll be a fine line (we'll be alright)  by buckyjerkbarnes - ~9,000 words, teen - Richie and the other Losers in the hospital after killing It, waiting for news on Eddie. Richie has a bit of a breakdown.

The ambulance ride had been the longest twenty minutes of Richie’s life. He'd tried not to get in the way of the EMTs who worked frantically to keep Eddie alive; who were far more patient with him than Richie likely deserved. By the time they'd rolled up to the emergency entrance at the hospital, Ben stamping his breaks as the rest of the Losers came to a grinding halt not fifteen yards away, Richie was still a sobbing mess. He couldn't see through the cracked lens of his glasses, and when Eddie, who had not opened his eyes or said a word since they were still in the sewers, was about to be wheeled out of sight, Richie made like a battering ram and lunged towards the pair of swinging doors.

“Sir!" An orderly yelped. "You can’t—!"

And Stan, who had materialized at Richie's elbow, told the orderly: "He's the husband."

5. ** It’s Hard to Tell Sometimes by gallopingmelancholia - ~21,000 words, explicit - Eddie divorces his wife and moves to LA to live with Richie. Richie promptly has like five emotional meltdowns over it. So much pining. So much. This is one of very few that has Eddie in the hospital for a realistic amount of time, which I appreciate. When writers have been hoping out of bed after a day or whatever, it really throws me out of the story.

“When can we see him?” Mike asks.

“He’s asleep, but we’ll send in a nurse when he wakes up. I wouldn’t expect it until tomorrow morning at the earliest. He’s been through quite a lot, eleven hours of surgery, and is on a lot of pain medication.”

“Will he survive? What’s the percentage? He’ll want to know the probability, he’s a risk analyst,” Richie says.

The doctor hesitates. “The chances he makes it through the night are 65%.”

“That’s not bad!” Richie says even as his heart drops to somewhere in the region of his feet. The others look at him pitifully. “Tell him we’re here and we love him. Tell him the Losers are here and we’ll see him soon.”

6. ** it’s a nice day to start again by eddiespaghetti (foxwatson) - ~6000 words, teen - Post-movie, Eddie wakes up one morning to discover that Richie and a woman had a shotgun wedding in Vegas the night before. Great, sad-but-trying-not-to-show-it Eddie here. (And yes, Richie is a total disaster gay who marries a woman on a whim.)

 “Are you sitting down?”

 “I didn’t even get out of bed yet! Bev please just tell me what the fuck is happening.”

 “Sorry, I’m sorry. Just- Richie got married.”

 “What? No he didn’t,” Eddie scoffs, throwing the covers off. “I’m not - he’s not even dating anybody, I see him all the time. It’s probably just a big joke or something, that’s-”

 “He got married, in Vegas. It’s all over Twitter, and he- he sent pictures to the group chat last night. She’s some other comedian. None of us have ever met her, he didn’t invite any of us.”

7. Oh, But He Makes You Laugh by MellytheHun - ~9,000 words, mature - Teenage Eddie has to deal with some serious jealousy when a new friend enters their group. This one has a good, slow realization on Eddie’s part.

The boy is in their grade, though not part of their social sphere; he’s nearly as tall as Richie, with light eyes, and walnut colored hair. Eddie recognizes him from his AP bio class, but can’t inwardly recall his name.

The boy nods toward Stanley while keeping eye-contact with Richie, and informs him, “alligators - they can grow up to twenty feet.”

Richie opens his mouth to argue with the new kid, but he’s cut off.

“Which is weird, cause they usually only grow four.”

Eddie watches in abject bewilderment as a hearty, genuine laugh  is startled out of Richie.

8. Richie Tozier: Pray Away the Gay by QueerOnTilMorning - ~4,500 words, teen - The official transcript of Richie Tozier’s comeback Netflix special. A lot of writers try to do Richie’s stand-up routine, but not many can nail it. This one feels realistic and contains actual, like, jokes and stuff.

Because I grew up in this little town called Derry, Maine--nope, absolutely not, do not cheer for that. Fuck Derry! I had this friend, for years he thought I was lactose intolerant, because he'd mention dairy and I'd be like "fuck Derry! Derry tried to fucking kill me!" No, I can eat cheese, I just hate my hometown. They did not fuck with the gays, in Derry. That's probably why I dress so shitty. It's a survival thing. I was already super into dudes. If I had developed fashion sense on top of that? No. Oh my God. It was so--I was so fucking scared all the time.

 And like, to put this in perspective, has anyone ever heard of Henry Bowers? Any true crime fans in the house? Henry Bowers, the baby serial killer? Yeah, you listened to that podcast! My friend Bill was on that podcast, doesn't he have a sexy voice? Anyway, Henry Bowers, also known very creatively as The Derry Killer, murdered a bunch of kids the summer we were thirteen. I say we, because that dude was in my fucking class. There was an active serial killer in Derry during my childhood and still, still my greatest fear was that someone would find out I was gay.

9. RICHIE TOZIER IS...THE COMEBACK CLOWN by owlinaminor & tinypersonhotel - ~11,500, teen - An excellent multimedia fic about Richie’s life with Eddie post-movie.

While Richie Tozier never stops talking, Eddie Kaspbrak never stops moving. Listening to a conversation between the two men is akin to watching a pinball machine with two balls going at once, slamming into each other and the walls and the levers and each other, lighting up their surroundings in a trance as mesmerizing as it is chaotic. (Kaspbrack laughed when I told him this metaphor—apparently Tozier spent many an afternoon at the town arcade when they were kids.)

Over the course of one twenty-minute walk with their dog, a beagle named Stanley, through their L.A. neighborhood, they manage to call off their engagement, call it back on, invite me, uninvite me, call the engagement off again, debate eloping, call the whole thing back on but disinvite everyone except me, and finally agree on what color napkins to have at the reception.

10. ** The Jenga Dream Date by stitchy - ~15,000 words, explicit - Richie and Eddie domestic fluff that starts at Ben and Bev’s wedding. It feels so sweet, and you can just see the happiness radiating off the screen. This is truly the ending they deserve.

Then a seriously, unbearably cute thought occurs to Richie. A thought he can’t immediately share with Eddie, because Bill and Mike each independently cornered him and made him swear not to steal Bev and Ben’s thunder.

Ah, fuck it.

“I can’t think why we would possibly be in another situation in the near future where there’s dancing but also my mother is there for some reason, but holy shit, Eds! I have got to see you dance with Mom. During this very special situation. For which I will make hand calligraphed invitations and hire a photographer and-”

Eddie’s eyes dart in either direction before he lets out a short, slightly hysterical laugh. “Uhhh, I  also have no idea when or why that would happen, or what sort of event that would be appropriate for.”

11. Bad Parts In by 50artists - ~9,000 words, not rated - It’s Richie that ends up in the hospital after it all goes down, and Eddie who has the crisis. And also some serious misapprehensions.

"I feel like Richie might be  slightly  weirded out," Eddie says dryly. "Like oh, hey, we've not spoken for decades and you're the straightest man I know, but it turns out I have been subconsciously in love with you since we were teenagers. I dunno, might make things a bit awkward."

"I'm sorry," says Beverly, "just to clarify, Richie Tozier is the straightest man you know?"

"Dude, have you seen his comedy? It's all, 'I love fucking chicks while drinking beer and watching football'."

"You mean the material that Richie doesn't write himself?'

12. ** We Found Love in a Chili’s ToGo by Amuly - ~14,000, explicit - Richie confesses his feelings to Eddie in the airport before they both headed back to their own lives. This is such a lovely story about friendship and love and putting yourself back together. And there’s some A+++ phone sex.

“Nah, Eds. It’s because I had a big gay crush and needed Stan to bitch at about it.”

Eddie frowned, then shook his head. “That doesn’t explain why you couldn’t bitch at me about it.”

“Well bitching about your secret crush to your secret crush is generally frowned upon, Eds. Kinda fucks up the ‘secret’ part.”

Eddie, bless his tiny heart, didn’t get it for a second. His expression scrunched up, about to say something stupid back to Richie, when his brain processed Richie’s words. In a second his expression fell open, jaw actually agape.

“Oh look: drinks!” Richie grabbed his marg, licking and drinking without even letting the waitress set it down onto the tabletop. Eddie barely had the courtesy left to let her set his down before he was grabbing at it.

13. ** Ask Me About My New Material by twoseas - ~7,000 words, explicit - I could read 10,000 stories about a confused and horny Eddie jerking it to Richie’s stand up without understanding why before they meet again in Derry. This one has a great Richie, who reacts like he got hit in the face with a bat when the truth comes out.

In the restaurant, as the gong resounded around them, Eddie looked up at a four-eyed, messy, middle aged Trashmouth and suddenly it all clicked.

 He had two thoughts.

Oh, he realized, it’s because I’m in love with the dumbass.

And, Aw fuck.

14. No Parenthesis by pineapplecrushface - 13,000 words, explicit - In the deadlights, Stan gives Richie some instructions on how to bring him back. Spoilers: it involves an orgy. And Richie and Eddie dealing with their feelings.

“Okay,” Mike said, holding his hands out to placate him, and honestly Richie was really fucking sick of Mike saying crazy shit and then somehow—somehow!—convincing them to do it anyway. “I’m not saying we have to do it. I’m just saying, the ritual exists and we could do it, and now that it’s out there, I feel like you should all have the choice.”

“Great. I choose no. I’m fucking leaving before I get ritualed into giving all my money to a cult leader and I end up spending the rest of my sad short life on an alpaca farm,” Richie said, standing up too fast and stalking across the room.

“Richie,” Bev said, and she sounded, unbelievably, like she was not thinking this was completely insane.

“Are you fucking serious?” He whirled around to look at them. They were all giving him varying levels of Richie, be reasonable, which was a look he was familiar with, but not when it came to sex rituals, for some fucking reason.

15. ** Stupid Deep series by anonymous - ~50,000 words, explicit - Richie has a huge dick, and Eddie is obsessed with it. Come for the super, super hot sex, stay for the sweet romance, twist of angst and happy ending.

It’s been five months since then, and Eddie has spent at least 40% of that time thinking about Richie’s big fucking dick. He spends about 20% working from home, 20% arguing with Richie about dumb shit, and the remaining 30% sleeping—this adds up to 110%, but that’s because there’s overlap between the sleeping and the thinking about Richie’s huge dick in the form of extremely graphic dreams.

He thinks about Richie’s dick in the shower. He thinks about Richie’s dick when they’re watching TV together. He thinks about Richie’s dick when he’s trying to eat breakfast. He hasn’t even seen it hard. But god, he thinks about it. Thinks about it hot and thick in his hand, thinks about it twitching as Eddie strokes it, thinks about it stretching his lips, thinks about it leaking precum all over Eddie’s fingers and tongue and stomach. And, most importantly—most vividly—he thinks about Richie’s dick inside of him, filling him up, fucking him.

At the same time, Eddie also spent a good amount of time, woven through the rest of his daily activities, falling so deeply in love with his best-friend-cum-roommate that it was disturbing at best. There was pining. There were lingering glances. There was lying on Richie’s bed while he was out just to ease the ache in his chest with Richie’s warm, familiar scent, which is disgusting and Eddie hates to think about it. There were, in Eddie’s darkest moments, daydreams about Richie holding his hand and kissing him and telling Eddie he’s in love with him. Like a fucking sap.

16. I’m quite alright hiding today by remusjohn - ~7,000 words, explicit - Eddie kisses Richie out of the deadlights, but Richie doesn’t know if that means anything.

On the first night they don’t do much of anything. They unpack (well, Eddie unpacks his massive bags while Richie tries to figure out how to sign in to his Netflix account on the tiny TV in the living room), and they order in, and they argue over what to watch while they’re eating, and Eddie falls asleep some hours later with his head tucked into Richie’s shoulder, and Richie tries not to think too much of it.

There’s been a lot of that, the last couple of days. Richie doesn’t know how to say, You kissed me to wake me up from the deadlights and I don’t know if you did it to save my life or if there’s something else too, but it’s kind of killing me, man.

So Richie doesn’t say anything at all.

17. Haunt Me, Thrill Me, Kiss Me by Vulcanodon - ~20,000 words, explicit - AU where Eddie and Richie are ghost hunters who get stuck in a very trippy haunted house. This concept really shouldn’t work, and I’m not big on AUs in the fandom, but the relationship between the two of them really sells it. And, obviously, the pining. There’s so much.

The only time Eddie has ever witnessed Richie freaking out was when they had been fucking about in the woods near Montana for their werewolf episode. Eddie had been walking backwards, trying to get Richie and a creepy footprint in frame when he had suddenly felt nothing but air behind him. He had fallen for an impressively long time down the hill, blacking out briefly when a branch caught his head and when he came to Richie had been leaning over him, white and frantic, hands all fisted up in Eddie’s shirt.

Eddie, Eddie, Eds, Richie had said, nearly crying. Are you alright, can you talk?

Is my camera broken? Eddie had managed woozily to say, and for a moment Eddie had thought Richie might do something crazy like slap him or even kiss him.

He hadn’t done either in the end and Eddie remembers the disappointment, even with the haze of a mild concussion.

18. Five Times The Losers Gave Richie Permission by toomuchrootbeer -  ~11,000 words, mature - Each loser tries to let Richie know that they know in their own special way.  

“No I don’t mind,” Stan says evenly, shrugging his shoulders like it’s the simplest thing in the world. “I don’t mind any of it.”

“Cool,” Richie chirps, grabbing his backpack off of the grass and pushing himself to his feet. “Pip pip Edward,” he calls. “Shall we endeavor to find you a cleaner wardrobe?”

“Fuck you,” Eddie says back, but there is no venom behind his words.

But then Stan is reaching out, gripping Richie’s arm, “Dude what are you-”

“I don’t mind any of it, Tozier,” he repeats, voice lower and his words somehow more weighty, fixing Richie with an indecipherable look. “And I don’t think any of the other Losers would mind it either. If you wanted to,” he jerks his head in the direction of Eddie, “you know.”

19. String Theory by neverfaraway - ~17,000 words, mature - Richie starts slowly regaining his memories and has a disturbing experience in the deadlights.

The thing is, Richie knows this is a version of himself and Eddie that never existed. He can taste the pretence on the tip of his tongue, but the sticky air seems to sharpen and solidify around him. He can’t remember where he was before this moment, watching his fingers alight on the buckle of Eddie’s hundred-dollar belt.

The Voice wavers and Richie comes pouring through the cracks. It's painful to watch the careful way he places his hands on Eddie’s skin. "Fuck, I missed you," he says. "Even when I couldn't remember, I had a hole right through me, straight through the middle. You left a fucking entry and exit wound."

"Damnit, Richie," Eddie mutters, blinking rapidly. "Beep, beep."

20. hoping to be found by eddiespaghetti (foxwatson) - ~25,000 words, mature - Things don’t magically work out after Derry for Eddie. He doesn’t know what else to do, so he goes back to Myra and his depressig life. But at least now he has his friends. He has Richie.

With his memories back now, with all the knowledge of his mother and his placebos and his fake inhaler and his friends, it feels like Eddie has been living the last 27 years in sickly, yellow sepia tones. His memories and even the brief time he spent with everyone at the Chinese restaurant shine in his mind in vivid technicolor, and everything else pales in comparison.

He thought he would die, and now he doesn’t have a plan. His life in New York is miserable and cramped and leaves him feeling small, so he puts it off as long as he can.

The drive isn’t long, even with Eddie taking his time. He takes a detour just to drive along the coast and see the ocean, and stops at any given exit or National Forest along the way that strikes his fancy. He’s still home before nightfall.

21. After Derry series by pineapplecrushface - ~47,000 words, explicit - Richie and Eddie are both pining and miserable disasters post-movie. Until they finally get their shit together and figure some things out.

He woke when Eddie sat on the edge of the bed and touched his back, under his disgusting shirt. “Hey,” he said. “Your turn. I mean, your turn after I wash my hand again. What did you lie down in?”

“Your mom,” he said, sitting up and glaring at Eddie, who was half-naked, a towel wrapped around his waist. “How do you all look so good and I ended up looking like fucking Christopher Lloyd? Like, not young Christopher Lloyd. Present day.”

Eddie’s hand was still tucked under his shirt, rubbing a path across his lower back. “I guess you did grow into your looks.”

“Oh, fuck you, you weirdly muscular little shitweasel,” Richie said, escaping to the shower so he didn’t have to look at the slope of Eddie’s arms. He was weak for that, the line of a man’s shoulders and back. He was weak for all of Eddie, really. After everything he had seen, he guessed it was something he could admit to himself. There was no panic left in it.

22. for better, for worse by kaspbrak_kid - ~26,000 words, not rated - Eddie has just gotten through a messy divorce and is trying to deal with the fact that he’s been in love with Richie for 30 years, and then he has to go to Ben and Bev’s wedding. Not a great combination of things.

Eddie blows out a shaky breath and puts down his phone, then picks it back up again, restless. He scrolls up through his and Richie’s texts.

They’re not that frequent. They talk in the group chat, mostly. Eddie thinks about texting him all the time, several times a day, and then never does. It’s all just stupid shit, anyway. A dream he had or a movie he saw on TV that he remembers Richie used to like, and does he still like it? Some things his therapist tells him he should say, like that he’s been in love with Richie for somewhere between six months and thirty-odd years.

Instead, most of their private texts are just inane bickering, or Richie trying out jokes on him, or Eddie telling Richie how to clean the cut he just accidentally gave himself opening a can. He could have just googled it. But he asked Eddie.

23. feet on the ground, head in the sky by peggyolson - ~21,000 words, teen - I’m kind of a sucker for the slowburn, falling in love over distance trope. This one does it well, with bonus Richie dealing with his issues and figuring shit out.

Mostly, though, it’s just a slight tug at the back of his mind, another part of his day. A mumbled  let me call Eddie, like an afterthought, while he’s tapping his foot in line at Whole Foods.

Eddie always, always answers.

“Edward Kaspbrak,” he chirps during business hours, dry and glib, and Richie will respond in a deep, exaggerated baritone with something awful like  Mr. Kaspbrak, your test results are in and unfortunately you  will  keep shrinking at an alarming rate for the rest of your life, something barely funny that he says just to get a reaction.

(It had been  such  a mistake to give Richie his work number.)

24. it’s about time that you just unwind by fuckener - ~9,500 words, explicit - Eddie finds out that Richie is gay via his stand-up and promptly loses his mind.

“Yeah? Mine was weird, guys, I’m not going to lie. I came up with this really good idea on how to cause total chaos at a family event, you wanna hear it?” There it was - glasses adjustment, not even past the one minute mark. “If you really want to shake up another dull as fuck Thanksgiving with your parents, just wait ‘til you’re in your forties and your elderly father is spooning out his first helping of mashed potatoes for the night and then drop the bomb that you’ve been gay the whole time. Boom, happy Thanksgiving. Pass the sweet corn, I want to fuck the huge green dude on the can.” People laughed. Richie did that thing with his face between a smile and a scowl. “It’s the long game, yeah, but -”

Eddie slammed his laptop shut.

25. feel this burning, love of mine by floatingonthelehigh - 17,000 words, mature - The clown is a bastard. Richie gets a second chance.

“Don’t leave,” Eddie says quietly, and god  fucking  damn it, it breaks him that Eddie thinks he ever would.

“No,  fuck no, Eddie. I’m not going to.” He adjusts his grip on the jacket against Eddie’s stomach, winces when Eddie gasps in pain. Richie’s lip shakes again as he just keeps talking. “Frankly I’m insulted that you’d think I’d leave you, after just remembering you're my best fucking friend in the world, after twenty seven fucking years. My clown-murdering partner in crime! How could I ever leave you? Fuck no, I’m not leaving you, Eds. Idiot,” He laughs emptily, rubbing Eddie’s cheek, and pauses, beginning to nod to himself as a goal flits into his mind. “I’m going to pick you up, I’m going to get you out of here, to a hospital. Right now. And—” Eddie’s grip on his arm tightens, and he stops.

26. hey there demons (it's me, ya boi) by dharmainitiative - 12,000 words, teen - Is this another ghosthunters AU? Why, yes it is. I don’t know why there are two of these, but I enjoyed them both. This one is much lighter, and I really liked the way that the writer creates a very lived-in feeling as soon as you jump into this universe.

 As it was, BuzzFeed wasn’t a bad place to work, despite all the shit Richie gave it. He was paid well, there were always a bunch of cushy chairs everywhere, and the food that got brought in for lunch everyday was way better than the shitty grilled cheeses he ate at home for dinner. And despite what Richie expected, his coworkers were actually pretty cool, all things considered. Sure, they were all millenials who thought landing an internship at BuzzFeed was the height of success, but most of them were friendly, and occasionally funny, and like Richie, just excited to get paid to do something that required little to no effort.

 Most of them, at least. There was also Eddie Kaspbrak.

