#but its okay he can give it a shot just this once even if Jimmy's passed the fuck out. He doesn't want Jimmy's wings to be uncomfy...
Note
Hiii!! I just wanted to first say I love your art and you have single handedly given me even more love for the rancher duo! If you could draw an overworked Jim or Tango whatever one fits better with your dynamics and the other trying to help in whatever way they can. No pressure cause to be honest I will be fine with and kind of rancher duo art work <3
Not quite what you asked but close enough...? !! Thank you so much kind anon, I'm so happy you like my ranchers!!
(Jimmy is tired and got his sorry self butted. Then immediately goes snooork mimimimi when Tango tries to fix him up)
Not a compilation this time, hope that's fine! I'll probably do more requests individually rather than keep compiling similar ones if I can't do them all in a timely manner!
#rancher duo#team rancher#solidaritek#apparently thats also a rancher tag I have no clue !!#trafficshipping#trafficblr#tangotek#jimmy solidarity#Tango's not good at preening and he especially doesnt want to do anything that intimately intricate without Jimmy's constant guidance#but its okay he can give it a shot just this once even if Jimmy's passed the fuck out. He doesn't want Jimmy's wings to be uncomfy...#I couldnt come up with anything good exact to the prompt but again. Hope thats alright anon!!#tubby art
646 notes
·
View notes
Note
tuNAAA 25 for spotify drabbles? :3c -🍯
RAAAA hi honey, this is the worst!!!!! but I love this song <33 it's such a jimmy song to me I am so so ill about it. It's so high because it's on one of my d&d characters playlists and I love him dearly, so!! woosh!! for you :3
(533 words)
He realizes he’s wishing a lot.
How couldn’t he? That’s just the thing, isn’t it? He’s allowed to wish for silly and stupid things because they’ll never come true. He’s pretty certain, anyway, because why would anyone be listening to any of his wishes, especially since they’ve always been oh well I hope I don’t die and here he is, very dead, and feeling some tingling numbness crawl its way up his arms from the tips of his fingers. Where was he? Right—Jimmy’s wishing he could get the taste of blood out of his mouth.
It wasn’t fun. If anyone asks him after, he’s certain he’ll say what he did was fun, but it wasn’t really, and he’ll do it again, because he’s stubborn, okay, and he really, he really, wants to try a bit harder. Next time. He thinks maybe he was a bit disillusioned by the whole thing—maybe he thought it was easy. Maybe he was clouded by love. If it was love. But he’s also wishing he could forget the sting of the arrow through the column of his throat. Shot right through it—through his windpipe. Not even a chance to react, just. Wham. Cut off from the source of air. No scream. Nothing. He doesn’t know it now, but that chain of events gives him a bad nickname that he’ll never shake and he’ll always hate.
It’s just luck how that happens. He’s not cursed. But he’s watching someone dig him a grave. That’s awfully nice, isn’t it? Except that it’s Scott, and he’s sure it’s partially out of obligation, because Scott doesn’t really look upset. He’s upset, but he’s peeved, like this is a wasting precious time I don’t have kind of upset. Which it is. Jimmy knows that. He can only imagine how much he might struggle to push a shovel into the earth to build Scott a grave. Or how he’d be crying too hard to see the ground.
Scott has flowers, too. There’s not really a body to bury—there’s just a post with a sign that Scott is hammering into the ground and placing the flowers in front of, and he’s kneeling on the ground in front of the sign, and for the first time, he looks genuinely upset. Jimmy sits next to him. He can’t hear what he’s saying. He wishes he could, now, he wishes he could hear him, and he wishes he could lean into any sort of comfort, for himself, and for Scott, and he really, really wishes he wasn’t dead.
When Scott finally picks himself off of the dirt and away from the grave he’s made in Jimmy’s absence, Jimmy feels himself sink to the ground in his place. He’s still wishing. The flowers have already begun to wilt. The sky is still bright blue and cold and sunny. He heaves a sob inside a sigh, feeling something turn over cold in his chest. Nobody can hear him. Nobody has to know. In a short while he may wake up in a warm body in the cool comfort of his home on a server nobody visits but himself. But for now, he is a shell of a man once loved, crying at his own grave.
He wishes he was still alive. But nobody is listening to wishes.
(spotify wrapped ask meme)
#text#fics#jimmy solidarity#spotify wrapped ask meme#asks#HONEY I DONT KNOW WHAT HAPPENED#THIS GOT SO OUT OF HAND THIS SONG MAKES ME CRAZY#I'MR EALLY SORRY!! IM
24 notes
·
View notes
Text
Chapter 4- Part 9
I reset again because I am not dealing with another random battle right now. Before anything, before rebattling Jimmy and before going up that other street, we are catching that Surskit!
So let’s go- back to that fountain!
AND THE SURSKIT TRANSITIONED!! Congratulations to her, actually.
Now, I’m actually not too worried? Like, there’s Summer with Grasswhistle and Whiskers with Sing, so we can put the Surskit to sleep once its health is down low enough.
Three problems with that, though. First- it’s a matter of getting its health down low enough without accidentally knocking it out (yeah, I can reset, but…I’d rather not do that again). Second- with Rain in effect, Surskit’s Water-types moves (mainly Bubble, it seems) are boosted in addition to STAB, so I need to make sure my own Pokémon don’t get blasted too hard. Third- this Surskit has its Hidden Ability, Rain Dish, which heals it a little bit every turn due to the Rain.
In the end, I use Streak to lower its Accuracy and pivoting Glare in for Intimidate Attack drops before keeping her in to Bite Surskit’s HP down. The healing from Rain Dish actually does work a little in our favor here; after putting it to sleep, I can just wait a few turns for Surskit’s HP to be restored to where Glare can Bite again to get it into the red.
At red HP and inflicted with Sleep, the Poké Ball should be a slam dunk, right?
And it is! After those, er…tribulations, we’ve caught the Surskit!
And what better of a name to give her than to reference the rainstorm Xera caught her in (and the weather that gives her Rain Dish Ability and Water-type moves their best uses)?
So- with Rain in the PC and the party healed up yet again, let’s move forward with this. There are houses to wander into, and likely more NPCs to talk to!
Ah-!? Alright, alright lady, cool yourself, Xera’s gonna leave, yeesh…
But now I’m wondering- that one guy who wanted Bibarel mentioned not wanting to raise a pink Pokémon (or “pink thing”, as he called it), right? And if this lady already had one of her Pokémon stolen, and she’s got an Igglybuff right there (which is very much another pink Pokémon)...hmmm…
Maybe I’m overthinking stuff and connecting dots where there aren’t, but now I’m thinking we ought to do that Bibarel trade sooner rather than later after all.
Back outside, let’s head up that one street again- avoiding the side where that Trainer was!
You…this time, Xera will battle you, this time on her (and my) own terms…after we read this street sign.
More new streets to add the collection!
Oh, this shouldn’t be a problem at all. Glare’s nice and reliable strategy: Leer, Wrap, Bite, let’s do this.
This Spinarak not only uses String Shot to mess with Glare’s Speed, but it's got its own damager-over-time move in the form of Infestation. This becomes a battle of Wrap vs. Infestation, bit of a war of attrition…but Glare’s just built different.
Hah- gonna take more than just String Shot and Bug moves to take down this snake!
Trill’s next Pokémon is Cutiefly, which is even better for Glare. As a Fairy-type, Cutiefly’s particularly vulnerable to Poison Sting.
Especially with Leer, Poison Sting should be enough. Sure, Glare’s still slowed down by the previous String Shot and Cutiefly here keeps spamming Fairy Wind, but Glare does more damage to it than it can do back to Glare.
Oh, is that what that “West Side!” thing was about? Is there some kinda like gang war going on over here? Considering the state of Reborn City, I wouldn’t be shocked if there was a gang war or two happening somewhere.
But now, let’s keep going down Cinderton Street to see what else we can find.
Welp- if my map ‘discovery’ from earlier didn’t spell it out, this certainly confirms Peridot Ward’s proximity to Jasper Ward. Still, I’m not gonna bother going in there- according to that one old lady, Jasper Ward’s closed off anyways.
So instead, let’s see what’s in this other house back over here-
Okay, reinforcement of the idea that there’s a lockdown on Jasper Ward, lots of confusion, fear and worry from loved ones, understandable.
Oh, this is where Crystal Street led! Which means we’re about to make a full circle back down to the PokéMart, very good! After we visit that one building right over there, of course.
Previous
Next
2 notes
·
View notes
Text
Slashers seeing their future S/O for the first time
Part 1
Including: Billy Loomis, Bo Sinclair, Jason Voorhees, Lester Sinclair, Stu Macher & Vincent Sinclair.
Warnings: Mentions of death, slashers being slashers
A/N: Okay this is my first post on here so any and all feedback is welcome! Also, there will be a part two, I will be including all the slashers I write for I just got a bit carried away and I thought it was a bit long for one part lol. Second part will include Michael Myers, Thomas Hewitt, Billy Lenz, Brahms Heelshire and Jesse Cromeans.
Part 2
Billy Loomis:
· This was meant to be an easy kill for Billy. Some geek that showed up at a party he shouldn’t have been at, Billy had been watching him for most of the night when he saw his target getting ready to leave. He started heading to the closet he hid his Ghostface costume in when someone crashed into him spilling their drink all down the front of his shirt.
· Billy was in two minds about whether he should give them a piece of his mind or ignore their apologies and sneak away anyway. But as he looked up whatever reply he had planned got caught in his throat. When he looked into your pleading eyes he could immediately tell how bad you felt. He didn’t realise he was staring until he noticed you were waiting for a response.
· He regains his composure and brushed off your apologies, telling you not to worry about it. You seemed relieved and he couldn’t help but smirk at how you looked around the room frantically. “Lost something?” he finally asks you, “Am I that obvious?” you laugh before holding your hand out, “I’m Y/N, Randy’s cousin.” Billy seemed to stare at your hand for a second before taking it in his and introducing himself. Maybe just this once he’d let the target go and find something worth enjoying.
Bo Sinclair:
· Getting out of the beat-up truck Bo winced as he felt the pain in his arm of the wound that hadn’t fully healed just yet. Lightly holding the spot and remembering how one of the victims had cut him good with that knife. He sighed and shrugged the thought off before walking towards the dimly lit bar. Sitting down on one of the stools and ordering a beer.
· He soon becomes aware of a man groaning angrily at one of the nearby pool tables, “There aint no way you're winning again without cheatin’” he hears the man grumble. Bo’s fairly accustomed to the usual pool bets but what does surprise him is the feminine laugh he hears in response, he turns around to see you bent over the table lining up your next shot. He feels his throat dry up at the sight of the position you’re in and the teasing smirk that’s on your face.
· “Don’t be a sore loser Jimmy,” you laugh before sinking yet another ball into its socket. Bo can barely take his eyes off you as he leans back taking another sip of his beer. You and the man seem to go back and forth in arguing about the game, and he feels like he could watch you all night. The game is coming to an end with you clearly winning, before he even thinks about it Bo has downed the rest of his beer and is walking towards you. As you’re lining up your final shot Bo slams down a couple of bills on the side of the pool table, you look up at him and he flashed his signature grin at you, “I’ve got winner,” he says as he looks you up and down. You sink your last ball before turning back to him, “You’ve got it handsome,” she smirks. Oh, you were trouble, and Bo couldn’t wait to see how this night turned out.
Jason Voorhees:
· It had been a quiet week for Jason, no campers, no teens, nothing. He had been out collecting wood for the fire when he found a small stone, he liked collecting bits and pieces from around the woods. Small knickknacks to decorate the shabby cabin he called home. The stone had five points and could be seen as almost the shape of a star, what Jason didn’t realise was he had spent far too long invested in the stone to notice someone walking on the trail nearby. The snapping of some sticks broke him out of his thoughts as he saw a figure nearby.
· Jason quickly shoved the stone in his pocket before walking silently to a spot where he could watch the trail without being spotted. He watched you from afar for a while, seeing you look around you as you made your way down the path. The way you watched the nature around you with a small smile on your face made Jason feel a warmth inside him. He followed you all the way to the camp grounds. You seem surprised to find the open space on your trip. You sat down on one of the stone seats before unpacking some lunch for yourself.
· It wasn’t long before you had gotten up and were walking around the small opening. It was then that Jason heard you speak for the first time which caused him to tense in fear. “Hey there little guy.” That was it, you must’ve seen him. He froze as you stepped towards his hiding spot only to stop a few feet in front of where he stood, where he thought he was hidden by the shrubs. But you weren’t looking at him to his relief, he saw the small squirrel perched on a branch that seemed to have your attention. He felt himself relax as he noticed this before trying to silently move further to the other side of the clearing.
· To his surprise the squirrel hadn’t run away, he must’ve smelt the food in your hand as he stood hesitantly sniffing the air. “You hungry?” you asked him rhetorically before holding out a small piece of crust for the squirrel and placing it on the branch near him. Jason watched and couldn’t help but melt at your kindness, he heard the familiar voice in his head but this time the voice was calm, telling him you needed protection, you needed him. But how was he supposed to approach you. A few minutes passed and you turned back to your seat, walking over you noticed something had now been placed where you once sat. You picked up the small stone, noticing it was shaped like a star. You looked around for someone before looking back at the stone, a small smile on your face. It warmed Jason’s heart as he prepared himself to find you more gifts.
Lester Sinclair:
· Lester found himself almost zoning out as he drove down the all too familiar road, the predictability of the same turns and sights that he saw every day seeming to get on his nerves today. Until he noticed a car on the side of the road, he hated his part in this, he tried to just shut himself off from it and think of whoever the poor bastard was that wandered their way as just a stranger, a nobody with no identity. It helped that they were usually rude to him, at least that way he felt less remorse for them. He couldn’t see the person that was hidden under the hood, probably uselessly trying to figure out what was wrong with their car.
· “Looks like you could use a hand.” He didn’t expect the slight squeal from whoever was behind the hood before you walked out, “oh gosh you gave me a fright,” you giggled. Lester was trying to pick his jaw up off the floor and string a sentence together, you definitely weren’t the first young lady to come through these parts but he sure thought you were the prettiest. “Uh, sorry ma’am.” He gulped before wracking his brain for words, “I saw you stuck here and thought you could use a hand.” You sighed before closing the hood, “Unless you happen to have a fanbelt on you, I don’t think so,” He felt the slight dread creep up as he remembered the scenario, he hesitated before spilling his usual script about taking you to see Bo. Of course, you agreed, having no other option and climbing into his truck.
· Not long into the drive you spoke, “I’m Y/N by the way,” he nodded before realising you were waiting for a response, “Oh, I’m Lester,” he responded. “Lester,” you repeated with a smile, he couldn’t help the feeling in his stomach when you repeated his name. “Well thank you very much Lester, I definitely owe you one for driving me all this way.” The more you spoke the worse he was starting to feel, you seemed kind, you were nice to him which was a welcome change, you laughed along with him instead of at him, you didn’t deserve the fate that you were walking into. As you neared Ambrose he realised he couldn’t let you die, he didn’t know how yet but he would do everything he could to keep Bo from hurting you. He knew life was going to be anything but predictable with you around
Stu Macher:
· Stu groans when the bell rings, his least favourite subject and it was the first lesson of the day. “You coming Stu?” He looks at Randy as he seems to think it over, “Nah, we’ve got Evans, I don’t need another detention from that douche.” Randy just rolls his eyes as Stu starts walking in the opposite direction, he hears Randy grumble some smart-ass comment to himself as he walks away.
· Stu was about to turn towards the entrance when he heard you curse to yourself, he glanced at you before turning the corner. “Woah,” he stopped in his tracks before backing up back into the hallway and looking you over again. You must be new, he definitely would’ve remembered you if he had seen you before. You're too engrossed in the paper in your hands to notice someone coming up to you and leaning against the lockers. He puts on his cheesiest grin before getting your attention “Hey there,” you almost jump out of your skin as you drop your books.
· “Oh man I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.” Stu apologises as he crouches down and begins to pick up your things, you join him in picking up your books, “No don’t be, I should’ve been paying more attention,” you give him a soft smile before standing back up as he passes you some of your belongings, “You must be new, haven’t seen you around here,” you just nod before continuing, “actually, i’m having some trouble finding my class,” he looks over the schedule you had been engrossed in. “Oh that’s actually where I’m headed, I can take you if you’d like,” he couldn’t help but smile at the way you beamed up at him as you agreed.
· The walk was filled with Stu making you laugh, as you neared the class he seemed to slow down and began talking to you again. “You know, I’d be happy to show you to your other classes if you need help finding them after this?” you agreed and he walked into the class with you. A big smile on his face even after being reprimanded by your teacher. “I thought you weren’t coming,” Randy whispers to him, “Yeah something changed my mind,” he replied, not taking his eyes off you. Maybe this class was worth showing up to.
Vincent Sinclair:
· Vincent had been in the museum, positioning his newest artwork. He stared at it with a slight tilt of his head, questioning every stroke, every pose and every colour. He couldn’t help it, he knew he was good at what he did but insecurity still nagged at every decision he made. He was in his own world when the creak of the front door broke him out of his stupor. Bo had told him a small group of victims would be heading down to the museum while he worked on ‘finding’ a fan belt for them. Vincent was quick to move to his usual hiding spots to watch them.
· Vincent hated how loud this group was, joking and making fun of his art. “You have to be pretty sick to make any of this.” One of the guys spoke up, Vincent immediately started thinking of how he would hurt this man. It wasn’t until a softer voice spoke up that he noticed the girl trailing at the back of the group, “Come on guys, don’t be so rude. Someone must have put a lot of effort into these.” It was then that Vincent could finally make out your form, you seemed quiet even when speaking up for him, defending his work. Vincent wished he could get a better look at you. The man scoffed, “Okay art freak.” Vincent saw the way you practically flinched at the insult before turning away from the group to go and look at some other pieces.
· Vincent felt angry, the man would definitely suffer. He made his way closer to where you were, staying hidden as he watched you from afar. He could tell the insult had hurt you and this only made him angrier. You seemed to pause as you squinted closer to the art work on the wall, brushing some dust off the framing. “Vincent,” you read the signature to yourself with a small smile on your face, Vincent stilled when he heard you. He wasn’t sure what it was but something about hearing you say his name struck a chord in him. He was more than intrigued by you, he felt drawn to you in a way he had never felt before. He wasn’t sure what this meant but whatever it was he knew Bo wouldn’t like it.
#billy Loomis x reader#bo sinclair x reader#jason voorhees x reader#lester sinclair x reader#stu macher x reader#vincent sinclair x reader#slasher x reader#slashers x reader#slashers#slasher#my writing#slasher fandom#slasher imagines#slasher fucker#slash fic
696 notes
·
View notes
Text
Kingslayer AU: Chapter Five
If you remember that post I made about the Red Resistance you’re a real one.
Notes: this one is very short. It’s just to move the plot along and blah blah blah. Next chapter is a good one I think.
The next time Scott showed up to the Red Desert it was for a petty fight that Scar had instigated by trying to steal directly from the Renchanting base. The situation made Scott face palm, and he contemplated not even showing up. However, when Jimmy offered to go in place of him, he told him not to bother. That he would be back in less than a day and night cycle.
Scott walked into the meeting just as the Red Army crested a hill. Which they stayed on. Scar yawned exaggeratedly and trekked up to his opponent, who was wearing a bandage on his left arm.
Cleo was also there. She seemed to be focused on drawing shapes in the cracked sand with the tip of her sword. Most likely feeling bitter about her former ally, Tango, joining Dogwarts. Everyone was paying as little attention as possible while Scar fired off false promises and white lies. Grian busied himself with apologizing to the nearest members of the Red Army for Scar’s embarrassment.
Scott was nearly falling asleep on his feet when someone tapped him on the shoulder.
Tango.
“Hey Major, you got a minute?” he whispered.
“So many,” Scott responded, gesturing to the desolate state of their meeting.
The two of them quietly excused themselves from the group to speak in private. Scott didn’t know why he didn’t tell Tango to just leave him alone. Maybe it was because Tango had a certain air of reluctance about him, Scott was certain he pulled his punches. Maybe it was shear boredom.
“So, nice weather,” Tango observed the arid desert sky.
“Uh huh..” Scott provided, unimpressed.
Tango stared at him blankly. Awkwardly.
He cleared his throat, “so I heard about your battle with Skiz and Ren. Impressive,” Tango said.
“What is with you people and beating around the bush? We’re not friends,” Scott pushed Tango away by the middle of his chest, “Tango,” he reminded.
Tango looked hurt for a second, “ouch Major. Fine, I wanted to ask you to join me,” he said.
Scott burst out laughing, to which Tango scolded him and shook him by the shoulders. That shut him up, it also earned Tango a slap.
“Don’t touch me,” Scott ordered.
Tango put his hands up, “no touching here! But be quiet. I brought you over here alone for a reason,” he pointed out.
Scott glanced at his allies. Blissfully unaware of the possible treason he may have been about to commit.
“Nobody knows this yet,” Tango whispered, “but I’m spying on the Red Army,” he said.
“What?” Scott asked rhetorically.
“Yeah, I have a plan. It involves you,” Tango responded.
Scott paused to consider if he was really about to entertain whatever was about to come out of Tango’s mouth.
“How do I know you’re not just trying to get close to me and then kill me on behalf of him,” Scott pointed at Ren, who was rolling his eyes at Scar and animatedly conversing with him about something Scott forgot about a long time ago.
“You remember the cow farm right?” he said.
“Yes,” Scott nodded suspiciously.
“I let you take my cow, on the promise that you and Jimmy wouldn’t tell anyone,” Tango recited.
“And we didn’t,” Scott said.
“Exactly. I know I can trust you, and I can’t trust them, Etho tried to kill me remember?” Tango pointed at Etho and Ren.
“So I want you to join me. Not the Red Army, me. Impulse is doing the same thing,” he concluded.
“Didn’t Impulse actually kill you?” Scott pointed out.
Tango waved his hand, water under the bridge.
Scott drifted off into contemplation. Everything about joining a coup against the Red Army screamed danger. More than usual. Dogwarts was a force to be reckoned with. They had superior gear, defenses, players, and alliances. Maybe Scott could cheap shot Martyn and Skizzle, but he could not promise that same luck against Etho or anyone else for that matter. The thought of even trying made his stomach turn.
And then there was Jimmy. If their plan didn’t work, what would happen to Jimmy? The Crastle? Or the Red Desert for that matter? The target on their backs was large enough. Scott had to take a step back. Since when did he get himself involved in a war?
Since he started defending himself, his mind provided.
Since he started standing up for his own freedom. For their freedom.
“Okay,” Scott said.
“Really? You’re in?” Tango’s eyes lit up, his joy was a bit loud for Scott’s new predilection for secrecy.
“Shh!” Scott put a finger in front of his face, “that’s not what I said…” he averted his eyes.
“I want to, believe me, I do,” he said, “but I can’t.”
Tango’s smile faded instantly, his red eyes grew disappointed, “Why not?” he seemed hurt.
“I have too much to lose. I can’t risk this,” Scott held the charm of his necklace up, it’s gemstone still shimmered bright green.
“Scott, I admire your devotion, I really do; but this is a bit bigger than that,” Tango said.
Scott’s expression fell into shock and reproach.
That seemed like enough of an answer for Tango, who backtracked as he realized he’d struck a nerve.
“I mean!” he corrected, “I mean nothing will happen to Jimmy. Cross my heart, he will be under the Red Resistance’s finest protection,” Tango stood up straight and crossed his heart.
Scott decided that was satisfactory. He made a face that said the opposite though, just to make sure Tango’s pride wasn’t too uplifted.
“Fine. I’ll join you Tango, but if I get even the slightest inclination of funny business, I’m out,” Scott cautioned, but he agreed.
“Terms and Conditions, I get it. The Red Resistance will not indenture any of its members,” Tango responded with a gleeful grin.
“You guys and your red themed names,” Scott teased, but held his hand out. They ought to make it official before everyone stopped snoring.
Tango shook it enthusiastically. The two called it done and Scott returned to his side, and Tango returned to the Red Army.
*****
Scott traveled back home that day. No fighting had taken place, although Scar had decidedly talked himself into a hole and ended up giving Ren access to any sand Dogwarts and their affiliates needed for the next week. It was no skin off Scott’s back, he didn’t care. Not his sand.
Wearing so much armor and standing in place for two hours gets on ones nerves. Taking off his heavy diamond chestplate felt like enough liberation for the day. He expected to hear from Tango or Impulse at some point, preferably soon.
Jimmy asked him how the meeting went when he returned, holding out a cup of coffee.
Unsure of whether or not to tell the truth, Scott lied, he said nothing happened and made fun of Scar for running his mouth so much. He said he was tired.
*****
“Scott? That you?” Tango’s voice came through a small door in his abandoned cow farm. It wasn’t needed anymore.
Scott pointed his torch towards the voice, illuminating a door, which Tango had crafted into the side of the underground farm.
“Yes it’s me. Why’s it so dark in here?” he asked.
“I don’t want people to know I’m still using this place, that’s why,” Tango motioned for Scott to come to him.
Tango silently listened for any sign that Scott had been followed, then pushed a stone slab in front of the hidden door with a silent thud.
On the other side of the door was a short hallway, then a very small room with some pillows on the floor and a table. A map of the server that included all the structures and members was pinned up on the wall. There was also a well loved notebook on the table.
“Where’s Impulse?” Scott asked, sitting down on one of the pillows.
“Ren needed him for something, he’ll probably be here next time,” Tango explained. He sat down and lit a candle to make more light.
“I thought we would start by going over the basics today,” Tango picked up the notebook and flipped through some of the pages absently.
Scott looked away and then back, “okay, shoot,” he said.
The “plan” centered around infiltrating the Red Army, convincing them (mainly Ren) that Scott had decided to switch sides. Then, him, Tango, and Impulse would eventually build their trust. Somewhere in there they would convince the Red Army to stop messing with people and come to an agreement with the rest of the server. Something about working together instead of against each other.
“We still have to work some stuff out,” Tango concluded with confidence.
“That’s the plan? You really think this’ll work?” Scott crossed his arms.
“If you can insult Scar convincingly enough, yes,” Tango said.
“Oh this’ll be easy!” Scott laughed, mostly to cover up his nerves.
Tango chuckled with him, then became serious once more, “I’m glad you have a sense of humor going into this. Even after what they did to you,” Tango said.
“I’m sorry about that, by the way,” he apologized.
Scott’s hands stung a bit in response, but he nodded a silent “thanks”.
They were quiet. Scott nervously fiddled with the hem of his coat, lost in thought, mostly regret.