 Richie met Eddie his first day at BuzzFeed, when he was shown his desk and the incessantly chatty intern that sat at the desk right next to him. Working side by side — literally — let Richie learn a lot of things about Eddie Kaspbrak: he was a neurotic hypochondriac, exclusively owned Polo shirts, and talked faster than Richie could even blink.

27. New Page, Same Old Book by Rend_Herring - 17,000 words, explicit - Post-movie, Eddie divorces his wife, moves across the country and makes himself comfortable in Richie’s home. Richie is totally fine and not freaking out at all.

He clips the wall coming into the foyer, practically crashes over the little table he uses to stack mail—fumbles around with the chain, the deadbolt, before finally wrenching open the door.  It doesn’t occur to him until he’s sending it bouncing back against the doorstop, that it might have been a good idea to check the peephole and make sure it actually  wasn’t  some asshole out for a smash and grab in the middle of the night, or worse — a  fan.  

Richie would be less dumbfounded by either option.

He squints at the person standing in front of him, blinks.

“I’ve had this dream before,” Richie says, voice still croaky from sleep, “usually you’re wearing less clothes.”

“Jesus christ,” Eddie sighs, and rolls his eyes when Richie jumps back a bit, genuinely startled that it’s  not some manufacturing of his sordid imagination.  “I knew I shouldn’t have come here.”

28. Drives Me Wild by rustywrites - ~4,000 words, explicit - Eddie and Richie have hotel sex after RIchie wins himself an Emmy.

"I thought I told you no more jokes about how much you love my dick," Eddie says, shifting to straddle Richie's waist in earnest, rolling his hips downward just to emphasize his point, no doubt. His hands are braced on both of Richie's shoulders, pinning him back with his bodyweight, while Richie's hands are on his waist, holding him in place. It's not the most comfortable position, all things considered--Richie's knees are bent over the end of the mattress, his feet still on the floor, and they're both still in their fucking monkey suits.

Richie had tried to make the case with his agent and his manager that he should be allowed to attend the Emmys in the same clothes he always wore (jeans, a shitty t-shirt, a semi-fashionable jacket, you know, the works.) They were good enough for his specials, one of which had earned him the nomination to begin with, but both Anna and Johnathan had pushed back hard, and when Eddie had not-so-subtly sided with them, well. Suit and tie it was.

29. Rewrite by sachi_sama - ~13,000 words, mature - Stan is dead, but somehow only Eddie can see him as they race to beat It. That’s...probably not a good sign. (note: Stan stays dead in this fic.)

“Whoa. Hey, Eds, you being a weepy drunk over there?” Richie asks, and he scoots over into Stan's seemingly empty chair, and Stan vanishes as Richie's hand is suddenly on Eddie's shoulder.

“I just—I saw...” Eddie pauses, and he wipes his hands over his eyes, sniffling. When's the last time he cried? It makes his head hurt every time. “Fuck. I'm sorry, guys.” He stands abruptly. “I'm gonna go splash some water on my face.” He hurriedly exits the room and he hears Mike asking what he saw, but Eddie is already power-walking across the restaurant to the bathroom, aware Dead Stan is hot on his heels.

“Lucky. The bathroom is empty,” Stan says as he leans against the wall. Eddie looks at him, really looks, and he sees the blood on Stan's wrists.

30. ** we are all going forward, none of us are going back series by theappliepielifestyle - ~21,000 words, teen - Richie gets stuck in a time loop and forced to repeat their last stand at Neibolt over and over until he gets it right.

Richie hears himself finish saying Let’s kill this clown  and it’s only when he finishes forming the  n  that reality sets in. What the  fuck -

He whirls around. Everyone’s standing around him, just like they were last night - they’re in front of the fucking house, it’s standing again.

“What the fuck,” Richie croaks. “No, come on - what’s going on? Ohhhh fuck.”

He only lets himself stare at it for a few seconds of unbridled hate before he keeps looking at the others, who are now staring at him, pausing from where they’d all taken a step towards the house before looking back and stopping to watch Richie’s nervous breakdown.

31. ** keep talking. i’ll keep walking toward the sound of your voice. by theapplepielifestyle - 16,000 words, teen - Eddie dies, sort of, and meets Stan in the afterlife. The two of them realize that they can communicate with their friends in their dreams. Eddie has to watch Richie slowly breakdown in his absence.

32. ** happily ever afters all the way around series by theapplepielifestyle - ~35,000 words, teen - I have so much appreciation for this author’s desire to fix the ending by any means necessary. In this one, that good old turtle lends a hand and sends Richie back in time to fix everything. It’s...a lot.

Then it smooths out into an actual scene, if jumpy: a sigil on wooden boards that look a lot like the floor of Richie’s apartment. The sigil is probably drawn in blood, but it could also be red paint. Although Richie’s being  very  optimistic about that. Anyway, the dream is mostly that: the sigil being drawn, slow and precise, by Richie. It’s dark in the dream, and the sigil being drawn is overcut with more fleeting images, chased with sounds: Stan’s bloody hand dangling out of a bath. Stan as a kid, on the tail end of saying something as he walks home in the evening. Eddie with blank eyed, slumped in IT’s lair. Eddie as a kid, in mid-argument in the clubhouse. A voice so deep and impossible that it hurts, a voice that reminds him of the turtle’s gaze:  come back come back you can change the -

At the end of the dream, the scene will stabilize. Dream-Richie will say some shit he can't make out. Then he'll say the one thing he can make out, which is: I’m coming.

And then he’ll wake up.

LINK TO REDDIE FIC REC LIST PART TWO 

#it #reddie #reddie fic #eddie kaspbrak #richie tozier #fic recs #ao3 #rec list #damn this took so long #i hope someone gets some use out of it

[captain-emmajones]

Love, Emma (6/7)

(Art by the wonderful @carpedzem​ <3)

Loosely based on Love, Rosie (2014).

Killian and Emma are best friends and neighbors. They’ve always been – until he leaves for the Navy when his brother dies. When he comes back, nine months later, summer has begun and childhood is ending. Emma can tell something is changed in him, but she doesn’t know what. Until she does. He’s fallen in love with someone else.

And then, suddenly, they’re kissing on her nineteenth birthday. When she asks him to forget their night out, and never talk about it again, Killian thinks she means to tell him she regrets the kiss they exchanged. Except she has no memory of it.

Killian and Emma will dance around each other, until their heads spin and their legs hurt, and everything becomes blurry and it has to stop – for both of their sake.

A huge thank you to @profdanglaisstuff who beta’d this and gave me her precious thoughts <3

Friends to Lovers - Mutual Pining - Angst - Fluff - 6000 words - ao3

Part 1 - MIRRORBALL, Part 2 - AUGUST , Part 3 - HOAX, Part 4 - PEACE, Part 5 - THIS IS ME TRYING,  Part 7 - INVISIBLE STRING

Note: Everyone gives a lot of love to @carpedzem​ who drew this wonderful art for this fanfic :’)) 

Quick Summary: Last chapter ended on Neal finding Killian's love letter to Emma. This chapter opens on Emma, a week after Killian and Emma's kiss.

Reminder: Present time is Emma’s wedding to Neal, and that scene on the balcony during which Killian congratulates Emma on her wedding -- although he’s mostly dying inside. The words “I love you” slip out of his mouth, however he’s quick to add “as a friend” which leaves us with two very sad individuals who are both committing a grave mistake.

PART 6 - CARDIGAN

Six months before Emma’s wedding, a week after Emma and Killian’s kiss.  

Emma tosses and turns in her bed. She does not want to glance at the clock sitting on her bedside table. It’s probably joyfully, painfully displaying a horrendous number set between 1am and 5am and Emma wants nothing to do with it.

 There is not a spark of light in the room she shares with Neal, the heavy window shutters closed down.

 Emma wishes there was some kind of light. Perhaps then the weight over her chest would feel less terrifying, would feel less like the terrible, dark blue waves of a tormented sea she watches swallow her alive and spit her back onto the sand. 

 She’s battered between the waves, back and forth, back and forth, skin rocking against water, until she manages to reach the surface and breathes in deeply.

 But she’s only inhaling sea water and it fills her lungs and brings her to tears and it’s bitter, and it’s shit, and she cannot forget the taste of Killian’s lips.

 Another turn, a grunt of anger and despair.

 How dare he kiss her and let her leave him when he was in pain. How dare he.

 It was inevitable, whispers another part of her, but that part she ignores diligently. 

 Nothing is inevitable. Especially cheating on her future husband. With her friend whose feet were barely out of the surgery block.

 Well, she didn’t properly cheat if he was the one to kiss her…that would have been true, had she not furthered their kiss.

 Had she not backed him into his chair and sucked his breath away and marked his scalp with her fingers and tugged on his hair and filled his entire being with her, and her only. It was long overdue, after all.

 She turns, more aggressively this time, nearly knicks Neal out of the bed, her right foot whizzing past him. 

 She kissed him back because he was clearly seeking support and comfort and because a part of her will always love him, has always loved him and there’s nothing wrong with that.

 Horseshit.

 It is wrong. Utterly, completely, wrong.

 Nobody deserves to be cheated on. Nobody. Period.

 She’s just a piece of shit, now, is she?

 She glances on the side. Neal is still laying on his back, peacefully snoring, one arm flung across his face. She nearly hates him for it. She totally hates him for it.

 His chest raises up and down, comfortably, peacefully. What would Emma give for just an ounce of peace in her veins.

 Her breath is coming out in short puffs.

 It was inevitable, stammers once again her inner voice.

 “NO.”

 And the scream she thought only existed in her mind causes Neal to startle next to her, and this time she’s thankful it is complete darkness in their room, because he cannot see the flush on her cheeks.

 She can make out the shadow of his head lifting in the dark, and she imagines his features groggy with sleep. “You okay, Emma?”

 She turns back, grumbles. “Yeah, don’t worry. It’s just a nightmare.” And she definitely sounds like she’s blaming him for it.

 .

A long, tortuous week flies by. Emma’s under-eye circles darken with each passing day, and she is alarmly pale when Graham asks her in a weary tone: “You’re sure everything’s okay, Emma?”

 She nods and glances down at where Graham has been looking, and she realizes she’s been holding the files upside down.

 Well.

 “Shit. Yes. Sorry, Graham. I’ve been having a rough couple of days, is all.”

 And then Graham does this thing where he leans into her space, with his big brown eyes, and this kindness in his smile, and he inquires again: “Everything okay with Neal?”

 And Emma nods a bit too abruptly for it to be believable, and she knows Graham is smart enough to see it, but she nods harder, it’s the only movement her brain seems to know. “Neal? It’s never been better.” And a quick, lively chuckle to seal the deal. 

 And really had she laughed harder she would have choked on her fears.

 (Her fears have blue eyes and are missing a limb now, and she does not dare to send him a text, to ask him “How are you?” because he must be feeling like shit, and in part it is because of her, she left him, but he had no right to kiss her like this and she had no right to kiss him back.)

 .

 She has David on the phone later this week.

 “Hello, Emma. I’ve arrived in Portsmouth. I’ll be spending the week with him.”

 She hates the feeling of guilt that circles her heart, even as she sighs her biggest sigh of relief. 

“Thank you, David, it means the world. I would have come, you know, but I’m so busy with the wedding and the sheriff station and—”

 “Sure thing, Emma,” he blurts out and Emma thinks he sounds so accusative, it nearly knocks her out. She is convinced she deserves it. “I’ll take care of him, don’t worry.” A few words more, and he hangs up.

 For the first time in ages, Emma feels like Killian and she are on opposite teams, and David has chosen his.

 She swallows a lump down her throat. 

 .

 Emma caves in on Saturday night. Outside, the rain is pouring heavily against her windows. The wind is also howling, curling around the walls of the house and threatening to crush it under its strength. 

Neal is out at Granny’s watching a soccer game with friends when Emma sits down on the hard wooden floor of their living room. Her legs are crossed and her heart is drumming in her ears, and she calls him. There’s a bottle of red wine in front of her, and it’s looking at her with a lot of judgement in its glassy eyes but Emma doesn’t care.

 She cannot go on like this. She needs to know that he is alright, and that this was all a grave, stupid mistake, and she needs him to say something like “I’m fine, Emma, I’ll survive this” but also “I meant to do that for years” and then it would be her cue to nod under the ceiling light, tears in her smile and she’d say some stupid shit like “Oh god, I’ve been waiting for you to say that” and then she’d drop everything to fly back to him and they’d be happy together or some shit.

 Ring, ring, ring.

 That’s a lovely dream indeed.

 Ring, ring, ring.

 And just as Emma gets impatient, not to say she gets scared, a voice answers her. It’s a groggy, foggy voice, and it does not belong to Killian.

 “Hello, what is it?” The voice echoes, chuckles, as music resonates behind it, and it is the voice of a woman.

 Emma figures they must be in some kind of pub, just like Neal is.

 “Is this Killian’s phone?” attempts Emma, fingers clutched onto the phone, and heart on her sleeves.

 “Yup...” Another giggle. Emma decides she hates the voice. “But he is currently unavailable. Do you want me to give him a message?”

 And then Emma hears his voice, emerging from a twirl of songs and other talks. “Why are you using my phone, Tink?”

 Emma thinks Killian’s voice irrupts into her empty house just as a gust of wind rattles her shutters. She flinches. And for a minute, glances above her shoulder, afraid that he might appear behind her back. 

But silence is her only companion. And this house is so impressively, distinctively silent. 

 Something clicks inside of Emma’s brain. Tink. She knows Tink. What’s her real name? Mary something. They went to high school together, and she had a disgustingly big crush on Killian, and, and –

 “I dunno, some chick.”

 And Emma barely has time to hear Killian’s “Which chick?” before she hangs up on a whim.

 She heaves, hands trembling around the phone, and something grotesque disfigures her face.  

 She was worried about him and he’s been having the time of his life with this Tink, and, and – what was she expecting?

 She stares at the floor as though she is able to distinguish the broken bits of her heart spilled there, and the bloody marks they leave, and it’s such a goddamn mess, and how could she allow herself to feel this way after all these years, after having been shown all the goddamn reasons why Killian Jones will never love her back a hundred fucking times.

 .

 Rose-Mary, of her surname Tink, tosses and turns in Killian’s bed. He is fast asleep next to her, one hand thrown across his face. He snores lightly.

 Tink has this tingling desire deep within her, this desire to grab the phone he left on his nightstand and delete Emma Swan’s call from it.

 “Give me the phone, Tink!”

 Back in the bar, she was quite lucky to find out in the shape of his raised eyebrows that Killian Jones wasn’t actually serious, that he was seriously hammered and couldn’t have cared less for his phone if he had tried. As her only answer, she had simply locked her lips to his and pressed his phone’s home button to switch it off.

 Because Tink knows Emma Swan.

 Killian Jones was already in love with her when Tink asked him out, during their senior year. She cannot forget the look on his face, as she was standing in the middle of the hallway, risking her heart. Behind her, Emma Swan was leaning against a locker with Mary Margaret and Ruby, and Killian simply, positively wouldn’t look Tink in the eyes.

 “I’m sorry, love,” he said, “but my affections lie elsewhere.” And Tink remembers thinking he surely didn’t have to sound like he escaped from one of Shakespeare’s plays, and she turned to discover the pretty blonde smiling at Killian, waving with mischief, and his arm around her shoulders as soon as he reached her.

 Some things were truly unfair.

 As luck would have it, Killian’s path crossed hers years ago – when he moved to Portsmouth to join the Navy whilst she began Nursing school. But even then, he didn’t seem interested, was dating an older woman.

 And then, finally, two days ago, their paths crossed again in a bar. He is missing a hand now, but he is still the same handsome guy she crushed on in high school. Perched on a stool, he looked disheveled, desperate, nose in his rum glass, and he welcomed her into his warm, solid arms.

 “Still in contact with Emma Swan?” she asked, and it wasn’t like she cared. She didn’t want more than he could offer. But still, she asked.

 “Emma? Who’s Emma? I only see you.”

 Although she knew that to be a lie, she still decided to kiss him back, knowing the instant Killian Jones heard Emma Swan’s name again, well then, he would find a very gentle, delicate way to make her go away.

 And that’s fine. But if she can prevent it, well –

 Tink stands up as silently as she can, and like a feather in the wind, grabs his phone. He casually gave her his pin number earlier during the night — change this bloody song Tink will you — and Tink deletes Emma’s call in the blink of an eye.

 Satisfaction sparkles in her heart. No one will bother them anymore.

 .

 As Neal and Emma go on tasting wedding cakes, Emma thinks about how Killian never called her back. Not the morning after her conversation with Tink, not the night after, not the day after, he did not call. Period. It’s the only answer he is willing to give, and she accepts it.

 He doesn’t care about her. Not like she cares, anyway.  

 “The chocolate one,” Emma mumbles, trying not to spit crumbs of cakes out of her mouth and failing, “it’s perfect.”

 Delicacy remains a skill she has yet to learn.

 But Neal doesn’t seem to mind when he chuckles and kisses her cheek. Emma grabs his face and doesn’t care that there are still chocolate chunks in her mouth and she kisses him, hard, to forget the taste of Killian Jones’ lips.

 .

 Killian stares at the picture of Emma and himself on his fridge. It’s been a month, stammers his heart. She will not call, now.

 Tink is still sleeping in his bed. He needs to call things off with her as well. She’s too attached, he’ll break her heart. That’s one too many hearts to be responsible for.

 He swallows stone, but he takes the picture off the fridge. It’s too painful to stare at what ifs.

 .

 A few minutes before Emma and Neal say “I do”.

 Taking a picture off a fridge is simple enough. Not racing towards the town hall of Storybrooke to try, one last time, and stop Emma’s wedding, isn’t nearly as easily done.

 Hope and denial are, after all, two very close kingdoms and both of them inhabit Killian’s heart.

 At least he’s got that going for him. However, Mary Margaret and David – who are also running beside him – really have nothing going for them except for their foolishness.

 How dare they show up in his home and tear him out of his cobweb of misery and self-pity. How bloody dare they.

 “There’s no use arguing, I’m not going!” he yelled, and then Mary Margaret had this very dangerous smile, and before he knew it, his ass sat on a plane between the two of them and he was wearing his most expensive tie.

 “And look sharp, Killian.” 

 Which is why, as Killian races down that street corner, and up that small hill by Granny’s, and then down again Main street, towards the town hall, Killian no longer expects Emma and Neal to come out of the building, holding hands, married. 

 But that’s exactly what happens.

 They come out as a crowd of strangers surrounds them, and they look like the sun has set all of its rays of sunshine on them, they are shining, shining, much like the waves of fear down Killian’s belly because he is too late. Of course he is. 

 And he wants to turn around and hit David in the face. 

 But what’s the use of fighting anymore? The war is lost. Lay your weapons down. Bring the soldiers home.

 And in that moment, as the sun seems to align with some divine power and its golden beams shine on Emma’s eyes, glittering green lakes, she gazes at him and he holds his breath. In spite of everything, he still thinks she is the most beautiful woman on earth. He smiles, as his heart shatters to the ground, as Neal kisses her open mouth. 

What is there else to do but smile?

 “Fuck,” exclaims Mary Margaret next to him, and Killian sure does nod.

 “Aye. Couldn’t have said it better myself.”  

 .

 Present day – Neal and Emma’s wedding reception.

 Neal watches as Emma shuts the large French windows that lead to the balcony behind her. He puts down his glass of champagne on the white table in front of him. The bubbles fizz inside, as if to mock him.

 For there’s not the shadow of a smile on his wife’s face. In fact, she looks utterly devastated. Her complexion is pale, her cheeks have lost all the colors they gathered during their dances, and there is not one sparkle of happiness left in her green eyes.

 A frown. Why does his wife look devastated at their wedding?

 He sees her glance down, seemingly lost, and she does this thing when she doesn’t know where to put her hands, so she folds them in front of her. And she plays with the bracelet around her wrist, twists the little charms, twists, twists his heart.

 And then he realizes. She’s waiting. But for what? Or rather, for whom?

 He wishes the answer didn’t come quite as soon, not quite as sharply, he wishes the room did not start spinning as Killian Jones leaves the balcony in his turn – devilishly handsome as he’d say and looking entirely like a mess.

 What a picture. They both look devastated. They look like the bride and groom, him in his white shirt and her in her white dress. Two bleeding snowflakes under a golden chandelier.

 Neal watches as Emma risks a glance back, but Killian doesn’t look up, only stares at the hard wooden floor, Neal watches as she presses her lips together and straightens her back, but still glances back at him.

 Always back at him. Of course. 

 And that’s when one realization hits Neal quite hard.

 His wife… His wife is in love with someone else. He just married someone who is irrevocably and for all of eternity in love with someone else.

 Why did he do this to himself? For the longest of times, Neal thought it didn’t matter that Emma’s gaze was filled with green, shimmering clouds of pain whenever Killian Jones’ name was mentioned in a conversation, he really thought it didn’t matter that her cheeks would always flush whenever she received a text from him, because he was the one kissing her lips and sleeping between her sheets.

 He was such a fool.

 He married a woman in love with someone else.

 Such a fool.

 Neal grabs his glass of champagne again, downs it in a few angry mouthfuls, and gathers courage and legs to stand and stride towards his wife.

 Emma might be in love with Killian, but she loves him too, surely she does, or she wouldn’t have agreed to this marriage, right?

 And there is something very scary vibrating in his chest, fear, a green and viscous fear, he’s losing her, she’s slipping between her fingers…

 “Neal,” Emma’s voice is very soft as it greets him, but her smile doesn’t reach her eyes.

 How dare she, how dare she be in love with Killian, when Neal gave up everything for her, when he…

 From the corner of his eye, Neal can see Killian lean against the wall. He is looking at them. Perfect. Now watch, you little fucker.

 “Hello, baby,” two words, and Neal dips Emma and savagely presses his lips onto hers.

 A burst of applause rattles the crowd. 

Neal tries his best to muffle the voice inside his head that sneers that the only thing their guests are cheering at, is the end of their love.

 .

  “I’m going back to our room, I’m really tired” mumbles Emma over her empty mojito glass.

The sea whispers behind her back. Neal doesn’t look up from his piña colada. 

 On the terrace of this luxurious hotel by the French Riviera, Neal and Emma are sitting and everything sucks.

 It is the third day of their honeymoon, and for Neal, it is the last straw. There is no way in hell he can keep up this charade. They both deserve better than this.

 She’s been looking miserable since they arrived here – it isn’t for a lack of trying to conceal it. Actually, no, it’s worse than that. She’s been looking miserable since Killian Jones left their wedding without a look back at her. Should have seen her face, Eurydice left by Orpheus in the depths of hell.  

 It’s killing him to see her like this, to know there’s nothing he can do to make things better. Purely and simply because, as much as he’s tried to, Neal Cassidy will never replace Killian Jones in Emma Swan’s heart.

 And as she bends towards him to give him a quick peck on the lips, a very vicious sentence tickles his tongue and he lets it out without a second thought.

 “Bet you looked more eager to kiss Killian.”

 It is a dick move, yes, but after all he isn’t the one who cheated on her, and Neal thinks she deserves a little karma.

 The look she darts on him then would have probably killed him, had there not been empty glasses standing between the two of them to shield him.

 “What the hell are you talking about?” she spits out in a sharp, defensive tone. 

Neal is surprised she tries to deny it all.

 “Your lover sent you a letter,” he hisses back.

 Satisfaction sparkles in his heart at the sight of her face turning crimson under the moonlight.  

 He watches as she angrily gulps a last mouthful of rum, watches as her knuckles whiten around her glass and her jaw clenches. “Who are you talking about?”

“Who the hell do you think I’m talking about?” 

And then the god forsaken, sacrilegious name. “...Killian sent me a letter?”

 And from guilt to anger, there is only one, treacherous step. And she seems eager to jump it.

 “Oh yeah, he did. Said it all about your kiss and loving you, and I nearly vomited…”

 And then it is really upsetting because he wants to be mad but her face does that thing where it just freezes, mouth open wide and eyes even wider, and it would have been funny had he not been putting an end to their short-lived marriage.

 “He…he loves me?”

 She cannot possibly not know it. She can’t be that oblivious to reality.

 “I’m telling you I know you cheated on me and that’s your only reaction?” A roll of eyes, his voice coming out shriller, to mock her, mock her pain, because he wants to hurt her like she hurt him. “ “He loves me?” Of course he loves you, Emma!” he blurts out, because the entire world knows it except for her, apparently.  

 He can’t have married someone as oblivious.

 Well, you did marry her knowing she was in love with someone else.

 And she stands up, cheeks hot and burning and red, and she isn’t making any sense anymore. “What the hell are you talking about? Killian doesn’t love me, he never has.”

 And seeing her wrath, the way her body trembles and shakes, he knows she is truly convinced Killian Jones isn’t in love with her.

 But how…

 “You really don’t know, do you?”

 “Where is that letter?”

 “I got rid of it, of course!”

 “Then you have no proof! How convenient.”

 He wants to stop her then, to yell “Hey YOU cheated on me,” but he can tell that in her grand order of things, her cheating on him has nothing on Killian Jones possibly loving her.

 And then a small, mad chuckle jolts out of her mouth. “Killian would never write a letter. You made that up.”

 “But how would I know about the kiss?”

 “I don’t know, and I don’t care, and I, I—” A turn, and then she is gone, disappearing in a tornado of anger and guilt and sand.

 Neal doesn’t try to hold her back, remains very still on his seat, lets her go, much like he should have years ago. He glances down at the empty drink between his fingers.

 The waves crash against the sand, whoosh, whoosh, and Neal feels terribly lonely.

 But at peace.

 But mostly lonely.

 Damnit, she is stubborn, and she is lucky he’s in love with her. That he’ll always be, somehow, even if he is a fucking idiot who probably blew his only chance at love when he stole those watches.

 .

 Later that night, Neal finds her sitting on their king side bed and its perfectly white blankets, hands folded in front of her like he knows them to, shoulders down and head bent towards the floor, and Neal desperately wants to hug her.

 There is not an ounce of anger left in his body. Only sadness. 

 There’s not a flicker of light in their room as he sits down by her side. The rustle of the waves can be heard from their room. It’s the only reason why he chose it. He knows she loves that sound. 

(He doesn’t know she loves it because of him, but that’s fine.)

  “Hey…” he begins softly, and his shoulder gently bumps against hers. “You okay?”

 She’s twirling her wedding ring around her finger. Of course she is. She always has been. And that should have been a clue, too.

 “Are you being sincere right now?” she asks, and her voice is nothing like the voice he’s grown to love.

 Emma’s voice has always been soft, but vibrating with a very triumphant confidence as well.

 “What do you mean?” he asks, because precisely he doesn’t know what she means.

 He’s never understood her like Killian can, in spite of how much he loves her. And while he spent most of the beginning of his adulthood hating him for it, he realizes now it is simply a battle he cannot win.

 She lifts her face up, and he makes out her shimmering eyes in the darkness.

 “I cheated on you. Aren’t you mad?”

 A gigantic sigh shakes his shoulders as these past six months flash before his eyes.

 “I was angry, Emma. But it’s been too long, I’m not anymore.”

 “Too long?”

 Oh, right, that. She’ll hate him, but well, she deserves the truth. He winces, fidgets with the collar of his shirt.

 “I might have been hiding this letter from you for a good six months now…” he whispers, and forces a smile on his face as an apology. 

 “You what?”

 She doesn’t sound nearly as angry as he expected her to. In fact, she doesn’t sound angry at all. She sounds defeated, hopeless.

 “I was so scared that if I confronted you, you would just run and never marry me, and I thought I could hold on to you by not telling you…But I was wrong. There was no holding on to you.”

 And something terrible rattles her body then, as she cups her face and disappears even more in a small, scared puddle over the bed.

 “Fuck. I’m sorry Neal. I ruined everything.”

 And he shakes his head then, grabs one of her hands. “There’s no need to apologize, Emma. We both fucked up. I should have let you go a long time ago.”

 His throat is tight, but he knows this is the right thing to do.

 “What are we going to do now?” she whispers, just as one of his arms comes to wrap around her shoulders.

 She muffles a sigh in the crook of his neck while he gently brushes her hair.  

 “I don’t know. Is there some kind of three weeks wedding notice?”

 She chuckles then, but he can clearly imagine the tears rolling down her cheeks as she sniffles into his neck.

 “You’re an idiot.”

 “I am.”

 Silence. By then, it’s somehow raining in the room and his shirt is soaked.

 “I’ll always love you. You know that, right, Emma?”

 She nods in the darkness, her hand clutching onto his shoulder, and she seems to him a firefly caught between a child’s chubby hands.

 “I know, Neal.”

 “Good.”

  .

 Moving out of this house is one of the weirdest things Emma has ever had to do.

 “Emma, you’re not coming?” calls David’s voice, and Emma looks up to see his head peering from the driver’s seat of his old, orange truck.

 Safely packing all of the pieces of furniture was a collective effort. Mary Margaret, Ingrid and Ruby also came to help, and Emma is quite thankful. It’s such a blinding, sunny day of August, and if not for the fresh breeze that swirls between the tree branches, it would be unbreathable.

 Emma simply shakes her head. “No, don’t worry. I’ll join you guys later at Granny’s.” 

Her right foot nearly knocks out the small cardboard box at her feet, sending a loop down her stomach. 

This one she’ll carry herself.  

 Neal and Emma agreed to sell the house and the furniture, and Neal – well Neal decided to move to Boston, and Emma cannot quite blame him.

 This last month has been…weird, on so many levels, and Neal wasn’t the weirdest thing about it.

 “Alright. Call us if you need anything.”

 As David drives away, Emma stares back at the house. Her feet seem buried into the doormat, the door still open wide, and her fingers clutch onto the keys.

 It is a bittersweet sight, those empty walls.

 She thinks life has a funny way of coming around. She thinks she thought she’d have a family there, with Neal, she thinks she thought this was what she wanted, what she could bear to have and risk losing.

 She’s glad that Neal showed himself braver than she ever could. That he refused to settle, for both of their sakes.

 She inhales deeply.

 Exhales.

 And lets it go. All of it.  

 Click, she locks the door, and turns her back on her past.

 A summer breeze greets her face, swirls around her legs and tangles her hair, and she closes her eyes into the warm embrace. It carries childhood smells, this smell of burnt wood, and Rocky Road ice-cream, and Killian’s cologne.

 “Heard you needed help moving out?” Her eyes snap open. Her heart skips a beat.

 It’s August in Storybrooke, Maine, and anything is possible again. 

 The wind carries the first fallen leaves to her feet and his scent to her heart. Something mystical splits her face as she takes a step towards him. She nearly trips on the cardboard box at her feet, again, grunts and picks it up in a blink, and she hears it – his laughter in the wind.

 As she looks up, a flower blooms in her chest, carries blood to her heart and her face with its roots, and her lungs are soon filled to the brim with petals. 

 “Yeah.” A quivering whisper, it is hard to breathe when the sun drops golden and blue beams into his eyes. “Thank you, Killian.”

 And in a few strides he imprisons the cardboard box she held against her chest, the one containing memories of her childhood, and his eyes are so warm on her face that he steals her breath away.

 “Any baggage left?” he asks, and it is a hoarse whisper as well. 

She swallows hard.

 She shivers beside him. She’s a fallen leaf herself, caught in a whirlwind. Her eyes are open wide and she feels completely swallowed by his gaze but it is a wonderful kind of fear.

 “Not at all.”

 And he smiles then, and it is one of the most gentle smiles she’s seen on his face, and at last, he is Killian and she is Emma.

 “Good.”

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

@yasbio2015​ @bubblegum1425​ @daenerysmyhsa​ @dancingnancyy​ @elizabeethan​ @farewell-courgette​  @beca0912​ @stina-g​ @tenaciouskittynightmare​ @noensnaringnet​ @klynn-stormz​ @sekretny13​ @tiganasummertree​ @vvbooklady1256​ @brustudyblog​ @peggyyswan​ @thisonesatellite​ @ohmightydevviepuu​ @courtorderedcake​ @snowbellewells​ @kingofmyheart14​ @teamhook​ @mariakov81​ @folkloreismylullaby​ @officerrogers​

#cs ff #cs fanfics #captain swan #my stuff #love emma #thank you guys again for your support <3

[stephissalty]

you still wear my jacket

Pairing: Iwaoi

Rating: T

Warnings: Language

Words: 6000

Summary: "Iwaizumi wasn’t one to believe in fate, but he could believe that there was some very, very cruel intervention that put Oikawa Tooru on the same plane, to the same destination, in the seat next to him, three years nearly to the day since the last time he’d seen him."

AO3

Part 2 - AO3

you still wear my jacket

Iwaizumi Hajime receives a text from his supervisor ten minutes before he’s set to board a plane to London.

Received, 19:04: enjoy your trip. don’t forget to turn off your phone

Received, 19:04: you need the time off

Iwaizumi rolls his eyes and sends an affirmative response before tucking his phone back in his pocket. He knew he was very much in need of a break. For the past three months, he had been working twelve-plus hour days, and his team had been working nearly as many. The project his supervisor had assigned to Iwaizumi’s group was interesting, at least: the coding division was to design and perfect a code to a new kind of robot, to be used in conjunction with other existing technology that the company was working on, and compatible with several different kinds of software. Iwaizumi enjoyed his job as a team leader - he’d been offered the position after holding an internship with a sister company while in university - but these past few weeks had been wearing him down, and he was ready to collapse.

His supervisor had suggested that he take a week off and get out of Japan - visit somewhere far away, somewhere he’d never been before for a change of scenery. And he was doing just that.

But even so, he still feels the weight of his laptop in his backpack, and his work phone in one of his pockets buzzes with another text. After this text, I’ll turn it off.

Received, 19:07: Iwaizumi-san, enjoy your trip

The text is from one of his interns, a university student named Kunimi. Even my interns are telling me to enjoy my trip. Have I been overworking that much?

He doesn’t turn off his phone.

He turns his boarding pass over in his hands, fidgeting slightly with the edges of the slick paper. For the millionth time, he reads over his boarding group, which reads BSNS CLASS, and then verifies it is his name at the top of the pass. Indeed, IWAIZUMI HAJIME is printed at the top of the paper along with all of the other flight details. He’s still in awe that he has the privilege to fly Business Class, something that is because of his hearty bonus that came in a few weeks ago. This whole trip was a treat to himself, but the tickets were a splurge.

“We are now welcoming Business Class. Business Class, welcome aboard.”

Iwaizumi makes his way towards the line forming, stepping behind well-dressed men in suits carrying briefcases and women carrying designer purses. At twenty-five years old and dressed in sweats and an old Aoba Johsai jacket, he feels slightly out of place. He puts his discomfort aside as he approaches the desk, where the attendant scans his ticket, and he enters the boarding bridge.

A few minutes later, he’s settled into his seat, 2B. The window seat to his left is still empty as he fishes his headphones and charging cord out of his backpack before stowing it away in the overhead.

It’s several minutes later, and as Iwaizumi is starting to be hopeful that he may have the row to himself that he feels a tap on his shoulder.

“Sorry, can I get -” as Iwaizumi looks up, the person speaking abruptly cuts off in surprise. “Iwa-chan?”

Iwaizumi blinks a few times, trying to register the sight in front of him. Standing in the aisle in front of him is none other than Oikawa Tooru. He’s older than the last time he saw him, but he’s definitely Oikawa. His immaculate hair is slightly longer than it was last time, and he looks a little taller, but that might be Iwaizumi’s angle. He’s dressed in a dark shirt under a white jacket with aqua trim and dark sweatpants, and to finish off the ensemble is a head donut around his neck.

“Oikawa.”

“Uh -” For one of the first times that Iwaizumi can recall, Oikawa seems to be out of words. “Looks like I’m sitting next to you. If you want, I can try to request a seat change or -”

“It’s fine. You’re holding up the line. Get in,” Iwaizumi grunts and grits his teeth.

“Right, right.”

Iwaizumi draws up his knees to allow Oikawa to pass, trying not to flinch at the moment of contact.

They sit in silence for a while as the rest of the plane boards, allowing Iwaizumi the distraction to put in his headphones and turn on music, loud enough to try to forget that Oikawa Tooru is sitting next to him. He subtly scoots towards the aisle and pulls his left elbow towards his body, vehemently ignoring the heat emitting from the body next to him.

What are the chances?

Iwaizumi wasn’t one to believe in fate, but he could believe that there was some very, very cruel intervention that put Oikawa Tooru on the same plane, to the same destination, in the seat next to him, three years nearly to the day since the last time he’d seen him.

Three years is a long time.

“Welcome aboard flight 0104, service to London Heathrow. I’m Sawamura, and I’m joined by Azumane, and we’ll be your flight crew for today’s flight. If you’ll direct your attention to your seat-back screens for the safety presentation please…”

The plane pushes back from the gate and begins taxiing towards the runway. Begin a flight from hell.

“Iwa-chan?”

He whips his head to Oikawa and removes one earbud. “Don’t call me that.”

“Iwaizumi...san.” Oikawa has a strange look on his face, as if the name tastes strange in his mouth, which he supposes it probably does.

“What?”

“Is it time now?” The question is vague, but the meaning is clear as day.

“We have been cleared for takeoff. Secure your seatbacks and tray tables in their upright and locked positions. Flight attendants, prepare the cabin for takeoff.”

Iwaizumi doesn’t respond, just puts his earbud back in and raises the volume even higher, to a nearly painful level.

The engines ready for takeoff, Iwaizumi looks to the window as the plane accelerates. He can see, even though the other is faced away from him, the sparkle in Oikawa’s eyes, even before leaving the ground. Once the wheels leave the ground, the city starts shrinking to a grid of yellow lights and soft neons and moving headlights. From Iwaizumi’s vantage point, he doesn’t have the best view, but Oikawa does, and Oikawa, although he’s definitely been on planes countless times, seems captivated by the city getting smaller and the sky getting more vast, getting closer to the soft clouds.

Oikawa’s always loved planes.

Iwaizumi knows that better than anyone. Oikawa’s the reason why Iwaizumi loves flying.

Once they reach ten thousand feet, Iwaizumi immediately connects his work phone to the wifi to check his messages, and, sure enough, in the Oikawa commotion, he’d forgotten to check it before takeoff. He had several messages from another one of his hard-working interns, Kindaichi.

Received 19:15: I got section 44 to compile!

Received 19:15: Yahaba-san will look over it tomorrow

Received 19:15: I’m going to start on 45

Received 19:16: You shouldn’t be doing work on vacation tho

Received 19:16: Have fun, Iwaizumi-san!

Not for the first time, he is exceedingly grateful for his dedicated interns, working even at seven in the evening.

Delivered 19:55: Thank you for your hard work.

Delivered 19:55: Don’t work too late.

He receives an immediate response.

Received 19:55: The same for you!

Delivered 19:56: Thank you.

Although everyone has told him to turn off his phone, he can’t bring himself to. He can’t bear the thought that one of his subordinates could need his help during the time that he’s in the air - after all, it’s a thirteen hour flight. A voice tries to reason that they shouldn’t be working at this time anyways, but it ultimately loses.

“As hardworking as ever,” Oikawa says, somehow catching a quiet moment in one of Iwaizumi’s songs, so his voice cuts through. Iwaizumi thinks he hears a twinge of anger in the word ‘hardworking’. He doesn’t want to think about why.

He returns his attention to his seatmate and wrenches out one earbud. “Huh?”

“You were just messaging work, no? Always a hardworker, Iwa-chan.”

“Were you reading over my shoulder?” Iwaizumi asks incredulously, ignoring the second half of what Oikawa said. He’s trying to rile Iwaizumi up, and he knows it.

“It’s not my fault if you have your brightness so high and your font so big that someone in space could read your texts.” Oikawa flashes a shit-eating, dazzling grin.

Don’t fall for it don’t fall for it don’t fall for it. “I swear -”

“Are you still at the tech company? Code monkey?”

Iwaizumi tries to rein in his temper. “I’m a team leader for the coding division, and, yes, I’m still with the same company. How about you, space boy?”

“I’m a project leader for a classified project at an aerospace firm in Tokyo,” Oikawa says, nose in the air.

Iwaizumi nods, ready to go back to his music, but clearly Oikawa has other plans.

“Iwa-chan! Tell me about your life.”

“And if I don’t want to?”

“Please.”

His eyes are pleading, and Iwaizumi almost breaks there. But then he remembers.

“No. Now, I’m going to take a nap. Is that okay with you, Oikawa?” he snaps. He actually isn’t tired at all and has trouble sleeping on planes, but dealing with Oikawa is too much for him today. He doesn’t wait until he gets an answer before turning away from Oikawa and burrowing slightly into the collar of his volleyball jacket that he still wears after all these years.

He doesn’t realize that Oikawa is also wearing his Aoba Johsai jacket.

Iwaizumi wasn’t sure when Oikawa really changed, but he thought it might’ve been when he missed the final ball in the last match against Karasuno in their third year of high school. After that game, he was never quite the same. There wasn’t another high school tournament to prepare for, and they were done playing for Seijoh. It marked the end of an era, in a way, and Iwaizumi figured Oikawa didn’t know how to handle it.

The end of third year was rough because of that. They still attended classes leading up to graduation, toured a few universities, applied to universities, got accepted to universities, dropped in on a few practices, but all of that was tinged with a grey cloud of sadness that both of them could feel.

Iwaizumi felt it all bubble up when they had to individually choose where they would be going to university.

One Friday night, they were sitting on Iwaizumi’s bedroom floor, two laptops open, and countless pamphlets and acceptance letters surrounding them as they each tried to decide where they’d attend for the coming year. Oikawa had been alarmingly quiet through the whole time Iwaizumi had been listing pros and cons of his personal top choices - two different schools in Tokyo and one closer to Sendai.