Impulse did show up the next time. He arrived just after Scott did. Everyone sat awkwardly in the little room for a while and Scott was wrapped in nostalgia for a similar time. A time where the only threat was an obscene number of phantoms.
Over the course of their meetings, Scott observed his teammates and their actions. A far cry from who they used to be, including him. Scott’s hair had grown past his ears and turned purple at the tips, and he’d become rather paranoid about always wearing armor.
Tango spent much of their interactions lost in thought. The ghost of whatever was eating at him weighed visibly on his shoulders in the way his head was always bowed in a perpetual staring contest with the ground. He was irritable.
Impulse was a wild card to Scott, they’d never really met before; but it was clear he’d been changed as well. Illustrated by his long “mining” trips, which he only returned from to attend their weekly meetups with no resources to show for it, and a general aura of depression.
His mind was drawn back to the picture Cleo had taken of almost all his server-mates, together in front of the Vibe Machine. He’d studied everyone’s faces countless times. Mostly wondering where everything had gone wrong.
Had they ever truly been friends in the first place? Or was camaraderie a comfort when everyone else was just as weak as one another.
#finally. the end of act one.#also the end of me having to select from my notes app because#up until now I wrote EVERYTHING in the same document#never. ever do that.#kingslayer au#scott smajor#tangotek#impulsesv#3rdlife#3rd life smp#cas types#mcyt
37 notes
·
View notes
Text
breaking down this anti-ian article bc it bothers me ( from the child of a bipolar mother and a male teen with same sex attraction ) while also providing valid reasons ian sucks ( from someone who likes ian )
ive had this drafted for a while so i dont think i cover anything from season 11
tw for i^cest and r^pe
he was with a married man
in this point it points out that he was with kash and he continued his relationship with kash even after linda put cameras in the store
“Ian didn't seem to care about how wrong his affair with Kash was or how much it could hurt Kash's wife Linda, whom he saw at the store regularly. “
that is a quote from that part.
ian gallagher was fifteen in season one, kash was an older man who bought him gifts and payed attention to ian ,, that was not on ian , none of that was ian fault because he was a child
ian wasnt open with lip
“ Ian didn't tell Lip about his preferences and forced Lip to figure it out on his own. Lip was instantly accepting of his brother's truth and even offered to help him figure out any confusion he might be harboring, so it's really strange that Ian wasn't just upfront with his closest confidant from the start.”
no , lip wasnt forced to figure it out on his own and he also wasn’t instantly accepting.
in this point it mentions that ‘they’re extremely close ( bestfriends and brothers ) so its strange ian didnt tell him’
like point 1 , ian is a fifteen year old boy, growing up on the southside , and thoughout the show it has mentioned multiple times that the southside isnt that accepting
back to lip -- lip wasnt accepting, sure he was fine but ‘helping your younger brother figure it out’ by having a (female) classmate give him a blowjob isnt helping
he secretly dated his best friends brother
“Most friends have an unspoken rule about not dating each other's siblings, but Ian broke this rule by secretly entering into a relationship with Mandy's closeted brother Mickey.”
the only thing i have to say about this is , he was still with kash and mickey was a boy in his age group who was gay , growing up in the southside ian probably thought he was the token gay so of course hes going to chase after mickey
he stood by as kash attacked mickey
“Ian didn't do anything to stop Kash from shooting his new lover, and didn't even tell the police about his boss' over-the-top display of jealous action so proper justice could be served.”
okay. because two men he had fallen for had gotten into a fight, there was a gun involved and he panicked, in the end after mickey got shot he went to him
now to address the quote, he didnt say anything to the police because he probably knew that that would bring shame onto kash and his family, along with mickey and his family who are very homophobic
oh yeah and it was like 2011 and cops suck and THEY LIVE ON THE SOUTHSIDE
he and lip tried framing terry milkovich
oh the homophobic and racist dad of his boyfriend and bestfriend who tried to kill him and r*ped his daughter ?
yeah , shit man , that was real bad they shouldn’t have done that /s
he dated jimmy-steves married father
“Ian didn't bother telling Jimmy the truth about his father and didn't end his relationship with Lloyd upon finding out that he had a secret wife and family, either.”
at this point ian is probably sixteen but that doesnt matter bc i wont even address that
he met him at a club and then used his relationship with ned to make mickey jealous which was one of the reasons he kept seeing him, he didnt tell jimmy-steve about the relationship or his father bc he shouldnt find out from him he should find out from his father , again like kash, ned was an older man who payed attention to ian and ned later did develop feelings feelings for ian
he stole lips identity to enlist in the army
he enlisted because he didnt know what to do with himself, its implied/stated that the army timeline was the start of his bipolar
“While impersonating Lip, Ian had tried to steal a helicopter and then proceeded to go AWOL.”
this is because of the bipolar he suffers from, it is referenced later in the series after he gets back and hes manic
ian refused to accept being bipolar
of course he didnt accept it, it is made very clear that his family thinks lowly of monica so of course if hes the lucky duck to get what his siblings demonize her for, of course he’ll not want to be it
“He refused to take medications that could alter his personality or mood.”
okay. this is why im making this whole post, this goes along with part 15 ( or so idk ) ,,
my mother , my dear mother, who is bipolar and doesnt take her meds because they are mood altering , my mom doesnt take med because she told me once that they make her feel like shit, she told me that a little after i was born she started taking them but realized she felt nothing, she felt nothing for my dad or for i ( making her numb )
she told me anti deppresents dont help either because when shes on them and manic it pushes her past productive and into angry
my dad told me that when my mom was on bi polar medication she would seem angry most of the time
he wasnt faitful to mickey
“Ian's bipolar disorder made him very reckless and impulsive and led him to be unfaithful.”
lets break that down.
ians. bipolar. disorder.
this plot point i actually didnt like, mainly bc ian never addresses it so ill give the article a point. but then i take away 2 because they have more of a problem with his bipolar messing with him rather than the fact he never apologized and they never worked it out
ian stole yevgeny
before i start quoting i should mention because his boyfriend, who has supported and helped him is suddenly telling him he needs help, he was helping raise yev so he’ll see yev as his own
“Ian failed to recognize just how crazy he was acting...”
cuting you off right there , he was in a bipolar state, he wasnt ‘crazy’ and isnt ‘crazy’
he cant even keep count of his number of partners
just slutshaming i see
he helped throw frank off a bridge
“His relationship with Frank was understandably never the same after that, as Frank struggled to get over this act of betrayal and cruelty.”
‘was never the same after that’ frank never liked ian, ian was probably his least favorite and that point is very apparent
also , it wasnt just ian , his siblings and his boyfriend caleb
he left a healthy relationship to be with mickey
he fell in love with mickey at 15 , mickey was a comfort and always someone to fall back on, when mickey was taken away and no longer in the picture his heart still obviously was with mickey and when mickey came back he didnt know what to do
he told mickey he had a boyfriend but because mickey has been such a constant in his life he finally has back of course he couldnt resist
he liked trevor, i could tell he did but trevor wasnt the one he watched get r^ped by a russian prostitute, he wasnt the one ian was secretly dating bc it would be a death wish other wise, he wasnt the one there when ian was manic or depressive ( at the start )
he tried blackmailing an old client for money
“Instead of raising the money in an honest manner, Ian chose to visit an old client from his time working at the Fairy Tail and blackmail him into funding the shelter.”
because he felt indebted to trevor and wanted to make it up to him, it would have taken longer to do it in ‘an honest manner’ when his sister would have gotten it instead, he knew how much gay youths like he once was needed a safe place
“He grew up wanting to be nothing like his father, but this whole money-making scheme was straight out of the Frank playbook”
because thats all he knows, he grew up with that ‘playbook’ so of course hes going to take a page out of it, he is nothing like frank , franks money making schemes are selfish and for his own greed while ian wanted the money to help build a safe space for lgbt youth
he let fame inflate his ego
of course he did, hes a southside kid who was destined to fail
also it is very apparent that during the gay jesus era he went off his medication which didnt help
“Before long, he just completely forgot about his ex and focused solely on being a deity”
as much as yes, he did let it mess with his head, he was trying to still help lgbt youth and was going against anti gay churchs , in the end it didnt work out for him because he was off his meds and went over board
he stopped taking his meds
see previous point and ‘ian refused to accept being bipolar’
he actually wanted to stay in prison
because he was doing good in there
ian was helping others and was spreading awareness about lgbt with in the prison , and as him and jail scenes go , we can see people were listening to him and he was trying to make it safe sane and consensual
he let down his army of followers
“Ian admitted that most of his actions were completely irrational and the mere results of his bipolar disorder.”
he didnt want to, we can see this, because he knew he would let down everyone, his family were the only ones to ever ground him and they knew it would be the best option for his own mental health
during the gallavich wedding we can see that a lot of his supporters still have his back because they must know how hard it was for him to put all of that success on something he can’t control
he constantly wasted his potential
this is actually the only point in this article i actually agree with , so only 1/20 i agree with
his relationship with mickey wasn’t actually great
“Mickey spent the first several years of their relationship denying his feelings for Ian.”
he was raised by a homophobic and racist father who he knew would react the way he did when terry had caught the two that one day
“Even after he finally embraced his true self, Ian's bipolar disorder kept them from becoming truly happy together.”
yes but mickey was there for him the entire time and helped him through it, he told him he loved him which was really big for him and did his best to care for him
“They couldn't seem to remain faithful to each other for more than a few weeks.”
back to the point about ians bipolar but for mickey he wanted monogamy , now that scene in s11 may say otherwise but it is very clear that he wants a monogamous relationship with ian and ian ( after getting help ) wants one too, and in the later seasons they are monogamous
“When Mickey asked Ian to run away to Mexico with him, Ian refused.”
he wanted to, it’s obvious, but ian has his family and didnt want to abandon them again, i think part of him knew he would see mickey again because they always find eachother, he gave mickey all of his money and wanted mickey to have a good life
“Their relationship was simply never healthy.”
no it wasnt, but thats why the ship is great in its own way, the gay closet kid raised by a homophobic man is obviously going to have a lot of baggage , and ian who is bipolar and struggling with himself will also have a lot of baggage , but in the end they love eachother and that really shows in season five and season seven specifically
that is all lol ,,, this is long sorry
now, i am not a ian apologist , i love ian but hes a dumbass sometimes
actual valid reasons ian sucks
genuinely believes frank is worse than terry
yes frank was definitely abusive but terry is definitely worse ,,
mentally/physically/sexually abusive , the whole nine yards
terry hired a prostitute to r^pe his son , threatened to kill him and ian on multiple occasions , r^ped his daughter who ended up pregnant and is actively racist
frank on the other hand will make gay jokes but in the end doesnt give enough of a shit , he has attacked his children on multiple occasions but not to the brutality that terry has ( this isnt me excusing it )
sorry ian , terry is worse
never apologized
he never apologized for all the shit he put mickey and his family through, never apologized to mickey for cheating on him , never apologized for all the manic and depressive episodes mickey endured with him
never apologized for walking away when he couldn’t handle it, in hall of shame mickey actually acknowledges this saying ‘its youre whole MO’
debbies sexuality
he has constantly made statements saying debbie isnt gay and that bothers me because , why does it care ? as a gay man and as a gay man who soent time with a lot of lgbt youth wouldnt he support his sister even if shes just ‘experimenting’?
in the recent season he doesnt seem to care and doesn’t say anything but it still bothers me
mickey only getting like 80% of his heart
okay look , i get what ian means when he says this , everyones hes been with has made him who he is but fucking hell dude ,, shut up , thats your husband , thats the love of your life you shouldnt be saying shit like that , especially to him
and then this man had the audacity to say mickey probably feels the same about past flings when he knows that ian is the only one hes probably ever been with/serious about
obviously there is probably more but those are the main ones that come to mind
—
before anyone brings up the trans or bi thing im going to explain my thought process for him
like ive probably mentioned multiple times he grew up southside and obviously only ever grew up with lgb and not t ,, trevor did inform him a lot and ian became supre accepting of everyone,, sexual preference isnt transphobic but i do think he approached the matter badly
now the bi thing , legit all i think is that he doesnt hate bisexual people its just that the man he really liked slept with a woman and never expressed any heterosexual attraction so it probably just suprised him and pissed him off because caleb did cheat on ian
—
if you read this far HOLY SHIT THANKS LOL ,, im not adding things that i think are pro about ian this was just me breaking down that article and giving my two cents :)
feel free to message me and talk to me or send me articles like this about any other character/relationship and i will totally break that one down too lol
thanks for letting me rant
53 notes
·
View notes
Text
When in Westview - 5
Jimmy Woo/Fem!Reader
Words: 1,379
Fic Summary: When SWORD is at its end trying to figure out what’s going on in Westview, they call in one of the Avengers to help. But even you can’t seem to figure out everything around you.
This chapter covers the events of episode nine “The Series Finale.” Some dialogue from the show is used.
Author’s Note: this is the last chapter! hope you enjoyed the fic :)
Series Masterlist
“Hey, it’s my favorite member of the bureau. Oh, and my least favorite Avenger!” Hayward said as the two of soldiers walked you and Jimmy into the tent in handcuffs. “Aww, what a cute couple you make!” Jimmy just shook his head at Hayward’s tone, and you shot him a dirty look. “Reconfirm mission objective,” he said, looking at a computer screen. You knew what he was doing, but you couldn’t do anything about it in handcuffs.
“His system is overloaded. I can’t get anything through,” another agent said.
“Still under control though?”
“As far as I can tell, he’s still ours,” the agent confirmed.
You stepped forward. “You’ll never be able to cover this up,” you said. “People are going to find out what you’ve done here, and you won’t be able to come back from it.”
“I won’t have to,” Hayward said, a sick smile on his face. “Wanda cancelled her show, so there’s no footage proving there was ever more than one Vision.”
You were glaring daggers at Hayward, so you didn’t even notice that Jimmy had stepped back and artfully taken someone’s phone off the table behind you. “Oh, there’s S.W.O.R.D. HQ security tape and evidence of tampering, no doubt,” you said to Hayward, not backing down.
But he wasn’t going to give up easily either. “No one’s gonna care once I’ve eliminated Wanda Maximoff. They’ll believe that the Vision who emerges from the Westview rubble is the same one she illegally tried to bring back to life. They’ll thank me for recovering such a valuable asset. You could be a part of that victory, Y/N. You too Jimmy. If only you had a little more vision.”
You scoffed loudly, but Jimmy put on an obviously fake smile. “That’s a good one, Hayward. Okay, I’m convinced,” he said, and you didn’t quite know where he was going with this. Trouble is, my friends at Quantico will probably have something to say about your plan when they arrive. Inside the hour.”
Hayward continued to stare him down. “You’re bluffing.”
But Jimmy didn’t break his gaze. “Am I?”
You didn’t quite know what Jimmy was up to, because you didn’t think he spoke to anyone, but you went along with it. Hayward didn’t even respond to the threat, instead just walking away. “We’re done here.”
The two of you were thrown in a makeshift holding cell, on “benches” that were actually made out of hay bales. The two of you sat pretty close together on the hay. “Do you actually have people coming?” you asked him.
“No, but I snagged a phone off the table before Hayward started talking, so hopefully someone is in the area that can help,” he said. “I just have to get these cuffs off.”
“I have a safety pin,” you said out loud, wriggling your hands around to get to your pocket. “Do you think you can undo your handcuffs by yourself if I gave it to you?”
“Y/N I could kiss you right now,” he said, and your heart stopped. You clumsily passed the safety pin to him (there was probably a better way to do this, but you didn’t have the time to ponder that right now). When his hands were free of the cuffs, you turned around so he could free you as well. When your hands were free, you decided to actually take a chance on what you were feeling for once instead of just pushing it away, so you leaned over and planted a kiss on his lips. “Not that I’m complaining, but what was that for?” Jimmy asked, reaching out to take your hand.
“You said you could kiss me, so I was just taking advantage of that,” you said, a lot bolder than you felt.
The pit of nerves in your stomach didn’t dissolve until he leaned over and kissed you again. “You know, I was going to ask you on a date first, but this is fine too.”
You couldn’t help the quiet giggle that escaped your lips. “You know, with everything that’s been going on, I think it’s okay to do things a little out of the ordinary. Which, we still have a job to do here, you know.”
“You’re right,” he said, producing a phone out of his pocket. Leaning against the hay so that no one noticed anything, he dialed a number. “Cliff. Uh, James Woo,” he said when someone picked up. “Hey, I’ve got a situation and I was hoping you could get here. Maybe inside the hour?”
You couldn’t hear the other end of the line, but you waited patiently as Jimmy gave a few details about what’s been happening, and he nodded at you when he hung up the phone. “Good news?” you asked.
“Yeah, good news,” he answered. “The FBI is going to get some people from the New York field office to come out and help us get everything under control. Hayward is not going to get away with this.”
When you and Jimmy stepped out of where you were being held, you watched as the scarlet wall that kept Westview from the outside world opened, but something in you knew you would never be able to make it before it closed again. And you were right, because soon after the border sealed itself back up. The base was a ghost town, so you knew Hayward had gone in to try and kill Wanda. You didn’t even have time to process what was happening before sirens filled the air: the FBI backup Jimmy was promised had arrived.
***
There wasn’t much else to do after you explained the situation, so you just had to wait until something happened. You saw bursts of magic hit the barrier as you watched, and you hoped that Wanda was okay, whatever she was doing. Everyone immediately jumped into action the minute the barrier started to retract. You and Jimmy climbed into the backs of the FBI vehicles and they all took off in the direction of Westview.
When you arrived at the town square, you didn’t know where to focus your attention. There was debris all over the ground, Wanda was nowhere to be seen, and SWORD troops were everywhere. You spotted Monica first. “Y/N!” she said, and you ran over to her. “What happened?”
“After a few bumps in the road, Jimmy was able to call for some FBI backup,” you said, turning to look back at Jimmy, who was talking with some of the other agents. “And once the barrier dissipated, we could actually get in to help.”
Monica must have seen the smile on your face and put two and two together, because she immediately decided to ask you about it. “Jimmy, huh?”
You stood in silence, offering a small smile as an answer. “Yeah,” you said quietly.
“You deserve love,” she said, a kind smile on her face. “You both do.”
You turned back at Jimmy, who had now started to direct people on where to go, and you and Monica approached him. “Hey,” he said with a smile as the two of you walked up to him.
“Authority looks good on you, Jimmy,” Monica said with a smile, and you couldn’t help but nod in agreement.
“Where’s Darcy?” he asked.
“She said something about ‘debriefs are for the weak,’” Monica said. “But we can thank her for that.” You all looked over to see Hayward being loaded into the back of one of the FBI cars, and you couldn’t help but feel joy at that.
Monica was pulled away by someone who asked to speak to her, and you and Jimmy were left alone. He reached out and took your hand, and you smiled. “Why don’t we go get something to eat?” he asked, a bright smile on his face. “So I can finally take you out on that date I promised you.”
“Don’t you have responsibilities here?” you asked, raising your eyebrows. “It feels like we’re kind of in the middle of something.”
“I think they can do without us for a while,” was what his answer was.
“Alright,” you gave in, laughing brightly. “So where are you taking me?”
“I didn’t think about that yet.”
- the end -
43 notes
·
View notes
Text
Edward Nygma (Pre Riddler) x Fem!Reader || Oneshot
Title: Blind Double Date
Plot:
You and your friend Mia have decided to have a sort of blind double date thing together where you find a date for her and she finds one for you. You’ve decided to ask Ed; The harmless, cute forensics guy at work.
Warnings: FULL FLUFF
~~~
“Good morning Ed!” As you walk into the forensics lab, you quickly find your target in the corner eating his breakfast with gloves and his goggles on. An amused smile struggles to find its place on your mouth but you try to hide it- funny guy, Ed is.
But that doesn’t mean theirs anything wrong with him. You honestly have never understood why anyone would bully him- all he does is his job! And he bares riddles, too! What’s not to appreciate? You happen to like listening to his riddles and giving them a go, even if most of the time the answer evades you. It still tickles you when he tells you, and it makes him happy to get to ask them, too.
Plus, he isn’t bad to look at, and he’s very sweet.
Which is why you’ve chosen him to ask as Mia’s date tonight. Yes tonight. You’ve left it, in pure homework-style, to the last minute to find a guy and ask him. But you’re pretty sure she’s done the same thing, so you don’t feel too bad. You just hope you can butter Ed up enough that he says yes!
“Good morning Miss L/N.” Ed smiles, giving a little waive as he sets his McMuffin back down on a little plate of glad wrap on the corner bench so he can talk to you.
You’re aware of his unfortunate feelings for Kristen -unfortunate because she doesn’t share these feelings, -, which of course could prove an obstacle… but like you said! You plan to butter him up plenty before popping the question. “Any riddles today?”
He beams. “Yes, I do, in fact. Would you like to hear it?”
“’Course!”
“If you drop me, I’m sure to crack. But, smile at me and I’ll be sure to smile back. What am I?”
With only a moment of thought, you set your fists on your hips and peer up at him with a good, humoured stink eye, squaring up to the beanpole. “Ed, are you dumbing down your riddles for me? A mirror!” A tiny grin tugs at the corners on his mouth, avoiding eye contact with you.
“Figured you prefer to get them right.”
“Psh.” You roll your eyes, grin stretching into something wider. Then you cross your arms and lean forward. “I have one for you, now.”
“Oh, really?” He looks a little excited, and its adorable especially behind the goggles he’s still wearing. You resist the urge to giggle, though, and nod. “Fire away, then.”
“Okay, hold on, let me remember.” Pausing a moment, you look at the counter to remember the words. You have to get this right, to provide the perfect jumping off point for asking him out. “Okay, you see a boat filled with people, yet there isn’t a single person on the boat. How is it possible?”
Ed’s eyes shine and you know he’s heard it before; His eye sonly look like that when he’s about to give the right answer and feel smart doing it. Taking off the goggles and replacing his glasses over his eyes, he grins. “All the people are married couples.”
“Exactly, and Ed! Wouldn’t you like to be one of those people?” I’m going for it. No need to be shy- shoot your shot like a used car salesperson.
Immediately, the forensics guy looks completely flabbergasted and he stutters like he really is confused, for once. “What- what??”
Having the humility and poise to look a little moor mellow, you lean my lower back on one of the benches stretching across the wall and focus on the table in the middle of the room. You’ve seen many, many dead bodies on this table. “Well, my friend Mia and I are setting up a sort of… blind double date, I guess. She’s finding someone for me, and I’m looking for a guy for her and we’re gonna go out as a group. Safer than online dating, right? Well I was looking around the precinct for a guy, and… “ Turning to look across your shoulder and up at Ed, who looks curious but still hesitant-and ready to be more hesitant, - , you set him with a mischievous look. “Ed. Edward.”
“This doesn’t sound like a good idea… “He starts to refuse, looking away from you and back at his McMuffin, but you’re not giving up that easily. You haven’t put all your cards down on the table yet! But still, you don’t want to make him uncomfortable because you know this isn’t his thing, so you force yourself to stay in one spot and not look too desperate. Which, quite honestly, you are. The date is tonight!! You’ll end up having to take Harvey, and as sexy as he is, he isn’t your friend’s type.
“Ed, you’re perfect! Safe, for one; You’re a sweetie. And that’s not something I can for sure say about whoever Mia’s got for me- she works at the paper. And Mia loves riddles!” Well, ‘love’ might be a stretch, but she does have an appreciation for them like you. “And you’re the best-looking guy in the precinct.”
That seems to shock him, and he looks up again to blink behind his glasses. “What?”
“Well, yeah.” You shrug; Is it a secret? Dark hair, dark eyes, tall- what is not to like, here? “I mean, you’re on parr with Gordon, but that guy’s damn near married!” You grin, biting your bottom lip as you continue to look across the room rather then at Ed- but then turn and wink at him. “Besides, I like you better. Would much rather spend a night hanging with you then with Jimmy, he’s a bit of a workaholic you know?” Smiling genuinely, you give him an almost-awkward thumb up.
“Uhh… “Hesitant and full-awkward, Ed actually looks to be thinking about it now, looking away from your gaze once again. You don’t mind if he doesn’t keep eye contact- makes you feel like you’re being interrogated when the cops around here do that. Very weird. “I’m- I’m not sure. I’m not… very good… with the opposite sex… “
“You’re great with me!” You exclaim encouragingly, watching a tiny flicker of a grin pass over his lips as he looks down at the ground. “Come on, I’ll be there with you the whole time. Unless of course my date goes really well,” He looks up and you wink, grinning cheekily. Then an idea occurs to you, and you gasp. “I’ll even come over a bit early and help you prepare!”
Letting him think to himself for a couple minutes while you get out your phone and check for messages and periodically watch the door for other cops and forensics people. Finally, Ed lets out a deep breath and turns to face you again. You hold your breath, chewing on your bottom lip. “… Okay. I’ll go with you and Mia on this date. But you have to come over before.”
You let out a relieved breath. “Thank you, Ed! Sure thing. I’ll see you at yours at 6, the dates at 7. I’ll get your information outta the database- thank you so much Ed!” With a quick hug, and one last smile, you leave him back to his breakfast. “Enjoy your brecky and have a good day Ed! See ya!”
Ed just smiles a little smile, watching you leave before switching his glasses for the goggles again and goes to continue his breakfast. “I wonder… did I say yes for the right reasons?”
Through the corner of his eye, he catches his reflection grin smugly and shake his head.
He tries to ignore it.
~~~TIME SKIP: Later that day, at Ed’s apartment~~~
When Ed had answered the door in a plain t-shirt and sweat pants, you had been worried for half a second that he had changed his mind and that you had forced him to say yes to something he didn’t want to do, but then he quickly explained that he didn’t know what to wear.
Which was such an easy issue to remedy!
“There!” You exclaim when he comes out of the bathroom in the outfit you two came to an agreement on. You’re sitting on the end of his bed, munching on pretzels and smile encouragingly at your friend. “You clean up even nicer, Ed.”
“Thank you… “Grinning with pride, like a bird ruffling his feathers, Ed looks once more at his reflection and flattens out his emerald tie-his favourite colour, as you’ve come to realise. Its all over his apartment, and his wardrobe, - then he comes over to sit beside you and tie up his shoes. “Uh- Miss L/N, question? If you don’t mind.”
Swallowing 3 more little pretzels and picking out 2 more, eating like a marathon runner… if by running one meant eating. “Fire away.” Still bent over his knees tying up his laces, Ed does so.
“Why are you eating? I thought we were meeting up with the others for dinner.”
Waiting to finish the latest 2 pretzels, you cover your mouth and look embarrassed as you chew away quickly so you can reply. When you’re done, you laugh nervously and set the bag down in your lap. “Oh. Haha. I don’t want y’all to see me gorging myself when we’re out. Also, if I’m too full when I’m there to buy an actual meal, I save money on a potentially terrible date by just buying a bowl of chips or something. On the 3rd date, I might buy myself a proper meal.”
Ed sits up, setting his hands on his knees. “I don’t think anyone would mind seeing you eat properly, Miss L/N.”
“Uh… yeah, I don’t really think so either… Hah, but, I’m still a lil’ insecure you know?” Its nothing to be embarrassed about- you’re insecure! Everyone is about something. Besides, Ed’s easy to talk to. You know he wont judge you. Picking out another pretzel, you pop it in your mouth and enjoy the salty taste, offering Ed the bag in case he wants some.
“Oh, thank you.” He’s temporarily distracted from your confession by the snack, making your grin at how cute he is as he politely takes a singular pretzel. For a moment, you two just sit there and eat in companionable silence, and its nice. You look at him for a second, in his date pants and sweater, before looking around his apartment. Its pretty nice, you have to say. A little grungy looking, but in a fashionable way unlike the rest of Gotham. You can imagine the sporadic helicopter search lights that are normal in Gotham city probably look really cool flashing in through the full wall of windows. “Well I have leftover potatoes from my dinner last night that I could have now,” Ed finally wonders out loud, and when you look at him he’s ready to get up and go get them. Quickly, you put a hand on his arm to stop him, causing him to look over at you and wait for an explanation.
“Oh, Ed! No, I didn’t mean you had to as well!”
“But if it’s considered impolite to eat on a first date- “
“No! Ed, that’s just my silly thing. Mia and the other guy’ll eat like King’s. I promise you.” Encouragingly, and half apologetically, you squeeze his arm. “You need to eat a proper meal. As your friend, I won’t have it any other way.” You say the last part sternly.
“Hah. Well in that case I have to insist that you, Miss Y/N, have the same.”
Your jaw drops when Ed takes your bag of pretzels, zips it up again and gets up to put them away in the kitchen. Watching with wide eyes and a disbelieving smile on your face, you see him use his height as a weapon, get on his tip toes and put the bag away in the back of a top shelf. When he turns around, he grins evilly at you. You throw one right back at him, albeit less superior and put your fists on your hips. “Edward Nygma!”
He finds his place sitting next you again, this time a little closer and facing you, leaning on his hands that are on the bed between you so he’s sort of leaning toward you as well. For a second, you suffer a small heart fluttering stroke, but quickly push it aside and sigh in surrender, rolling your eyes. You look forward again, then turn back and smile at him.
“Do you have another riddle for me before we get going?”
Maybe you’re putting off leaving this apartment. A little.
His eyes shine, like they always do when you ask him for a riddle. “Of course, I do. What question can you never say yes to?”
“Ed!” You exclaim immediately, exasperated. “Another easy one! We’re gonna have to have a conversation about my IQ, sir. I assure you it’s larger than what you give me credit for.”
“I don’t doubt that Miss L/N.” He smiles, a bit bigger than his usual little grin. “I just like how happy you get when you can answer a riddle correctly- Don’t worry, I’ll adjust my criteria for riddles for you to make them more challenging from now on.”
How… how can he be so bluntly sweet and not even realise it?
Sighing deeply in frustration at yourself, you look away from Ed’s handsome, sweet, smart self and momentarily hate yourself. Sorry Mia. I can’t do this. “Oh Ed… I’ve made an awful mistake.”
“Oh?” He adjusts his glasses, confused. “About what?”
“Uhh… “Time to escape!! Go home!! Contemplate your total and utter hopelessness and misery on your own, Y/N! You get up from the bed and pick up your bag and your coat, backing up to the door out of Ed’s apartment. He gets up to follow you, but you hold out a hand and gesture for him to sit back down. “I just can’t go out tonight. I have, uh, cramps. So, um… I’m really sorry for ruining your night!” Bumping into the door, you whip your head around to look at it and flash a nervous smile back at Ed before turning to it. “So sorry… “What is wrong with you, Y/N?
“Miss L/N!”
Before you know it, Ed’s crossed the room and basically trapped you between him and the door. For a second, apology and nerves cross his features but then he moves on. “Miss L/N, are you okay? I, I can make you some herbal tea to help soothe- “
“No, no, Ed, its okay. I just need to sleep- “
“Y/N.” His eyes darken unbelievably for a second and the forceful way his voice bends around your name, your first name, causes you to stop talking and look properly at him again, waiting for what he has to say. As quickly as that dark, forceful look came, it gone again though and Ed drops his forward a bit as if exhausted. “Miss L/N forgive me for my vigour. Um, I just… I wanted to say… uh, before you leave, that um, uh, I… “Your heart lifts as he stutters through gibberish, and you tilt your head to side to try and see his face. “I want to admit something.”
You’re nervous about what he’s going to say. “You don’t have to… “
“I disagree. Um,” He looks up at you again finally, and you see shyness in his eyes, but determination also. “I want to admit, to you, that… my reasons for agreeing to go on this date, were uh… biased. I have little to no interest in your friend Mia, I’m sorry. I just wanted to spend more time with you.”
Eyes widening slightly, you watch Ed look down again and take his hands off the wall on either side of your head, letting them sit stiffly at his sides as he looks idly around the room as he waits for a response. Because of this, he misses the way your lips turn up in a smile. Relief washes over you, and happiness. He likes you, too!
“Uh, Ed?” You whisper, leaning back on the door now. You’re not leaving. “Look at me?”
“Yes?” He looks at you again, finding your eyes and your smile and breathing in deeply at the sight, surprised. Relieved.
After a moment, you give in to the urges that have only become stronger today then they ever were before - in fact, before today you didn’t even know they were there. But now you can safely identify all those weird smile you couldn’t help when you looked at the forensics guy, - , you pull him gently closer to you and lean up, kissing him gently on the lips.
Almost instantly, this boy presses closer so you’re on the door again between it and his, kissing you back tenderly so when you stop, there are bright beams on both your faces. Grinning, you adjust your grip on his sweater. “I think you're going to have to start calling me Y/N, now.”
“Yeah, that would be appropriate, wouldn't it?” Then Ed’s eyes widen. “I should make you the herbal tea. Your cramps.”
Lying very transparently, you bite the inside of your cheek guilty and tell him “They’re cured.”.
“This is going to be awkward for you to explain to your friend.”
“She’ll live.”
“Do you want to watch some TV with me then?”
“I���d love to.”
#Edward Nygma x Reader#The Riddler x Reader#Gotham#Edward Nygma x Reader Oneshot#Oneshot#Gotham x Reader#Gotham Oneshot
208 notes
·
View notes
Text
III. Paralysis*
Summary: “I’m sorry,” you sob, locked around Bucky’s bicep, his forearm, fingers digging into the smooth obsidian plates, fisting the fabric of his sleeve. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” As if he were Natasha—as if you could stop both her death and his mangling, or at least hold her the way you are holding him now.
A/N: 9.8k words. OOF.
Warnings: Language, robots v. monsters violence, Big Time angst and comfort, smutty bits (dry-humping, thigh riding).
Trinity Epoch Masterpost
He leaves around sunset. Hair combed neatly to the side and freshly shaven, Steve’s dashing in a fitted suit and tie.
In the middle of passing around a basketball, Erik Killmonger, in all his subtlety, whistles, “Looking fresh, white boy!”
Steve smirks, smoothing the front of his jacket, “This monkey suit? I’d rather be in circuitry.”
He’s been laying low since Siegehook, since Bucky’s arm, and since you. But now the story’s changed and he’s gotta get his narrative straight— he’s introducing a new character, changing the players, and guiding the spotlight exactly where it needs to go.
Jimmy Fallon— Kimmel? One of the Jimmies personally flew into Hong Kong for a special taping of his late-night show. Orion racked up eleven kills; it’s another record and the people want what they want.
Fury called the three you of into his office after the network reached out for the umpteenth time. He strategized shrewdly to have Steve on this particular broadcast because it’s not as serious as a news report and not as wordy as an interview. Too many things can go wrong in both: cross-examinations, misquoting, scrutiny after the fact.
Steve works best in front of a live audience. He’ll sit down tonight—broad and tall—smile at the camera and the host, make a few charming quips, and then he’ll let the world know.
James has been hurt. The next breach will overlap his recovery time—don’t worry, everybody, fortunately, there’s a pilot available to step in and fill his place until he’s fully healed. And yes, he’ll be back soon, both in the Jaeger and on the show— I know you miss him, he’s even more popular than me, huh? Broody and quiet, right, ladies? He’s a hit!
Then he’ll laugh and field some questions about his new partner—but keep it vague for both yours and Bucky’s sake.
It didn’t need to be said. You didn’t want to be named, Steve didn’t want to make any assumptions for the future, and Bucky didn’t want to know if anyone thought he couldn’t pilot anymore.
Erik passes and you catch, sidestepping Thor and shooting over his figure which is no easy feat considering his massive height and the way Steve is staring you down. You don’t have to be hooked up to his brain to know what he’s wondering.
Since the trial run, you’ve been feeling the after-effects of the drift in oscillating waves. Sometimes you catch yourself standing ramrod straight, physically feeling heavier, knowing it’s him.
You okay? We talked about this. Yes, you are. No, you aren’t. It’s complicated. He’s fixes his tie the same time you spot a wrinkle. After-effects.
Erik jumps for a rebound when you miss the next basket, getting it knocked away by Thor’s enormous hand. Steve’s already gone when you look back, but Erik is passing again, and your next shot sinks through the net.
“That’s fuckin’ right!” He knocks his elbow into yours proudly, pushing sleeves over elbows until you can see the patterns of scarification up his arms. Feet back and forth on the scuffed concrete with distracted rhythm, you dribble, thoughts still on Steve.
“Hey,” a voice calls over the sound of the slamming ball. Barnes toes the edge of the makeshift court. A jacket is tucked under his arm, baseball cap atop his dark head. “Come on, it’s Friday night and you’re thinking too much. I wanna show you a place.”
-
He leads with confidence, directing the taxi in practiced Cantonese picked up over the last two years. Then, once disembarked, he peeks back every few minutes on the street to check if you’re still following. Your gait is awkward—steps firm, but lopsided. All off kilter and wound up like a spring.
It’s okay. In Bucky’s experience, food always helps. He’s taking you to his favorite restaurant—hole-in-the-wall Sichuan. He hollers over his shoulder, "You better be prepared for spice!”
-
Red lacquered doors open with a tinkering sound, a tiny overhead bell signaling new arrivals. A hostess steers through a path of similarly varnished tables and decorated chairs when Bucky asks for a quiet corner. Fish tanks of koi gleam green and blue. Chandelier scatters gold and white diamond shapes on a ceiling painted like a cloudy sky.
Hot tea first, and he sips carefully, gaze moving up to the T.V. behind your back when you’re busy flipping through the menu. A few more minutes pass of your furrowed brow sinking deeper and Bucky’s hand slides quickly across the tablecloth, nudging the booklet from your clutch.
“I got this.” And relief washes over your entire body like rain.
-
The appearance of entrees breaks your trance. Mai Gai, Char Siu Bao, Dan Dan noodles, and eggplant in garlic sauce—you’re trying to tell him it’s too much, wondering when he even ordered, but he ignores you. Not his fault you spaced out, he says, catch, and a napkin flies directly into your chest.
It makes you laugh, and Bucky secretly wants to tell you that it wouldn’t kill you to do it more often. Why the hell not, anyway? He’s tired of being upset about something that was largely inevitable. He knew the risk of death when they signed up to be Rangers so on the bright side, at least it’s his arm and not his head. At least it’s his arm and not his co-pilot’s. You’ve proven to be more than capable and proven to be someone he can trust with Steve’s life.
If Bucky had any doubts about whether or not that damned Rogers determination would see them through—they’ve been dispelled now.
The drift was sound. When Steve stepped out from the loading dock, he was lighter like half his weight had been sloughed off. When you followed, helmet pulled from your face, Bucky could see where it landed. Your hips, your shoulders, your jaw, all defiant—even if temporarily—coming down from the high of the handshake. Squared and strong, you looked at Bucky and certainty gleamed from your eyes.
You are Orion’s new pilot. He’s gotta give it up. It could be worse.
Bucky’s fingers shift as he unsnaps chopsticks and grabs spoons, the plates on his left clicking quietly, flexing his pointer when it sticks. Sometimes the prosthetic is a little glitchy because nothing’s perfect, but Stark and Shuri are constantly making updates. They use technology from the spinal clamp to connect his synapses, running tests on its reaction time, sensitivity, and functionality. He can feel pressure, but not pain, and wouldn’t it be nice if it applied elsewhere, too?
He passes your utensils over, wrapped loosely in a napkin. It could be worse.
“Hey Barnes,” you call earnestly, running your fingers over an embossed floral pattern on the paper, “Thanks.”
He’s not looking at you yet, firmly on a mission for soy sauce and chili oil. He makes a well of it in a ceramic dish and stirs with a chopstick, moving it to the center of the table, finding distraction in small tasks.
“...Barnes?”
“It’s Bucky,” he says finally, flicking his eyes to your hopeful face, “You can call me Bucky, alright? Usually that’s just for Steve, but you’ve been in his head—know me now, I guess. So you might as well. Hold your horses—I’ll serve you.”
Speechless, you put your hands in your lap and observe him scoop food, the syllables of his offered nickname tapping like a metronome over your curious tongue.
Bucky, you consider, watching the way he moves. Bucky, with his long hair pulled back and out of his cap. Bucky, his soft and worn hoodie, boots drumming gently against the table leg, eyes discreetly glazed over because he doesn’t think you notice the change in his mood.
Bucky, who made you laugh in the Jaeger hangar—even if he did threaten your life upon the first meeting. Who could have let you rot from boredom and worry, but instead took you into Hong Kong to his favorite restaurant without being asked to. Who could hate you—truly, truly hate you—for taking half his life from him, but instead is piling a mound of fragrant jasmine rice on your plate.
“What?”
“Bucky. I like it. It sounds nice.”
A clipped noise of displeasure, “Okay. Don’t fuckin’ wear it out.”
“Bucky...?” You murmur, sly. “Bu-cky. Buck-y.” The tips of his ears swell pink as you continue, emphatically pressing your lips together, letting your jaw hang open, pronouncing with precision. A bite of a steamed bun and you lick the edge of your mouth, “Bucky…hm…”
He sputters.
“Would you stop? Jesus, you’re annoying just like him— no fucking wonder— the two of you. Just fuckin’ darling.” His words are all run together with how fast his frustrated tongue moves, a healthy flush over his cheeks, spoon clinking on his plate.
It’s cute. Stoic, serious, James—Bucky Barnes– just a boy who can’t take a bit of flirting without lighting up like a candle. It’s fun. You like him, Bucky Barnes.
An unexpected ache overtakes you and suddenly Bucky looks more familiar than he ever has. Something excruciating about the soft crinkles of his brow, the way his generous lips draw back to reveal a sliver of his teeth.
He’s Bucky wiping the sweat from his collar in a dirty alleyway, jeans torn at the knees, bruises budding along his knuckles as he yanks up a troublesome blonde friend. Bucky, young and determined, helping Steve into bed every time he got sick.
Bucky, hovering pallid and broken in the drift, hurt and afraid but you felt his resolute strength in Steve’s head even as he howled in agony. Far off and shuffling in transparent layers until he was little more than a specter, but he was there.
His eyes lift again, raising to point you toward the T.V.
“There’s our boy.”
Our boy. And it keeps hurting.
You twist your torso as Steve steps out from backstage, waving and smiling, impeccably poised. He shakes Jimmy’s hand— silently mouthing thank you and hey because the cheering and yelling is too loud to hear him anyway. You try to stop thinking about Bucky anywhere but corporeal and whole across the tablecloth.
“Hey, Jimmy, how are ya?”
“Good—good, Steve. It’s so great to have you on the show again! Wow, you look great! Specimen.”
Steve chuckles modestly, tucking his chin to his chest, “Thanks, you do too.”
“Alright, no need to flatter me, we’re already in love with you, okay?”
You grin the same time Steve does, but whereas he continues to joke and enthrall two hundred people, you grow restless. Bucky refills your tea and drops a crumble of yellow rock sugar in.
“Relax,” he mutters, “It’s fine. He’s good at this. Eat your food.”
And you know this; you know him. Steve’s good when the questions get too personal and when there’s gaps in the conversation—when the cheering interrupts him or when his jaw ticks before he morphs it into a smile.
He’s good when he breaks the news to a hushed audience, gone eerily quiet like they’ve stepped on consecrated ground. Steve gives them those big blue eyes and the room immediately bursts into applause. Some people are crying. The host is shocked into wordlessness.
You feel relieved, getting what you pleaded for. No cameras. No questions. No pressure. The truth is aired, and Bucky seems pleased, too. You’re about to turn around, offer your full attention, thankful for his company, but then something else happens.
Jimmy blinks his stupor away from the blow of Steve’s confession. He takes a sip from his mug and after a short exchange of, thank you for your transparency, it must have been hard— wow I didn’t think you’d drop a bomb like that on us tonight! I thought I was the one with the ace up my sleeve— ha!
He points off-stage and says, “After that, I think you deserve a nice surprise, Steve. Ready?”
Tall, gorgeous, lightly curled hair cascading down her back—the surprise is a woman. She steps easily in heels, an off-the-shoulder red dress hugging tight to her body. Stunning. She waves to the audience and they go wild.
Steve shoots up to meet her for a kiss in front of the host desk, shaking his head in disbelief, tangling his fingers in her silky hair. There’s cheering again and the crying keeps on.
“Oh my god— Jimmy! You sly devil!” He’s overjoyed. “Baby— how’d you—I thought you were working.”
“I can always make an exception for my favorite guy.” She showcases perfectly white teeth and the high apples of her rosy cheeks.
It’s Ophelia Reyez, Steve’s model-turned-actress girlfriend of approximately six months. Her recent appearance on the Victoria Secret fashion show blew up the internet and her last Sports Illustrated swimsuit cover sold out in every gas station you went into.
Their first meeting was at a charity event—raising awareness about pollution in the Pacific, discouraging scavengers from harvesting Kaiju parts after battles. A picture of them standing two feet away made its way through social media the next morning her PR team made contact before noon.
So of course, it was decided; it’s a beneficially mutual relationship, after all. Doesn’t matter if he hates it or not—people don’t want to know that pilots live in a metal box and play basketball on Friday nights. They want to see Rangers in a role— monogamous relationships with beautiful people, white picket fence (or gated community) future in the making, and eventually plump-faced babies in strollers.
Steve’s now back in his seat, shifted so Ophelia is sitting in his lap, turned to the side. His hands are locked around her slender waist—an incredibly believable display of public affection. She kisses his cheek, leans her head on his shoulder, beaming brightly. If you were anybody else, you’d believe it; you have before.
“Fuck me gently with a chainsaw,” you whisper in both awe and annoyance.
“Feeling it, huh?” Bucky speaks plainly around a bite of eggplant when he notices your jaw. That habitual and microscopic signal he’s grown to spot a mile away means Steve’s irritated and pissed off, and now it means that you are, too.
“Yeah,” you admit, shaking your head. You turn back to him, thoroughly bothered, having had enough of the performance.
“Uh-huh. Everyone’s a Fly—even her.”
You sigh at the label. Jaeger Flies, is what he’s saying. Ranger groupies. Derisive titles— and maybe deserved— for men and women who are attracted to pilots solely because they’re pilots. They want the opportunity to be famous or the privilege of being elite.
Even her, Ophelia Reyes. She’ll forever look at Steve Rogers as the Ranger.
Natasha always lamented—usually as she took her earrings off after a date, heels slipping off her pale feet—about another civilian man who worshipped her, and how that would be a dream for most people, to be so adored, so revered, but you always felt her sorrow in the drift mourning a love she couldn’t have.
She wanted the white picket fence. The normal life, normal husband, normal family. Her clean break from the past where monsters could no longer chase her in Decima and nightmares could no longer chase her at night. Behind closed doors, she was all torn open at the seams. And you’d wordlessly tell her shut up because she had a family with you. You loved her too, wasn’t that worth something?
She’d spiral and spiral and nothing was ever enough.
Your stomach twists and it keeps hurting.
-
Bucky pays for dinner. He asks as he pops a mint into his mouth, “Up for dessert?”
“God, Buck.” You groan, and Bucky takes a second to run that through his head again. God, Buck. Another thing like Steve.
“C’mon, I wanna show you another place,” he says thoughtfully, “Hold on to your hat, punk.”
A lighthearted swat to your back and then he’s shoving the ballcap hanging from his chair on your head.
-
The streets are lit with all sorts of colors as you follow him through the market, peering at vendors showcasing an abundance of food and miscellaneous items. You keep telling him you’re too full and can’t eat another fucking bite, but he only commands you to walk it off. The crispiest egg waffles are somewhere down this way, and even though he can’t remember the intersection, it should be close.
Between steps and dodging passerby’s, he relates his own experiences of brief PR relationships. A Russian woman one time, and a Greek woman another time. Cross-cultural because it made the PPDC look good—and it was all about looking good. He loathed it, of course, but he’d bite down a couple of months before their representatives would release those asinine joint statements about “conscious uncoupling” – schedules too busy, still have love for each other in their hearts, though.
“Couldn’t tell you those girls’ middle names. We’d get together just long enough for some media circulation—dates where we’d pretend to be offended when pictures leaked on TMZ.”
“Well,” you muse over a vision of Bucky leaned back on Steve’s mattress, returned late and bored of another paparazzi encounter swarming him in the lobby of some hotel. You know it like a dream—his ankles crossed, shoes shucked off, cracking his neck. Fuckin’ wild, Stevie. This girl. My knees ain’t what they used to be.
“Least you got your dick plenty wet, didn’t ya?”
He makes a noise like an engine backfiring—offended like you’ve pawned off his prized possessions or something.
“Jesus—you’re an ass.” He slams the bill of the cap down until it hits you in the nose. Another huff, more cursing, and then he’s saying fuck you before speeding off alone.
You chase cheerily, finding his chestnut head peeking over the crowd with ease because he’s tall and hard to lose in Hong Kong. A few more blocks down with him looking back surreptitiously to make sure you’re not lost, and Bucky ends up being the one who is actually lost.
“Shit. Can’t find the stand,” he grumbles, “Don’t give me that face. These are way better than the ones we passed earlier—fucking all soft in the middle—fresh pandan leaf, alright? You don’t get it.”
“I don’t even know what that is,” you laugh, feeling your cheeks grow tired from the way they’ve been lifted all night.
A stifled, hot breeze of urban downtown mixes with a chilly gust of wind, carrying Bucky’s petulance away though the throng. Blinking, you look around, craning your neck and shuffle to the curb. Stalls with hanging lanterns. Carts lined with pickled mango. Vendors grilling skewers of pork and cleaving roast duck into chunks.
You suddenly dart from him across the busy road and barely avoid a rickshaw balancing two enormous baskets of finger bananas. When you return, you hold up matching green popsicles. One gets shoved into his mouth, other one into yours. Pandan, like he wanted.
“Hey, it’s not bad,” you give it another taste. Lingering coconut, a little bit leafy, but not unpleasant. “Oh shit—cold!”
Bucky licks his lips, stinging red from the ice. You shudder loudly as brainfreeze hits, another chatter of your teeth following when a gust of wind whips through. He shrugs his jacket from his shoulders.
-
He calls you a dumbass after an embarrassing story about the time you skinny-dipped in a pond near The Icebox in the middle of winter. A handsome man, your eager libido, and a handle of whiskey had been involved. You giggle about being bed-ridden for half a week afterwards, but you got his number and a few good nights in his bed.
“Guess you’re not as boring as I thought.”
You whistle, “Sweetheart, I got stories that’ll put some hair on your chest.”
Bucky smacks you on the shoulder. “Ass.”
-
The Shatterdome comes into view much later.
What would have normally been a three-hour excursion, at most, has unintentionally into six and you’re nowhere close to tired—not quite ready for it to end. Bucky is bright with energy, too.
The past hours have been dedicated to recalling old tales. One led to another, threads pulled from the most insignificant of mentions—your old Boston Terrier’s underbite; Bucky accidentally knocking Steve’s bottom lip into his own braces in sixth grade and it swelled up so big he could hardly talk; Natasha, unable to pronounce fucking aluminum out of all the damn words in the world; you, unable to pronounce facetious; and then Bucky, trying his own hand at it and realizing he can’t either.
“Fa—fa-shish-shush? Fascist—tus? Factitious… Ah, shit.”
“Buck,” you gasp through another fit, “Bucky—you have to shut up. Oh—Oh my god—my face hurts.”
“Christ, who fucking made this word up?” He turns the corner toward the living quarters, shaking his head. Just you and him between the rooms and his steps slow at the advent of an inbound goodnight.
Bravely, now that you’re in more secluded space, you offer, “I can tell you more... if you want. Anything. It’s only fair.”
“Yeah,” he says, going quiet and careful. “If you want to.”
So, you take a deep breath, bookended by a nervous grin because other than Steve, the only person who knows anything about you outside a confidential manila folder is dead.
“Well, it might surprise you, since I’m just so goddamn talented—"
“Oh, here we fuckin’ go.”
“Kidding. I wasn’t good at anything,” you elbow him before fishing out your key. “Other than getting into trouble.” Clicks of the cylinder and your vault door squeaks open. “Lots of fighting—I was a small kid. Had nothing but the clothes on my back and just the biggest chip on my shoulder.”
“Sounds like someone I know.”
Yeah. It’s funny. Steve’s alleyway fisticuffs might as well have been your own. You tell him as soon as the PPDC started recruiting again, you were in line. Their standards were confusingly specific and the tests they ran didn’t make any sense, but you passed and landed in Kodiak Island under the austere care of Stacker Pentecost.
Flipping the light on, you invite him inside. “I’d been in and out of foster homes. Barely had a high school degree. Got into… bad work. You know— what do homeless young adults with questionable moral codes do when their 9-5 isn’t paying the bills?” It’s desperate joke to break up the tension but he doesn’t take the bait.
“I’m not judging.”
You plop down on the edge of your table— a spotty metal thing pilfered from a vacated room. He takes the single seat in front of you, moving a dusty glass of water toward the wall, expression only showing attentiveness.
“Well, anyway…” you pause, “I was in the Bay Area after Trespasser— you know, scavenging. But, well, it changes your perspective a little when you’re sneaking through government tape at 3 in morning, stepping over flowers and memorabilia for all the deaths to crouch over a monster’s fucking toenail.”