“What’s up?”

Oikawa kept his head down.

“Oikawa.”

He shook his head silently.

“Is the university talk upsetting you?”

He shrugged, still not looking up. His hair was flopped down, so his face was hidden from Iwaizumi’s view.

“You gotta talk to me.”

Oikawa very, very slowly raised his hand and gripped Iwaizumi’s wrist, pulling it toward himself. He still didn’t speak.

Iwaizumi thought he understood, though. “You don’t want to separate.”

Oikawa shook his head violently and hugged Iwaizumi tightly. He felt a wet patch forming on his shoulder as he wrapped his arms around his friend.

“It’ll be okay,” he whispered, but it sounded like an empty promise to his own ears.

They sat there for a long time, Oikawa crying in Iwaizumi’s arms, as Iwaizumi tucked his face in Oikawa’s neck and tried not to cry as well.

I don’t want to leave him, either.

But I might have to.

The night of graduation, the two lay in silence on Iwaizumi’s bedroom floor. They’d already been to dinner with their families, already did photos, already took care of their prior commitments, They were free to just spend the evening together.

Oikawa had his head on Iwaizumi’s stomach, and their hands were intertwined over Iwaizumi’s chest. Even for them, it was very intimate, but they didn’t address it. The somber mood in the room was overbearing.

“Iwa-chan?”

“Hmm?”

“Everything’s gonna change now, isn’t it?”

They’d decided to go to different universities in the same city. They were getting an apartment together. Even though they’d be on different volleyball teams, they’d still be together. That managed to nullify both of their fears of being apart.

“Things are going to change, but what’s never going to change is that you’re my best friend,” Iwaizumi replied quietly. He ordinarily wasn’t the type to say sentimental things out loud, but tonight was different.

Oikawa pulled their conjoined hands onto his own chest and squeezed tight. He shifted his head to look towards Iwaizumi. “Is that a promise?”

Iwaizumi looked down and met his gaze, eyes soft. “Of course.”

“Even if I say something stupid?”

“Always.”

Oikawa turned his gaze away, refocusing on the ceiling fan as he ran his thumb over the back of Iwaizumi’s hand. He exhaled, seemingly thinking through his next words very thoroughly, as if he were scared.

“You couldn’t say anything that would make me not want to be your best friend.”

“Even…” Inhale. Exhale. Repeat. “Even if I were to say I’m in love with you?” The end of the sentence sounded choked, and the squeezing of Iwaizumi’s hand was almost painful - he could physically feel Oikawa’s anxiety.

Iwaizumi used his free hand to run through Oikawa’s hair softly. A giddy smile played at his own lips, and his heartbeat sped up. “Yeah, even then. I love you, too.”

Iwaizumi isn’t sure how long it’s been when he wakes up.

Just in front of him, serving the first row, he sees the flight with carts for the first in-flight meal. Considering this, he assumes he’s been out for an hour or so.

He risks a glance at Oikawa, who he finds looking back at him.

Iwaizumi doesn’t want to - can’t - decipher what the emotion in his eyes is.

“What’s for dinner for you guys? We’ve got vegetarian lasagna and a chicken wrap,” the attendant who’d introduced himself as Sawamura asks.

“Lasagna,” they say in unison. Iwaizumi stiffens, but doesn’t look at Oikawa.

“Great, great,” Sawamura replies, as he grabs the meals and hands them out. “Azumane will be by in a minute for drinks.”

Indeed, Azumane was taking the first row’s drink order. Neither speaks until Azumane has handed them their drinks - Sprite for Oikawa, Coke for Iwaizumi.

“Don’t talk.”

“Iwa-chan -”

The tension snaps. Iwaizumi growls, “I just want to eat my dinner. I can’t deal with you, I can’t deal with this right now, I really can’t. Stop.”

Oikawa swallows slowly and averts his eyes. He draws his left leg up to his chest, careful not to knock the tray table, and hugs it as he peels back the foil on his meal. “I’m sorry, Iwa-chan.”

He sounds defeated.

Iwaizumi can’t take it. He puts headphones back in.

The first year of university passed fairly uneventfully. There were so many changes, of course, but there were no disasters of epic proportions that Iwaizumi and Oikawa couldn’t work through alright.

They quickly fell into a routine. Iwaizumi would get back to the apartment first because his university was slightly closer, and his classes ended a little earlier. He’d start on his homework, and Oikawa would arrive sometime not long after that. After finishing both of their homework - Iwaizumi was a very good influence to get Oikawa to stop procrastinating - they’d figure something for dinner - usually Iwaizumi cooking. And after dinner they’d settle down in the living room for a few hours.

They spent a lot of nights on the couch in their apartment, a tangled mess of limbs, Oikawa’s head on Iwaizumi’s chest. Usually they’d watch a TV show or movie as Iwaizumi carded one hand through Oikawa’s hair and clasped their hands together over Oikawa’s chest with the other. He spent a lot of nights just playing with Oikawa’s hands, gently kissing his fingertips, appreciating all of the callouses.

Save for a few small domestic spats that were bound to happen to any new roommates or romantic partners, first year passed without a hitch.

Their first anniversary fell on a Saturday, so they had the whole day together. The day as a whole was phenomenal: lazy morning sex, pancake breakfast, sleepy movie afternoon, and fancy dinner.  After dinner, though, Oikawa already had Iwaizumi pushed up against the outside of their door before he’d even unlocked it. He pressed their lips together hotly, like they had so many times before.

Iwaizumi smiled into the kiss but ducked away from Oikawa’s mouth. “Not yet. We’ll get there, though,” he promised and pressed a quick kiss to Oikawa’s jaw to satiate his partner for the time being. They pushed into the apartment, but Iwaizumi didn’t look at Oikawa, instead heading straight for his own bedroom, which had barely been used since they’d moved in - Iwaizumi slept in Oikawa’s room almost every night.

Iwaizumi first unzipped his school bag, fishing around in one of the pockets to find a permanent marker. Then, he opened his closet, sifting through clothes until he found his Aoba Johsai jacket. Still not speaking, he entered the living room, still holding the jacket and marker, grabbed Oikawa’s sleeve, and pulled him into Oikawa’s bedroom. He then found Oikawa’s own Aoba Johsai jacket, ignoring his boyfriend’s questions as to what the hell, Iwa-chan?

Iwaizumi laid both jackets side by side on the bed. “Sit.” Oikawa did, still thoroughly confused. “So, I’ve had this idea for a while, and I thought now would be a good time.” He blushed slightly as he doubted his idea. “I want us to trade jackets.” Oikawa looked confused. “Well - we both still wear them fairly often, and I was thinking that even though they look the same, we’ll always know they’re the others’? Something like that? It’s kinda a stupid idea, I know -”

“I love it.” Oikawa jumped up and cradled Iwaizumi’s face. He was beaming. Oikawa kissed him gently, tenderly, slowly, in the way that he knew Iwaizumi loved most. He pulled back. “What was it you were wanting to do with the marker?”

Iwaizumi still had the marker in his hand where it was holding Oikawa’s face. Nimbly twirling it in his fingers, he replied, “I was thinking we could, uh, write our names in them before trading?” He took his own jacket and folded back the end of the left sleeve, revealing the inside of the cuff, which was thick enough material to not let the marker bleed. “Is that okay?”

Oikawa, who still had the biggest grin on his face, wrapped his arms around Iwaizumi’s abdomen and kissed his neck. “Of course. You’re such a sap, Iwa-chan. I love this, almost as much as I love you.”

He craned his neck to chastely press their lips together again. “I love you, too.” Iwaizumi turned back to the jacket, and he carefully wrote out HAJIME #4 on one side of the seam, the side that would be closer to the body, and STRONGER with a small heart on the other side. He flipped the cuff right and passed the marker to Oikawa, who wrote TOORU #1 and INVINCIBLE, also with a small heart on his.

“Now, Tooru, let’s pick up where we left off,” Iwaizumi said after they’d cleared the bed, a playful glint in his eyes.

Oikawa didn’t need to be told twice before he was backing Iwaizumi up onto the bed.

Iwaizumi runs his right thumb over the inside of his left sleeve cuff. TOORU #1, INVINCIBLE. He still wears the jacket because he still loves volleyball, still loves the time he had at Aoba Johsai. He remembers all of the time they had together there. The thought makes his throat clog up and weakens his heart. He swallows thickly.

He never thought he’d have to worry about running into Oikawa, especially not while he was still wearing the jacket.

To make matters worse, Oikawa’s wearing his jacket, too.

Nothing’s changed after all these years.

“Iwa-chan, why are you going to London?” He sounds scared.

Weakened by nostalgia, he replies softly, “Vacation.” Pause. “You?”

Oikawa seems taken aback by the question. “Work trip, but I’m going a few days early for a quick vacation.”

“You still wear it.” He nods in the vague direction of Oikawa’s jacket, noticing that he wears the left cuff rolled, exposing the writing from all those years ago. HAJIME #4, STRONGER. He hopes bringing this up isn’t a mistake, but a growing feeling in his gut says it definitely is.

“You do, too.”

Their eyes meet for only the third time in the entire flight. Iwaizumi briefly notes that there are still over eight hours remaining on this flight, so getting into a dangerous conversation isn’t in his best interest. Fuck it.

“Of course I do,” he says, as if it’s obvious.

“Most people would get rid of their old partner’s clothes after a breakup,” Oikawa responds. Dangerous.

“Most people do, yeah.” Iwaizumi tries his damndest to keep his voice neutral, to not let his emotions show. Thinking about high school makes you weak. Now look at what you’ve gotten yourself into.

“And you…?”

Iwaizumi averts his eyes. Can’t let you go, but it’s been three years and our relationship fell apart because of me. He can’t say that so he opts for, “Apparently neither of us are most.”

Silence.

“I miss you.” Oikawa sounds scared.

“It didn’t work.” Iwaizumi is blunt.

Oikawa moves slowly, so, so slowly, as he guides Iwaizumi’s chin back to look at him with one finger. Against his better judgement, Iwaizumi allows it. Oikawa’s eyes are watery. “It’s been three years, Hajime. Can we talk about it?”

“It was my fault and you know it. There’s nothing else to talk about,” he says cooly.

“No -”

“Then let’s talk.”

During their third year of university, Oikawa proposed. It was perfect for them. Once every season, their universities played each other, and after that game - Iwaizumi’s team had won, but Oikawa was too nervous to be upset about the loss - he’d stopped Iwaizumi before he could go to get changed out of his uniform. He’d enlisted help from some of his university teammates (shoutout to Kuroo), and got down on one knee right in front of the scoreboard. That part actually wasn’t planned, but the pictures came out amazingly. Iwaizumi said yes, of course.

From there, they moved on with their lives and into their final year of university.

Iwaizumi picked up an internship, which he threw himself into headfirst, and Oikawa started spending even more time in the gym in hopes to get scouted for the national team. There had been eyes on him for the last two years, so this season would be his last chance to prove he was worthy of national play.

They saw each other less and less, but still came home to bed every night, even if it was late.

One week, Iwaizumi snuck into bed at just past midnight, having just gotten in from his internship. Oikawa was just barely still awake as Iwaizumi wrapped an arm around his middle and pulled him close.

“You’re home late again,” Oikawa whispered. It was the third night that week.

“I’m sorry,” Iwaizumi responded, punctuating the response with a light kiss to Oikawa’s nape. “I’ll try to be home by dinner tomorrow.” Oikawa hummed. “How was practice?”

“Good. I miss playing with you, though,” he said longingly.

“Let’s go to the gym this weekend.”

Oikawa flipped around, bringing them face to face. “Really?” His eyes were shining.

“Really.”

Oikawa surged forward and kissed him deeply, pushing Iwaizumi onto his back and straddling him. Iwaizumi kissed back with just as much fervor - god, he’d missed this with how much he’d been working. “God, I love you,” Iwaizumi mumbled against his lips.

“I love you too,” Oikawa responded, and Iwaizumi’s chest flooded with fondness, just like the first time.

Received, 21:45: hey iwaizumi-san. i’ll be out for the rest of the week

Received, 21:46: i’ll make sure all of my work is finished when i return

Delivered, 21:48: Okay. Is everything alright?

Received, 21:49: yea i had a family emergency come up

Delivered, 21:50: Alright. Let me know if there’s anything I can do to help.

Received, 21:50: thanks

“Is that work again?” Oikawa asked tentatively. It was a Friday night, and they were laying together on the couch watching one of Oikawa’s favorite movies. It was supposed to be a night for just the two of them since Iwaizumi had been working late every night that week.

“Yeah, sorry,” Iwaizumi apologized and kissed his head. He wrapped his arm tighter around his fiance.

Oikawa found the hand that was still holding his phone and pried it out of his grip. “This is mine now. You said tonight was for us,” he pouted. He was being over-dramatic in a way that was slightly childish in a joking manner, but Iwaizumi could tell he was actually upset. He’d been neglecting Oikawa for the past few months, and it was catching up. “Please, Iwa-chan.” His eyes were pleading Iwaizumi to pay attention, so he consented. Oikawa untangled their limbs and walked to their room, Iwaizumi’s phone in hand. When he returned and sat down a moment later, he said, “You can have it back tomorrow afternoon.”

“Okay,” Iwaizumi conceded. “I’ll do better.”

Oikawa kissed the back of their conjoined hands. “I believe you.”

It didn’t get better.

It got worse.

“Okay, so we’re leaving tomorrow night to go home, and we’ll stay at my parent’s house. We’re taking the five-fifteen train, and we should be there around nine.” Oikawa was rattling off details about their trip home to see their parents over winter break. The plan was to stay home for a few days and then return to their apartment and spend Christmas Eve and Day together.

Received, 15:04: We need you in the office

Received, 15:04: There’s an issue with one of the processes and the other team leaders are already on holiday

“Tooru?”

“Hm?”

“I’m going to need to take a later train. They’re calling me into work.” Iwaizumi looked away in shame.

“But Iwa-chan! We’ve had this trip planned for months!”

“I -”

Oikawa got in close to Iwaizumi’s face. His time at work had been getting worse and worse, and he knew that Oikawa was going to reach a breaking point. “Tell them no.”

He swallowed. He was nervous - what if he got fired?

But - he had an angry Oikawa, and that could end up far, far worse for him.

Delivered, 15:14: I can’t. Tooru and I are leaving for Sendai tonight. Sorry.

Received, 15:15: It’s important.

Delivered, 15:18: I cannot come in. This trip is important to my fiance.

Delivered, 15:18: Sorry.

Received, 15:19: Noted.

That was an awfully ominous response coming from someone at a career level above him, but Iwaizumi hoped it was worth it. Keeping Tooru happy is always worth it.

To: Iwaizumi Hajime

From: Management Team

Subject: Work Dedication Issues

Iwaizumi,

It has come to our attention that you expressed an issue dedicating yourself to your position on an occurrence on 14 December 2020. We are aware that you were recently promoted from intern to team leader, so if the new job requirements were not properly communicated, please let us know so we can direct you to the documentation of your job description. In short, as a team leader, you are required to be dedicated to your work and must be reliable to be called upon. If that is not possible, please let us know so we can begin training a replacement .

Best,

Management Team

Iwaizumi felt sick as he read over the email again. And again.

“Tooru?”

“Hm?” Oikawa hummed as he walked into the living room, where Iwaizumi was sitting on the couch, legs pulled to his chest.

Iwaizumi handed him his phone, open to the email. He watched as Oikawa’s eyes scanned the email, watched as his features set into a hard glare. Oikawa thrusted the phone back at him.

“Are you blaming this on me?” Oikawa demanded.

“I should have gone in that evening. They’re threatening my job.”

Oikawa’s eyes turned from cold to fiery. “And you’re threatening me. I didn’t do anything wrong by asking my fiance to pay attention to me for once and to follow through on plans we’d had for months. ”

“But, Tooru -”

“Hajime. I’ve put up with this for so long.” Oikawa’s face softens. “I know you’re dedicated to your job. But you’ve been forgetting about me. And that’s okay for a while. But not for eight months. I’m tired of it. Please, Hajime, don’t make me make you choose,” he begged, tears in his eyes.

Not for the first time, Iwaizumi saw the toll his neglect was taking on his partner. He felt like he took a sucker punch to the gut. “It hasn’t been ei -”

“It has. I’ve been waiting and waiting for it to get better. I thought it would get better in the summer, and then in the fall, and then at Christmas, but it didn’t.” He shook his head as if trying to clear the tears bubbling up. “I miss you, Iwa-chan. I can take a lot, but I can’t take this much. I need you back. So....” Deep breath. Iwaizumi tensed. He knew what was coming. “It’s either me or the job.”

“Tooru, I can’t just quit my job!” Iwaizumi protested.

Oikawa’s face crumpled. “Then I’ll send Kuroo to get some of my things in the morning.”

Iwaizumi stood and wrapped his arms around Oikawa, who weakly pushed against them. “No, no. I can’t - I can’t - lose you.”

Oikawa pushed away with force. “Oh, baby, you lost me months ago,” he said bitterly. Tears ran down his face as they stood in silence, three feet separating them, as his words sunk in.

Then, he turned and walked to the bedroom. He threw one change of clothes into his school bag along with his laptop and some chargers and toiletries.

Iwaizumi was still in the living room, frozen. “Tooru, don’t -”

Oikawa pressed a kiss to his cheek. He tasted salt. “I love you, Iwa-chan.” And then he left.

Iwaizumi cried.

“You didn’t come back,” Iwaizumi says. He picks at one of the threads on his t-shirt.

“I said I wouldn’t.” Pause. “It took you three weeks to message me.”

Guilt eats at his stomach. “I didn’t know what to say that wouldn’t sound like an excuse.” Iwaizumi debates on how honest he wants to be. If he wants to open this whole box of worms, if he actually wants to try to make the relationship work or to repair a friendship with Oikawa, or if he wants to just give the bare minimum of information. “There was too much I needed to say, so I was waiting for you to come to me. Kuroo said you’d probably come around.”

“I didn’t.”

“No, you didn’t. Why?”

“Hajime… You hurt me. A lot. Eight months is a long time. Basically from the time you got that promotion until I left, I hardly saw you. And I just progressively got worse. You kept promising you’d get better, but then the next week I’d see you even less.” Deep breath. “I missed you so much. I missed the man who I proposed to, I missed the boy who I confessed to, I missed the boy who I spent all of our school years setting to, I missed my best friend, I missed my boyfriend, I missed my fiance, I missed my partner. I lost all of those, because you weren’t ever there when I needed you. Did you know that I actually got a job offer in Sendai? I debated taking it, but I wanted to wait and see if I could talk some sense into you. I never got scouted for the national team, so I applied for a few overseas teams. I made new friends. And a whole bunch of other things. All of this happened when we were still together, Hajime. I’m willing to bet you didn’t know any of it because of how preoccupied you were with your job. And it’s great that you had and still have such a good job, but…”

“I’m sorry, Tooru.” His fingers clutch at a chain tucked into his shirt that suddenly feels very heavy. Hoping it’s not the wrong choice but mostly moving on impulse anyways, he pulls out the chain, showing Oikawa what’s hanging on it.

He gasps. “You.... You still wear it?”

“Of course.” He bites the inside of his lip. “You never officially called off the wedding.” The engagement ring Oikawa had bought slides along the chain, glinting in the low cabin light. “Tooru… You deserve better than how I can treat you.”

“No.” Iwaizumi snaps his head up to meet Oikawa’s shining eyes. “You treat me like a goddamn king. You just didn’t prioritize us. And that was a problem.”

“I still can’t prioritize. I’ve been talking to work this whole flight,” Iwaizumi mumbles. As if on cue, his phone buzzes immediately, but he ignores it. “But…”

Oikawa sighs. “I don’t think I made a mistake by leaving.” Iwaizumi’s heart plummets. “But I made a mistake by not coming back.” Inhale. Exhale. “But I’m here now. So… Iwa-chan, will you take me back?”

Their eyes meet again. Iwaizumi searches the deep, brown eyes for any sign of a joke. “I don’t want to hurt you again.”

“You’re with the sister company now, yeah?” Nod. “Maybe you can talk to your supervisor about getting some more set hours and less on-call hours? I… I don’t want to live without you any longer. I want to at least try to make it work, Iwa-chan.”

“My supervisor is the one who sent me on vacation,” Iwaizumi chuckles. “We can try. Slowly.” He takes Oikawa’s hands in his own carefully, loose enough that the other can take them out of his grip, and draws the hands to his mouth. He presses a gentle kiss to each hand.

“A true gentleman,” Oikawa laughs. Everything is so, so soft as he cradles Iwaizumi’s face with one of his hands and kisses him. For the first time in nearly three years, Iwaizumi’s heart feels like it might be okay.

Once he pulls away, Oikawa takes the left sleeve of Iwaizumi’s jacket and cuffs the sleeve the same way he has his own, exposing TOORU #1, INVINCIBLE. Then, he laces their fingers together.

“Now, I’m going to sleep,” he announces.

Since he has no objections and is getting tired again himself, Iwaizumi leans over and rests his head on Oikawa’s shoulder, the other resting his head on top of Iwaizumi’s. It feels right.

Hours later, when he reads the message he’d received, it is from his supervisor.

Received, 23:55: If this message sends and your phone is still on while you’re on vacation, I’m disconnecting your company phone

Received, 23:55: Take time for yourself

Received, 23:56: If you connected to plane wifi just to receive work messages, so help me Iwaizumi, I don’t know what to do with you

Oikawa and his supervisor get along very well when they meet a month later.

#iwaoi #my writing #haikyuu!! #haikyuu!! fanfic #hq #hq fanfic #oikawa tooru #iwaizumi hajime #iwaoi fanfic #iwaizumi x oikawa #canon divergent #i guess? #ao3 #post breakup

[asublimehimbo]

Ignorance is Bliss

Crowley stared at the plants in his plant room and couldn't help but sigh. They were beautiful. Smooth, verdant leaves, of course. Best in London, as always. But there was something different, something more alive about them. They stood up straighter, even the ones he usually had to glower at every morning. It was like they were proud of themselves. No, actually, he thought. Not like. They were prouder. And he knew exactly why.

Crowley heard the door click unlocked and open.

"Good morning, dear boy!" The reason said, practically gavotting into the plant room, beaming. Speak of the angel.

"Morning," Crowley replied, miracle-ing himself into something more presentable than his black and grey accented silk pajamas.

"You know you don't need to go to the trouble of changing for me," the reason said, and Crowley glowered at him, his face turning into the kind of face you make when you're talking to someone who doesn't know as much about this very specific thing as you do.

"You've spoilt my plants, angel," Crowley said, instead of listening all the reasons why he certainly needed to change when Aziraphale came over. "Your near constant presence has given them much more love than the buggers deserve."

"Would you like it if I stopped coming every morning?" Crowley didn't know if this was a sincere offer or not, but he wouldn't chance it. Aziraphale had been coming over nearly every morning since the Armaggedon't, for reasons unknown to either of them, but probably had something to do with the "being on their own side" bits of Crowley's (begrudgingly, if you asked him, impassioned) speeches throughout the centuries, as well as the fact that were, in fact, finally on their own side. If Crowley were to have speculated on the reasons why Aziraphale was coming over so often nowadays (which he never, ever did), he would've liked to think it was because the angel was trying make up for the centuries of refusing to be on their own side, and hurting Crowley's feelings (which he didn't have) in the process.

"No! Er... nah. S'fine. They look better, anyway."

Aziraphale smiled. "Jolly good, then. Shall I get the cocoa?" That was another part- Crowley had bought some high-quality chocolate for Aziraphale, for his morning cocoa. Crowley had made sure to make it look at least a little bit like an accident.

"Yeah, angel."

Crowley made his way to the living room, to wait for Aziraphale. The angel had certainly made his mark here, too. Instead of the ultra sleek black sectional he usually kept untouched, there was an overstuffed, well-loved tan sofa that looked a lot like Crowley looked in a church: terribly pained, uncomfortable, yet there anyways for reasons unknown to all but him. Reasons that started with L and was definitely not a four letter word, I mean how could you ever suggest that, of all horrors.

Crowley tended not to like four letter words, especially not since the Tadfield manor incident, where he got a bit carried away with all those nasty feelings and forgot it wasn't appropriate to slam your angel into walls and get very close to his face.

"Ready, dear?" Aziraphale asked, sitting delicately down next to Crowley.

He was referring to their... morning ritual, as you might call it.

" Eh 'Suppose," Crowley muttered, in a very specific Crowley-ish way that only Aziraphale could exactly pinpoint the meaning of, which was that yes, he was very ready. Excited, even.

Aziraphale snapped, and a book appeared in his hands. Crowley stretched, then lay his head on the arm of couch that wasn't occupied by Aziraphale, flinging his suddenly bare feet onto the angel's lap. Aziraphale smiled again, and Crowley determinedly looked at the grey ceiling.

"Actually, Crowley, I had something I... uhm, wanted to t-talk to you about first. If you'll hear me."

"Of course I'll hear you, I can't stop hearing you. You're always there, in the back of my head, telling me things. Frankly, angel, it's annoying."

"Erm. Right. Yes. So you will?"

"Yeah."

Aziraphale paused, as if he wasn't quite expecting that answer.

"You've been enjoying my visits, right? These... morning visits?"

"Yeah, 'Course. Wouldn't haven't given you a key if I didn't."

"Well, how would you feel- oh, you know what, I think this is too forward. I'm sorry, I'm afraid I've wasted our time."

"Angel," Crowley said, shutting his brain off for a moment, just long enough to say a thing with emotion. Just one. "Nothing with you is a waste of time."

Aziraphale giggled, actually giggled, then looked away from Crowley, blushing. Crowley allowed himself a sly grin.

"That's very sweet," the angel said, then took a sip of cocoa.

Crowley spluttered for a moment, then decided to let it go. Aziraphale's very presence here, of all the heres there were, was a reminder he didn't absolutely have to act like he hated those words. Aziraphale's soft, tender words said in his soft, gentle voice.

"Thanks," he whispered, "I've been working on that." Aziraphale didn't seem to hear him, thank Sa- someone. "Care to tell me now?" He asked, louder.

"Oh dear... I'm not sure it's the right time, you know. Perhaps I should wait a little, make sure it's not the wrong time."

Crowley huffed. "You're an angel. Not sure you could do the wrong thing."

Aziraphale put a hand over his mouth, but Crowley could tell from his glittering pale blue eyes he was smiling. Pale blue eyes, Crowley thought, letting his mind wander to the song for a moment before returning to reality.

"You remember," he said, resting one hand over Crowley's ankles and taking a sip of cocoa with the other.

"'Course I do," Crowley said, suddenly remembering why he avoided speaking his emotions for so long. Once you started talking to the right person (Aziraphale was nothing but Crowley's right person), it got terribly hard to stop talking about your feelings, and before you knew it you were knee-deep in tears or roses or some combination of the two. "It was the day I met you."

"I suppose... just, don't... don't hate me, alright? We'll be friends?"

Crowley snorted. "As if I could hate you, angel."

"If you're sure..."

"And I am."

"Then... Can I have the pleasure of moving in with you?"

All Crowley could do for a moment was stare at the angel, his golden blonde hair and his sweet sweet smile and his pale blue eyes and his everything, the everything Crowley all of a sudden wanted so badly. He wanted Aziraphale's soft body and his never sleeping and his favored books in piles around his flat. He wanted to hold the angels hands in his and cup his cheeks and to let himself wrap his arms around him; and Crowley wanted, more than anything, for Aziraphale to love him back. But that was never how these things worked. 6000 years of hiding your feelings can't disintegrate after one conversation, can it? 6000 years, each day of them felt like a knife when Aziraphale made it clearer and clearer that they were simply friends, no special love to see here, but if that was the case why in someone's name was he asking to move in with Crowley?

"Won't you miss your bookshop?" Crowley mumbled, retracting his legs from the angel's lap, disturbing his hand.

Aziraphale batted the newly displaced hand at Crowley. "I'll go on the weekdays to look after it. The back room was never all that comfortable, anyway," he said, then his face decomposed into something worried. "But of course, I don't want to pressure you."

Crowley thought for a moment, how to be casual and still scream yes at the top of his lungs. Being secretly in love with your best friend took too much thinking and not enough kissing, he decided, then settled on something simple.

"Alright. My plants will just have to be spoilt for all of eternity, then, and that means you can't just up and leave. It's a contract."

"Very well, dear. I'll just have to make do."

Crowley sat up, then, and ruffled up his own hair, which stayed perfect. "You need a refill?"

"I think I'm fine, thank you. No reading today?" It was another part of their morning ritual, Aziraphale reading something, possibly out loud, if he thought Crowley would enjoy it.