“Hell,” a sardonic and self-deprecating grin, “I might have been a degenerate street urchin, but someone’s family got taken from them and here I was—monetizing their tragedy.”
Arching your back for more comfort, you splay your left leg over the surface, “Pentecost always said if I was lucky enough, I’d suffer brain damage or radiation poisoning, but might as well die in a Jaeger than in a ditch like I figured I always would. Son of a bitch had my number.”
Bucky’s lips are pursed lightly, eyes are tracing the path of your laces through bent hooks when you wriggle your boot back and forth. He spreads his hand over your ankle, keeping you still.
You swallow when he squeezes.
“Uh— I met Nat at Kodiak.” Bucky is warm. You oscillate between ignoring him and focusing on him, clinging to his hold instead of chasing the thought of Natasha too much. “We were… very similar. Childhood, um, troubles and all that.” You give him a pointed look and he makes a small noise of understanding with no intention to press for details, “She became my best friend. She was the first person I had. My only family.”
A nod of mock irritation and he says, “Yeah. Steve was always a part of mine. Sometimes they say they like him more than me. Can’t blame ‘em.”
“It’s the charm. They make it seem effortless, huh?”
“Fucker can’t take a bad picture to save his life.”
You laugh. “A smile like the goddamn sun!”
“One look into those stupid blue eyes and you’re a goner.”
“Criminally pretty.”
“Hah!” Bucky snorts, “Pretty enough for all of us.”
The floodlight on the wall casts darkness in the shape of your head over his shoulder. Lines of wayward hair caress his neck, tapered strands resting on his collarbones, chestnut glowing orange. His irises stipple forest green when it touches the light, smile nostalgic and lovely.
“Don’t be stupid,” you look at him for another minute longer, “You’re pretty, too, Buck.”
A raise of his brow. Bucky’s mouth opens and closes a few times vacantly. “Thanks,” he mutters finally. Then, bashfully, “So are you.”
Then, a cautious murmur of your name that you almost miss, and he’s peering up at you, deliberately soft. Bucky’s thumb knead small circles over the stitching of your jeans.
“You loved her, didn’t you?”
You loved her, didn’t you?
The years sweep through, passing over your face in a range of rapid-fire emotions. Bucky watches them change like shadows of a bonfire. Delight, amusement, longing. Anger, despair, grief. Deep and unforgiving because she was your whole world—all you had— and she left too soon.
You inhale and it sounds like a sniffle— exhale, and it sounds like a sob. No going back now; you did promise him anything.
You loved her, didn’t you?
Of course you loved her. Natasha-fucking-goddamn-Romanoff. Yeah, of course you did.
You loved her like a sister. You loved her like a lover. You loved her in reflexive ways, like mother’s intuition, finding your motivation in the need to protect her even though she hardly ever needed protection. You loved her like precious gems. You loved her like she was made from your own rib. You loved her enough to love unreciprocated.
“Well, you spend years living with someone, in their brain, learning everything about them— every decision in and out of their control that led them up to who they ended up being. Their—all their impulses and all the things they think about themselves. How—how they hate themselves sometimes.”
You’d always said you were the stupid one. Too stupid to reflect on the past and too stupid to let it burden your conscience the way she’d let hers. A running gag whenever her hand jammed putting on a lipstick she’d worn a million times and you’d finally have to do it for her.
Cheer up, Nat. You’re too pretty to cry. You’d line her lips, pat in rouge delicately, encouragingly. And then you’d shut up because there was nothing you could tell her. A million reassurances rolled off her back because they only made her feel worse. She clung onto your care like another weapon in her chest because she couldn’t return it even though you told her you wanted nothing from her but happiness. Jesus Christ, Nat, I thought I was the stupid one.
“When you know someone like that, it’s easy, isn’t it? You see them exactly for who they are and suddenly there’s no longer the concept of good or bad. What else could I do but love her? Especially when she thought so little of her damn self—tried everything to be someone else but—Jesus, if you only knew how radiant she was—”
You shut your eyes. “A smile… like the goddamn sun. Ah, fuck—"
And now you’re crying. You haven’t cried about Natasha in almost half a year because it’s something you track like the entrance bay’s war clock. Five months. Ten days. Zero again.
You’re choking back too many words and you don’t even know why you said all of that. You start apologizing, rattling out more, too much again, desperately like a prayer, pitch escalating higher and higher. “She deserved everything. A life that was completely—solely—hers. A life that made her happy— and why— why her?”
Why not me?
Bucky hears it in the silence. Watches it descend like a funeral shroud, weighing you down until you look as heavy as Steve on his worst days—when he stares at Bucky’s arm, like Bucky can’t see, can’t feel him there. And he knows Steve is thinking, why not me?
Bucky rises to his feet, stepping next to your uselessly dangling leg, resting his left hand on your shoulder and you grasp him, clutching achingly tight, torn to bits. And it’s too much all at once.
“I’m sorry,” you sob, locked around his bicep, then his forearm, fingers digging into the smooth obsidian plates, fisting the fabric of his sleeve. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” As if he were Natasha—as if you could stop both her death and his mangling, or at least hold her the way you are holding him now.
You’re smashed into little pieces, barely keeping your head above water, holding it all in, and no one recognized how you were drowning the entire time.
Solemnly, curiously, he feels like he’s seeing you for the first time but not quite, remnants of familiarity sparks in him—the filmy plastic layer of an old photograph pressing down to reveal something he once knew and finally knows again.
You make helpless noises, staring numbly ahead, tears rolling out like marbles to drop into your lap.
Bucky shakes his head, “I’m fine,” he whispers gently—frustrated—brow furrowed, his fingers rubbing the salt from your chin, “Quit your blubberin’.” He tilts your face up to the light, watching you take a shuddering breath, exhausted from unearthing buried skeletons.
It's wet when he kisses you, supple flesh chapped around the edges from anxious gnawing, swollen hot from weeping. It’s soft and quick, and then he pulls away.
“St—sorry,” he says, mouth pressing into a thin line, lips drawn in and tentatively licked. “Sorry, I don’t know… I don’t know why I did that. I shouldn’t have.”
Your eyes are sad—big and vulnerable, inflamed red, confused, worried, something else weaving through the damp gaze. Your strong, small fingers are still tight on him, and even though Bucky pulled away and apologized, he rushes forward again.
His free hand curls around your neck, supporting your head. Lips part and close, pressing firmly, expertly, naturally. It feels like he’s kissed you before and missed it— like a kiss he’s been waiting on for a long time.
Banging on your door jerks him away. You careen off the tabletop, smooth the back of your hair, wipe your face and the vault creaks open.
“Marshal,” Bucky greets.
“Rangers…” Fury’s steps are suspicious, phone in his hand aglow. “I thought we had a plan.”
Your heart is beating too fast, the press of Bucky’s plush lips still warm, the scent of his skin still near. You sense it like an imprint, feel it like a brand. The room spins with an onslaught of possible scenarios—all horrendously unclear.
“Care to explain this to me?” The marshal turns his phone toward you, the lit screen displaying a photo of a dark street, illuminated by red and yellow lanterns. A thick crowd is spread around stalls of fruit and knick-knacks.
The headline reads James Barnes Spotted in Hong Kong with Mystery Woman, and the two of you are circled inside a red ring. You’re teetering off the curb of the sidewalk next to a sewer grate. It’s grainy and distorted, but Bucky’s striking features are clear.
“And this one?”
Bucky’s cap on your head, popsicle sticks between your teeth and his.
Steve Rogers on Jimmy! Jimmy Barnes on a Date!
James Barnes Officially Over Penelope Mercouri.
James Barnes’ Injury?
Fury tucks his device back into his coat. “Not that I care what you get up to on your spare time, but we had a tale to tell. It’s hard pushing an agenda when you’re pushing the wrong way.”
“We just got dinner,” you stutter, an upsurge of guilt rising. The speculation, the kiss, the gut-wrenching reflex that feels like a crime. Fury’s calculating now, looking from you to Bucky, assessing the situation with some pity because you truly look pitiful.
“What you got is PR on cleanup. Potts has been trawling Twitter for the last 20 minutes. For someone who doesn’t want to be in the public eye, you’re making a lot of noise.” He points to Bucky’s jacket still over your shoulders.
You tear it off. “It’s not—”
“Oh no—I won’t be losing sleep any over it.” The marshal’s single eye blinks calmly, “She can spin the story, but you become responsible for this.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means, Ranger, that the spotlight is on you now. And there is nowhere to run.”
And if you didn’t think it could get any worse, footfalls down the hallway reach your ears in a pattern that you recognize immediately. Here he is, stepping into your room like it’s his own, suit jacket over his forearm, shirt halfway untucked and tie pulled loose. His lips drawn together and unreadable.
But you read it: Steve’s seen the pictures, too.
And goddamn, if you didn’t think it could get any worse— the earsplitting alarm announcing sudden movement in the breach startles you all.
“Orion Bravo, report to Bay 08, Level B. Codename Polidori. Category 2 Kaiju.” Shuri’s reedy voice is collected but critical. The thin screen next to your bed blinks on primary colors, wavy lines of activity rising and falling, counting down until emergence. Three hours.
Banner streams down the hall. The ruckus drowns him out.
Fury’s dark skin is ochre beneath the lights, “Category II,” he says, “Should be achievable. Odinsons will be on standby, guarding the Miracle Mile. Maximoffs on the coastline. They’ll come to you if necessary. Shelve your personal troubles, Rangers, we’ll continue this conversation later.”
-
Circuitry. Battle armor. Helmet beneath your arm. Muscle memory cuts down the time to seven minutes until you’re set to board, but you need more. Just a few—you have to tell him—better now than later—better from your mouth than from the drift. So, you blurt, “Bucky kissed me.”
Steve turns.
“We kissed. It—it’s nothing. I just needed to tell you before we get in. Didn’t want to seem like I’m hiding anything—I’m not.” It sounds so stupid, like a child admitting fault for breaking a window with a too-hard throw. It sounds like betrayal.
His helmet is gripped tightly in the crook of his elbow. Steve’s chin juts out incrementally, chewing on the inside of his lip, the air around him gone stagnant until he makes a noise both like a scoff and a hum.
“Sure. Fine. I get it—you’re lonely.” It’s worse than any response you expected to receive. “You know what I mean.”
It must be a testament to the depth of your connection now— you knowing him, him knowing you in all the ways that can make an argument escalate into atomic warfare. Precision strikes and then the two of you walking Ground Zero in its aftermath.
“Wait—you think I’m lonely?” You block his way out, furious. “What the fuck does that— have you met yourself? Girlfriends who will never see you for who you are. Ophelia Reyez? Katherine Lau?”
Orion Bravo. Report to the loading platform.
“I know exactly what I’m doing—do you? I spent all evening on T.V. for you--”
“Oh, boo-fucking-hoo, Mister Martyr in front of a drooling audience telling white lies and screwing a Victoria’s Secret Angel in some penthouse suite— such sacrifices you’ve made in my honor.”
Orion Bravo. Report to the loading platform.
“What the fuck have you done lately?” Steve snaps, “Other than try to fuck my co-pilot?”
His words hit like a kick in the goddamn teeth. You slam your helmet into his chest and the polycarbonate shells knock together violently.
“I’m your fucking co-pilot,” you snarl, “You wanted me.”
Steve steadies himself, twisting until he’s snarling at you down the bridge of his nose, “Enough. We’re being hailed, I’m not breaking this record because of you, and not for a Category II. Get your shit together.”
You grind your molars when he pushes you aside, stumbling on shaking legs. Your brain feels gnarled—misshapen and bent up in sharp, jagged points—and as much as you want to stomp his goddamn face in, he’s right: you can’t feel this way. You can’t. It’s your first drop in two years with the best pilot by your side—and you’re responsible for his life. The last one proved disastrous, and you cannot risk that again.
Your suit feels heavier with each step. When you climb in after Steve, the rig feels more obstinate. Your head, chest, heart are all swollen with turmoil and hot rage.
He’s next to you, breathing deeply. You mimic, shelving personal troubles like the marshal commanded.
Out of alignment, the automated voice of the system calls, and you push it back further, grabbing the entire shelf and hurling it into the depths. Steve sends you an incisive look. A blame. You take a breath, another, and another. Fuck!
“Orion.” The heads-up display spotlights Bucky’s face in the control room, emotionless. “Focus.”
You inhale one more time, seeking reassurance in his unwavering gaze—necessary peace in the silhouette of his phantom left arm. Bucky. Steve. Natasha. You. There can be no more loss. You cannot let it happen again.
Levels stabilizing.
To your right, Steve makes a noise like he’s shaking something off.
Neural Handshake complete.
Bucky stands behind the glass, watching aircrafts lower their hooks. A nod of his dark head is the last thing you see before Orion is lifted from the hangar.
-
There would be a fucking storm.
You’ve always hated fighting in the rain because Kaiju are enormous, slippery, alien amphibians, and Orion’s left fist slides off more times than you’d like. This one’s much smaller than Orion, which allows it the slight advantage of speed, slicing through the water like a shark, corkscrewing for an extra boost of velocity before emerging with a splash from behind.
A miss when you and Steve weave away, hazarding a minor scratch to the right shoulder before Orion’s shield knocks it back.
Despite the vexing evening and the simmering hurt in the pit of your chest, the drift is steady. So, you take it for what it is, cast the rust off your bones, and the two of you do some fucking damage on this thing.
Banner named it Polidori, after the writer credited with inventing the vampire genre. K-Science sonars detected protruding fangs and petal flaps folded on its back like vestigial wings. So, Polidori, he shrugged, it’s cute.
You discover with swift horror that the flaps are neither vestigial nor cute when Polidori pulls one sliver of leathery skin free with a splat. An atrocious shriek rings over the storm as it struggles with its own body, then another shriek and the left pillar continues to stretch, knobby blunt end of its shoulder blade shooting high, ripping itself full of gaping holes in its endeavor.
Banner was more accurate than he realized.
“Orion!” Shuri’s voice is sharp, “Bring it down! Do not let it into the air! Use your cannon!”
You’re frozen stuck, eyes squeezed shut at the sight of stretched membrane. A terrified whimper and a puncture of nauseating memory nicks at Steve’s concentration.
No! Levels spike on the HUD screen. Fuck! Steve is caught in the undertow and the rig jams beneath both your feet.
“Orion! You’re out of alignment! Orion!”
She’s here.
Natasha’s bright hair is unfurling all around you. There’s deafening splintering when the incisors of her killer punctures through Decima’s chest and both her legs. Metal grinds against metal, the sound searing itself into your eardrums—your brain—your heart. Wings are beating—wild flaps of rubbery sails against the downpour—muffling screams from Decima’s cockpit.
It’s as real and cruel as the last time you saw it.
Bi Fang, like the bird from Chinese mythology, beaked and blessed with flight to make up for its one leg. Bi Fang the Kaiju was legless, and Natasha was convinced Decima could take it. You had no reason to think otherwise; five previous kills cultivated your confidence. You had her by your side, after all. Two orphans with something to prove, proving it again and again.
Wings and fangs? No legs? Six is an auspicious number. The smirk on her lips blooms fiercely. You’re laughing when Decima hovers above the water. Alright, Tasha. Six drops.
A tremendous splash and you touch ground.
She grins. Six kills.
Polidori has one limb fully flexed, fragmenting pixels bending into the shape of Bi Fang. Natasha is bending, too, lowering her center of gravity. Her elbows are against her ribs, fists set. This is gonna hurt. Come to–
Come to me! To me!
He’s stepping in ink. In water. And then metal is beneath Steve’s feet. There are flashes of rain, lightning, and he recognizes her dead center of the storm.
Natasha Romanoff, vibrant and joyful through the glass of her helmet. You, next to her, reciprocal smile on your face stuck in hysteria, tears streaming down your cheeks in wide stripes. Steve’s hand is reaching but going nowhere. Echoes overlap of crying and shouting. Yours. Hers. His.
Come to me!
He yells again, but you’ve chased the rabbit too far.
Come to me!
He’s trying his hardest, stretching himself like ropes to bridge the fissure. He feels your fear, your hurt, and for a flash, it eats him whole, spits him out a twisted-up way and his brain screams for Bucky.
Bucky is doing the same through the control room, reaching his will out to Steve, praying their connection still holds despite their distance. He’s yelling for you, too.
“Steve! Get the hell out of it! Steve, you need to get her!”
The ripping of his red left arm loops three times in quick succession before Steve can temper it down. Bucky is howling, crying, sobbing. Steve is breathless, stuck, rattled, steeling his entire body to witness the amputation for another inescapable replay until your frozen body smears across his blurry field of vision.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck!
Bright whites burst behind his eyelids. Flares of panicked emotion. Bucky. Natasha. Him. You. An endless rippling chain of trauma lashing Orion open.
“Come on— Steve! It’s moving! Steve!”
“Buck! I’m— I’m okay! Just— need a second.” Steve scrambles for his sanity, latching on, knowing Bucky’s well— alive and not hurt. Shuri begins urging him to get up faster. Polidori’s moving slow, but it is moving, and it needs to be put down now. She’s calling for the Odinsons—Colossus, be prepared to walk-
The metal under Steve’s feet slides away. Water returns, ink flowering behind it—molasses and murky. His steps are unsteady, chest heaving as he advances through a field of speckled glimmers like fireflies at dusk. Each flicker reflects an agonized shard of your distorted face.
A flit of your voice rushes behind his head. Steve whips around and tries to catch it but no such luck.
Again, to the right, then gone each time he spins. It builds and builds until he feels half-deaf, frantically invoking your name into the ether where it becomes lost in dissonance. Butterfly-winged iridescence scatter and plummet, shrieking, shrieking, shrieking.
Then, nothing.
He finds you crumpled over on Anchorage’s shore.
Decima reaches sand as a crackling mess of Jaeger parts, chest piece ripped clean off the right side. You clamber out of the rig, hugging Natasha’s mutilated corpse. Your drivesuit is split open down to the hip, the glass of your helmet fractured and splattered with blood from your nose– still dripping.
He shakes his head, attempting to free himself of your scarred clutch. You had been hooked into the rawest fear—linked up when she died— gored and broken with half your brain believing it is also dead. Chills race up his spine and breaks him out in a cold sweat. He feels strangled to his very soul.
Then, seizures take you—the casualties of solo piloting—the neural damage come to collect. Nobody know how many miles you steered Decima alone and truthfully, it should have killed you.
Your eyes roll up to the sky, body convulsing before slamming into the ground like a rag doll, shaky fingers still reaching for your co-pilot. Steve shudders quietly, flinching with each impact. A final wail and everything slackens to a dull vibration. You quiver on the sand, howling and crying for Nat.
Polidori’s right wing casts itself loose, jaw opening wide. Steve’s on a time limit; there are only a few grains left in the hourglass. He croaks your name.
A second of recognition triggers from behind the curtain and it’s miraculously enough for you to see him. It’s enough.
He begs. He begs on his goddamn knees, crawling to you.
Look at me, only at me. Come back to me, please. Please. Please.
Steve gathers you in his arms, both of you trembling and afraid. Your suit heals itself, pieces stitching back together, blood little by little disappearing from your nose. Natasha shimmers away.
He presses the glass of your helmets together. He needs to get closer.
Steve? S-Ste-Steve—Steve?
You’re still crying. You’re breaking his heart.
Yes. I’m here.
St-Steve, what d-d-do I do?
You’ve got me now. I’m here with you. You understand?
He can see you struggling to escape, consciousness clawing with nails and teeth to return to the present.
Yeah. Y-Yes.
We have to move.
Steve—Steve—everything hurts.
Just for now. Just for a little bit—but I’ll make it better, I promise. Nothing’s gonna hurt you again. Will you hold on to me? Do you trust me?
Y-yes… Yes, yes. I trust you.
The rig lurches back to life beneath his feet. Jittery and creaking with strain, Orion rocks forward with a rumble. The drift stirs once more, noise giving way to silence.
Steve’s vision clears. You’re back in the present, precariously grounding your strength inside his guidance. You raise an unsteady left arm. He powers it up. Energy surges through the cockpit, tremors running up your side as it charges. Your hand splays. Steve’s palm takes aim.
Activating plasma cannon.
The beam pierces Polidori’s shoulder and its roar chases a simultaneous thunderclap.
A crack of lightning flushes the sky purple. Orion’s right arm lifts high above its head and slams back down, the glowing hot edge of its shield cleaving through Polidori’s skull.
-
Bucky’s grip on the control room’s railing feels like it could warp metal. Wilson is on his right, other pilots in a row next to him. All is silent.
Through the relay of Orion’s camera, Polidori’s writhes one final time. A death throe—pathetic trilling drowned by rising water, falling into deep darkness. Overhead, Kaiju clean-up advances, jet engines rumbling behind an ashy horizon. Orion’s shield retreats to its side with a wet, sloppy sound. The handshake pulled through. Steve got to you.
Abruptly, the room vibrates with the shouting of about fifty voices. Sam is banging on the railing, strong fists rocking the entire length of it, roaring with glee. The others are even wilder— shoving each other in triumph.
Bucky tunes it out, waiting for quieter confirmation. He can hear the both of you despite the racket. Steve’s steady pants, cut with throaty relief—this one, Bucky’s familiar with. Your small, weak sobs strangled with tears—this one, he’s quickly learned, but knows now in his bones.
“Twelve drops,” you announce hoarsely. Raw. “B-Buck?”
He grins, dazed comfort rushing over, your voice chasing the torture away.
“Twelve kills, sweetheart,” Bucky says, “You did it.”
-
The raucous celebration in the Shatterdome simmers down around four, sunrise just a couple hours behind the horizon. Unruliness had broken out, triggering a party that lasted from the time Orion got picked up ‘til now, and still there’s chatter in the common room.
It’s normal; Anchorage celebrated too after most kills—as long as no one died.
You’re freshly showered and changed, barefoot as you patter it back to your room. Voices from other beds are lowered as you pass—friends taking banter back to private spaces, couples pressed up against each other. All standard-issue revelry to commemorate the endurance of life.
It’s how these things go. Violence on a massive scale, humanity threatened with extinction—the people closest to death feel it the most. When routine becomes monotony, it’s good once in a while to be stimulated again.
Damn near two thousand people in close quarters—Rangers in perfect form, friendships assembled on the foundation of sharing an exceptionally singular purpose. Even Pentecost in all his grave formalities couldn’t ward off human nature. Plenty of pilots hooked up with each other and other staff in Anchorage and no one cared as long as it didn’t muck anything up on the job. At least the marshal could control that; mishandle your personal relationships and you’d be off the docket for your next drop.
Sex is biology. Desire is human.
It’s hard for you to feel human this morning. Exhausted by the fight and the prior evening—awake now for over 24 hours, you broke away from the commons as soon as you arrived, spending an hour simply breathing in the steam, the habit achingly comforting. Your chest still feels tight, heart bloated with invasive flashbacks.
You used to decompress with Natasha. A few drinks, tales from the cockpit, shadowboxing and putting on a show, glad to be in the company of friends— to be back safely with each other. Then you’d scatter with the crowd, meet her in the showers, and help her wash her hair in silence. Nothing but the trickle of shampoo down the drain.
She’d cry, sometimes. Catharsis, mostly. Curled up in your arms, the both of you cozy in pajamas on the floor. Then off to bed where she’d climb under your sheets, falling sleep with her head on your shoulder, your fingers in her hair.
A love unspoken. A home in the shape of a twin-sized bottom bunk. Cramped and narrow. Too brief.
You sigh. Everything hurts.
A few rooms away from yours, Steve’s door is open just enough for a line of orange to escape. You know he’s there, waiting patiently as he has been. You went near catatonic on the way back, lying down in the cockpit, no longer needing to be hooked up. You shed the armor, holed yourself into the corner of Orion’s hull, and said nothing when he sat by your side.
Walking in front of the light, he places himself in the entrance way until he’s looking at you. His face is a gentle blue shadow, resplendent halo glorious behind his head. He’s dressed in soft pants and a t-shirt damp at the collar. A droplet of water runs down his neck.
It emerges like an orchestral arrangement. Leisurely notes creep into your ears—a tune you’ve always known. Plucks of strings, escalating windchimes. It echoes, the trails on his skin, his measured breath, his percussive voice layering and pleating until there are dozens of him.
Look at me. Come to me. I need you.
You feel it all at once. A knotted, chaotic tempest. Hesitation. Confusion. Ache. Bucky. Him. You. Your eyes lock with his. A mistake and a revelation.
Steve holds out a steady hand. You take a step, terrified, pulled into his overwhelming atmosphere like magnets, your bodies humming a secret frequency, purring for each other.
The drift opened everything up, but the battle tore it all out. The both of you are laid bare, everything else fallen away.
Nothing’s gonna hurt you again. You’ve got me now, you understand?
You reach the shadow he casts, eclipsed entirely by his bulk. Steve threads his fingers between yours and with a tug, you surrender your worries to him.
He’s kissing you before the door is entirely shut and latched. He fumbles for the locks, wraps his arms around your waist. A click and a clatter. He moans into your mouth.
You exhale from deep inside your chest. He inhales like it’s all the oxygen he needs.
Your hands move to one place, his hands to another. Before your bodies can savor it, the both of you have roamed on, reading each other’s minds, knowing what’s next.
More. More. More.
It’s impatient and fast and Steve picks you up with ease. You forget yourself, forget the world outside the room, outside the three-by-three tile area of where he’s got you lifted, legs wrapped tight around his hips. Fingers dive into the back of your pants, squeezing, up your shirt, pawing at your breasts.
His groans blow heat onto your neck. You arch away, giving him more skin to brand kisses onto. He nips at your throat, light, then again, rough. His voice is raw and thick, husky little clouds making their home on your body.
Gentle sucking on your bottom lip follow each kiss. He takes you to bed, dropping himself onto the mattress, you on top of him. He’s been in your head; he knows what you like. Knows where you want him. Your voice is getting higher, sounds quick and shallow.
Steve guides you with one hand on your hip and the other beneath your thigh, soft pajama bottoms pressing against his. He groans each time you rock forward, needy for more contact against his groin.
You’ve been in his head, too. He likes feeling hands in his hair, so you grip his flaxen strands. He likes hearing, so you make a little more noise. He likes seeing his partner helpless because of him, losing all control, falling apart for him.
So you do.
Pleasure rushes from the top of your head to the tip of your toes, his name burning in your throat. It’s an incredible shock and you’re spellbound, enraptured by him drinking in the parting of your swollen lips. Quickly, he places you on his thigh, enormous and strong, needing a better position to see— to feel you on him. Hungry attention, eager eyes, pleading like a mother tongue.