"Yeah, reading," Crowley murmured, closing his eyes and reclining once more.

~~~~~~~~~~

That night, Crowley and Aziraphale were sprawled across the sofa once more, but less intentionally. They had intended to get Aziraphale set up for staying with Crowley, but somehow about eight hours ago, had gotten distracted by the very enticing bottle of wine sitting out on one of the smooth black counter tops in Crowley's kitchen.

"I think... when you say pear-shaped, though, it soundssh," Aziraphale waved his hand around in the frustration of a drunk. "I like... pears," he repeated for the third time in two minutes and Crowley groaned.

"Yes! I know you like pears! My quest... my thingy... answer thingy is do you like..." Crowley thought very hard. What did he want to know? "D'you like me?"

Aziraphale snorted, then shifted his whole body to face Crowley. "Yes! What have I done to..." He trailed off, his eyes glazing over as he met Crowley's.

"What?"

"Why are you concerned about that?"

"Because..." Crowley thought very hard again. "I like you... like, like, a lot. You're so... cool."

Aziraphale smiled, then scooted closer to Crowley, his eyes bright. "Really?"

Crowley leaned in to whisper. "Really. Don't tell, it's a secret."

"From who?" Aziraphale eyed the room as if Heaven or Hell might be keeping tabs.

"You," Crowley grinned.

Aziraphale leaned in more, close enough to brush noses with the demon.

"Me," the angel repeated, like it was someone else.

"Mm..."

"Wait..." Aziraphale started, frowning harshly. "Aren't I... me?"

Crowley frowned back. "Don't say that, s'too much head work."

"I know something that doesn't take head work," the angel offered.

"Yeah?" Crowley breathed.

"Kissing."

And then the whole thing hit Crowley like a rock to the back of the head, this whole... situation, the proximity, and he closed his eyes. How maybe this meant something contrary to what he had believed for centuries.

"We should sober up," he suggested, and Aziraphale sighed.

"I was afraid that was the... thing."

"Me too," Crowley muttered.

And then they did the whole sobering business, complete with the groaning and awkward eye closing and contorting like it was an exorcism. It was an affair.

"What were you on about?" Crowley asked, once he was properly unintoxicated. "Because you know, even when I'm not drunk, I'd rather do things that don't require thought."

"I'm not so sure if that's a good idea anymore," Aziraphale said, and Crowley sighed. Internally, he screamed.

"So you're not interested, then?"

"I didn't say that... I just wasn't sure if you were."

There was a distinct shuffling noise as Crowley crawled over to Aziraphale and finally, finally, finally cupped his cheeks in his hands.

"Angel, don't make me think this much."

And then they were kissing, just kissing, and Crowley thought that this was the way it should've been much sooner. Aziraphale was warm and soft and everything. Crowley held this everything, the whole universe, in his mouth and between his hands.

Crowley put his legs on either side of the angel's (beautiful) hips and flicked his tongue around Aziraphale's lips. Aziraphale opened his mouth, letting out a strangled moan in the process, and Crowley sucked in a breath through his nose. One of Aziraphale's hands crawled down Crowley's back and the other stayed up, fingers tangled through hair.

"Mmm- Crowley," Aziraphale said, pulling away but not removing his hands, his eyes half-lidded and full of something Crowley hadn't seen in them for a very long time, something exciting and definitely forbidden, or would have been a few weeks ago.

"Yeah?"

"We should’ve stopped thinking years ago, dear. It’s true what they say, then.”

“What’s that?”

“Ignorance is bliss.”

Crowley let out a sharp laugh and kissed his angel once more.

#ineffable husbands #good omens #ineffable idiots #fanfiction #my fanfiction #good omens fanfic #ineffable husbands fluff #kissing #i guess a bit of angst but not really #they're both kind dumb in this but also i love them #drunk crowley #drunk aziraphale

[lady-divine-writes]

Shedding Facades (Rated PG13)

Summary: Afraid that their marriage might feel like a lie if he weds Aziraphale in his human form, Crowley makes a bold, last-minute decision … (2237 words)

Notes: Written to include @drawlight’s ‘31 Days of Ineffables’ prompt 'wrapping paper’.

Read on AO3.

“I object.”

Stunned silence follows – gaping mouths, bugged eyes, the comical expressions of an audience thrown for such a phenomenal loop, they may not even be standing on planet Earth any longer.

“You what now?”

“I … uh … I … object. I’m sorry.”

“H—how can you object!?” Anathema asks, strangling the book she’s holding in her hands as if it had spoken those blasphemous words instead. “This is your wedding!” She glares at Crowley, eyes broiling on behalf of her good friend, poor Mr. Fell, himself staring at his betrothed with the depth of shock that comes from discovering that every person you’ve ever known and loved has been executed all at once on the exact same day when their severed heads arrive on your doorstep by post, collect-on-delivery.

But that’s exactly what Crowley is doing – the evilest thing he’s ever accomplished as a demon.

Destroying Aziraphale’s world.

If he’d ever wanted to discorporate Aziraphale in an instant, those words at this particular moment would do it.

Crowley doesn’t look up to face the consequences, even though he knows he’s expected to. He’s been silently staring at his and Aziraphale’s joined hands since the ceremony began.

And that’s where his eyes stay.

“I can’t,” he repeats. “I can’t do this. I’m sorry, but I can’t.”

“Wha—what?” Aziraphale has plenty more to say, but when it comes down to it, that’s all that will come out. “What are you …?” He shakes his head, trying to rattle more words together, but he doesn’t succeed. “What?”

“I can’t do this,” Crowley says a bit more firmly. “I can’t marry you this way.”

“But I …” Aziraphale looks at the party gathered – an intimate group of their closest friends, linking hands and forming a circle around them, standing so close there would be no mistaking what Crowley just said.

He looks at the ridiculously elaborate venue Crowley had insisted upon; at the fairy lights strewn over everything that wouldn’t move to complement the miracled constellations over their heads; at an ocean of flowers covering every conceivable surface; at the banquet table full of gourmet food waiting to be eaten; at the red velvet runners, the golden candlesticks, the miles of white tulle; the string quartet, sitting in a far corner, waiting for their cue. And the cake – the twelve-tiered wedding cake humorously crafted to display the nine levels of Hell, each ring adorned with tormented souls rendered out of fondant, and a staircase leading up to Earth, with Heaven cascading above, an angel in white robes and a devil in black hovering in the accentuated space between.

Finally, he looks at the demon standing before him, gloriously handsome in a simple black tux and classic rose boutonniere, staring at him from behind Armani sunglasses.

At this point in the ceremony, which Anathema was officiating, they were a few short acknowledgements away from exchanging vows and saying their I do’s. Then they’d be dancing and laughing and cutting into that cake, which he’s heard tell is filled with pitch-black, dark chocolate ganache. He doesn’t know since, like everything else, he didn’t order it. Didn’t plan it at all. Crowley did. He planned this whole shebang, saw to every little detail.

But now Crowley says he can’t go through with it.

After giving absolutely no indication whatsoever that marrying Aziraphale was something he didn’t want to do, he’s saying no.

“I … I don’t understand,” Aziraphale stammers. “Why?”

“Because …” Crowley chuckles “… I’m not dressed for it.”

A pause, then nervous laughter hops from the throat of human guest to human guest, starting with Newt, infecting Madame Tracy, bypassing Shadwell but migrating through Warlock and Adam and the rest of The Them. The only two who have yet to see the humor are Anathema and Aziraphale.

“I don’t understand,” Aziraphale repeats, his voice straying its course, becoming pitchy and weak, only finding its strength in embarrassment. “You picked that tuxedo out yourself. If you didn’t want to wear it, I … what are you saying?”

Crowley sighs. This isn’t going well. Of course, when you object at your own wedding, things will tend to go downhill after.

“I mean me, Aziraphale. Not the tuxedo. Me.”

“Please explain,” Aziraphale begs, beginning to back away. But Crowley, holding his hands like his life depends on it, urges him back.

“Look at me, angel, and tell me what you see.”

“I see you, Crowley! The same you I’ve been looking at for over 6000 years!”

“And what does that look like?”

Aziraphale’s head continues to shake – desperation, exasperation, and every other –tion twisting it side to side. “Red hair, yellow eyes, pale skin, sharp nose and chin …”

“Right. My human form. But that’s not me. Not inside.” Crowley gives Aziraphale’s hands a squeeze meant to comfort him, but he’s far from there. “I’m very fond of my human form but … it’s wrapping paper. It’s not who I really am.”

“It is,” Aziraphale assures him, relaxing when he comprehends. “It’s the way you see yourself. It’s the way you want others to see you and that’s fine.”

“I appreciate you saying that. But this …” He gestures with his and Aziraphale’s hands towards his body “I … run deeper. I have no intention of giving this form up, but it doesn’t feel real to me when I’m about to pledge my life to you. It feels like a lie. And that’s not what I want. Not today.”

Aziraphale swallows hard, his confusion returning. “So, you don’t want to marry me?”

“Of course I do! But not this way.”

Aziraphale glances at their befuddled friends, concerned if Crowley means what he thinks he means … “But how do you intend …?”

Crowley leans in and gives Aziraphale a wink. “I’ve got a plan.” He lets go of Aziraphale’s hands and claps to get everyone’s attention. “Okay, ladies and gents! I’m going to need you all to back up about twenty paces! And … uh … just a head’s up, there’s a sixty-two percent chance that what I’m about to do might melt your brains.”

Fearful eyes snap Crowley’s way.  “What!?”

“Or make you go blind.” He shrugs. “Either way.”

“Are you joking!?”

“He has to be joking!”

“Is that a fire exit!?”

“Let’s go check!”

He does get a solitary, “Awesome!” from Warlock, who fishes his cell phone from his pocket, opens the camera app, and waits for the show to begin.

Aziraphale rolls his eyes. “Relax, everybody.” He snaps his fingers. From the constellations above, a sprinkling of silver and gold dust falls upon the onlookers, clinging to clothes and hair and faces till they look like they’re covered in stars. “There we go. Now no one’s brain is going to melt. You may have nightmares after, but I can fix that later on.”

“That’s a relief,” Tracy mutters sarcastically.

“But what about …?” Pepper nods pointedly over her shoulder at the two violinists, the violist, and the cellist watching the proceedings with interest.

“… the musicians?” Brian finishes. “They don’t know about you guys, do they?”

“They won’t see anything out of the ordinary. They think they’re watching a plain, old, normal wedding,” Aziraphale explains, bitter emphasis aimed at his groom. But as his world isn’t coming to an end, he feels free to joke. “They’ll come around right on time to play the wedding march.”

“Sounds good, I guess,” Wensleydale says, moving to hide behind Brian.

Aziraphale looks at Crowley, who has widened his stance, giving himself an invisible boundary for the guests to stay behind. “Are you ready, my dear?”

“Ready as I’ll ever be,” he replies, striking Aziraphale as more excited than he’s seemed all day. Crowley doesn’t like changing into his demon form. He’s always afraid he’ll forget how to change back so he avoids it when he can. So this must have been bothering him for a while.

All of today at least.

Crowley miracles away his glasses and closes his eyes.

The room falls deathly quiet, the human participants subconsciously widening their circle as they wait for something to happen. Only Anathema and Aziraphale remain inside, more prepared than anyone for what’s about to happen.

Crowley transforms by inches. His hair disappears, falling to the floor in clumps, the remainder oil-slick black. Wings erupt, glossy black feathers immediately shedding to reveal a thin, veiny membrane. Nails grow into sharp, curved claws. Bones elongate, joints popping as they widen to accommodate. He didn’t remove his clothes beforehand so the tearing of fabric is what the guests hear.

It covers for the less-palatable sound of tearing flesh.

Then there are the maggots. As much as he would hide them to lessen the impact on their friends, if he’s going to go through with this, he needs to go for broke. He feels them always, brimming beneath his human façade, squirming and rooting and otherwise being a nuisance. But he knows when they’re seen by the subtle grumblings of discomfort accompanied by the unsettling scritch of them falling to the carpet beneath his feet.

The tips of his wings hit the floor, signaling the end of his metamorphosis. The ache of splitting muscles and reshaping bones dies down, and he opens featureless black eyes. His full form with wings splayed is so cumbersome, it forces him to hunch, his spine curling into a jagged question mark.

It takes him a minute before he summons the courage to look at the faces of their friends watching him, see by their expressions what they think of him this way. It’s not as bad as he’d imagined. But then again, if it had been, he might not be able to call these humans friends.

“O…kay,” Newt whispers, but that’s all.

Madame Tracy throws a hand over her mouth - in disgust, Crowley imagines, but there are tears in her eyes and a wobbly smile on her lips.

Shadwell, who doesn’t know how to react, puts himself a step in front of her and gets his finger ready, just in case.

“Cool!” everyone under the age of thirteen says, unprompted and at relatively the same time.

Anathema clears her throat. “Good. Fine. Now that that’s resolved, may we continue?”

The demon Crowley, in his true demon form, limps towards his fiancé, one leg dragging with a grating nails-on-chalkboard noise, dulled for the humans by Aziraphale’s miracled star armor. Crowley stops in front of Anathema, swaying like a snake, balancing his weight on legs that should be too thin and brittle to support him.

“Where were we?” she asks, opening her book and doing her best to appear unfazed. She’d taken the liberty, after their Notta-pocalypse encounter, to study up on demons, learn everything she could about them, seeing as she was now personally acquainted with one. She’d read ancient texts, examined old drawings. She thought she was ready to face whatever Crowley might dish out.

She may have been wrong.

“The vows, I believe.” Aziraphale’s gaze never leaves his demon’s face. He raises a hand to it, cheeks damp and eyes moist.

“Of course. Who wants to go first?”

“I will,” Crowley snarls unintentionally, but he’s out of practice speaking through these pointed teeth and with this forked tongue.

Anathema nods, relinquishing the floor.

“Aziraphale,” Crowley hisses, “will you take me, me the way I truly am, to be yoursss – your ssspouse, your partner, your sssignificant other, for as long as we remain on this planet, in Heaven or Hell, or up in the ssstars? Even if …” And this is where he stumbles. Later, Aziraphale will reflect on this, come to the conclusion that this may have been what it was all about, what Crowley was sincerely afraid of “… for sssome horrible reassson, one day, I end up sssstaying this way? Will you marry me?”

Crowley reaches out skeletal claws and takes Aziraphale’s soft, pink hands in his.

Aziraphale stares into the stony black eyes of the demon looming before him. He’s never seen Crowley like this. In all the years they’ve spent as friends, Crowley as a demon, as a monster, is something Aziraphale never had to witness. On the flip side, Crowley has yet to see Aziraphale’s true form. But Crowley was an angel once. He would know what angels look like. It should be old hat to him.  

But Crowley is a sight to behold.

Aziraphale doesn’t speak, doesn’t nod, doesn’t indicate an answer in any way. He is struck dumb not by Crowley’s physical form, but by his vulnerability – his willingness to expose the part of himself that he fears the most to not only Aziraphale, but their room full of friends, just so their marriage might not be deemed illegitimate.

Well, if Crowley is going all out, he might as well, too.

The seams of Aziraphale’s jacket rip. Rays of light bleed through, forcing them open. A set of white wings springs out from underneath, then another, and another, slicing through like scissors. The remaining fabric of his fine, white coat falls to the ground in a tattered heap at what should be his feet. But he has no feet since he is no longer human shaped. He is formless, wings and eyes surrounding the spiritual essence of the Principality Aziraphale.

He is a golden light. A holy light.

He is infinite.

And soon, he and Crowley will be infinite together.

“I will.”

#good omens #good omens fanfiction #ineffable husbands #31 days of halloween #aziraphale x crowley #crowley x aziraphale #frankie writes

[somethingjustsouthofbrilliance]

Tears of an Angel (Crowley/Aziraphale)

Right... so I saw this beautiful, heartrending artwork post and... I couldn’t help myself.  I didn’t think I could ever do this, but... I’m sorry.  I am truly sorry. 

Warning: Major Character Death

Tagging: @tonystark5ever @giulisetta @swanheart69

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

Adam’s wedding day is beautiful – a gorgeous, sun-stroked jewel of late summer, imbued with an intoxicating scent of honeysuckle and freshly cut grass. Not a hint of clouds in the brilliant blue sky that smiles down at the happy mingle of guests: some chatting amicably with those around them, others indulging, somewhat furtively but with obvious pleasure, in the impressive spread of refreshments heaped onto the white-clothed tables, others still swaying blissfully to the soft, enchanting sounds of music.

 It’s perfect.  And Crowley wouldn’t have expected it to be anything but.  Adam, after all, is still, to this day, the Spawn of Satan, whom he so bravely, so brilliantly rejected all those years ago.  And that means, reality is very much still his to change the way he pleases.

 Crowley can’t find it in himself to complain.

 He leans casually back against the side of a gazebo, arms crossed on his chest. Smiles fondly as he watches Anathema drag Aziraphale out into the dancing area, the angel shooting a pleading look Crowley’s way before submitting to the inevitable with a resigned huff, hurriedly shoving the remainder of a strawberry tart into his mouth.

 Oh, angel…

 “Interesting setup you got here.”

 He straightens out instantly, all sense of leisure gone from his posture, tension bleeding from every line of his body.

 “What do you want, Hastur?”

 “I’ve been watching you two,” the demon drawls out ominously from behind him – an oppressive, dangerous presence just off to the side, just out of his line of sight.  And Crowley fights the urge to turn around; suppresses the frisson of unease the demon’s presence sends down his spine.

 “What do you want?” he repeats in a growl of forced annoyance, even as his metaphorical heart clenches in mounting fear.  Hastur’s been watching them.  All these years.  Does it mean he figured out their swap? Does it mean he knows?

 “I know you tricked us,” Hastur answers his unspoken question, a note of smug satisfaction in his voice telling Crowley the demon noticed his panic despite Crowley’s best efforts.  “I don’t know how you did it, but…” There’s an ugly bark of laughter – like a crack of a dry twig underfoot, followed by rustle of clothes and an overwhelmingly strong presence, dark, magical.  “I don’t really care.”

 And Crowley can’t help turning around now.  Can’t help looking down at Hastur’s gloved hand, at the wicked-looking knife held cautiously in its grip. Can’t help the nasty, cold feeling that claws at his chest when he sees the flame-red sigils carved into the darkened blade.

 “Oh, good, you recognize it.” Hastur’s smiling at him now – a dark, sadistically gleeful grin.  Turns the blade in his hand in a mockery of awed contemplation.  “A hellfire-forged blade with holy sigils – a perfect weapon against any being, ethereal or demonic.” Growls out low, his upper lip curling in predatory anticipation, “Heaven and Hell will be happy to see both of you gone.  Me personally? After watching the two of you for a bit? I think killing just one of you will make for a far better torture.”  He waves his free hand in the air, a look of almost blissful dreaminess spreading across his face.  

 Crowley grinds his teeth together in helpless rage, glances back out to where his angel is fumbling dreadfully across from Anathema in a poor imitation of dancing, blissfully unaware of the danger lurking only a few feet away.  Flinches when he feels Hastur shift closer.

 “I’m feeling generous today, Serpent,” he murmurs, the smell of swamp and rot wafting over the side of Crowley’s face.  “I’m gonna let you choose.”

 Choose.  A bitter smile twitches at the corners of Crowley’s lips, his eyes never leaving the achingly dear white-haired form in a cream color jacket.  What is there to choose, really?  His choice has been made over 6000 years ago, standing on that wall in the Garden of Eden next to a beautiful, mystifying angel who gave away his sword to protect humans and then proceeded to shield a demon from the First Rain.

 He doesn’t even have to think about it.

 “Me,” he states calmly, ignoring the sharp pang in his heart at the thought that this is it for him, that he will never see his angel again.  “Take me.”  Turns briefly back to his unwelcome companion to glare murderously into the bottomless dark pools of his eyes.  “But thisss isss it, Hastur,” he hisses, low and menacing, putting all of his venom, all of his demonic, serpentine conviction into the words.  “After thisss our debt isss paid in full. Nobody touches the angel, understood? Not your lot, not the Heaven.  And you will make sure of that.”  He leans in closer, eyes bleeding a terrifyingly hypnotic, poisonous yellow. “You will make sure of that, Hasssstur, or I swear on all that is unholy, that I will find a way to come back, and I will make you wish you were the first one through my office door that day instead of Ligur.” He lets his upper lip curl, lets his fangs slide out in warning. “Undersssstood?”

 Hastur’s lips twist in an echoing snarl, but Crowley can see the minute perturbation on the other demon’s face, knows his threat (bluff, yes, but Hastur has no way of knowing that) has hit its mark.

 “Meet me in the cemetery behind the church,” the Duke of Hell spits out, nodding blindly in the direction of the small village church that hosted the wedding ceremony a mere hour ago.  And disappears in a cloud of thick gray smoke.

 Crowley remains where he is a moment longer.  Lets his gaze linger on Aziraphale for one last time, drinking in the sight of his dancing angel – so blessedly carefree, so endearingly clumsy, so unfailingly good, so… so… beautiful.  He sighs, smiling despite the traitorous, anguished tremble of his lips.  Closes his eyes, letting that final image of Aziraphale become engrained in his memory. And follows Hastur to his doom.

 He doesn’t see Aziraphale turning to glance in his direction an instant before he disappears from view.

 ***

 He reappears but a moment later in the place of Hastur’s choosing.  Stumbles a bit on the uneven surface of a freshly laid grave.

 And gasps, his breath choked off and stolen, as sharp pain explodes below his ribcage, doubling him over with the force of the blow.  A wave of power rushes through him – angelic and demonic, woven together to create a monumental, monstrous hybrid of destruction.  Cold and fiery, deadly and unstoppable, sluicing through his veins to tear him apart, piece by piece by piece.

 He reaches forward on instinct, grabbing blindly, convulsively for the support of the putrid smelling shape that materializes in front of him.  Groans pathetically as Hastur shoves the blade deeper with a hard, vicious thrust.  And shudders, his fingers unclasping, nerveless, from the demon’s sleeve, as Hastur yanks the blade out and steps quickly back out of reach.

 “We are even now,” Hastur observes dispassionately as Crowley sinks to his knees before him onto the clumpy ground, one hand pressed uselessly against the bleeding gaping hole in his chest, the other seeking purchase in the loose dirt.  Cringes with sympathetic fear as Crowley draws in another harsh, labored wheeze of a breath, face twisting at the ever-mounting pain.

“It was quicker for Ligur,” he notes darkly, sheathing the blade and putting it away into the folds of his coat. “Merciful almost, compared to yours.”

His cheek twitches minutely, a fire of grim satisfaction flashing in the black depths.  Then, suddenly, he squats down before the injured demon, stares unblinking into the wide, pain-glazed eyes.  

“But perhaps you can be thankful for a chance to say goodbye.”  He cants his head to the side, nodding at something in the distance.

 Blearily, Crowley follows his motion, and the cold that fills his chest no longer has anything to do with his impending death.  Because there, weaving his way toward them between the maze of tombstones, is the angel, his angel.

 No.

 He grasps for Hastur’s coat again, gritting his teeth at the fresh flare of pain that rips through him at the unsanctioned movement.

 “Your promisssse… re… remember your…,” his voice cuts out, his throat spasming from a sudden buildup of pressure that drowns the rest of his words in a vicious gurgle of a cough that spills forth in a spectacular spray of blood.

 He gasps, breathless, against the intensity of it.  Squeezes his eyes shut for a moment, missing the grimace of disgust that flits across Hastur’s face as the demon raises his hand to vanish the bloody splatter that carried from his former colleague to settle on his face and clothes.

 “I have not forgotten, Serpent,” he grouches, extricating himself once again from Crowley’s feeble grip. Straightens back out, making a show of dusting off his forever-filthy coat. His cheek twitches again – a tell of discomfort, as he forces out the parting words of (questionable) reassurance. “Have a nice… death.”

 A snap of fingers and the Duke of Hell vanishes from sight, and then the angel is there, kneeling on the ground before Crowley, hands pawing frantically at the darkened, bleeding hole in the middle of his chest; grasping Crowley’s shoulders as he sways alarmingly on his gradually weakening knees.  

Crowley tries to steady himself, tries to look strong for his angel, but the devastating power ravaging his essence has already done too much damage, and he can’t help but succumb, slumping forward into Aziraphale’s chest with a helpless groan.

 “Crowley?”

 The angel’s voice trembles, tinged with desperation and fear, and Crowley can feel the same anxious tremble in the arms that wrap themselves around him; can hear the panicked beat of the angel’s heart.  This will not do, he thinks, sluggish.  He can’t leave his angel like this – so desperate, so panicked.  He has to–

 “I can’t… I can’t heal it. What…. Crowley, darling, please, what’s–?”

 “Shhhhh….” He forces his head up, forces his weakened hand to move.  Presses a shaking finger to the beautiful plump lips that he has been so fortunate, so privileged to taste in these past few years.  How incredibly, insanely lucky he was!  

“Shhh,” he repeats, running careful, gentle fingers across the angel’s cheek, wiping away a streak of golden tears that trails down the soft pale skin. Frowns when fresh tears begin to trickle down the same track.  This isn’t right, he thinks. Aziraphale shouldn’t be… he can’t…

 “Don’t cry,” he pleads, voice raspy and shaking with pain that is becoming harder and harder to conceal. But he will try.  He has to try. For his angel.  “S’okay… Zira… sss’okay.  I cho…chose this… My choicssssse…”

 Tear-filled blue eyes widen in understanding, the angel glancing briefly at a spot where Hastur stood only moments ago, before shifting his grief-stricken, horrified gaze back to Crowley.

 “No…,” he whines, tears falling harder now, as his arms tighten around Crowley’s shivering form in mounting despair.  “No, Crowley… Crowley, you can’t….”

 Crowley blinks at him fondly, a faint smile pulling at his blood-stained lips.  “S’okay,” he exhales, fighting to speak against the gradually thickening blanket of darkness that begins to weigh down on him, threatening to pull him under.  He can’t let it happen.  Not yet. He needs to get the angel to understand, needs to explain.  He knows that, once he surrenders to that darkness, he won’t get another chance.