“Keep coming for me. Just like this— don’t stop. Please don’t stop.”
The shamelessness of it—your underwear soaked to your pants. The fever of it—his body like a fire, low, husky begging just from watching lighting up your spine. It’s extraordinary adrenaline— the heightened and profound connection of knowing one another in every way—as if you were made for each other.
Animal instinct liberated from human sentience. Desire pursuing release. Two bodies colliding and igniting.
You can’t stop the next cresting wave, crying out again.
Steve pushes you on his leg repeatedly, back and forth, solid and firm between your thighs even as you shudder and whimper, telling him it’s too much— you’re too sensitive. He kisses your neck, jaw, chin, cheek. He doesn’t stop moving.
“Hold on to me.”
A bead of sweat collects on the dip of your cupid’s bow. He looks at how sweetly your skin shimmers as you shiver, how your pupils are blown wide, how you look so perfect to him. He presses his forehead to yours, looks into your eyes like the way he did in the drift.
You reach for him and rub in quick strokes, fumbling when he rocks you back, gripping when he rocks you forward. Parted lips hover, “One more time for me—ah, please,” he begs, “Before I do.”
But he’s too late and too heated. Steve makes a mess of his sleeping pants, taken over the edge by how you feel without hardly feeling you at all. He buries a groan into your shoulder, riding it out with indelicate thrusts into your palm.
“Oh,” he murmurs, “Oh, fuck. Oh, fuck.”
He’s blush pink and beautiful when he remembers himself again, rubbing his cheek against yours. He knows what you’re thinking— the realization in the comedown, the leaching fear of what could have been a mistake. But it isn’t, and Steve remains faithful to your body.
“Stay. I’m sorry—for hurting you. I’ll make it better.” Velvet kisses to your lips and you shake your head, apologies no longer necessary.
A whisper of his name like it’s the most radiant word. You cling to him, kissing him, answering only to him.
-
In the afternoon when Steve is still sleeping, you retreat to your room. You pause at the sight of Bucky already on your bed, caught in the bleary focus of his gaze. With lashes soaked wet, his throat constricts around a forceful swallow.
“Hey,” he says, voice breaking on the syllable. He pats the space next to him and you come sit, turning your knees until they knock into his.
“Bucky…”
He laughs like you’ve told a joke, like the sound of his own name is a funny thing escaping your mouth. “Hoped I could catch you last night, before—” he laughs again. “—Before bed. Just wanted to—I guess I don’t know what I wanted to do.”
The hurt resurfaces. You find him through the rose-dappled lenses of Steve’s eyes. Those warm summers with two boys running wild, effortlessly devoted to each other. Your heart swells like you’re there, gazing at russet locks flying in the wind. Years and years between them—Bucky’s smile, lopsided and carefree. Steve’s gaze, illuminating Bucky in every memory.
“Bucky,” you say again, so wonderfully soft, he thinks, even as his chest feels stretched to bursting. “You love him.”
He places his temple on your shoulder, face hidden by the long strands of his hair.
“You’ve been in his head. He’s easy to love.”
“Yes,” you agree, touching his bangs, pushing them over his ear, streaking four affectionate lines through, “He is.”
“So are you.”
Bucky turns into your palm, smiling openly, like the truth is the simplest thing in the world.
#steve rogers x reader#bucky barnes x reader#stucky x reader#steve rogers x reader x bucky barnes#pacific rim#marvel#reader insert#fanfiction
371 notes
·
View notes
Text
wip amnesty: super sons fake dating (but different)
So while I was working on It Wouldn’t Be Make Believe (If You Believed In Me), my brain abruptly gave me a completely different Super Sons fake dating scenario, insisted that I write two scenes, and then abandoned me entirely. There is like a 1% chance that I will ever finish this so instead I offer it up to you, my very patient friends. (Don’t worry, I have different Jon/Damian fics planned!)
Also, this completely ignores the Bendis run, because...well, you know why. SIGH.
-
Damian cast a weary eye over the guests assembled at the gala, the latest tribute of the Gotham elite to their own wealth and frivolity. He wasn’t even sure what this one was ostensibly raising money for, but he had a feeling most of that money had gone into the refreshments and entertainment rather than the intended charitable recipients.
He hated these things, but Father was in space with the Justice League, Richard was undercover, Drake was on Earth-3, and Todd was just generally unsuitable for public consumption. Once again it fell to Damian, as the heir to the Wayne name, to carry the entire family on his shoulders. He usually didn’t mind, except when it took the form of wearing a tuxedo and making small talk with empty-headed socialites.
Maybe the Riddler or someone would show up and try to steal everyone’s jewelry. That would be a pleasing diversion.
He saw Gracie Van Nuyck, daughter of one of the few Gotham families older than the Waynes, making her way over to him and quickly took out his phone. He was meant to be the latest irresponsible Wayne playboy; he could be rude and spend a whole party texting and not talking to anyone as long as he kept a stupid expression on his face.
He already had a few texts from Jon, he saw when he unlocked his phone.
giant kraken attacking honolulu
titans & i r teleporting over
u in?
Damian clicked his tongue.
I know you’re overriding your autocorrected capitalization to irritate me.
And I can’t. I have to attend this gala.
sucks 2 b u 🐟 🐠 🐬
“Damian Wayne.” Gracie had not been put off by his texting - in fact, she had her own phone in her hand. Damian dimly remembered that she’d once told him she was an “influencer.” She had influenced him pretty strongly to get as far away from her as possible, so he supposed she was good at what she did. “Look at you, all dressed up and looking like a snack.”
“Gracie,” he said. “Nice to see you.” He did not attempt to make it convincing, or glance up from his phone more than briefly.
Trust me, I’m aware. Everyone here is an imbecile and none of the hors d'oeuvres are vegetarian.
“Do you like my dress?” Gracie asked, giving a little twirl.
“Lovely.” Damian did not have Richard’s ability to give genuine compliments, or even Father’s ability to fake them well. It didn’t deter Gracie in the slightest.
“I have a proposition for you, you beautiful boy,” she said.
“I’m the same age as you.”
that blows. what about the orderbs?
Damian fought a smile. I also know you know how hors d’oeuvres is pronounced.
😂 😂 😉
“What’s that smile for?” Gracie asked.
Damian forced his facial expression back to neutral. “What’s your proposition?”
She held up her hands like she was illuminating a marquee. “Gotham’s new dream couple: Dacie. Or we could be Gramian, I guess, but that sounds horrible.”
“Excuse me?”
“You and me, joining forces,” she said. “Me and my millions and my beautiful body, you and your millions and your beautiful body...we’d be the toast of the glitterati.”
“You want to date me,” Damian said, flatly, disbelievingly. This was what Father and Richard’s inability to resist a pretty face had brought him to: being literally propositioned at parties by socialites who thought every Wayne was an easy mark.
“I want to date you,” she agreed. “It must be your lucky day. Well, night.”
Damian stared at her for a long moment, just enough to let it become uncomfortable. “No,” he said finally, and turned back to his phone.
once weve kicked this things ass i bet i can bring u some shave ice before it melts
Bring the kraken instead. It can eat everyone here.
“No?” Gracie repeated.
“No, thank you,” Damian said, as a sop to good manners.
He glanced up. She looked bewildered. It might be the first time she’d ever been told no in her life. “Why not?”
“I’m seeing someone,” he said. Totally untrue, but a reason she couldn’t argue with.
Not that she didn’t try. “Oh? Who’s the lucky girl?” she asked, her expression calculating.
Damian raised an eyebrow. “Not sure why you would assume pronouns,” he said, more to wrong foot her than anything else, though it was true that gender didn’t make much difference to him. He disliked most people equally.
Her eyes widened before she recovered herself. “My apologies,” she said. “Do I know...uh, them?”
Damian’s phone buzzed in his hand. It was a selfie of Jon, with Billy and Lian pulling faces behind him and a tentacle snaking through the air above their heads. Idiots. He fought another smile.
Stop taking selfies before you get drowned.
“It’s a long distance relationship,” he said. The last thing he needed was Gracie tracking down Colin or Maya or someone and pestering them.
no its cool we made friends with it
i gave it ur shave ice
sorry
“Oh?” Gracie asked. “Where do they live?”
Out of the corner of his eye Damian could see that she seemed to be on her phone too, so he felt even less bad about ignoring her. “Metropolis,” he said, because it was the first city he thought of. You traitor, he texted Jon.
“Innnteresting,” she said. “Well, it was worth a shot. See you around, hot stuff.” She brushed a kiss in the air near his cheek and sauntered off.
Damian blinked. That had been...relatively painless. Maybe the whole night would go by so quickly and easily.
He checked the time. Three and a half hours to go.
Tt.
*
Jon had heard the noise before he stepped outside, but he hadn’t really processed it. Metropolis was a noisy city, and if there were no gunshots or cries for help, he had gotten pretty good at tuning it out.
Which was why he was so surprised when he walked out of his apartment building to be confronted with a sea of reporters flashing cameras at him.
“Jon!”
“Jon Kent!”
“Jon, over here!”
His heart stopped. Had they somehow found out he was Superboy? Which meant they knew about Dad, and Mom was probably in danger, and all of his friends, and…
“Jon, long have you and Damian Wayne been dating?”
What?
“Back off, you vultures! Leave him alone!” Uncle Jimmy emerged from the crowd, red-faced and disheveled. He put one hand in front of Jon’s face and the other on his shoulder. “No comment! He has no comment! Come on, Jon, back inside.”
Thoroughly baffled, Jon allowed Uncle Jimmy to steer him back into the building.
“Hey, Frank, don’t let any of them in unless Mr. or Mrs. Lane-Kent says it’s cool, okay?” Uncle Jimmy said to the doorman.
Frank, who Jon had known since they moved here when he was ten, put his imposing frame in front of the door. “Absolutely not,” he said.
“Thanks, Frank,” Jon managed, and waited until he and Jimmy were in the elevator and out of sight of the reporters. “What the heck is going on?”
“You’re a social media sensation, kiddo,” Uncle Jimmy said, and held up his phone to display a picture of Damian wearing a tuxedo and looking elegantly bored. “Apparently Bruce Wayne’s kid told someone called ‘GraceFace’ that he was dating a boy who lived in Metropolis, and she told her three million Instagram followers. A bunch of them found this photo.” He swiped to show a slightly blurry picture of Jon and Damian in Centennial Park, clearly taken on a cell phone by someone moving quickly. Jon remembered that day but hadn’t realized anyone had recognized Damian, though it did happen. “And someone figured out your name.”
“And assumed I’m the boy Damian is dating in Metropolis,” Jon said, putting it together. “Wait. Is he dating someone in Metropolis? Did he mean me? Why would he say we were dating?”
Uncle Jimmy held up a finger. “No, first question before that: how the hell do you know Damian Wayne?”
“Uh.” Jon paused. Uncle Jimmy knew all about him and Dad, since he was basically Dad’s best friend, but not any Gotham secret identities, and Jon was pretty sure both Damian and Mr. Wayne wanted to keep it that way.
Uncle Jimmy’s eyes flicked to the counter that showed what floor they were on. “And before we get to your apartment...any chance you want to give me the exclusive on this saga of young love?”
Jon’s mouth dropped open. “Uncle Jimmy!”
“What? I’m a reporter, it’s in my blood!”
“I’m telling my mom you asked me that.”
“No, please, tell your dad. He can only heat vision me or throw me out the window. Either way it’ll be quick.”
“Yeah, that’s why I’m telling Mom.”
#super sons#damian wayne#robin#jon kent#superboy#i write things#i love gracie and she should be canon
79 notes
·
View notes
Text
A Twist of Fate {Part 4} (Everything’s Fine Universe) [Dice Roll 13]
Fandom: Sanders Sides
Relationships: Remus & Janus & Patton, Remy & Patton
Characters: Janus, Patton, Remus, Remy
Summary: It wasn’t unheard of for people to gain soulmarks later in life, but it was quite rare. Usually fate was set in stone. Yet, when one’s fated death was prevented, fate had to make some adjustments.
As he fell, Patton may have felt a strange prickling feeling across his skin. He however, was not paying attention to that, far too distracted and confused. All he knew was that by the time he hit the ground, both of his hands were covered with marks. Later when he went home he’d notice even more in other places, but the ones he noticed when he hit the ground were the obvious ones on his hands.
Then, there was Janus. Janus had only one soulmark on his body. At least. He had only one soulmark that hadn’t been burnt off years ago. When he landed on top of Patton, he did not notice the marks that suddenly appeared on his arms and face. Patton did, however, notice two little designs appear on him: one along the side of his nose and the other right below the scaring on the left side of his face. The second was already colored in by the time they hit the ground.
Universe: Soulmate AU and Superhero AU
Genre: The Dice Roll said fluff and it is… but… it’s more fluff and angst, hurt/comfort-ish
Notes: Child abuse, homelessness, malnutrition, acid burns, platonic soulmates, car accidents mentioned, blood mentioned, death mentioned
My Master Post Part 1 Part 2 Part 3
It took a moment for Patton to get his breath back after he collided with the ground, his back stinging from where it had slid slightly against the pavement. He heard a car zooming by where he’d been standing a moment before.
Had he almost died?
He hadn’t even noticed the car; it had come out of nowhere, and he would have gotten hit if a young boy hadn’t tackled him. How the boy had been able to notice the situation and react to it that quickly, Patton didn’t know, but he was certainly grateful.
He caught sight of the back of his hands and was surprised to see what he immediately identified as soulmarks even though that made absolutely no sense because he’d never had soulmarks on his hands. Suddenly having soulmates was something he’d never dared wish for, and now he had at least 5 more just on the back of his hands, one of which was already filled in.
Without even making the decision to do so, his hand came up to cup the boy’s cheek gently. “Hi,” Patton said softly. He could help but stare at the soulmark on his face, also colored in and the shape of which perfectly matched the one on Patton’s hand.
“Are you okay?” the boy asked.
“Fine,” Patton replied. “My back’s probably a little scrapped up, but it’s better than the alternative. Are you okay?”
The boy didn’t seem to expect the question. “I’m fine,” he said. His face was half taken up by a burn, Patton noticed, and it was perhaps silly that he was only just noticing it now, but one might forgive him considering his mind was elsewhere. The pattern… didn’t look random. It was a thought which made Patton feel a bit queasy. It was also clearly not fresh. He was so young; how old must he have been when he’d gotten it?
The boy appeared to notice the way he was staring at the scar and seemed to grow visibly uncomfortable. He looked down at his hand currently on Patton’s chest and grimaced for some reason that Patton could not puzzle out. He seemed confused and perhaps even a bit horrified looking at his own arm. Patton added that fact to list of questions quickly growing as his heartbeat settled back into its normal rhythm.
His attention returned to the matching soulmarks once again. The location of the mark on Patton’s hand inarguably indicated a parent child relationship was destined between them, but the boy was older than Patton would expect, 10 to 12 probably. He recalled from when he’d read up on adoption that one is more likely to have a soulmark that drifted to the wrist if one met their child soulmate later in development. Usually by the time a child was a preteen, it would be on the wrist or even towards the palm. Yet, this soulmark was firmly planted in the center of Patton’s hand.
Patton had definitely been staring at him for too long and the slight discomfort from before started to shift into something worse. He looked like he was getting ready to bolt.
“We should probably move from the middle of the sidewalk,” Patton suggested, hoping to keep him from running. “Why don’t we go to the bakery? I’ll get you some food and something to drink in thanks, and we can calm down from that fright.”
Patton watched a war happen on his face. Whatever was wrong seemed to be challenged by the prospect of getting food, and Patton couldn’t decide if that was a good thing or a very bad thing. Judging by his skittishness, Patton felt it was probably a bad thing.
He nodded hesitantly after a moment, and Patton smiled gently at him. “You’re going to have to get off me first kiddo,” he pointed out.
The kid rolled off of him, and they both got to their feet. Patton offered him a hand without even thinking about it and after a bit of wavering, he took it.
“Um… look both ways?” he suggested when they turned to the street.
Right. Patton very carefully looked both ways and listened intently for any sounds of approaching vehicles. He imagined he would be doing something similar whenever he crossed a street for a while going forward. When he was sure it was safe, they crossed the street together.
There was another child loitering near the bakery door, one that Patton recognized. He shifted back and forth on his feet, staring at them.
“Jimmy,” Patton said confused. He glanced around but there were no other adults nearby. “Why are you here alone? Where’s your…” He remembered he didn’t actually know the nature of Jimmy’s relationship to the soulmate who always brought him to the bakery. “Where’s the man you’re usually with?”
“Uh,” Jimmy said. “He disowned me and abandoned me on the street.” Patton saw the boy whose hand he was holding make some sort of gesture out of the corner of his eyes. “I mean…” Jimmy said. “He slit his own throat to get away from me.”
“No,” the second boy hissed.
Jimmy threw up his hands. “That’s the gesture you were doing!”
“…Why don’t you come inside too, Jimmy,” Patton suggested as he unlocked the door. He was far too young to be out on his own especially when it was going to be getting dark soon. Plus, the two kids clearly knew each other, despite the fact that Patton had never seen the boy who’d saved him before.
“Kay,” Jimmy agreed easily.
Patton shepherded the two boys through the door. “Um,” he said. “How about cinnamon rolls and juice? At least to start.”
Jimmy’s eyes lit up. “We’re getting food?!” he asked excitedly. “Bonus food!”
“I, yes,” Patton agreed because he didn’t know what else to say. “Bonus food.” He went around the counter and grabbed two cinnamon rolls and a couple of bottles of juice, making a mental note to reimburse the bakery for them later. He set them down at a table and gestured for the two boys to come over. Jimmy skipped over without any pause, but the other boy stood at the door for a moment before coming over. Jimmy started snacking on his cinnamon roll the moment he set down, but the other boy just looked at the food for a couple of long moments.
Patton took a seat on the other side of the table from the boys. “What’s your name?” he asked the boy who’d saved him.
“Why do you want to know?” was immediately shot back.
Patton didn’t react to the sharpness of his tone, though he internally wondered about the sudden defensiveness. “Well,” he reasoned. “You just saved my life. I’d like to know who I’m thanking.”
“Evan,” he said after a moment.
“Well, hello Evan,” Patton said. “It’s nice to meet you. Thank you for your help before.”
“It…” Evan said. “I was there.”
“So you were,” Patton agreed. “Still, thank you.”
Evan shrugged and looked back down at his cinnamon roll.
“Would you like something else?” Patton asked. “I can get you something different if you want.” He turned to glance at Jimmy just to see that he’d already finished his cinnamon roll. He was grinning widely and swinging his feet back and forth, his face covered in icing. He’d even managed to get a bit on his ear. Patton couldn’t help but smile at the adorable picture. “I can get you more too if you want Jimmy.”
Jimmy’s face dropped so suddenly and violently that it just about gave him whiplash. “You’re really nice,” he said, and there were tears in his eyes that spilled over without warning. “I’m glad you didn’t get crushed underneath a car and bleed to death alone on the road before the ambulance got there,” he cried.
Patton found himself reaching out to him as he sobbed, trying to give some form of comfort. Before Patton quite knew what was happening, Jimmy had scooted of his chair and climbed directly into Patton’s lap. Patton’s breath caught as his skin tingled, another of the soulmarks on his hand coloring in. Yet, he was too concerned with the sobbing child in his lap to wonder about how or why all of this was happening suddenly. Instead, he wrapped his arm around the child and hushed him. Jimmy nuzzled his cheek into Patton’s chest as Patton stroked a careful hand through his hair.
“It’s okay,” Patton soothed. “It’s fine. I’m fine.”
Patton glanced at Evan over the top of Jimmy’s head. Evan appeared distressed at Jimmy’s distress but tried to blank his face out when he saw Patton looking. Patton didn’t know much about what was going on with these boys, but he suddenly felt a strong wave of protectiveness for the small child trying to keep an image of strength and coldness as well as for the even smaller child curled up in his arms.
Jimmy drew back after a few moments to peer at him, still teary eyed. Patton let his thumb trace the light blue mark that had appeared under his left eye. There was another one on his chin, Patton realized, and it was one that definitely hadn’t been there before. Patton had specifically noted that he didn’t have any parental soulmarks. This one was not filled in unlike Patton’s.
Jimmy reached up to touch Patton’s face, mirroring the touch Patton was giving him with his slightly sticky fingers, and Patton caught sight of the other filled in soulmark on the boy’s forearm. Where was Jimmy’s uncle or brother or whatever he was? Patton had to wonder. He’d never seen Jimmy or the man without the other. It was strange that Jimmy wasn’t with him now, and more than that, didn’t seem worried about finding him.
Jimmy was no longer crying. He looked at Patton for a long while with far too old eyes that made Patton’s heart ache a bit for reasons he couldn’t name. “Can I have apple juice instead?” he finally broke his silence.
Patton snorted out a laugh at the sudden question. This was why Patton had always loved kids: wailing one moment and critiquing his drink choices the next.
“Sure, kiddo,” he agreed. “I’ll get you some apple juice.”
He glanced over at Evan as Jimmy crawled out of his lap. The other boy was looking over at Jimmy with a fondly exasperated look and Patton blinked, studying him. The look was strangely familiar. He studied Evan a little more intently. He was wearing clothing that was far too big for him and looking at them, they looked very familiar. He recognized that shirt from being on a taller body earlier.
It took him a few moments, but Patton was not stupid. The missing guardian, the way he’d looked at his hand earlier and grimaced, the clothes… Patton tilted his head to look and saw the soulmark on the Evan’s wrist that matched the one on Jimmy’s forearm.
He was a shapeshifter. It was the only thing that made sense. Evan was the man who usually came in with Jimmy. He must have shifted himself to look like an adult and shifted the scar off his face. It would explain why he seemed afraid earlier when Patton had been looking at the scar. He must have lost his shift when he’d tackled Patton.
Patton didn’t voice his revelation as he got to his feet to grab a different juice box from the bakery refrigerator.
The question then, of course, became what the circumstances were that made Evan need to shape shift to look older so frequently. It clearly wasn’t a game. From the little Patton knew about that specific superpower, it took a lot of energy and the power usually was one that wouldn’t fully develop until his late teens. He remembered a girl in high school came fully into her powers during their last year. She shifted into one of the teachers once for a joke and then proceeded to consume an entire pizza because it had burnt so many calories. Yet, Evan had managed to consistently fully shift into a convincing adult on a regular basis. It was impressive, but extremely worrying. Patton’s and the unfilled soulmark were the only ones on Evan’s and Jimmy’s faces which painted a worrying picture. No one was taking care of them, were they?
So, Patton guessed it fell to him now. The last thing he’d expected was to become a dad today or ever really, but that’s what was happening.
“What’s on your face?” Evan asked Jimmy as Patton walked back over.
Jimmy’s eyes flickered to Patton, telling Patton that he already very well knew what it was. “Sprinkle,” he muttered.
“Bullshit!”
“That’s maybe not the best word to use, don’t you think,” Patton said with a frown. “It’s a bit mean.”
Evan narrowed his eyes at Patton. “You’re not my dad,” he hissed. Jimmy twitched nervously at that. Evan must have noticed because his head shot to look at him. “What?”
“Um…” Jimmy reached forward and pushed the silver reflective napkin dispenser towards him.
Evan looked into it, blinked, and touched the filled in mark on his face. “What the fuck?”
“That’s not a nice word,” Patton said.
Evan looked at him, lips pulling into a snarl. His teeth almost seemed to sharpen… in fact considering he was a shapeshifter they may have. “Go stick a cactus up your fucking ass.”
“O-oh,” said Patton, startled.
Evan turned on Jimmy. “What the hell is going on?”
“You saved him, fate was changed, and so we got more soulmarks,” Jimmy explained calmly. Jimmy reached to take Patton’s hand and Patton let him. He showed the marks on the back of Patton’s hand.
“Absolutely not!” said Evan, standing up and shaking his head. “Nope, this isn’t happening. We aren’t doing that.”
“I-” Patton said, but Evan cut him off, putting his arms out in front of him like he was trying to keep Patton away from him even though Patton hadn’t taken a step towards him.
“I am not putting myself at the mercy of some random person just because I got a weird freckle on my face,” he said. The way he phrased it combined with everything else he’d inferred about their current situation made bile rise in Patton’s throat. “Fuck that noise!”
“It wouldn’t be like that,” Patton promised.
“I’m not an idiot,” Evan retorted.
“You stayed with me because of a soulmark,” Jimmy said softly.
Evan hesitated. “That’s different,” he stammered. “A-and I would have stayed without it.” They looked at each other for a long moment. Jimmy crossed his arms. Evan looked lost and stressed. “We can’t,” Evan said. “You know why we can’t.”
“You don’t have to stay with me,” Patton said even though the thought broke his heart. It was not about him, he knew. There was something else going on and as much as he wanted to grab them both and bundle them up in bubble wrap, soulmarks or no, he could tell it wouldn’t go over well. “I won’t keep you, but why don’t you come to my house, just for a visit. I’ll cook you something good for dinner and you two can get cleaned up. Maybe you can even sleep for a bit. Then you can leave in the morning or at any point if you want. How about that?”
“Like I’m supposed to believe you’re actually giving us a choice,” Evan said bitterly. “I know adults. They lie and break promises all the time.”
“Go then,” Patton said even though it stung. The worst thing he could do right now was try to make them stay. Clearly, they’d been hurt before, been trapped before. He wouldn’t do the same thing to them again. He had to believe fate would bring them back no matter what they chose. “I won’t stop you. I’ll ask that you take my address just in case you change your mind, but I’d never force someone to stay with me.”
“You’re lying,” Evan said.
“I’m not.”
“You’ll call the cops on us as soon as we go and have them deliver us to your doorstep. They won’t even question it because of our soulmarks.”
“No,” Patton said.
He searched Patton’s face for a long time and then he looked at Jimmy. Jimmy just bit his lip and looked down. “I can’t see right now,” he said. “Anything. On the streets would be more dangerous.” Patton wasn’t sure what that meant, but it seemed to stress Evan out even more.
He looked back at Patton.
“One night,” Evan said. “You don’t separate us and there needs to be a way for us to leave at any time.”
“Okay,” Patton agreed with a soft smile. He was relieved. They were giving him a chance. He just had to do his best to convince them to stay.
Want to read more? Click below!