 “I had to… They won’t… won’t bother you now.  Not any…anymore.”  

 It’s important that Aziraphale knows this.  Because it’s something that’s been bothering the both of them all these years – the fear that Heaven or Hell or both will be coming for them any moment.  It dampened the serenity, the pleasure of that short time they spent together, forcing them to constantly look over their shoulders. But no more, no more…

 What little strength he has left to keep himself upright runs out and he sags, boneless, in Aziraphale’s feverish embrace, their foreheads touching.  

Aziraphale is saying something, the angel’s breath hot and suspiciously wet against his skin, but Crowley can’t hear him, not anymore – the darkness pulling at him, engulfing his senses.

 “Kiss me,” he asks instead – a barely there whisper.  

 He can hardly feel his arms anymore, but he manages somehow to raise one, to hook it feebly around the back of Aziraphale’s neck, smearing blood onto the white curls.  Tugs, trying to urge the angel closer.  

 There’s barely any discernible pressure behind his gesture, but Aziraphale follows it nevertheless. Surges forward with a choked off sob, closing the already negligible gap between their mouths, latching on to Crowley’s lips as a man wandering for days in the sweltering heat of the desert latches on to the refreshing watery escape of an oasis.

 The fear of loss, the desperate denial, the frantic need to hold on, and the love – overwhelming, all-encompassing, unfaltering love: Crowley reads it all on the trembling, tear-stained lips that cling to his own.  It’s warm, the angel’s kiss.  So beautifully warm against the numbing, agonizing cold that fills his entire being.  

 He closes his eyes, sinks deeper into the kiss, trying to capture as much of that warmth as he can, to bask in his angel’s essence before darkness pulls him away for good.

 It isn’t long now, he can feel it.  Can feel himself falling, breaking will-lessly away from the soft anchor of Aziraphale’s lips – the warm light of his angel’s presence growing dimmer and dimmer, until only a tiny spark remains in the thick, stifling darkness that swathes his mind.

 He latches on to it, weakly, stubbornly.  Peels his eyes open, unsurprised to find the angel leaning over him, his face – a pale, haloed blur for his failing sight.  But even now, faded almost beyond recognition, he’s still the most beautiful thing Crowley has ever seen.

 He tells him so. Releases the truth of it on the final exhale his corporation’s lungs allow him.  Along with a faint susurrant confession, “Love you… angel…”

 A soft, wet splatter of a warm, golden tear on his ice-cold cheek is the last thing he feels.

FIN

#good omens #good omens fic #crowley/aziraphale #crowley #aziraphale #hastur #character death #tragedy #angst #hurt #i broke them #i didn't mean to #somethingjustsouthofbrilliance writes #sjsob good omens fics

[jadekitty777]

What a Wonderful World

Some of you may read this and say “shouldn’t this have been for Day 3, Family?” And, okay so, hear me out... I ended up using that prompt too for tomorrow’s entry so, yes these stories could have gone either way (kind of like Qrow).

Day 2: Domestic

Dedicated to: @evebun/@evebun-primary

Rating: K+

Pairing: Qrow/Clover

Word Count: 6000

Ao3 Link: What a Wonderful World

Summary: After Salem's attack leaves Mantle and Atlas scrambling for an emergency evacuation, all of its former citizens are left misplaced and homeless, including 5-year-old Citrus and 6-month-old Mint. With no where else to go, the two are placed in Clover and Qrow's care, and Clover soon finds that the future he once envisioned him having with Qrow was changing in a way he could never of imagined... but could never regret.

~

The heat was stifling. Even aura had its limits, leaving his skin stinging and slick with sweat. The smoke that hung in the air choked at his throat and burned at his eyes until they watered. So, it was by pure luck he spotted her, wedged in the space between the wall and the couch.

“Found another!” Clover pulled his arm band down from his mouth long enough to shout over the roar of the fire. He gripped the leg of the heavy furniture, muscles straining as he lifted it up and angled it away from the wall so he could get to her.

As he gathered her limp form in his arms, he realized how small she was. Perhaps only 4 or 5. The youngest they’d found. Her face and little white dress with orange slices patterned across it were both covered in ash. Shakily, he looked for a pulse.

“Is she okay?!” Qrow hurried over, eyes bloodshot from the fire and cape tied around his face like a bandanna. Elm or Harriet must have gotten out the twins he had found trapped in the laundry room.

There it was, weak but steady. Tiny little beats under his fingertips.

He pulled his arm band over her own mouth, giving a relieved nod. Nearby, the stairs to the second floor collapsed, sending up sparks and the couch he’d just moved caught fire. The structure was creaking dangerously around them.

“I-” He started to say, only to start coughing as the smoke invaded his lungs.

Qrow lifted up one edge of his cape over his mouth to help him filter, his other hand encircling his bicep. “Time to go lucky.”

Too woozy to argue – and that probably wasn’t a good sign – he allowed the other huntsmen to guide him back to the front door. Elm came into view as they got close, gaze falling to the bundle in his arms.

Before Clover could hand her off, he felt the grip on his arm turn painful, Qrow’s nails digging in like claws. He gave a hiss, looking towards him – could only see his wide, terrified eyes – and then suddenly he was ripping away from him, running back into the firestorm with an order of, “Get them out of here!” yelled over his shoulder.

“Qrow-!” Clover turned around, trying to follow him, only to feel his own teammate’s arms encircle his waist, lifting him up effortlessly.

“You heard him captain!” He didn’t have it in him to struggle as the powerful woman dragged him out of the complex and set him down on the snow-covered streets of Mantle. His heat-burned skin begged for him to sink into the ground’s icy embrace, but he fought against the urge, eyes darting over the sea of little faces crowded on the other side of the street, Harriet zipping between them at an alarming rate as she tried to check and re-check each child for injury or signs of smoke inhalation.

He turned back to the burning building, the blaze lighting the area in a fiery orange and covering the sky in thick, black clouds. The past few minutes came back in a rush.

It had been awful. They had just been trying to clear the streets, looking for more survivors to bring back to the underground, when a stray shot from a manticore caught one of the building’s ablaze. They hadn’t expected it to be occupied. With no ice dust, they had to go in the old-fashioned way, quickly realizing by the number of toys and kids inside that the caretaker of the orphanage must have sheltered down with them while waiting for help.

They stumbled upon her and three of the kids dead in the kitchen where the blast had exploded the fire-dust infused oven.

Part of the roof collapsing yanked him back into the present and Clover found himself desperately staring at the front door and willing Qrow to walk out of it.

Elm’s hand clutched onto his shoulder. “Cap’n, you need to sit down. You’re swaying.”

“M’fine.” He declined, gritting his teeth as a window on the second floor exploded. They couldn’t wait for Qrow any longer. “Harriet-!”

The rest of his command fell away when the man himself came leaping out of the same window. He landed hard, falling to the snow on his knees. He curled around the bundle he held in his arms swathed in his cape.

Clover’s heart leapt to his throat – No. No way. – before he tore from Elm’s grip, crying out hoarsely, “Qrow!”

He stumbled just as he reached him, collapsing beside him, his grasp on the girl he still held tightening so the fall didn’t jostle her.

“S’okay. It’s okay.” Qrow gasped, pulling back one of the folds of the red cape.

Watery eyes the same shade as Clover’s own blinked back up at them both, before the little infant began to cry.

It was the sweetest sound he’d ever heard.

He fell against his boyfriend’s shoulder, feeling like he could cry himself. He checked on his own charge, testing her pulse and breathing again. Still there, but the unconsciousness worried him. “Elm, what’s the status of our back-up?” He croaked out as she came over, probably intending to assist them to the other side of the road.

“May’s on her way with a transport truck now. Jaune’s with her.”

Good. That was good.

He shut his eyes a moment.

When he opened them again, he was in the truck, silvery white aura dancing across his vision. He focused on the young man hovering above him.

Jaune sighed in relief. “Oh good, you’re awake. I was beginning to think I needed to perform CPR.”

“I appreciate you sparing me.” He voiced roughly. He swallowed, flinching at the pain. His throat had never been so sore.

It felt like a smack in the face when he remembered how it got that way.

“Wait, the kids! You should be helping them.”

Jaune didn’t move, smiling reassuringly. “Only two people were in need of immediate care, yourself included. So, I’m multi-tasking.”

Clover furrowed his brow, about to question how that was possible, when a small tug on his lapel has him glancing down.

Years from now, Clover would tell Citrus this story – that the very first time he looked into her smiling face and honey brown eyes, he knew he loved her.

“Hey mister!” The little girl he’d rescued pulled at the badge on his chest once more. “I like your pin.”

“Oh yeah?” Admittedly, he hadn’t interacted much with really young kids, so he dd his best to mimic the way Elm would talk whenever her cousins came to visit. “I like it too. It’s my lucky charm.”

Her eyes went extra wide. “Is it really lucky?”

Clover couldn’t help his grin. “Like you wouldn’t believe.”

A snort drew his attention to the left, the sight that greeted him warming his heart. Qrow was against the wall, looking run down yet calm as he rocked the slumbering infant. He looked so… natural, like that. As if he’d done it many times before.

Upon catching his gaze, Qrow offered him a smile, one Clover tiredly returned.

~

That night had been their last search-and-rescue mission. Not because the work was done, there had certainly been several zones in both Mantle and Atlas still left to cover, but because…

Well…

“Daddy, catch me!”

Clover felt all the air in his lungs leave him as Citrus divebombed him from the wardrobe he’d told her a thousand times not to climb. “What do you think you’re doing you little rascal?”

“I told you, I’ma kitty!” She said, making little claw movements with her hands.

“Well, that sounds bad for dad’s health.” He walked her over to her bed, setting her down on the plush duvet sporting happy faces of various cartoon dinosaurs.

“Daddy, you’re silly! Dad’s not an actual bird.” She explained patiently.

Clover snickered. One day, they’d tell her.

But that day was certainly not today. “Alright, what would the kitty cat like to wear this morning?”

“Plaid!”

“Again?” He asked, quirking a smile as she prowled around her bed like a tiny lion.  

“Uh-huh. Mint likes to trace the lines.”

“That’s very thoughtful of you Trissy.”

As she hissed and bat her stuffed animals to the floor, he searched through her dresser for the requested pattern. A lot of what filled it were merely hand-me-downs of Ruby and Yang’s that’d been hiding up in Tai’s attic. The same was true for everything from her furniture and toys right down to the very room they stood in.

He had never considered kids as part of his future. It didn’t seem a possible concept when factoring in his particular interest in male-only lovers. So, to suddenly have two practically dropped into his lap, Clover had no issue accepting any help the more experienced father had to give, to say nothing of the paragraphs of advice he had to hand out at any given moment. He and Qrow certainly couldn’t thank him enough.

Well. He certainly couldn’t. Qrow, on the other hand, was all off-handed comments about how this was all ‘only fair payback’. Which, if Tai overheard, resulted in the two bickering like teenagers. It never got heated and no one ever stormed off upset, but it still baffled Clover that they couldn’t just talk it out.

But, puzzling out their seemingly crooked foundation of a friendship was just one thing too many for Clover to add to his ever-weighted plate of things to worry about.

Like how to convince Citrus to wear her shoes today. “Come on Trissy, you’re going to rip up your leggings again. How about just the left one?”

“No.” She plopped down on her rear, scooting away from him. “Don’t like ‘em. They make my feet hurt.”

“You haven’t even tried these ones before. And look! They have little stars on them.” He tried to cajole.

A picture of defiance, Citrus crossed her legs and held onto her feet, repeating firmly. “No!”

If his former subordinates ever found out he could be so effortlessly taken down by a child, they would never let him live it down. With a conceding sigh, he placed the sneakers back under her bed. “Alright, no shoes for now. Would you like to do your hair instead?”

“I want dad to do it.”

The gentle reminder that this was dad’s morning to help Mint get ready was right on the tip of his tongue – when another voice beat him to the punch.

“Good call squirt. I’m the one with all the fashion sense.” Qrow was standing in the doorway, somehow still able to look incredibly smug despite the fact he was a forty-four-year-old man currently rocking an infant.

Citrus raced over to him, clinging onto his leg. “Dad!”

“Need something?” He lifted his foot off the ground held it up high, letting her dangle from his shin – it was still a wonder to Clover how he managed to keep his balance.

She started to swing back and forth like a monkey. “Can you do my hair up in cherries like before?”

“Hmm, I don’t know.” Qrow made a big show of thinking it over really hard. “I believe there’s a magic word I need to hear first.”

“Please? Please, please, pleaaaase?” She stretched out the last one.

He chuckled, lowering her back to the floor. “Alright already squirt. No need to pull my leg.”

Clover turned away just so Qrow couldn’t see how that awful joke made him smile.

Thankfully, he was too preoccupied to notice. “Go sit at your spot for me.” As she hurried over to the little vanity desk with its nail-polish stained top, missing drawers and cracked mirror, Qrow approached him, handing off their son. “He’s not too fussy today.”

That had about a 60% chance of changing the moment Qrow left Mint’s line of sight.

A month into their not-quite official parenthood, Clover started to collect parenting guide books and every night, he would read a chapter or two before bed. One evening when he was thumbing through Infant Milestones and What to Look Out For, he came across the term “separation anxiety”. Apparently, it was a common in babies of Mint’s age – which they’d guesstimated to be 6 or 7 months. Despite the worrisome name, it was defined as a developmental period in which a child understood that things and people could leave and return, and they responded to this by wailing. The chapter went on to assure it was a temporary issue that would crop up in small bursts over time.

Eight months and some mild improvement later, it was still an issue laser-focused on Qrow.

But, if he were honest, it was one that went both ways. With such sudden unconditional love being given to him on a daily basis, Qrow had formed a paternal bond with the boy that became unshakable as the months went on. In fact, Clover suspected the other huntsman had decided on adoption well before he had.

For Clover, that moment came several months in.

Originally, Citrus and Mint’s care was to be temporary. Unlike the rest of the kids they’d saved from that fire, the two were much too young for Patch’s already over-crowded shelter to feel comfortable taking charge of them during the crisis. Not wanting the two to be lost to a hectic system or to just dump them on Tai who was already the lynchpin of the evacuation efforts’ portaling system, Clover and Qrow had unanimously agreed to foster the two children until things could calm and better arrangements for the two could be made.

At the time, they had just shrugged it off. How long could it possibly take, really? A few days? A week, at most?

When they passed the first month and the first groups of Atlesians were only just being ferried across to Vale to further the relief program, they realized they may have been just a little off on their prediction.

After the second, Mint had his name bestowed upon him accidentally when Qrow realized his eyes matched the mint chocolate chip ice cream the boy was trying to take out of his hand.

By the third, Clover had grown pretty used to reading Citrus fairytales before bed. He was just picking through an anthology for something new when it happened:

“So, are you my new daddy?”

The book almost fell out his grasp. He met the little girl’s unwavering gaze and felt more effortlessly pinned by it than any glare his superiors ever managed to dish out. “What makes you ask?”

“’Cause you do all the things a daddy is supposed to.” She picked up a stuffed rabbit. “You give me Mr. Cuddlesworth. And you read me stories. And make me brush my teeth before I go to bed. Which is yucky and we should have a vote on that.”

He may have laughed had his mind not been going a mile a minute.

It came to a complete stop when she looked at him and asked again. “So, are you?”

He didn’t end up giving her a definitive answer that night. Later, Clover found himself lying awake and staring at the ceiling until it eventually annoyed Qrow into rolling over.

“Alright, I can hear those cogs in your head struggling to turn. What’s wrong?”

He answered the question with one of his own. “Have you… ever wanted kids?”

“Always.” No pause, no doubt.

He looked at him. “Really?”

Qrow propped his head up in one hand. “That so hard to believe?”

“A little, yeah.” He admitted, suddenly feeling guilty over his own thoughts. There was still so much that was new between them – why was he trying to throw a wrench into that?

Even in the dark, he could tell Qrow was studying him. “You’ve been thinking about them too, eh?”

“It’s just – Citrus is starting to ask questions. She’s thinking this place is permanent. And Light knows Mint can’t go anywhere without you.” Clover rubbed a hand over his eyes. “What are we going to do?”

“Guess we just got to keep ‘em.” Over his incredulous spluttering, Qrow added, “What? That’s what you were trying to ask, right?”

“But it’s crazy. And stupid! And-And-”

“It’s far from the craziest or stupidest thing I’ve ever done.”

He turned onto his side, facing him fully. “What about us? We haven’t even been together for half a year yet, Qrow. And this is a lifetime commitment.”

“Yeah, and?”

Did someone in this house have a personality switching semblance? Where was all this confidence coming from? “I kind of figured you’d be more concerned about this.”

Qrow hummed, resting his head. “Did I ever tell you I used to teach at Signal?”

“No.” He’d been in the primary combat school dozens of times by now. With the facility shutdown due to the disaster in Atlas, the classrooms had been repurposed for sleeping space for the thousands who’d been relocated. He had to wonder which of the many classrooms had been Qrow’s. “Seems an unusual choice for you.”

“Heh, you’re telling me. That’s because I didn’t take the position because I wanted to.” He swept a hand above them, as if encompassing the room around them. “I took it because I had to help out here. When Ruby’s mom died, Tai was a wreck and needed help with the girls. And I just, shelved everything else in my life to be here for them.”

“That’s an incredible thing to do.” The sentiment was genuine, but he couldn’t help the grin as Qrow tried to hide in his pillow.

“Point is, I’ve already had to make a decision like this before. Making it again isn’t so hard for me.” He reached out, tapping his chest. “Sounds to me it’s just you having doubts.”

He wasn’t wrong. Clover was feeling uncertain – but he couldn’t figure out why. It wasn’t until the next day, when he mentioned his and Qrow’s conversation to Tai and shared his own confused misgivings, that he finally figured out why.

“Give me your scroll.”

Confused, he dropped the device into his hand, watching Tai pull something up, before handing it back. Clover looked down. His heart fell at the ‘Decommission of Huntsman Duty Request’ staring back at him. It seemed obvious when presented like that.

“Being a father means it comes first.” Tai clapped him on the shoulder. “When you can submit that, then you know it’s what you really want.”

“And if I can’t?”

“Then you can’t.” He echoed. “Starting a family isn’t about sacrificing happiness, it’s about creating it. There’s no shame in admitting that it’s not something you want.”

Clover sighed, running a hand through his hair. Laughter from outside had him looking up, seeing Qrow holding Citrus above his head as he strolled around the property. She had her arms held out in front of her, mimicking a superhero flying through the sky. What really captivated him was Qrow himself. The other man was not known for smiling big, if much at all – but right then, it had enough brightness to it to power the sun. The sight made his chest swell so much, it could burst.

“And if I can?” He whispered, like a secret that shouldn’t be told.

“Then you can.” Having been watching the two outside as well, Tai’s smile and eyes were distant. Perhaps his own girls on his mind. “And one day, you’ll look back at that moment and realize that even though you never saw your life going this way, it was the best decision you ever made.”

All his life, Clover had been certain he would die a huntsman. That he would fight and protect and fight some more until something finally got the better of him. If he was lucky, he’d go out heroically, sacrificing his own life to save even one last person. He never thought he needed anything else.

But as he watched the two play, filling the backyard with such innocent, simple joy, he wondered if he could truly leave this behind without regret.

“What do you think Qrow’ll do?” He asked.

“I think that’s a question you should ask him yourself.”

So, he did.

And now, five months later, here he was playing peek-a-boo with Mint while Qrow put hair ties with little red bobbles on them up in Citrus’ hair.

He hadn’t yet regretted a single day.

~

Raven was in the kitchen when they got downstairs.

Mint started to fuss immediately, and Clover didn’t put up a fight when Qrow reached out to take him.

“Brother.” She said around a sip of tea.

“Raven.” He returned, expression thunderous on their intruder.

If Tai and Qrow’s relationship was one that Clover didn’t have time to figure out, he didn’t even try to touch Qrow and Raven’s. It just had bad blood written all over it.

“Auntie Rae!” Citrus, still too young to really understand all the hostility in the air, skipped over to the woman with no hesitation.

Despite the fact there were three other huntsmen in the room, Qrow tensed up every time. Clover placed a hand on his back.

“Dad did my hair, isn’t it pretty?” The girl lowered her head, pointing to the ties.

“It’s, fine.” In an instant, Raven’s mask broke into something lost and confused. It was hilarious how one child could make her go from borderline threatening to uselessly awkward. “Why don’t you show Tai, I’m sure he’ll love it.”

“’Kay!” She chirped, running over to the counter where the man was preparing a stew that would be left to shimmer until supper.

The taunt muscles under his hand started to unwind. Clover rubbed the rest of the tension away, giving Qrow a kiss on the cheek. “Sit down. I got breakfast.”

Shooting him a grateful look, the other man did just that, addressing his sister, “I assume if you’re here, you’ve got news?”

“Do I come for any other reason?”

“Thankfully, no.”

Clover listened with one ear as he went about the motions. Warmed a bottle for Mint. Poured a cup of coffee for Qrow. Popped on the top of the sippy cup filled with apple juice for Citrus. As he lifted the fresh tea kettle for himself, he paused, giving Tai a suspicious glance when he realized it wasn’t filled with the usual Jasmine, but a dark, bitter Darjeeling.

The blond pointedly pretended to not notice, as if he hadn’t made his ex’s favorite tea despite the fact his relationship with the woman across the room was arguably worse than Qrow’s.

He was never going to understand this family, was he?

Clover set the kettle back, deciding to opt for coffee as well but drowned it in sugar. Delivered three of the four drinks to the table. Took sips of his own while he got down Citrus’ favorite cereal and made a few slices of buttered toast for himself and Qrow. Sliced some grapes into small pieces for Mint. On his second return to the table, the conversation had delved into an argument.

“I just don’t see why you can’t stay closer to them.”

“I’m staying as close as I need to. It’s bad enough they have one maiden in their group – what good would it do for me to be there?”

“You could train Penny, for one.”

“That’s ridiculous.” Raven snorted, reaching for her tea.

Clover spotted Citrus imitating her with her juice. He wasn’t sure if he liked her odd admiration of the older woman.

His own feelings on her were… mixed, at best. On one hand, it was obvious her stuck-up, selfish attitude and harsh nature had soured the relationships with the people around her. Most notably the one with her own daughter, who would either ignore her or leave the room entirely. If such a thing bothered Raven, she was too stubborn to admit it and too concerned with keeping up appearances to show it.

On the other, it was Raven they owed Atlas’ evacuation to. If not for her semblance, allowing for them to quickly and safely transport people by the hundreds from Mantle’s belly of underground mines to the safe island of Patch, he was positive the death count would have been much more severe. If not, a near total genocide. Salem’s seize had been all encompassing, entrapping the citizens of both cities within their own walls. With nowhere to go and no chance of surviving the tundra, the people had bunkered down in their homes and prayed for a miracle.

So, when Raven heeded her brother’s call and agreed to help, it felt like that prayer was being answered.

Qrow told him not to be fooled by her act of kindness – because that was exactly what it was. An act. He was positive his sister only stepped in to put herself in their good graces, so that when it was her life that was in danger, they would all but leap at her feet to protect her. While Clover couldn’t precisely refute that, it was certainly possible that was her aim, he also couldn’t help but point out that she already had the leverage she needed for that. After all, it wasn’t exactly like they’d allow Salem to just add another maiden’s powers to her growing entourage of followers.

It also didn’t explain why she was sticking around to be a glorified messenger bird, transporting information between their little family in Patch to Vale where the remaining members of the Aceops and the Beacon teachers were stationed, to Vacuo where Ruby and the various teams following her were keeping guard on the other relic.

Qrow blew that explanation off, just as he blew off Raven now, “How is it ridiculous to give our very important key player in this a fighting chance?”

“Oh please, don’t give me that drivel.” She snarled nastily. “You just want me to babysit those brats like you were doing.”

Before more could be said, Tai smacked the top cover of the pot down firmly and said, “If you two are going to go at each other’s throats, do it outside.”

The twins glared at one another, but Qrow was the first to back down, focusing back on Mint. “I’ve got better things to do.”

“As do I.” Raven got to her feet, setting her cup down on the table. “At least the tea was lovely. Can’t say the same for the company.”

Tai rolled his eyes. “Well thanks for coming.”

Like the tornado she was, the woman went sweeping out the back door, leaving everything behind in a disarray.

Clover exhaled slowly, studying the room. Tai had turned away to fetch a mug of tea for himself. If not for his brother-in-law’s sobriety, he may have looked for something stronger. What concerned him more was Qrow. His boyfriend was fighting a scowl, jaw locked like iron and lips pressed in a hard line of anger that seemed ready to explode out of him.

“Hey,” He started to say, reaching out towards the man beside him.

So preoccupied, none of them noticed until the back door shut a second time.

Head snapping around, Clover took one look at his daughter’s empty chair, before he was leaping up to chase after her. He was out the door and in the yard in seconds, the shout tearing out from his throat.