Part 5
#sanders sides#janus sanders#remus sanders#patton sanders#remy sanders#platonic demus#adriana writes#everything's fine universe#roll the dice 13#roll the dice#child abuse#homelessness#malnutrition#acid burns#soulmate au#superhero au#platonic intruality#platonic moceit#platonic mosleep#car crash#blood#death mentioned
84 notes
·
View notes
Text
The Thoughts We Carry
As promised, I had one entry near completion that I hoped be ready to post for @fairgameweek2021. I spent the last few days this week not getting enough sleep just to make the deadline (ssh I know it’s after midnight. Summaries are hard, okay?). I’m sorry I won’t have anything else ready in time, but I hope you all enjoy this one!
Day 4: Separation/Reunion
Dedicated to: @chiherah
Rating: K
Words: 6K
Summary: “I know everybody to some extent,” Qrow once told his nieces, and he hadn’t precisely been lying. At least, when it came to knowing other huntsmen in the four kingdoms, that is. Clover Ebi was just one of probably five-thousand examples. Yet, just as all shamrocks are clovers but not all clovers are shamrocks, all huntsmen are acquaintances but not all get to be friends.
That was why, upon arriving to Atlas, Qrow could tell there was more weighing on Clover’s mind than the Grimm addled streets of Mantle or Solitas’ fighter jet filled skies. More crushing, even, than the now-known threat of Salem on the horizon. A burden so great, it altered old routines and shadowed bright smiles.
And, as Qrow regarded the Aceops’ hasty roster change, he knew the solution to his friend’s plight was not one he’d need to seek, but one he’d need to bear.
Ao3 Link: The Thoughts We Carry
~
There were a few unanimous truths that came with being a huntsman:
The work was dangerous to the point most knew their future was beelining for a parking space in a graveyard.
Never falter in the heat of battle.
Keep bandages on hand because stemming an injury can extend a life from a few seconds to a few minutes.
Always know the best foods to forage in case civilization is too far or – worse yet – wiped out.
Pack light as work will require travel. It will require travel a lot.
Of all of them, the one Qrow was most familiar with was that last one. So much so, the towns he visited were just as much old friends to him as the people within them were. Vale and Patch were like playmates from primary school that were never forgotten no matter how much time had passed. Higanbaga was that party dude from university that always knew how to show him a good time. Atlas was that annoying classmate that he got stuck with one year on a group project and he was forced to put up with. And Mantle…
Mantle was that one struggling friend he knew could be doing better, if anyone would give it a break.
He felt that feeling in every swing of Harbinger, slicing through Grimm as he sidestepped potholes in the concrete and litter whirled up around his feet. Witnessed it when he peered through the city’s ever-present shadow to keep the kids in his line of sight, straining his ears to listen for the rest that shouts just blocks away nearly drowned out until they mysteriously stopped.
Despite knowing what it likely meant, he didn’t focus on it. He sheared through another Sabyr, and spun on his heels. Took in visual information in half a second: Weiss partially down an alleyway with Ren. Yang at his six. Blake a bit behind her. A Grimm leaping right for her.
His hand moved before his mind did, aiming Harbinger’s shotgun as Blake did the same with Gambol Shroud.
Another shot got it first.
A buzzing blast of green energy, not quite aura or dust, cleaved the beast in two. Similar shots rained from the sky, making quick work of the rest until the street was clear. The lampposts’ harsh red glows faded back to their calming yellow. From above, a drone expelling more green light rocketed up to the sky. As it hovered in the light of the moon and slowly floated down to ground level, its shape became more apparent and he could make out the features of a young girl with long, curling locks of ginger hair. Something about her was familiar.
It wasn’t until he heard Ruby’s choked gasp of “Penny?” that it clicked.
About a thousand questions rolled into his mind at once, but it was clear from the way his niece was suddenly bowled over by the enthusiastic android and the tears began to flow, that they’d have to wait.
After all, it wasn’t every day a cherished friend returned from the dead.
The other kids crowded around quickly, but Qrow couldn’t help but look to the one who lingered awkwardly on the sidelines, Oscar fidgeting with his cane the way Oz used to.
Something welled inside him that tasted a little like regret.
Not every day indeed.
~
It seemed ages before they started to make their way back to Pietro’s shop. Penny was deep in explanation on her miraculous revival, explaining how her memory chips had been recovered and her body repaired. In the back, Qrow let most of it float over his head. He wasn’t the only one.
“This is so… unexpected.”
He side-eyed Jaune, the blond’s face a mix of emotions that were hard to pin down. He couldn’t even begin to guess at what the other was trying to process. The joy of Penny’s return? The bitter unfairness it couldn’t happen for another that had been lost that day? The sorrow that Pyrrha now would never know that she hadn’t killed the android and could never make amends?
Whatever it was, it was definitely too much to handle on a regular day. Add two grueling battles, multiple aura breaks, and a long flight to Atlas on top of it all, it left little energy to deal with much else.
“But not unwelcome.” Qrow replied, catching his attention. “You don’t have to question the good things you get in life kid. You do that and you won’t stop to enjoy them.”
It was relieving it pulled out a small, but genuine, smile on the young man’s face. “That’s unusual advice coming from you.”
That’s because it wasn’t his.
Before he could think to respond, his sharp senses caught Ren tensing up. A sign he was detecting something.
His fingers were already halfway to his weapon when he heard it.
“Ah, and here I thought we had a problem. But it’s just Qrow again.”
His hand fell, a groan emitting from deep in his chest as he turned towards that painfully familiar voice. Sure enough, Clover and his poster squad of soldiers were heading their way. “Oh great, it’s you.”
“Salutations Captain Ebi!” Penny greeted with a salute.
"You know them Uncle Qrow?" Ruby asked. He could feel her curious stare burning through his cape.
"Yeah. They're Jimmy's attack dogs.” He scoffed at them. “Though considering we cleaned up this mess, they're more bark than bite."
Clover laughed, stopping just a few feet away. "You haven't changed a bit, have you?" He thumbed back the way they had come from. “Guessing you’re also the flyer of the unidentified Manta a mile west here, huh?”
“Uh, well,” He spluttered a bit, not sure how to explain that.
He didn’t have to, as the second-in-command spoke up for him, “I can’t believe you!” Harriet spat, quick in her temper as she was on her feet. “We almost deployed hostiles on that ship. You could have at least radioed in!”
“Well, see we woulda. ‘Cept our radio was on the fritz.” Yang stepped up beside him.
His other niece flanked his other side. “We didn’t mean to cause a stir, really.”
Qrow didn’t know whether to be proud of their synchronization, refined from years of getting out of groundings together, or concerned for their physical wellbeing as Elm’s eyes lit up with recognition.
“Oh Qrow, don’t tell me these are your cute little nieces!” She was in his youngest niece’s space almost instantly, shaking her hand with such enthusiasm Ruby looked a little dizzy. “I’m Elm. Qrow’s told us so much!”
“He has?”
“Oh yes, once he gets going, he can never shut up about you two. It’s endearing.”
He did his best to ignore the teasing nudges Yang gave him or the flush working its way up his neck.
“Wait, hold up a second.” Another of the soldiers interjected. “You’re the Qrow Branwen? You don’t look anything like what I thought you would.”
As his eyes met with the other’s, Qrow realized with a start he didn’t know him. “And you are?” He spat a bit harder than he meant to.
He felt a little bad when it made the Faunus shrink back a bit, his wagging tail slowing. “I, erm-”
“Oh right, you haven’t met. This is our newest recruit, Marrow Amin. He’s a bit fresh, but has been an outstanding addition.” Clover spoke up, clapping a hand on his shoulder like a proud father. It was the slight twitch at the side of his mouth that gave away he was trying very hard not to drop his smile.
The kid definitely didn’t notice, his tail wagging at full speed once again.
Qrow decided to shelve it for now.
Thankfully, the quietest member was quick to draw all the attention his way as Vine cleared his throat and spoke over them, “As pleasing as this reunion is, I believe taking this discussion away from the middle of the street would be more comfortable.”
“Right.” Clover nodded, straightening up. “The General is expecting our report and, though unanticipated, I’m certain he’d be happy to accommodate your arrival.” He tipped his head towards Weiss. “We’ll contact your sister on the way in as well. Lieutenant Schnee will be relieved to know you made it back safely.”
Despite the propaganda recordings still running on loop overhead, Weiss couldn’t hide her happiness. “That would be wonderful.”
“Sooo, when you say accommodate, you mean beds? And food?” Nora piped up hopefully.
Elm grinned. “Mess hall is always open. All you can eat!”
“Is that a challenge?”
“Oh, I like you.”
In the corner of his eye, Qrow could see Ruby shifting uncertainly. He rested a hand on her back reassuringly. This wasn’t what they’d hoped for. They had wanted to gather more information before they approached James. But it’d be suspicious not to take it and the last thing they needed was for things to go south when they were so close to the finish line.
They would just have to hope they hadn’t lost James’ loyalty like they had Leo’s.
“We could certainly use it.” He finally said. “Lead the way boy scout.”
~
Though sleep came fast that night, Qrow didn’t rest easy. Despite the exhaustion weighing him down, his mind refused to quiet, whirling over and over again on an anxious loop. James’ flawed plans for Amity if they didn’t tell him the truth. Oz’s deceits. The relic still resting out in the open. Salem’s unknown course of action.
Normally, when his brain was this busy, he’d drown it in alcohol. Let everyone else figure it out as long as he could get some rest from it all. But that wasn’t an option anymore. He wouldn’t allow it to be.
That was how he found himself dragging himself out of bed at the crack of dawn and wandering down the already bustling halls. Anywhere else, he’d say it would be weird to be walking past so many people so early; but Atlas had the majority of its’ facility and students on a strict military schedule. Something about how it taught basic discipline and the sleep regimen was good for promoting better health and performance.
It was a crime against sleeping in is what it was.
Despite the fact his last visit had been well over a year ago, Qrow had no trouble navigating the uniform halls, finding his way to the Ace-Ops’ quarters in record time. He knocked twice, only having to wait a few seconds before the door was flung open. The cartoon flamingos on Harriet’s pajamas seemed to mock the rest of the academy already starting the day.
It’s tactical, Clover had told him once when he’d questioned the special treatment.
Privileged, Qrow had corrected snidely, ignoring the multitude of night crews given the same benefits.
Sometimes it was just fun to see if he could get a rise out of Mr. Perfect.
Speaking of, a quick sweep over Harriet’s hairline told him he was nowhere in the room. He did spot the others though, seated around the dining table. Elm had her hair wrapped up in a towel and a piece of toast in hand. Vine was sipping on tea and scrolling through news. Marrow was giving him that same starstruck look from yesterday, a spoonful of cereal only halfway on its journey to his mouth.
“Boy scout ain’t here?” Qrow asked.
Harriet quirked an eyebrow. “He’s in the garden.”
On a Tuesday? That was new.
He stuffed his hands in his pockets. “Guess I’ll be on my way then. See ya.” He gave her a nod of farewell, heading down the hall.
“Hey, Branwen!” He paused, seeing Harriet leaning out the doorframe, her stare almost challenging. “If you start antagonizing him, I’ll kick your ass.”
That was… also new.
He smirked. “Like to see you try speedy.”
She only scoffed. From within, he heard Marrow pipe up, “Hare! You can’t say that to-” The rest of it was cut off by the door closing, but he had a feeling it ended with ‘The Qrow Branwen.’
He started down the hall again, the foreboding that had been weighing on him since last night quickening his pace.
It didn’t take him long to get to the garden. Natural to Atas’ standards, the room was as grand as could be. Twice as large as the training facility, the greenery filled every inch of space, broken only by specifically designed pathways students or staff could traverse. Some ran to small manmade ponds with wooden bridges built over them where koi fish would swim underneath while others led to displays of delicately trimmed hedges shaped to look like animals. As there was no plant life in Solitas’ ecosystem, everything in the room had been imported. Desert roses from Vacuo, sage bushes from Vale, black pines from Anima. There were even some sunflowers he’d brought years ago from Tai’s little patch at home, still valiantly clinging to life among the rosemary bushes.
Practically on autopilot, Qrow went down the right-most path which wound along to the far side of the garden, where the trees grew taller and the branches hung down like arms reaching out for a hand, close enough for him to reach up and touch. There was one in particular, a lone willow, which had become a popular hiding spot due to its’ thick, curtain-like tresses. So much so, that it had become better known as the Kissing Tree. Though it was too early for anyone to be there now, more than once, he and Clover had stumbled upon a pair of students trying to sneak in a private moment between classes.
To say nothing of the numerous times when the tree was empty and Clover would always wink at him and say, “Looks like there’s room for two.”
The first time, Qrow had been too shocked to respond. Every time after, he’d wave him off and say, “As if you could handle me.”
Clover would laugh and they would continue on, sometimes to the exit.
But more often than not, it was on their way in to the pen.
Compared to the rest of the room, the five-foot, stock panel metal fencing was a bit of an eyesore. Doubly so with the glowing blue devices placed on every post that would activate if anyone without clearance attempted to enter. Hence why it was kept in the back.
But for Clover, it was the best place in the entire garden. Qrow could already see him to one side of the cage, sitting on a bale of hay, gently grooming a lop-eared rabbit resting in his lap while another dozen of various breeds hopped about his feet. The soldier was humming a peppy tune, so lost in his own world he didn’t notice Qrow at the gate.
“Annabelle’s eating your laces.” He announced as he tapped his scroll on the gate’s scanner.
Clover jerked a bit, but not enough to disturb Dumpling, who only thumped his back leg for his attention to continue. He rested one hand on the lop’s back, shooing Annabelle away with the other, “Lil’ menace.” Before acknowledging Qrow with a nod and a “Good morning.”
“Was looking for you.” He replied, shutting the door behind him.
The second he had, Jynx honed in on him like a missile, torpedoing across the pen in seconds to race excited circles around his feet. Clover watched the antics with a teasing smile. “Somehow, I only half believe that.”
“Yeah, yeah.” Qrow carefully stepped around the dwarf rabbit and as he made his way over, plucked a daffodil from the treat container kept on a high-mounted shelf. He sat beside Clover on another hay bale, Jynx wasting no time as she leapt onto his legs and flopped onto her side. So content she was, she didn’t even bother to lift her head when he offered the flower, just munched it down when it got close enough to her mouth. He rolled his eyes, running a hand through her soft, black fur. “Still lazy as ever.”
“She can’t help it if she takes after her handler.” Clover pointed out as he returned to his brushing.
“Making fun of yourself over there, boy scout? ‘Cause I ain’t the parent here. I’m the uncle who spoils her rotten.”
Normally, they’d go at it for a while like this, trading verbal blows that were about as harmful as throwing a handful of feathers at one another would be.
Today, it was clear his friend wasn’t in the mood when he only hummed and said, “I suppose.”
In the quiet that followed, it gave him a chance to really look the other man over. Though he was prim and proper as ever, with clothes neatly pressed and boots shined enough to reflect the light, his face told the true story. Between the deeper lines under his eyes and slight graying at the base of his crew cut, Clover appeared as if he’d aged a decade overnight. Burdened by the weight of worlds’ most damning secrets.
Ones that he knew only got worse the deeper the hole was dug. Qrow felt so far under at this point, he wasn’t sure he’d find the sky again. And the worst part was, the only action he had left was to choose if he wanted to toss the next person the shovel.
Regardless of his convictions to be as candid and brusque as possible to his friends and family, the idea of burying Clover along with him was terrifying.
A quiet chattering drew his eyes back to Jynx. Her eyes were half-closed in blissful contentment, unaware and detached from the woes of her people. He rubbed a finger between her ears, the way he’d learned she liked all the way back when she was small enough to fit in the palm of his hand. Back when she was so tiny, they’d almost missed her when clearing out the illegal dust testing facility deep in Mantle’s suburbs five years ago.
The mission had been a spur of the moment thing. He’d been tracing one of Salem’s subordinates when the Captain approached him. He still recalled how Clover had buttered him up as he explained that with one of their teammates sick, he was in need of a fifth and he ‘just couldn’t think of anyone more suited than Qrow’.
He wouldn’t say it worked or anything but, well, it just so happened the person he was looking for was also said to be someone of ‘scientific talent’. He’d taken the job completely on the merit of it being a potential lead, but if Clover wanted to shower him with compliments in the meantime, who was he to complain?
Next thing he knew, he was knocking a needle-wielding chemist unconscious and lifting guinea pigs out of overcrowded cages.
It took nearly the entire day to clear the facility. Most of the animals were either unaccustomed to being handled or traumatized from it, and it was difficult to recage them without risk of further injury. It was eventually left to the animal experts that had to be called in. Yet, despite the mission being technically fulfilled, Clover had been stubborn to leave, trying to find ways for them to contribute and becoming agitated if anyone tried to derail him.
Even at the time, when Qrow hadn’t yet known the younger huntsman well, he’d understood the behavior was unusual for the other man. It was hard to say if he simply became driven to assist, his soft spot for animals painfully clear, or if it was some mild form of Hunter’s Shock, the stress and horror of the situation putting him into a repetitive state.
Whatever it was, it was clear they were stuck there until the job was done.
So, mostly trying to look busy while staying out of the way, Qrow had found himself lazily strolling through the basement’s already emptied cage ring when his eyes, sharpened by years of looking down the barrel of a shotgun, caught the almost undetectable movement of hay breathing. Sure enough, brushing it aside revealed one of the smallest rabbits he’d ever seen – though she certainly had the loudest cry when he picked her up.
Like a mother responding to a distressed child, the Captain came running. Though his expression was quick to melt when he spotted them, easing into a smile for the first time that afternoon.
Lucky Number 13, Clover had cooed to her while Qrow cradled the shaking thing against his chest. He’d carried her the entire way back to Atlas, afraid she’d get lost or injured among the other hundred animals they’d rescued. At some point, she’d bonded with him.
“More like imprinted!” Tortuga had joked whenever the subject was brought up.
Keeping the rabbits after the mission hadn’t been planned, but Clover had managed to pull enough strings on Jimmy’s iron heart that the General had come out of it thinking he’d thought up the idea all along. The pen was made in record time and the recovering warren was introduced to their new home. Within days, each rabbit had a name, a toy, a bed and enough treats to hibernate a grizzly bear. Mostly provided by the Captain himself, though some of the other facility and students had donated to the cause.
They were officially presented as a wildlife addition to the garden – they were unofficially and more truthfully known as Captain Ebi’s pets.
Though the rabbits didn’t need constant care and the gardeners attended to their daily needs, Clover still swung by frequently, fitting them into a daily routine he kept to like clockwork. Monday and Friday mornings were given over to training. Tuesdays and Thursdays to team-building with the Ops through sharing or even making breakfast together. Weekends and Wednesdays were reserved for garden visits.
The reason for the change was obvious, but Qrow wasn’t quite ready to ask.
“So. Jimmy told you.” He stated instead.
Clover nodded. “Yeah. He did.”
“And… how are you doing?”
He’d been twenty years younger, when he’d been in Clover’s position. Barely graduated, when he took that first walk through the vault, Ozpin spinning grand stories and waving magic to life before his very eyes. He remembered how terrified he had been. He was just some feral kid from the forests of Anima who could barely figure out how his own Scroll worked. In what possible way was he up to the task of saving the world?
After being in the fold as long as he had, he quickly learned even people more capable than himself all tended to feel the gravity of the job.
Even someone as confidant and unshakable as Clover was not immune, his sigh long and drawn out. “Honestly? It’s a little overwhelming. I actually thought, that uh,” He laughed embarrassedly, “James had lost his mind.”
Qrow blinked.
Maybe the world really was ending.
“I woulda paid money to see that.” He teased.
Clover pinched him. “Oh shut up.” The lack of brushing made Dumpling start to fuss again, but rather than continue to pamper him, Clover set the lop back on the grass, before he lent back, letting out another of those long sighs. “I’ve been thinking a lot about how when I was a kid, I used to think the only way Atlas could possibly stay in the sky like it does was from magic. Then I grew up and the academy taught me different. It’s… terrifying, realizing how easy it’s been to lie to a whole nation’s worth of people.”
“Guess that means you agree with Jimmy’s plan then.” Qrow surmised.
“You don’t?” He challenged back, frowning. “We have thousands of people roaming these halls, none of them knowing that a few floors down lies one of the most powerful objects in the world. Don’t they deserve to know that one day they might be in charge of protecting it?”
Shifting uncomfortably, he averted his gaze, mumbling, “I never really thought about it. I trusted Oz to make those kinds of calls. And now he’s-” He felt his chest tighten, guilt a healed-over bruise pulsing on his knuckles. “Gone. Again.”
“I can imagine how lost that makes you feel.”
“I mean, I guess.” He grumbled, if only to save face.
But deep down, he knew Clover was right. Qrow wasn’t like him, or Oz, or James, or Summer or even Ruby. He needed someone to guide him on the right path. He screwed up things enough merely by existing – he couldn’t make it worse by trying to also make critical decisions.
Maybe it was that thought that made him add, “Starting to think I wasn’t cut out for this whole gig. All I’ve done is drag my nieces and their little friends into this whole mess and nearly got ‘em all killed. Isn’t really comparable to ‘restoring world communications’.”
“Yeah, I suppose being on the front lines at Haven and ensuring a relic didn’t fall into Salem’s hands is a bit more impressive.” Before he could even try to argue, Clover placed a hand on his shoulder and said, “We’ve all had to make some tough calls lately, but I know those kids were in good hands when one of the best huntsmen in all of Remnant was at their side.”
He could feel a blush creeping up his neck. “You’re just saying that because you’re completely starstruck with me.”
“I am.” The admittance was said with absolutely no hesitation, the man’s smile growing. “Qrow, some of my very best missions have been the ones I’ve gotten to go on with you. I admire you. Not because of your skill, but because you’ve never let the job change you. You scoff at your own fame and you don’t take missions looking at lien signs first. You do it for the right reasons, every time. I think that’s amazing.”
The blush was definitely on his face now.
Worse yet, the doubts and worries that had weighed on his mind for days now seemed to lighten, just a little bit.
Gods be damned, how did he always do that?
With no idea how to respond, he mumbled out a soft, “Thanks” hoping it came out more sincere than awkward.
“Anytime.” Thankfully, Clover backed off a bit, focusing back on the rabbits at his feet, picking up Bolt. Having gotten his name from how skittish he was, the cottontail took time to calm enough so he could be brushed.
Long enough for Qrow to compose himself before he spoke again. “So, how have things been otherwise?”
“They’ve been…” His shoulders fell, “Rough.”
Any doubts Qrow might have had before about the Ace Ops’ unannounced replacement crumbled right alongside Clover’s normally strong posture.
He shut his eyes, taking in a deep, bracing breath. As he focused on his friend once more, it was with all the unexpecting kindness he could muster that he asked, “Do you want to talk about him?” For a split second, Clover looked just like the rabbit in his lap – ready to sprint as far away as he could from danger. So Qrow quickly added, “You don’t have to, if you’re not ready.”
Silence blanketed over them like a snowstorm, cold and desolate. The kind of weather that blew in fast and came down slow, pressing everything into such an unnoticed hush most didn’t notice their homes being covered until they looked up and saw they were six feet under. That’s where Clover seemed to be now, stuck inside and standing at the front door, uncertain if he was prepared to create the unavoidable mess it would take to dig his way outside.
Only this time, Qrow had given him the shovel. He just had to use it.
Leaving the soldier to sort out his emotions, Qrow idly pet Jynx, fingers scoring through her sleek black fur.
And he waited.
His gaze drifted to the ring of Cypress trees that bordered outside of the pen.
And he waited some more.
When Clover finally did speak, it seemed a struggle, the words fighting their way out. “Can you imagine how it was for us that day, when we watched our own Knights turn on Vale’s citizens? It was like a nightmare. We didn’t know what had happened. No one did. Without James to explain – to speak for himself – the council started shutting down units left and right. The AKs, the paladins, even our Manta Flyers. We had to rip out billions of lien in automated equipment just so we could fly down to Mantle.”
As if he were a Flyer himself, Bolt suddenly leapt out of his lap, landing back on the grass below. He quickly crowded himself between Orion and Sirias, trusting the giant Altexs to protect him.
Clover just let him go, dropping the brush beside himself as he shook his head. “By the time we got there, the city was overrun. Normally, we’d have enough firepower to deal with it. But James had brought most of the troops with him. Even when they came back, none of them were allowed to deploy to the field until they got questioned. It was a mess. Students and soldiers were kept in lockdown. James was incarcerated. It was months before we learned anything. And every day the public was kept in the dark, every day people feared the other kingdoms would come for us, was another day Grimm surged to our borders.”
It was a familiar story. Beacon’s fall shook the world in a brutal way, leaving no Kingdom untouched. Borders closing. Grimm everywhere. The peace between nations suddenly balancing on a delicate string, just waiting for something to break it.
Yet of everything that had come after that one, awful night, it was the personal losses that struck the hardest.
“I kept telling my own team to just… hold on another day. That things would get better soon. But then-” Clover choked for a second, having to swallow hard. “We got a report of a nest of Centinels in the basement of an apartment complex downtown. We were still cleaning up some stragglers nearby, so I sent Harriet and Tortuga ahead. It couldn’t have been more than ten minutes before Harriet started radioing in. ‘The building came down!’ she kept screaming. I’d never heard her so panicked.”
Qrow sucked in a sharp breath and for a second, he was right there with the other huntsman. Except, for him, it was with a scroll in his ear and Oz’s grief-filled voice shattering his soul as the headmaster told him one of his closest friends wasn’t coming home.
The flash of memory faded as quick as it had come, but the heaviness in his heart stayed as Clover pressed on.
“She told us that some Centinel acid had melted through a supporting wall. Tortuga had been slowing the damage while Harriet tried to get all the occupants out in time. Any other day, they could have done it. If we weren’t all running on empty, I know they could have. Instead, they were only halfway through when suddenly, it all just came down. Harriet was outside when it happened.” Clover lent forward, hay crunching under his grasp as he clutched onto it. “The whole time I was running to their position, I kept telling her everything would be fine. I’d use my luck and we’d pull him out and he’d probably laugh at us for worrying so much. Never knowing it didn’t matter how much luck I had.” He chuckled. It was a hollow, broken noise. “He was already gone. The pathologists said he’d died instantly.”
Then that chuckle turned into a sob.
Knowing better than most that there were no words that made this part easier, Qrow did the only thing he could as he slid a hand along the other’s back and tugged him close.
~
It was a quarter to nine by the time they were getting ready to leave. Clover gave one last cursory check to the food and water while Qrow mentally counted the warren for a fourth time – they didn’t need another incident like when Snowblossom escaped and terrorized the lavender field. He’d finished his count by the time Clover was ushering him through the gate.
He’d finished it again when it locked behind them.
As they started around the first bend of the path, he almost couldn’t fight the urge to go back just to be safe.
Luckily, Clover was a great distraction. “So now that you’re in Atlas, what do you and your entourage plan to do?”
“Uh.” Was that a trick question? “Help with Jimmy’s pet project, obviously.”
“Besides that. It’s not like we’re going to work you all 24/7.”
Qrow wouldn’t mind if they did. At least, for him. Free time seemed… dangerous, when he’d used to fill it with taking shots at the nearest bar. Really, the more he thought about it, the more he realized he didn’t really do much else. When he was bored, he went to a bar. When he had a day off, he went to a bar. When he was looking to have fun, he went to a bar. When he didn’t want to see people, then he skipped the bar, got a six pack, and drank himself to oblivion.
Shit.
He was going to have to find a hobby, wasn’t he?
In the end, he shrugged, replying glumly, “Guess we’ll have to figure it out.”
“What about training?” Clover held up a hand in a gesture of peace as Qrow frowned at him. “Not you. The kids. There’s going to be a lot ahead for all of us and the sooner we get used to working together, the better. And, well, considering their age I’m sure some of them are still rough around the edges too.”
He snorted, but didn’t argue that fact. Really, all of them were incredibly skilled, but that didn’t mean perfection. Ren was still flaking in the stamina department. Weiss had to work on her spatial awareness. Jaune needed, well, everything. After years of being a combat teacher, it wasn’t hard to pick out the kids’ flaws. To say nothing of Oscar who, without Oz as a crutch, probably would be better off if they just shipped him into a witness protection program.
It was time that worked against them all. Ideally, it’d be best enrolling them back into school, were they could finish off their graduate programs and gain the wisdoms of various professors who could help them hone their talents. But, seeing as that wasn’t in the cards, he supposed getting some pointers from some of the best Atlas had to offer was a decent replacement.
“I’m sure they’d like that.” Qrow could already imagine how Ruby would bounce off the walls at the idea of getting trained by real huntsmen. As if he were chopped liver, or something.
(He could also already picture her waving his complaints away. “Uncles don’t count. You’re obligated to do nice things for me.”)
“Great! We can work out a schedule once you’re all a bit more settled.” Clover was practically glowing, as if he couldn’t wait to start penning things in on his calendar. Dork.
Yet, he’d take this much happier, lively Clover over the despairing, grieving one he’d just consoled any day of the year.
In fact, the air was so much lighter than it had been, as they rounded another bend and the willow tree came into sight, he was already preparing himself for the other man to drop his usual line, retort already on the tip of his tongue.
Yet, as they came level with it, Clover did something even more daring as he reached across the space between them and caught Qrow’s hand in his.
He stared down at this grand declaration, then up at Clover himself, meeting questing, hopeful eyes.
Heart racing, he curled his fingers over Clover’s, and despite the other’s rounded knuckles or his own lanky fingers, despite mismatched calluses and hairline scars, despite the rings or the gloves, they seemed a perfect fit.
Perhaps, Qrow wouldn’t be so bored in Atlas after all.
10 notes
·
View notes
Text
Happy Birthday Indeed- Oscar Issac
Oscar Issac X Actress! Reader
Summary: When two stars get together sometimes it’s hard, you miss dates and birthdays, and you’ve done it before but this time it hurt Oscar just a little more. But you have to keep a smile on your face when you’re being interviewed and viewed by millions.
A/N: This is for the amazing @my-name-is-alice-ayers who requested this amazing imagine.
Oscar looked at himself in the mirror. Wow, was he getting old? I mean, 41 that’s when people start pointing out your age everywhere.
She always said to never worry about it. That’s what she told him earlier when they were on the phone.
She was in Atlanta, she has been for the past few months. Filming for her new movies with Benedict Cumberbatch. A project that she had started jumping at when she found out she was accepted for the role. He remembered the huge smile on her face as she was jumping around like a child who found out they were going to Disneyland. He hugged her tight and swung her around in excitement, this was her dream, and there she was living it. In Atlanta, and on the other side of the country.
It made him sad, but only for a minute. She was always there for his birthday, in the four years that they had been dating she never missed it once. He remembered last year when he was filming out in the middle of nowhere, for the new Star Wars movie of course, and she had packed a bag and hauled herself hundreds of miles just to throw him a party surrounded by his friends. She was always extra like that. But Oscar liked that about her. But this year it just wasn’t the same.
Being the main character in a movie was hard, he knew that, but that also made it so she couldn’t get away from set, even for his birthday. Which he understood, he had done it to her one year, even though it snapped his little love-struck heart in two. She always said that it was fine, and that he had to do what he had to do, so he had tried to give her the same treatment.
“It’s fine love, I know what it’s like!” He put a little chuckle at the end to try and ease her emotional burden.
“That doesn’t make it any easier Oscar! I just feel really horrible....” You whispered on the other end of the line. He could hear your small sigh, he felt his heart drop in your chest.
“Don’t feel that way.” He took a small pause, a smile slowly seeping on his lips, “You’ll just have to make it up to me when I see you next.” He heard you chuckle.
“Sounds like a deal, Mr. Issac.”
“It better.”
He straightened his bowtie again and ran his hand through his hair once more to try and smooth it back. He took a deep breath in and then out to try and calm himself down.
A knock on the dressing room door drew him out of his state.
“You can come on in!” He spoke. A small young woman poked her head through the door. She had her hair pulled back a headset resting on top of her head.
“We’re ready for you to head to stage right whenever you are.” She spoke in a tone that made her feel soft yet authoritative.
Oscar smiled and spoke: “Thanks, I’ll head over right now.” He put a smile on his face, something that he had gotten use to. She nodded and closed the door behind her. Oscar glanced at himself in the mirror one more time just to make sure he looked well. She had told him earlier on the phone that she would be watching from her trailer, so he made sure that he wore her favorite bowtie because he was thinking that maybe, making her smile would ease her burden a little more. A ping on the dresser alerted him.
‘Good luck Mr. Birthday boy! I love you to the moon and back mon amour!’ He smiled down at the screen. He started typing.
‘I love you too mi amor! Just a text from you has lightened my night! Promise you’re going to watch me brag about you?’ He sent the message and only had to wait a few seconds for a response.
‘Promise. xx’ He smiled and set his phone back down on the dresser.
He took a deep breath in and turned and lifted himself off the chair. Smoothing his hair one more time he opened the dressing room door. There was a stage assistant standing right outside the door and gave him a big smile when he made eye contact.
"Are you ready Mr. Issac?" She asked, pulling her clipboard a little closer to her chest.
"Absolutely! Please, lead the way!" He smiled when talking to her, hoping to put a little more happiness in his heart before he went on stage.
"Oscar Issac!" Oscar pushed himself on stage with a smile and a wave. The crowd cheering seemed to lighten his mood, just a little. He walked up to Jimmy and shook his hand before taking a seat in the comfortable chairs next to him. As the crowd died down they began a conversation.
Jimmy asked s few questions about Star Wars, trying to get spoilers out of him like always. They both cracked jokes in between and in those moments Oscar seemed good, he felt happy. Every time he looked into the crowd he didn't see you. He tried to not let it get him down too much. He didn't even know why it was bothering him so much, it didn't in the past. He kept smiling though, know that she was watching.
"So, at D23 we got a sneak peek at Marvel's plans for the future and your girlfriend is actually playing in one, right?" Oscar perked up just slightly at the mention of her.
"Yeah! It was so amazing to find out that she got the role." He went down the reminiscing lane for a sec, trying to tell the story. "I remember when she finished the phone call she just broke out in the biggest smile I have ever seen on her; she just started jumping around like a small child. I have never, in my life been happier for her than I had in that moment." He had waved his hand around for a moment when telling the story and Jimmy laughed a little at the end of the story.
"When you two are away filming, do you call each other a lot?"
"Oh, all the time." Oscar put emphasis on all in the sentence just trying to tell everyone just how much they talked. "If we're not talking its texting, just trying to spend time with one another even though we may be hundreds if miles apart." The crowd seemed to awe at his comment which made his face break out in a small smile.
"So shes away currently?" Jimmy asked him, leaning slightly on the tabletop desk.
"Yeah, I can't say where but shes away filming." Oscar's smile seemed to falter but only for a second, she was watching.
"Okay. And it is your birthday is it not?" Jimmy seemed to tread lightly at this question. The crowd erupted into cheers for him which made that smile start tugging at the corners of his mouth again.
"Yeah. 41, today, which I know is crazy." The crowd erupted into a clapping session once more. He looked out into the crowd and looked at their faces.
"Well, since it's your birthday, I've decided to get you a little gift."
"Oh no." The crowd laughed at the comment Oscar made.
"Oooo, that one hurt." Jimmy and Oscar laughed at one another. "You're going to have to close your eyes." Oscar gave Jimmy a look before as the crowd went into yet another cheering session. It didn't take a lot for Oscar to give in and cover his eyes with the hands. The surroundings were quiet for a moment while Jimmy made some movements behind his desk. Oscar couldn’t tell what was going on but he had a feeling that when he opened his eyes he was going to get a cake to the face. It just felt like it was something that Jimmy would do to him. Another moment passed before a few in the crowd started to cheer and clap, which threw him off for a moment. Oh no, the cake idea was becoming a reality.
“Okay, Oscar, I’m going to count down to 0 and when I do you can go ahead and open your eyes.” Jimmy gave him simple instructions. Oscar nodded and gave his acknowledgment to Jimmy. Someone took him by the shoulders and stood him up. He seemed a little taken aback by the person but tried to let it roll off his back, they were just trying to set him up for a good shot of the pie he was getting in his face.
“Okay, 5″ the start of the countdown didn’t make him as nervous and maybe it should have been, “4, 3-” this was the point was he started shuffling his feet a little bit, not that he was nervous at all. “2,” Jimmy took a short breath and Oscar could feel the crowds' breath be put on hold. “1,” Oscar was giddy, like a little child, he almost started to hold his breath, waiting slowly.
“0!” Jimmy yelled Oscar's hands flew off his face and his eyes snapped open and his mouth fell open in a gasp.
The woman in front of him was dressed in a nice silver dress that gave a few sparkles when hit by the studio lights. The dress flowed down to the floor and hugged her curves in just the right way. You couldn’t see her feet but she was most likely wearing short heals like she always did when she wore a dress like that. She wore a small pendant around her neck that seemed to catch the light just enough to make it sparkle loudly in the room. And wow, did she take his breath away. Her hair was done just the way she liked it, and whenever she liked it, he liked it ten times more. She didn’t have a lot of makeup on but she didn’t need it, she was gorgeous without it. She broke out into a smile. That’s when Oscar rushed forward and took her into his arms.
She was here. A large smile broke out on Oscar’s face as he spun her around. She let out a few giggles that made him chuckle lowly. For just the two of them, this was such an intimate moment, despite the hundreds and maybe thousands of people watching both of them right now. But they didn’t matter to Oscar, what mattered was her. Her hand reached up to hold onto the sides of his face while she craned her head just enough to meet his lips. He smiled into it before she pulled away and looked at him.
“Actress (Y/N)(L/N) everyone!” The crowd erupted into a storm of claps as she was announced. Oscar twirled her around a few more times before setting her back down on the carpet. She covered her face for a second as she laughed and then started waving into the crowd. Oscar slipped a hand behind her back and brought her a little closer which caused her to look at him and then brake out into an even bigger smile. God how he loved her smile, never failed to warm up his day. The crowd wasn’t stopping either, Jimmy next to him was clapping. She just kept smiling at looking out at the people. God, she looked gorgeous. She soon turned and looked at Oscar with that giant smile still gracing her lips.
“Happy Birthday Oscar.” She spoke in a small voice.
“Yeah, it is a happy birthday indeed.”
#oscar issac x reader#Oscar Isaac#oscar imagine#oscar isaac imagine#star wars#star wars imagine#poe dameron x reader#poe dameron imagine#poe dameron
576 notes
·
View notes
Text
Bound To You - Chapter 9: One Last Idea
< - - - Previous Chapter
WARNING: SPOILERS FOR SEASON 15
NOTE: Pairings and Ratings Will Change As Story Is Updated
Pairings: Castiel/Dean Winchester, Eileen Leahy/Sam Winchester
Rating: General Audiences
Chapter Word Count: 6,324
Overall Word Count: 70,628
Status: Multi Chapter Fic - In Progress (9/?)
Chapter Preview:
“Your father shouldn’t have-,” Cas cut himself off with a frustrated grunt, a few octaves away from being a growl. “You were a child. The things he did to you… the responsibilities he forced you to bare… I’m sorry, Dean. I know you have a lot of respect for your father, but that is not a respect I can share.
“Guess we both got too much respect for our dads, huh?” Dean tried to joke, but it fell flat. “You gotta admit that God was more of a disappointment than my dad though, right?”
“The fact that your father is slightly better than an absentee and destructive God isn’t an achievement, Dean.”
Link To Fic
Or
Click Below To Keep Reading
Character Key For Telepathic Conversations
'Italic Text' - Castiel
'Bold Text' - Dean
* * *
That morning, Dean woke up with a smile on his face.
They were happening quite often, he realized. At least, ever since Cas has taken up residence in his mind, that was. Part of him’s going to miss having Cas up in his head, helping him to turn his nightmares into significantly more pleasant dreams. He supposes that’ll all stop once they get Cas out of his head and back into his body.
Which they will.
Miracle groggily raised her head from the bed at the feeling of Dean shuffling about, yanking himself over to the edge of the bed and into his wheelchair. She huffed that long-suffering ‘how dare you awaken me’ dog sigh at him, but got to her feet with a bone-cracking stretch none the less, obediently following her owner out of the room.
Sam and Eileen were already up (as usual), huddled around the library’s table with a few sheets of paper haphazardly sprawled out between then; a stark contrast from the usual piles upon piles of books it had been the past few days. The two had their heads close together, whispering excitedly to one another as Sam over-enthusiastically gestured to one of the papers in front of him.
“Morning nerds,” Dean greeted them oh so kindly, balancing a scalding cup of coffee a little too close to the family jewels than he’s comfortable with as he pushed himself towards the two. “What’s got you two so jittery at this time of the day?”
Sam and Eileen straightened themselves up, turning their attention towards Dean. “First of all, it’s eleven in the morning. We’ve been up for five hours.” Sam shot back. “Second of all… what’s got you so smiley?”
“Huh?” Dean finds himself raising a hand to his face self-consciously, only to confirm that yep, he still had the smile planted on his face. “What? Something wrong with me being in a good mood?”
“With you? Yeah, since it usually means you’ve put Nair in my shampoo again or something.”
“Yeah, that was a good one…” Dean said wistfully, thinking back fondly to the memory of Sam throwing every bathroom product on hand at him upon seeing the state of his hair.
“Come on, Sam,” Eileen said playfully, wiggling her eyebrows at Dean whilst nudging at Sam’s elbow with her own. “Obviously, Dean had a… nice dream…”
Sam’s questioning frown quickly broke out into an amused grin, the two sporting similar expressions that they wielded against a quickly reddening Dean. “Ooohhhh… Was that it, Dean? Did you and Cas have a nice ‘talk’ about… y’know, recent events?”
“Shuddup,” Dean grumbled, shooting the two warning glares as he slammed his coffee cup atop the table.
‘You’re very adorable when you blush, Dean. I’ve always wanted to tell you that.’
‘You shut up too. You’re only going to make me blush more.’
‘All the more reason to keep complimenting you,’
“See, look!” Eileen exclaimed jovially to Sam, waving to Dean’s blank face. “He’s been awake, what, ten minutes? Can’t go more than ten minutes without Cas!”
“Actually, Cas was giving me tips on the way I can run over both your feet with my chair and make it seem like an accident.”
‘I did no such thing!’
“Damn Cas, and you want me to hide a bag of Miracle’s crap under their mattress? Now that’s just cruel.”
‘Don’t think I won’t take over your body to apologize, Dean. I’ll do it.’
“Yeah, sure Dean,” Sam’s voice dripped with sarcasm as he shot bitch face number twenty-eight at him. “I’m sure Cas was the one to come up with such childish ideas. I bet Cas has never played a practical joke in his life.”
Dean rolled his eyes at his brother’s condescending tone, picking up his cup of coffee to take a sip. ‘Sam’s getting a little too cocky for my tastes…’
‘I find myself in one of those rare occasions where I agree with you. Although, he is correct I’ve never played a practical joke before. That being said, I now have a good idea of who my first victim will be…’
Dean snorted into the cup of coffee he held to his lips, wincing at the hot splash of coffee to his face whilst simultaneously choking on his own laughter. ‘Only if you promise I can help you. And nothing life-threatening or harmful. Well, nothing too harmful, anyway.’
‘I’m not sure if this is typical of most human’s first dates, but I’m more than happy to agree.’
‘Since when do we do anything the ‘typical way’, Cas?’
‘Good point.’
Sam shook his head with the beginnings of a pleased smile, accepting the box of tissues Eileen had gotten up to get and sliding them over to Dean. “Not sure if I wanna know what you guys are talking about…”
“Glad to see you guys are talking,” Eileen noted as she dropped back down into her chair. “Last we heard you talking to Cas, you uh… you didn’t seem on good terms.”
“All jokes aside, you guys did talk, right?”
Dean quickly mopped up the spilled coffee with a handful of tissues, tossing them into the bin underneath the table with a soft sigh. “Yeah, we talked… Turns out Sergei wasn’t lying. Cas’s grace is running out on its own.”
Eileen and Sam’s face dropped at the news, practically deflating at the table. “So… what does this mean?” Sam asked.
“Mean’s we’re running out of time,” Dean answered somberly, leaning forward to rest against the top of the table, pulling his cup of coffee closer to him.
“How long until…?”
“Few weeks. Month – at most.”
“Shit…” Sam mumbled, running a hand through his hair, glancing down at the papers in front of him. “That’s… not great.”
“No. It sure as hell ain't.” Dean said, finger tapping anxiously at the side of his cup. “I’m fresh out of ideas, and Cas…”
“What? What about Cas?” Eileen questioned.
“Let’s just say Cas don’t have much hope,” Dean answered. “He… he thinks we’re wasting our time here; doesn’t think there’s any way of doing this.”
“Yeah? Well, tell Cas to stop talking like an idiot, because we’re not giving up on him.” Sam said strongly, twisting one of the papers on the desk around before sliding it across to Dean.
“What’s this?” Dean asked, straightening back up as he plucked up the paper from the table.
“An idea,” Sam replied. “I was just thinking… do you remember back after… after what happened to mom, with… with Jack?”
Dean paled at the reminder, glancing up at Sam over the top of the paper. He nods his head.
“We had asked Rowena if there was something she could do to bring her back, remember?”
“Course I remember,” Dean answered dryly, dropping his gaze back down to the paper full of complicated-looking Latin. “Didn’t work. What came back was just…”
The realization struck Dean just as he was about to say it. “A shell…” That was exactly what they were looking for. A shell. A vessel. “But wait, it-,”
“It couldn’t support any life,” Sam answered grimly. “But then… Rowena had been working on the spell behind the scenes. And she succeeded. What you’re holding is the spell I used to bring Eileen’s body back, then put her soul into her body.”
“But-,” Eileen butted out before Dean’s hopeful expression could grow any bigger. “That’s kind of the problem we have. We had my soul to bring me back, to recreate my body. Cas… doesn’t have that.”
“Right,” Sam said. “If we tried to use this spell with Cas’s grace… Cas’s grace isn’t connected to Jimmy’s body. There’s nothing for it to rebuild on.”
“Okay…” Dean muttered, feeling a little disheartened. “So… what then? We can’t use it?”
“Well, I was thinking,” Sam begun, a little more excited this time. “It almost seems like we need a mix of the two spells. Brings back a body that can sustain life, but not one that requires a soul to be built upon.”
“And… how do we do that?” Dean asked.
“I have no idea. But I think I know who can.” Sam said, already standing up from the table. “We need to talk to the person who made the spells. Think we’re gonna have to summon the new Queen of Hell.”
* * *
Something about summoning always made Dean feel uneasy. Call it past trauma from previous crossroad deals, call it dealing with demons full stop, call it whatever. It didn’t matter if they personally knew the demon in question (which was something he never thought he’d say in his life), there was still something so… wrong about it. Which is good, he supposes. Perhaps something built into the soul that’s repulsed by the twisted one it’s summoning; a glimpse of what will happen to itself if accepting the deal proposed.
Dean eyed Sam as he finished setting up the candles atop the sigils they had hastily drawn onto the library table, the uneasiness he had already been feeling only heightening when Sam picked up his demon blade, holding his hand over the bowl of summoning ingredients, once more ready to bleed for Dean.
“Are you sure this is even going to work?” Dean asked before Sam could make the cut. “This is supposed to summon the king of hell, isn’t it?”
“Doubt summoning spells care much about gender equality, Dean.” Eileen retorted.
Dean sighed, scratching at his furrowed brow. “You know what I mean… Maybe the spell was specifically for Crowley. What if Rowena has a different spell? And what’s to say she’ll even bother showing up anyway?”
“We’re about to find out,” Sam shrugged his shoulders. “If not… we can always take another trip down to Hell.”
“You say that like it’s normal…” Eileen added under her breath.
Sam slides the blade across his palm, barely wincing at the familiar sting it brings. Another scar to add, a long tally both brothers shared. The burn worsens as he squeezes his hand into a fist, forcing out a trickle of blood that darkens the dry herbs within the bowl.
Sam picks up a box of matchsticks next to the bowl, sliding one out of the pack and quickly striking it against the side. A flame bursts into life atop the match, all three pairs of eyes in the room fixated on the little golden flickering tip.
“Et ad congregandum... eos coram… me…” The Latin drops off Sam’s tongue like it was his first language. The match drops along with his last word, the dry ingredients within the bowl setting aflame at the slightest contact with the match, shooting out a tall flame that had Sam stepping back from the bowl at the wave of heat that came with it.
The bunker was unnaturally quiet. Not the creak of the old pipes, or the whirring of old equipment, or the buzzing of electricity running through an ancient wiring system. All three of them were holding their breaths, scanning meticulously around the room for a flash of auburn hair and an unnaturally bright dress that only Rowena could pull off.
“Did… did you do it wrong?” Dean asks, wheeling over to the table and peering inside the burnt contents of the bowl.
“I don’t think so,” Sam replied, not sounding too sure of himself. “I followed the instructions…”
Eileen grabbed Sam’s hand as he peered down at the book on the table, busying herself with cleaning the wound as the two looked over the instructions. “Maybe we didn’t use enough of something?” She offered off-handedly as she began winding a roll of gauze around Sam’s hand, keeping it tight enough to restrict the blood flow, taping it down to his hand and making sure it was secure.
“Maybe…” Dean says, rubbing a hand across his mouth as he thinks. “Or maybe she just didn’t want to show up-,”
“Or maybe I was pondering over what mess you’re bringing me into this time.”
All three wheeled around (quite literally, in Dean’s case) at the unforgettable Scottish accent, greeted by the sight of a – thankfully – smiling Rowena as she stretched out on one of the chairs, a tumbler of whisky already in hand.
You know what they say… Like mother, like son….
“Hello, boys,” She greeted them brightly, eyes sliding over to Eileen who was – understandably – looking rather unsure. “And girls! Who’s this one?”
“A friend,” Eileen answered warily. “And I hope I can say the same of you… considering it’s your spell that brought me back.”
“Oh,” Rowena said brightly, glancing up to Sam. “You found it then? The spell?”
“More like Chuck led me to it…” Sam’s mouth twisted into an uncomfortable grimace. “But… yes.”
“Well-,” Rowena clapped her hands, making them startle somewhat at the harsh sound. “I’m always one for a wee bit of gossip and catch up, but I’m guessing you didn’t invite me here for a chat?”
Rowena’s gaze had dropped down to Dean as she said that, a surprisingly sympathetic look crossing the witches – demons…? Witch-demons-queen of hell’s face. “Firstly, I suppose I should offer my thanks for saving the world again. At least, I assume you have, since we’re all still here.”
“That’s… mostly thanks to you,” Sam said with a genuine smile of appreciation.
“Flattery will get you nowhere, Samuel,” Rowena brushed him off. “And secondly… if you’re here to bargain with me for your legs Dean…”
“That’s not it,” Dean quickly corrected her. “It’s… it’s kind of complicated-,”
“Then I guess it’s something to do with the angel sitting pretty in your head?”
Dean’s mouth swung shut, taken aback by Rowena’s spot-on assessment of the situation.
“Oh yes – I can feel the disgustingly pure energy coming from you, Dean. I’d recognize grace anywhere… Question is: which one is it?”
Before Dean could ever answer, a look of dawning realization had passed over Rowena’s face. She peeled one of her manicured hands off her glass, pointing to all three of them as she counted. “One, two, three… We’re missing one, aren’t we?”
“Two,” Sam says. “We got Jack back, but uh… he’s kind of… God now? We haven’t seen him since we dealt with Chuck…”
Rowena stared blankly at Sam for a few moments. Her eyes flickered between the three of them, waiting for one to reveal the joke. At their serious faces, she raised her glass to her lips and drained the drink in one go, handling the fiery burn of the whisky like it was nothing. “Another God… this one a three-year-old child… what could go wrong?”
“World’s not ended yet,” Dean tried to stay optimistic.
“And what of Mr. Blue Eyes?” Rowena asked. “If I’m putting two and two together… he’s currently the one hitching a ride in your noggin?”
“For the time being. Which is kind of where we could use your help.”
Rowena sighs deeply, looking down drearily to the empty tumbler in her hands. “Come on then; tell me the story.”
“I… we lost Cas. He, uh… he kind of sacrificed himself.”
Rowena raised an eyebrow at him, her long red nails playing a plinking tune across the glass of her drink. “For what?”
Dean swallowed harshly. “For me.”
Rowena narrowed her eyes at him, glancing over to Sam and Eileen for a split second before her eyes settled back on Dean. She kept her focus there, leaning forward in her chair as she asked: “Did you fix it?”
“Huh?” Sam blurted out, unsure of the meaning of Rowena’s question. Because, after all, it wasn’t intended for him. Then again, even Dean seemed unsure of the meaning…
“Dean?” Rowena says his name in the scolding kind of tone you’d expect from a mother. “Did you fix it?”
“Oh…” Dean exclaims as the memory floods back; the two of them sat what felt like miles apart in Rowen’s throne room, unable to even look at one another as they received what – if Dean’s being honest with himself – was a much-needed counseling session from the Queen of Hell, of all people… “Yeah. Yeah, I’d say we fixed it.”