“CITRUS!”

The sight that awaited him had his heart turning to ice cold dread. Raven stood in front of one of her vortexes, awash with the bloody glow and sword poised above her like a guillotine. Underneath it, hanging helplessly by the back of her dress, was his daughter.

“Raven. Put her down. Now.” He said firmly, shaking fingers going for Kingfisher – only to find it wasn’t there. Red eyes met his, the surprise in them confusing him.

“I-” She started.

Vaguely, he recognized the sound of footsteps on the porch behind him, but his attention didn’t waver from the situation in front of him. So, he didn’t miss the way her expression steeled over once more.

“What are you doing?!” Qrow bellowed.

“Just making a point.” Raven tossed the girl through the air, right into Clover’s waiting arms. “Would have been a tragedy if I’d been an enemy, wouldn’t it of?”

With that parting gift, she walking through her portal and vanished in a blink.

~

The first lesson ever taught to him at the academy was no amount of preparation could plan for the unplannable.

With a snap, the book was closed, Clover tossing it onto the table in front of him with a scoff. He fell back against the couch cushions, raking agitated hands through his hair. With Tai having gone to town and Qrow and the kids upstairs, there was a rare bit of stillness to the home. Yet, the quiet only seemed to invite the echoes of his own shouts until they were the loudest thing in the room again.

“What were you thinking? You can’t just run after people with swords!”

“But, but dad has a sword!”

“I don’t care! You could have gotten hurt!”

“I-I just wanted to-”

“I don’t want to hear it! Go to your room, right now!”

Citrus’ tear-stained face as she ran up the stairs plagued him like an illness. He groaned miserably, pressing his palms against his eyes hard enough to see stars. Even with the many years leading the Aceops under his belt, he was never really a man known to shout. What had happened?

The stairs creaking had him looking up, seeing Qrow descending them. “Mint’s down for his nap.”

“And Trissy?”

“Still doesn’t want to come down.”

Who could blame her? Clover heaved a sigh. “I made an awful display of myself, huh?”

“Wouldn’t say that.” The other man joined him on the couch. “When Yang was about the same age, she took herself and Ruby out into the woods.” He paused, before snorting. “Trying to find Raven actually.”

Did this woman just attract danger by merely being in someone’s thoughts?

“So, of course they got attacked by Grimm out there. I barely got there in time.” Qrow ran a hand over the back of his head, smile sheepish. “You should have seen how I lost my head that day. And I was nothing compared to Tai. A volcano erupting would have been calmer.”

That managed to wretch a chuckle from him.

Qrow bumped their shoulders together with no more force than a pat. “Sometimes, kids are frustrating little tyrants that’ll make terrible decisions and drive you up a wall. Getting mad about it doesn’t mean the world ended, just means you care.”

“I know. I just,” He gestured to the forgotten book, Disciplining Positively, he’d tossed aside on the table, “I want to do things the right way for them.”

“Why didn’t anyone tell me there was a ‘How to do everything right’ guide? Coulda sold that to me ages ago.” He drawled sarcastically.

Clover curled an arm around him, pulling him closer. “Very funny. You know what I mean.”

“I do. And I’ll admit, you do better than most, but even you can mess up lucky charm. All you can do when that happens is roll with those punches. Citrus’ll come around. And if that fails,” His grin was downright devious, “Bribery always works.”

“Oh, stop!”

Qrow only laughed, not fighting the kisses Clover attacked his face with. He had almost made it to his mouth, when a pitter-patter from upstairs interrupted. A moment later, a small shadow stretched down the stairwell. Testing, a foot came into view, landing on the first step. When nothing ill happened, the other foot followed.

When she made it to the first landing, Qrow spoke, “Whatcha doing there, squirt?”

She had brought Mr. Cuddlesworth with her and was hugging him. “Can I come down now?”

“I think that one’s up to daddy.”

Clover gave the other an appreciative look, before smiling up at their daughter. “Of course you can, sweetheart.”

She came down the rest of the stairs, only to pause once she got to the carpet. “Are you still mad?”

He chose his next words carefully, “No, I’m not. I’m sorry I yelled at you. I was scared that Aunt Raven was going to hurt you, because she was holding her sword.”

She tugged idly on one of the rabbit’s long, floppy ears. “I think I scared her too.”

That had Qrow leaning forward, asking. “What do you mean?”

“She said a no-no word when I tried to run into her portal thing. That’s why she grabbed me. Then she snapped at me like daddy did.”

Clover frowned. He had a feeling he had another apology to give. “Trissy, why did you do that?”

“Because,” She twisted and untwisted the ear, tapping her little feet, “If I went with her, then she would have to bring me back.”

Oh. “You wanted to spend more time with her, huh?”

“Uh-huh.”

He eyed his boyfriend carefully, seeing the confliction all over his face. He dropped a hand over his, giving it a small squeeze. This had to be hard for him. “Well sweetie, next time, we can just ask her if she can stay longer okay?”

“Okay.”

“I’m also sorry I made you upset and sad. Can you forgive me?”

Citrus nibbled on the end of the rabbit’s ear as she thought, before giving a slow nod.

Relief pushed out of him in a soft sigh. “Thank you.” He shifted back, sinking into the cushions more. “Hey, since Mint’s asleep, why don’t we all watch a Gleamworks movie?”

“Sounds good to me.” Qrow got to his feet. After all that, he was probably eager to just veg out for the next hour and a half. He lent down in front of the media center, pulling out one of the drawers. “Your pick squirt.”

“I like the one with the funny panda!”

“Funny panda it is.”

While Qrow got things set up Citrus came over and, to Clover’s surprise, climbed up right next to him. She held her bunny up at him, reporting matter-of-factly, “Mr. Cuddlesworth needs to be able to see too.”

“Okay.” He picked up the stuffed toy, setting it on her head. “What about here?”

“No, daddy! Somewhere higher!”

“Oh, got it.” He turned the rabbit around, setting it on the back of the couch. “How about this?”

She giggled behind her hands. “Noooo. That’s the wrong way. He can’t see out of his butt!”

“Are you sure?”

She gave him a look. “Can you see out of your butt?”

He winked. “Maybe that’s my semblance.”

“No, it’s not! Now do it right!”

He chuckled but did as asked, righting the toy. As Citrus snuggled up to him, he wrapped an arm around her. A moment later, he did the same with Qrow when he plopped back down beside him.

While the movie played, Clover had to wonder how his life had both become congruently simpler and harder at the same time. Sure, he no longer faced anything more dangerous than bruised knees from tripping over Mint’s toys and the most terrifying thing he had to confront was not a crazed Grimm Queen but Citrus trying to run after her criminal of an aunt. But now he had to contend with new difficulties, like learning how to deal with sleepless nights when Mint was teething, or adapting to the new developments and understanding as the kids grew, or just having long talks with Qrow about their plans for their future together and the one they hope to give to their children. Every new decision they made wasn’t the same as facing the end of the world, but at the same time it was.

Because, somewhere along the way, this family had become his new world.

In that, there was something that hadn’t changed – his resolve to protect that world with everything he had.

So that tomorrow, it could flourish and grow.

To his right, Citrus laughed as the panda went flying across the sky. To his left, Qrow yawned and rested his head against his shoulder for a nap of his own. Clover only smiled, arms still holding on, never intending to let go.

So that tomorrow, they all had something wonderful to wake up to.

#clover ebi #qrow branwen #fair game #fairgameweek2020 #rwby #fanfiction #Chase Firekitten's Tale

[ladyoutlier]

Prompt: I don’t know if this counts as head-canon or not, but I’m interested in the idea that the Crowley’s feet get permanently damaged during the Church Scene (it follows if holy water is permanent death than consecrated ground might be permanent damage as well imo). One day, Aziraphale notices.

Falling was hardly painless. It burned and scarred and left behind a great deal of phantom pains and bad memories. Still, 6000 years was an awful lot of time for Crowley to get used to all that. Let it blend into his identity until it became as much a part of himself as his name. Though he had already proven that names were always up for debate. But it was enough time to let it shift his outlook on life and play a role in everything he did. Soon enough, he all but forgot what life was like without the pain of his Fall.

78 years, on the other hand, isn’t a lot of time for an immortal being to get used to a new source of pain, although Crowley did try his hardest to cope and continue on as normal. He wasn’t sure whether it made it better or worse that this, unlike his Fall, was most definitely self-imposed.

He had made the decision to enter that church to help out Aziraphale. Maybe it wasn’t the smartest move considering that Aziraphale would hardly be gone forever if he hadn’t intervened. He would’ve just been preoccupied for a bit up in Heaven whilst he was issued a new body. Likely, he would’ve made it back to Earth before the century was up, and all would’ve been right as rain.

But for some reason, Crowley just couldn’t let that happen. Had to save him the embarrassment as he had put it. Really though, he just wasn’t all that interested in seeing the corpse of his friend, even if it was hardly permanent. And dying probably still hurt like Hell. Aziraphale didn’t deserve that.

So he had tap-danced his way into that church, desperately trying to keep either of his feet from being too scorched by the holy divinity of God. At least the ground no longer burned when it was reduced to rubble. Still, the damage had been done, and, like his wings, his feet didn’t go back to normal. If he had thought about it a bit more, maybe he would’ve came in kneeling. God would’ve had a good chuckle at that.

It hadn’t been hard to play off the constant ache in his step when he walked. His overly dramatic saunter made it easy to play off a sudden stab of pain as just another example of his inability to remain still for too long. Really, he had the whole world fooled, even himself, that absolutely nothing was wrong whatsoever. That’s probably why he didn’t think twice about it when he swapped bodies with Aziraphale.

That’s not to say that Aziraphale felt Crowley’s pain when in his body. No, that wasn’t the case at all. If God’s holy wrath was tied to nothing but a physical body, well, it would hardly qualify as a punishment. This type of pain was linked to the soul so that whatever body Crowley incorporated, he wouldn’t be quick to get comfortable. 

Still, Crowley had never been discorporated, so his physical scars from his walk down the aisle were most definitely present on the soles of his feet. It wasn’t until a certain holy water bath where Aziraphale noticed, and it was very much the reason why he had left Crowley’s socks on for it. He considered keeping it to himself, but curiosity soon won out, and a week after deceiving Heaven and Hell,  he brought it up.

Their common place of evening banter was undoubtedly Aziraphale’s bookstore, but the angel had suggested they go to Crowley’s flat tonight instead. Surely if the demon was in his own space when Aziraphale turned the conversation to his question, he would feel more comfortable answering it. At the very least, he would have a harder time running away. Crowley had thought the change of place odd, but it wasn’t like he was going to say no to Aziraphale.

They were a couple bottles in, relaxed on an L-shaped couch that hadn’t existed four hours ago, before Aziraphale had the confidence to turn the conversation. It was a real shame to bring down the merry atmosphere with this, but this just wasn’t something he could shrug off.

“What did it feel like? Falling that is?” This wasn’t a new question the angel posed to the demon. Every now and then he would ask it, and Crowley would give him a slightly different answer each time.

“Like that warm bubbly God’s grace inside you suddenly got much too hot.”

“Is that how your feet feel too?” Aziraphale asked as nonchalantly as he could.

“What?” Crowley all but dropped his glass.

“I—I just noticed in our little escapade last week where we, you know, pulled one over our respective head offices…” He paused to look at Crowley who stared at him slightly slack-jawed. “Well, I noticed you had scars on the soles of your feet. Rather extreme ones too. And—and considering we can look any way we please and do away with things like scars, I assumed that these in particular must be related to a holy event.”

“Yeah it was.” The demon’s mouth was a thin line. “A holy event.”

“Oh, I do hope you didn’t step in that holy water I gave you. Everything in me said that I shouldn’t give it to you, but I did anyway.”

“Nah, was before that. 1941. Church. You know.”

Of course he knew. Crowley had once again showed up to save the day and, more importantly, his books. It was the kindest act anyone had ever done for him, and the demon refused to let him properly thank him for it. The holy water had been his later attempt at that.

“Dear Lord, Crowley. This didn’t happen to you because you felt the need to save me, did it?”

Crowley cringed at Aziraphale’s tone of voice. Last thing he wanted was the angel’s sympathy—or his guilt for that matter. “I wasn’t bloody certain what would happen when I went into that church. Figure a bit of foot pain isn’t that bad considering.”

“How’s a permanent injury to your celestial being not bad?”

“Well, the Almighty could’ve smited me then and there for stepping foot into Her holy sanctuary. Everything kind of pales compared to that.”

Aziraphale’s jaw practically fell off. “You thought the Almighty might smite you, and you still went in to save me?!?”

“I hoped the whole saving an angel thing would convince Her to go easy on me.”

“Crowley!”

“I’d do it again in a heartbeat.”

And he meant it. Absolutely one hundred percent meant it. He’d do anything for Aziraphale, although he usually tried to keep him from knowing that.

“I’d rather you not maim yourself—or risk your life—for me. Especially when it’s a non-lethal situation!” Aziraphale was now standing, his wine glass forgotten on the coffee table.

“With how your relationship with Heaven is, I’d say there’s all the more reason for me to.”

“Then I hope you don’t mind me saying that I’ll do the same for you going forward.”

And now Crowley was standing as well. “Of course I mind!”

“So, do you see where I’m coming from? Will you trust me to handle myself.”

Crowley sat back down, defeated, and Aziraphale followed suit.

“I’ll do my best, angel.”

They were silent for a moment with Aziraphale’s gaze turned to the demon’s snakey boots. He cleared his throat and spoke up. “So your feet do hurt then?”

“‘S fine when I’m sitting down.”

“And when you’re not?”

“Maybe hurts a bit now and then.” Crowley shrugged in an attempt to downplay his words as much as possible.

“Is there—”

“No, Aziraphale. Nothing you can do unless you also have a way to make my wings white again. And don’t say bleach. It’s not a funny joke.”

“Never would have thought of it, dear.” He moved closer to Crowley on the couch. “But I can’t stand to sit here knowing you’re in pain.”

A confused yet knowing expression flooded Crowley’s face. “Demons are use to pain, angel. We always feel it. The Fall wasn’t a one-and-done deal. We just get used to what it feels like.”

“Oh.” It’s a small little noise that escapes Aziraphale’s lips. One that holds a lot more emotional meaning than the word’s dictionary one. “Crowley, I—I didn’t know.”

“It’s not like I ever told ya.” He avoided the angel’s gaze. “Like I said, we get used to it. No use crying about some 6000 year old drama, now is there?”

“I’m so sorry. That sounds absolutely awful. I wish I could, I mean, there has to be—”

“Can we please not turn this into a pity party. Really I’m fine. As fine as I’ve ever been anyway. And I’d really just like to get sloshed with my best friend, if you don’t mind.”

It was time to back off. Crowley was done with this conversation. To the demon’s benefit, he had given Aziraphale a lot. Let loose quite a few secrets, and the angel appreciated that. If Crowley just wanted to drink now and have a good time, Aziraphale was going to do his best to give him a good evening.

“Of course. I shouldn’t have pushed you on this. We can go back to drinking.” 

He picked his wine glass back up but didn’t return to his side of the couch, instead remaining next to Crowley. If the demon minded, he didn’t show any sign of it. 

If Aziraphale couldn’t offer him any relief for his physical and spiritual pain, he could at least provide Crowley with his company. Really, that’s all Crowley wanted. Just Aziraphale’s company. Because, even though he didn’t tell the angel, just being around Aziraphale made him forget all about every ounce of pain he had ever felt.

#Good Omens #Good Omens fic #my writing #asks #Anonymous

[cerezsis]

One Step Forward

Chipped AU

Summary: Months have passed since the narrowly avoided attack on Homeworld, but White is still struggling to regain Blue and Yellow’s trust.

--

           The ballroom radiated with a liveliness like it never knew before. Gems of all types mingled and danced under the sparkling lights; the previously choreographed dances gone and done away with. Music and chatter mixed in the most delightful way, encouraging even the diamonds to engage in the festivities.

           Well, most of the diamonds. Gray sat, stiff and stoic, on her newly made throne, gripping the armrests so hard her fingers were leaving cracks and crevasses. It had been three months since her return to Homeworld, and crowds were among the many things she was still struggling to get used to. She refused to so much as meet anyone’s gaze, much to the relief of most of the gems in attendance.

           A sudden feeling of a hand touching her own caused Gray to jump. White frowned, apologetically, and drew her hand back. Seeing her mother, Gray relaxed slightly.

           “I didn’t mean to startle you, Moonrise. How are you-”

           She was cut off by Gray’s hasty retrieval of her writing tablet from between her thigh and the armrest.

           Can I please go to my room now?

           White, trying to ease Gray’s anxious aura, gave her a small, comforting grin. “Yes, you’ve stayed long enough.”

           Feeling an instant relief wash over her body, Gray quickly stepped off her levitating throne, so eager to leave, she chose not to acknowledge the rippling pain that was now traveling through her thigh and down her leg.

           As White escorted Gray out of the ballroom, they passed by Yellow and Blue. White made eye contact with them, but they continued to chat as if they didn’t see her. The elder diamond was used to the cold shoulder by now, but she still sighed internally. They’d been this way ever since Gray returned home, only speaking to her when necessary, and nothing beyond that. She had hoped they would’ve gotten over this jealously thing by now, but it was becoming more and more apparent they weren’t going to let it go any time soon. As much as she tried not to dwell on it, White couldn’t help but feel she’d taken one step forward and two steps back; in gaining the love of one diamond, distance had been placed between herself and two others.

           “You did very well tonight,” White said as they walked through the halls, trying to get her mind off Blue and Yellow.

           Gray paused to write something down.

           I felt like I was going to shatter the whole time. Too many gems.

           “I stand by what I said. You did very well. And you’ll get used to it soon enough.”

           Were as many gems staring at me as it felt like there were?

           “Admiration from others comes with being a diamond, another thing you’ll get used to. Gems come from all over the galaxy to bask in our power, beauty, and strength.”

           Gray let out a silent laugh. Admiration? Beauty? I’ve looked in the mirror, mother. They don’t stare at me because they admire me. They stare because I’m scary.  

           “You are not scary.”

           You’re my mother, you have to say that. I know I’m not beautiful like you and the others. It’s fine, I don’t care, but

           Her writing was cut off by a bolt of pain traveling through her left arm, causing her grip to cease. The tablet hit the ground and Gray held her arm, as if her grip would be enough to stop the pain.

           “What happened?!” White asked, her voice slightly frantic by her daughter’s sudden distress, “Are you alright?!”

           Gray waved her off and picked up the tablet. Motioning for them to continue down the hall, they continued their journey to her room in silence. Once there, Gray sat her tablet down on her vanity and continued to write.

           It’s fine. I’ve been tense and gripping my throne for hours. I’ll be fine by morning.

           White sighed, most of her worry ceasing. “We need to get you something better than the tablet to communicate with. It won’t do you any good if you can’t hold onto it.”

           I said I’ll be fine by morning. And Yellow’s already on it. Didn’t she tell you?

           White blinked. “I… No, she didn’t. You’ve been talking with Yellow?”

           Well, yeah. She’s had her gems working on a communication device for me. It’s still in beta, but it should be complete sometime in the next two lunar cycles. It fits around my neck like a choker and has a brooch-looking device on the front that allows me to speak. Well, speak in a way. It’s a robotic voice that comes from a speaker in the brooch, but it’s the closest thing to a voice I’ve ever had.

           Gray’s good eye lit up with as much delight as she was able to express as she wrote the words out. White wanted to feel joy for her daughter, but confusion was clouding her mind.

           “That’s… wonderful. How… How long has Yellow been working on this for you?”  

           She had it started shortly after I got here. I think she got annoyed having to wait for me to finish writing every time I want to say something. I’ll admit, it’s not the best method of communication, and it doesn’t help that I’m still not fluent in modern gem glyph. Blue’s been trying to help me with that, but she’s a little… overbearing’s not the right word, but she tries to help too much, and that can get frustrating.

           White tried not to let her mouth go agape as she struggled to form words. “I… I’m glad the three of you are getting along.” She tried to hide her dismay behind a smile. “Well, I’m sure you’re tired after all the excitement. I’ll let you rest.”

           Thank you. Goodnight, mother.

           White gave Gray another smile, which immediately dropped once she left the room. Her mind was obscured with thoughts and confusion. Determined to get to the bottom of this, she made her way back to the ball. Quickly spotting Blue and Yellow, she thought for a second to confront them directly, but stopped once she remembered the coldness they’d expressed towards her the last few months. How could she figure out what was going on if they wouldn’t talk to her?

           The sound of applause suddenly filled the air. White turned to see Spinel, surrounded by a circle of gems, having just finished another juggling trick. Feeling a spark of realization, White hurried over to her.

           “Oh Spinel, may I borrow you for a moment?” she asked, trying to sound nonchalant.

           Spinel smiled at her and stored her balls in her gem for later. “Sure!”

           White grinned and led Spinel just outside of the room. Once she was sure they were out of earshot, she got down on her knees to try to get closer to Spinel’s level.

           “Spinel, you spend a lot of time with Blue and Yellow,” she began, “Have they mentioned to you why they’re so cross with me?”

           Spinel crooked her neck. “Cross?”

           “Yes. I thought they were jealous of Gray and all the time I’ve been spending with her, but it’s come to my attention that they’ve been getting along very well with her. If it’s not about jealousy, then why are they so cold?”

           Her eyes looking off to the side, Spinel began to coyly tap her index fingers together. “White… you kept a lot of secrets from them. You lied to them about how you came into existence, and you didn’t tell them about the other diamonds that came before them. They’re upset about that, and… well… they think they don’t matter to you.”

           “What!?” White’s eyes widened. “How could they think that?”  

           “Well… They haven’t said anything directly, but I’ve heard them talking about how after Pink faked her shattering, you locked yourself away for 6000 years and refused to see them. Then when the Gray thing happened, you talked about how you couldn’t afford to love anyone as much as you did Black and Gray. I know you didn’t mean it like they think you did, but… it really hurt them, White. They think you don’t care about them.”

           White was silent, her head spinning with this new revelation.

           “They… really think that?”

           Spinel nodded, still not meeting her eye. White stared off into the distance for a while, before rising to her feet.

           “I… I’m retiring for the night,” she said, her voice much shakier than normal, “You threw a lovely ball, Spinel. Go enjoy the remainder of the evening.”

           Spinel nodded and went to rejoin the ball. White, on the other hand, headed straight for her wing of the palace. She had some thinking to do.

--

           The warp pad sprang to life in the old, crumbling kindergarten. Blue and Yellow stepped down onto the dry, lifeless dirt, none too eager for this meeting. After walking a short distance, they found her, standing with her back towards them as she faced two large exit holes.

           “We’re here, White. We got your message,” Blue said, her voice quiet as usual, but not much emotion coming through.

           “What do you need us for?” Yellow asked.

           “You know where we are, correct?” White asked, still not turning around.

           “Of course, it’s our kindergarten,” Yellow said, doing her best not to completely show that she was losing her patience, “Why are we here?”

           “I need to talk to you two, and I thought it fitting to have this discussion here and now.” Finally turning to face them, she did her best to keep her nerves out of her voice. “Today is the anniversary of the day you two emerged.”

           Blue and Yellow blinked, neither of them having the slightest clue how they were supposed to respond to that.

           “How…” Blue began, but trailed off.

           “How could you possibly remember that?” Yellow finished for her.

           “How could I forget? The day you two emerged was the happiest I’d been in eons.” She stepped closer to them, trying to hide how anxious she was. This kind of thing didn’t come easy to her, but she had to do it. “I know you two have lost much of your faith in me. Perhaps I deserve it, but I need you to understand. Even though I made you with the intention of never loving another being again, I ultimately failed. I knew that the moment I saw you.”

           Blue and Yellow were stunned into silence. Shaking, White took hold of their hands.

           “Black and Gray were my first family, but you two and Pink were that and more. When we lost Pink, it brought back a lot a lot of repressed memories. A lot of repressed feelings… I thought I could fix things if I locked myself in my head. I thought I could be a better leader, set a better example if I locked myself away. I thought I could protect myself from hurting again if a similar fate befell one of you. I couldn’t–” She cut herself off, feeling herself losing her composure. “It was a foolish endeavor, I know that now. No matter how hard you try, you can’t force yourself to stop loving someone.”

           For a split second, no one moved. No one said anything. Blue was the first to react, gently pulling her hands away and wrapping her arms around White. Yellow hesitated but followed suit, and White wrapped her arms around them both.

         There were still many things that needed to be fixed between them, that they all knew, but this was a good step forward.

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