Rowena nodded appreciatively at that, seemingly satisfied with his answer. “Did you finally figure out what fifth base was with him…?”
“Alright, let’s not go there,” Dean grumbled, annoyed to find he was blushing again. “Point is, I should be dead twice by this point if it weren’t for Cas. And that’s only over the span of these past two months.”
“So other than God… what else was trying to kill you?”
“Death herself,” Dean answered. “Cas stepped in… Summoned the Empty on a deal he didn’t tell us about.”
‘I’m sensing you’re still angry about that.’
“I see… And so Castiel here was taken to the Empty?” Rowena asked.
“Yep.”
“…And the second time?”
“It was… there was a bunch of vamps and…” Dean tried to describe his death in a way that didn’t sound as lame as it did in his head. “I kind of got shoved into a nail…”
Dean knew that look on Rowena’s face. That was the look of someone trying really, really hard not to laugh. “I’m sorry?”
“It was this big friggen’ rusty rebar or something, okay!” Dean threw up his hands as he answered. “One of the vamps got the upper hand on me and shoved me onto the damn thing; pipe went straight through my back and pinned me there.”
“Wow… I suppose that explains the new wheels…”
“Rather have these than the death that was coming,” Dean says. “Cas saved me. Again. When I prayed to him, he… he heard me.”
“You woke him up?” Rowena asks, sounding truly amazed by this revelation. “From the Empty?”
“I did,” Dean answers, a hint of a proud smile on his face. “And Cas dragged himself out of that place to get to me.”
“You could ring a bell and that angel of yours will crawl out of any dark crevice to get to you, Dean Winchester. He’s stubbornly loyal, and a damn fool for it.”
“What can I say? He’s a Winchester; willing to defy death itself to save the ones he loves.”
“One…”
“What was that?”
“Hm? Oh, nothing, nothing…” Rowena said dismissively in much too of a high-pitched, cheery voice for Dean to think it’s ‘nothing’. “So, your angel pulls off the impossible once more by escaping the Empty to get to you… and, since he’s in your head, I’m assuming you agreed to possession?”
“Yeah, I did. Like I said, I was dying, and Cas… Cas didn’t have his vessel.”
“The Empty kind of… destroyed it…” Sam added awkwardly to a puzzled looking Rowena. “Cas thinks it’s because he didn’t die like most angels. The Empty literally swallowed him whole; pulled him into the Empty as part of itself.”
“And now Cas’s grace is burning out,” Eileen added on too, feeling a tad bit guilty by how overwhelmed Rowena was looking at the influx of information. “It has been for a while, actually…”
“And that’s why we need your help,” Dean took over. “We can’t just throw Cas into a new body; he’s not strong enough to survive the transfer, and… he kind of has a connection to the old one. Can’t keep him with me either, coz once his grace runs out… well, it’s bad news all round.”
“I’m still not entirely sure what it is you’re asking of me…” Rowena sounded moments away from asking them where their nearest liquor cabinet was.
“We want to know if there’s a way to rebuild Cas’s old body.” Dean wheels himself closer to Rowena, well aware of the pleading tone his voice has taken up. “We’re running out of time, Rowena. Time, and options.”
“We thought maybe something could be done with the resurrection spell,” Sam nervously added on, scrambling for the papers of the spell sat atop the table and waving them in the air. “We were looking over them earlier, and it just… it seems likes a starting point maybe?”
Sam hurried over to Rowena with papers in hand, handing them back over to the witch look a schoolboy apprehensively handing in his work. Rowena accepted the papers being shoved into her free hand, tearing her eyes away from Dean’s desperate face to Sam’s frantic movements.
“Sort of like a mix between the two, actually,” Sam added on hurriedly. “You know, what with the first one not being able to support life without a soul, and the second one needing a soul, so if we-,”
“Sam…” Rowena said his name softly, stopping him from rambling on more. Dean hated that tone. He hated the unusual level of kindness coming from Rowena. Because he knows that’s the kind of tone you use in the hopes of softening the blow of what you’re about to say next.
“You can’t do this, can you?” Rowena’s eyes flicker over to Dean at his crushed words. Considering Rowena had attempted to kill both him and Cas in the past, on top of becoming Queen of Hell… the shine of sympathy in her eyes was surprisingly genuine.
“No, I can’t.”
“But-,” Sam tried, but was promptly stopped by Rowena’s raised hand.
“Angels are different. With Eileen here… her spirit was attached to her physical form. You had something to work with there, you see? The resurrection spell, it’s… it’s more like turning the spirit into flesh. With Castiel…”
“We’ve only got his grace,” Dean says, sinking down into his chair as the realization they’ve met another dead end begins to sink in.
“Which isn’t connected to his vessel,” Rowena continues off Dean’s words. “If we tried messing around with his grace… who knows what could happen? It has nothing to rebuild upon. We could easily end up simply stripping Castiel of the remainder of his grace, and with how volatile an angel's grace can be… we may accidentally turn it into a weapon.”
Rowena stands from her chair, meekly offering the papers of the resurrection spell back to Sam. Sam looks to the papers, shoulders drooped and head hung low as he takes them back.
“I really am sorry, boys,” Rowena tells them, patting Sam’s arm as she glances down to Dean. “If I hear something different… if you find anything in the Book of the Damned, then… you know how to call me. But the truth of the matter is I simply don’t have much experience with angels. And even if I did… I don’t even know how that could help with this matter.”
Dean’s thankful smile comes out more strained than he intended, the effort of forcing his face into one dampened by his crushed spirit. “Well… thanks for showing up, anyway. At least now we know, y’know… you can’t help; so that’s crossed off the list…”
“When you said you didn’t have much time… how much did you-,”
“Not enough,” Dean says with a slight shake of his head.
Rowena dropped her hand down so her fingers were just lightly brushing against the top of Dean’s shoulder. The touch was oddly mother-like, and it had Dean scrunching his eyes shut as he tries to push down the despair that was threatening to rear its ugly head.
“I’m sorry,” Rowena says quietly, as if only to him. It seemed like the final nail in the coffin. Like.. this was it; Cas was right… They couldn’t bring his body back. His grace was going to burn out. He’ll have to force Cas out. He’ll have to say goodbye, again, but now it’s different – now he knows he loves him, now Cas know he loves him, and…
He can’t do this.
“Good luck, boys,” Rowena drawls out, the comforting touch on Dean’s shoulder slipping away. Her eyes drift over to meet Eileen’s, the smallest of a smile twitching at her lips. “And girls… I think you’re going to need it.”
And then, she was gone.
And the last of their hope seemed to go with her.
“That’s that, I guess,” Dean says, staring vacantly at the spot where Rowena was moments ago.
The pitter-patter of paws signals Miracle’s arrival, emerging from her hiding spot now the stranger had left. She makes a bee-line for Dean, slinking over to his wheelchair and resting her head in his lap. It’s able to pull the smallest of smiles from Dean, rubbing underneath her ears and brushing his hands through her thick fur. “Cas was right… you are able to sense a lot of stuff, huh?”
“Dean…” Sam steps away from Eileen’s side. “I’m sorry…”
Dean’s face twists into an amused frown, glancing up to his brother’s guilt-ridden face. “What’s there to be sorry for?”
“Getting your hopes up, I suppose. You… you seemed really invested in this idea too, you know? And I… I don’t know, I guess I’m just sorry it didn’t work out.”
“Yeah, well… couldn’t be that easy, could it? Would have been too good to be true…”
“There’s something I didn’t tell you.”
Dean freezes at Sam’s confession, getting an unhappy whine from Miracle that the scritches had stopped.
“Something I remembered, right before we summoned Rowena. Even if she could help with the spell… I don’t think it would have worked either way.”
“What are you talking about?” Eileen asks, tugging at Sam’s arm to get his attention. “The spell worked with me, didn’t it?”
“Yeah, but that’s… kind of the point,” Sam replied with somewhat of a wince. “Those witches? Back when I was working on the spell? That woman warned me, said that Billie would catch onto what we had done and close the loophole. And yeah, I know Billie’s dead now, but… the new Death - whoever they are - isn’t exactly going to let it slide, either. She made it sound like a one-time thing. And… we used it.”
“Hey, no, it’s a good thing you brought the idea up,” Dean insisted. “If it turned out it could have worked, and we didn’t even bother to try it because you didn’t want to bring it up? That would have been so much worse.”
“Yeah, I guess…” Sam mutters, throwing the papers down onto the table. He brushes his hand across his mouth, letting his eyes slide closed with a deep sigh. “There’s gotta be something else. Something hidden in all these files, otherwise I… I don’t know what to do…”
“We’ll find something,” Eileen said, sensing the need for some sense of optimism. Of hope. “We’ve got to look for an answer to find one, right?”
Dean smiled appreciatively up at Eileen. It didn’t feel real. He’s fairly certain Eileen knew it wasn’t real, either.
“Yeah…” He mumbles. He had never craved a drink more in his life. “Sure… let’s find a way…”
He wasn’t sure if Cas’s silence in his head was one of joint hopelessness; or if, perhaps, he didn’t truly believe there was no answer until he heard Dean himself begin to give up.
* * *
Castiel found himself stepping into Dean’s bar once more.
This time… there was something different about it. There was no soft music playing from the jukebox – which was switched off, it’s colorful flashing lights left blank and empty. The soft amber glow of the overhead lights were also switched off - bar from one - leaving the bar in a cold and unwelcoming atmosphere. Only one light was lit, aimed at a sullen-looking Dean Winchester sat upon a bar stool in the corner of the room. There was no beaming smile like there was last time, replaced with an empty expression as he leaned back against the corner wall with… a guitar?
In Dean’s hands was a beautiful spruce acoustic, his fingers expertly switching between the six strings. He plucked them quietly, invoking a gentle and solemn sounding sound from the wooden instrument atop his lap. Though, his gaze was not fixated on his fingers as they danced across the fretboard as was expected. His eyes were pointed down towards the laminated wooden panels of the floor, staring without seeing as he played a song that Castiel faintly recognized, though the name wasn’t coming to him.
“I didn’t know you could play?” Castiel finds it almost criminal to interrupt the beautiful melody Dean was creating.
“I don’t. Not really,” Dean replies, not even a hesitation in his playing. “At least, I haven’t actually played in a long time. Comes easy in my dreams, though.”
Castiel pulls out one of the stools from the bar, dropping it a few steps away from Dean. He takes a seat on the comfortable cushion, content to watch Dean as he plays. “When did you learn?”
“You, uh… you remember when I told you about Sonny’s? That time when Dad was out on a hunt, and I got caught stealing food?”
“You mean when your father abandoned you at a young age, leaving you to fend for both yourself and your brother to the point you were forced to steal to feed yourselves?”
Dean’s fingers did stumble this time, slamming his hands against the strings to mute the obnoxiously loud and screeching note. Usually, he would be up in arms at this point; would tell whoever that it was all his fault, he should have been better prepared for looking after Sammy, that he should have known what to do if Dad was out on a hunt longer than usual… but looking at Castiel’s furious face, knowing such anger wasn’t aimed at him, rather on his behalf… He decided he was tired of making excuses for John.
“Yeah… yeah, when that happened,” Dean gritted out, letting himself feel the anger he should have felt all those years ago. “Kept telling myself that it was only temporary, y’know? That dad would get back, get Sammy and come get me. But then… God, Cas – I was shit scared of what he’d do when he found out. If he knew that I had messed up, got myself caught and left Sammy all alone…”
“Your father shouldn’t have-,” Cas cut himself off with a frustrated grunt, a few octaves away from being a growl. “You were a child. The things he did to you… the responsibilities he forced you to bare… I’m sorry, Dean. I know you have a lot of respect for your father, but that is not a respect I can share.
“Guess we both got too much respect for our dads, huh?” Dean tried to joke, but it fell flat. “You gotta admit that God was more of a disappointment than my dad though, right?”
“The fact that your father is slightly better than an absentee and destructive God isn’t an achievement, Dean.”
Dean stared at Castiel for a few seconds before nodding. “Alright, you got me there.”
Dean resumed his playing, the gentle tune of the guitar helping to soothe the tension brought on by the mention of John. “There was this girl there… her name was Robin. She came round every now and then to give guitar lessons. I, uh… I was kind of infatuated with her…”
Castiel smiled fondly at that, cocking his head to the side as he waited for Dean to elaborate.
“Shut up…” Dean grumbled, hiding his own smile at the knowing one planted across Cas’s face. “Didn’t care for it much originally, coz it was just a way to hang out with her, you know? But after a while… I dunno, something just clicked. I started to enjoy it.”
“Why didn’t you keep playing?” Castiel asked.
Dean laughed humorlessly, resting his chin on the top of the guitar. “How would I, Cas? You think Dad would have splurged out on a guitar for me? Bring it with us everywhere we go? He’d probably have just scolded me for wasting my time on a ‘useless skill’ when I could be learning something important.”
Castiel had many more words on the subject of John Winchester and his treatment of his kids, but wisely kept them quiet for now. “What about once you settled down in the bunker? You could have then?”
“Eh, I guess so. We’ve always been busy with everything, so… Guess I never really bothered. Plus I’m pretty damn sure my dream guitar playing skills won’t translate well to real-life…”
“Might be a good hobby to pick back up,” Castiel tells him, reaching out to run a hand down the smooth wooden surface of the guitar with the backs of his fingers. “It would be nice to hear you play for me when…”
Dean’s eyes shoot up to Cas as his voice trailed off, the small content smile playing on his face slipping away. He didn’t need to finish the rest of the sentence. It was the issue they had been skirting around ever since they had stepped into his dream.
For when we get me back.
Dean sighed, lifting his head from the guitar and sliding it off his lap, leaning it carefully against the side of the bar next to him. Castiel’s eyes followed him as he stood from the barstool, brushing off non-existent dust from his jeans in what was more of a gesture of habit than anything. Dean’s arms found themselves tugging at Castiel’s arm to get him to stand, answering Castiel’s inquisitive frown with an easy smile.
Castiel followed Dean’s tugs, letting a smile creep onto his face as Dean’s hand slips down to his own, fingers intertwining with his in a perfect fit. “What are you-,” Is all Castiel could ask before Dean had grabbed hold of his other hand and placed it on his hip, separating their joined hands to place his on Castiel’s shoulders. Castiel followed suit, placing his free hand on top of Dean’s shoulder, his other firmly holding Dean’s waist. Dean took his hands off Cas briefly to snap his fingers, smile widening as an absolute classic (at least, in Dean’s opinion) drifted out from the speakers of the jukebox, the old machine blinking to life with Dean’s influence.
It was downright crazy to Dean how much had changed in such a short amount of time. Not too long ago, he was right here with Cas, doing this exact same thing. It was just as heart-skippingly nerve-wracking as it was the last time, but now… now they were a hair-width away from being chest to chest, swaying together on the spot to the calming music as opposed to the more spacious, somewhat awkward half-step dance as before.
And this time… Dean took in the loving smile that was being directed at him, and he could say that now. That look Castiel had reserved just for him was one of love, and the fact that it’s for him? It’s mindboggling, it’s more than he could ever deserve – and the best part? He can love him back. He can lean down, remove that few inches of space between them, and press his lips to Cas. He can do that now, and if that can’t get a smile out of him, then what will?
“Wherever you go…” Dean’s voice is raspy, and yet gentle as he sings to Castiel, sung in a hushed tone in the peaceful space between then. “Whatever you do. I will be right here waiting for you…”
Dean would be blind to say the soft smile on Cas’s face didn’t have a twinge of sadness to it at his words, his grip on Dean’s hip and shoulder tightening as he sang. He had been planning to be… well, to be Dean Winchester. The Dean Winchester that would be all jokey with Castiel in a moment like this, singing a mopey love song in a ‘stereotypical trashed forty-year-old guy at karaoke’ voice to try and get a laugh out of him. Now, as they held each other in the dim lights of the bar… that version of himself had been sedated.
“I really thought we’d found the answer,” Dean says, one of his hands slipping up Cas’s neck, his thumb gently brushing over his pulse point. “That Rowena would be able to do something. But now it all feels like… like it was the last chance… Now I’ve got no more ideas, and I don’t know what to do, Cas. I don’t know how to save you, I-,”
Dean closes his eyes at the burning he felt building, causing a tear to slip out from under his closed eyelid. He shakes his head at the choking sensation in his throat, pulling Cas forward by his neck until their foreheads met. There they both stood, eyes closed as they swayed to their own music, comforted by the warmth of each other held so close.
“I know…” Castiel’s words were meant to be one of assurance, but they were more like sympathy. Building upon the fact that he had long since accepted his fate. Which is perhaps why a few more tears escape Dean’s closed lids, trailing down his cheek, clung to his skin as a painful reminder of why they were there.
“I don’t want to lose you…” Dean’s whisper is broken and harsh, the voice of a man fighting hard to keep the tears out of his voice.
The sound is enough for the dam in Castiel to break, the last of the angel's defenses crumbling down at the raw pain he could hear from the one he loves. “And I don’t want to leave you,” Castiel whispers against his lips, tasting the salt of Dean’s tears as he places a delicate kiss there. “But there’s not much else we can do now than what we’re already doing, and… to hope.”
And so, in the silence of Dean’s bar, Dean holds Castiel tight. He lets his angel hold him just as close, sharing their mutual grief over what could have been, of the time they could have spent together.
They dance.
And they hope. They hope that this dance won't be their last.
Next Chapter - - ->
#destiel fanfiction#destiel#destiel fanfic#destiel fix it#fix it#fix it fic#castiel/dean winchester#Dean Winchester/Castiel#casdean#cas/dean#dean/cas#supernatural spoilers#season 15 spoilers#fluff#angst
10 notes
·
View notes
Text
I Can't Stop Me
A/N: I know no one else really cares about these but I like them.
Pairing: JT Yorke x Reader
Prompt: Reader is fed up with being just JT's friend
Toby, JT, and I were turning the corner while JT rambeled on about his feelings forming for Manny. As much as it pained me, I tried my best to look excited about the topic. Toby actually was paying attention, every few seconds giving me a pitying glance.
He's the only person I could possibly tell about this. Well, I told him two years ago but I generally come to him when I want to complain and he comes to me with girl troubles.
We turn the corner and my eyes catch Manny's scant blue ensemble.
"Woah" I hear JT mumble and it takes all of my power not to let out a sad sigh.
She walks past us with a wave and turns the corner.
"Can you believe how hot she looks?" He says, exasperated, stopping at his locker "I mean, yesterday was one thing and now this? I really want to shoot my shot with her!"
He focuses on grabbing his books while Toby no doubt gives him some middleground advice to spare me his encouragement on the suject.
His locker was right next to his class which we didn't share so he sends us a quick "Bye guys!" And rushes through the door.
Not even caring about teachers scolding me, I slide down and bang my head on the locker. Toby slides down next to me.
"You okay?" He asks warily.
I lean my head on his shoulder "I just wish for once he could look at me the way he looks at Paige or Manny. Maybe not Ms. Hot Sauce"
I let myself chuckle and Toby does as well.
"You know your problems would be solved if you just told him" he said softly, expecting a harsh reaction.
"I can't!" I groan, banging my head back into the wall. "One, if he was interested in me, he wouldn't ask out every other girl in school. Two, if things go south then JT will be weird around me and we will avoid eachother and then you have to go back and forth all the time and-"
I take a breath
"I'm sorry Tobe, I'm always complaining" I sigh leaning my head in my hands.
He pats my head "Its what I'm here for, its not like I got anything interesting going on"
"What can I do? At this point I just want him to feel how frustrated I am!" I groan.
And suddenly its like a lightbulb goes off in Tobys head.
"I got it!" He says "Hear me out, you get all dressed up in something more like what Manny's wearing and less sweats and long sleeves, then you score a date in front of JT"
"Who shall I 'score' a date with Isaacs?" I ask, chuckling.
"Well... Jimmy is single and when he was still talking to me, he said you were cute..." I give an evil smirk.
I squeal "Thank you Tobes! This is going to be awesome, but lets gets to class before a teacher actually notices"
~
I woke up extra early that morning to grab a dress from my sisters closet (Imagine it fits your body type), it works out since she's in college.
I smooth it down, finish my makeup and jump in my moms car.
"Woah sweets!" My mom says, gesturing to me.
I start to sweat "I'm sorry, is it too much? Ill change if I have to"
She shook her head "No you look great, I just wasn't expecting this from you"
I laugh as we reach the steps of Degrassi.
I step out of car and wave bye to my mom. I pop a piece of gum in my mouth and I'm surprised when Craig Manning opens the door for me.
I strut down the hallway, mainly trying to focus on not tripping in my heels. When I finally get the hang of it I blow out a bubble and pop it in my mouth.
When I pass JT's locker I hear him whisper to Toby "What is up with girls this week?"
He was surprised I didn't stop by his locker so he raced down the hallway I was on.
I spotted Jimmy at his locker and leaned on the wall beside it. When he closed I grinned from slightly scaring him and he smiles too, leaning his forearm on the locker.
"Sorry, didn't mean to scare you pretty boy" I say in my most sultry tone.
He matches the glint in my eyes as I keep chewing my gum.
"No worries cutie, what can I do for you?" He ask and I blush at a boy talking to me like this.
I look at my shoes "Well I think you're pretty cute and I heard you may have felt the same towards me from a certain someone?,
He looks around bashfully "Yeah I do"
I grin "Good" I pull a tiny not card out with my number on it, not breaking eye contact I press a kiss to it, my strawberry lip gloss being left behind. "This is my number, don't be shy to use it"
He nods.
The first bell rings and he says "Well, I have to get to class but ill definitely be seeing you around sweetheart"
He walks off and when he's out of sight I sqeaul to myself, that felt so awesome. I look up to see JT and Toby still peeking around the corner.
I walk up to them and while Toby looks smug, JT looks bewildered.
"Why are you giving Jimmy your number?" He asks accusingly as he picks up the pace to follow me.
I laugh "Is there a reason I shouldn't?"
He huffs "Because-" then cuts himself off.
"Because what?" I say with an affirmative yet curious tone.
JT sighs "Because you don't need to be hanging around guys like that"
I huff now, planting my heel I front of him "Jimmy is sweet, Jimmy actually recognises my existence. I'm not your lapdog JT, I have a life outisde of you. A guy said he liked me so I went for it. End. Of. Story."
I start to walk off.
"You're not one of those girls Y/N/N" He says "Never have been, never will be"
I felt tears prick my eyes.
I turn around, but keeping walking backwards to maintain distance.
"Well maybe I am now. I'm done waiting around for guys who don't care about me so go have fun with Barbie and leave me alone!" I yell, a tear finally streaming down. I rush off.
When I know they can't see me I run to the nearest girls bathroom and hide in a stall. I try to quiet my tears when I tear someone come in but a sniffle escapes me.
I assume the person recognizes me from my bag when I hear a "Y/N?"
I freeze when I hear it's Manny, literally one of the last people I wanna see right now.
I let out a shaky "Yeah" and unlock the door, walking out to lean on the sink.
She smiles "What's a girl as pretty as you doing crying in the bathroom"
I chuckle "Just... I wish boys weren't so stupid"
She looks at me in the mirror
"This wouldn't have anything to do with JT, would it?" She asks
I give a sad smile "I just thought... maybe I could get him to notice me the way he's been noticing... you"
She pats my shoulder "Y/N, as your best friend I swear I will never like JT like that. You have liked him for as long as I can remember. I'm sorry my new look caught his attention but you should see the way he looks at you."
I sigh "But he looks at you like you're hot and he looks at me like I'm..."
"Beautiful?" She interrupts
I laugh "As if"
She grabs me by the shoulders and lightly jostled me and says "But he does! That boy doesn't realize it but he is in love with you!"
~meanwhile with JT and Toby~
"You are a complete idiot!" Toby exclaims, smacking JT up the head.
JT gasps "Um, ow! Why am I being hit?"
Toby yells "That girl has been in love with you since the fifth grade and you are being a complete asshole to her!"
Toby shrinks into himself when he realizes what he said and sees the look on JT's face.
JT gawks "Love...Me?"
Toby shrugs "Yeah I wasn't really supposed to tell you that... But its true. And deep down I think you feel the same, your skull is just to thick to realize it"
"What- what do I do?" JT says, pacing.
"We gotta find her" Toby says pushing JT along.
~
"What should I do?" I ask.
Manny starts pushing me out of the bathroom "We gotta go find him and tell him how you feel!"
She pushes me until are right outside the gym and I see Toby pushing JT as well. When they spot us, JT slaps Toby off of him.
"Toby" Manny says walking up to him and grabbing his wrist "I need your help with... Something!"
They run off and leave me staring at JT's sneakers and him looking right at me.
"I-" he starts but then heard a teacher coming so we run around the corner hoping not to get caught.
Unconsciously, JT pulls me into him and we both stop breathing. I turn around and finally look him in the eyes. When I see how intensely he's staring at me, I look down again and tuck my hair behind my ears.
He pulls my chin up and forces me to looks at him and in a blink of an eye he's kissing me. JT Yorke. Kissing. Me. It takes all of my power to focus and kiss him back.
Just when we pulled away and were about to say something. Raditch comes up and starts yelling at us.
"Saturday detention for both of you!" He yells and sends us off to our next class.
When he finally walks away I start laugh and JT does to.
"If I was ever gonna get detention, I wouldn't think it would be for making out in a hallway!" I laugh "My mom is gonna kill me"
JT stops laughing and grabs my hand
"I'm truly sorry for what I said. Now that I think about it I think I was just-" he apologizes
"Jealous?" I smirk
He nods "Yeah"
I kiss him on the cheek "Good that was the point. Now as much as I would like to talk more if I get to detentions my mom will skin me alive"
We walk to science hand in hand.
#degrassi#degrassi x reader#degrassinextgeneration#jt yorke x reader#jt yorke#degrassi the next generation
138 notes
·
View notes
Text
Dear Fandom5k Author
My AO3 account (sidewinder)
Hello and thank you for writing for me! I’m excited to give this exchange a try for the first time and cannot wait to read what you can come up with for one of my requests. Please note I’d love any of them equally, no matter if I have more prompt ideas for one or the other. Some I seriously would love just about anything about since they are so rare, others I have more specific requests to scratch itches I haven’t seen written before (or that much.)
General Likes:
Soumates with a twist. I love soulmate/soulbond AUs, as long as it’s just not a shortcut to happily-ever, no-conflict fluff. I want there to be some difficulties or angst involved. For instance, I’d love seeing any fusion/inspired-by fics based off the concept of the AMC Soumates series - where there’s a newly-developed scientific test a person can choose to take to find their soulmate (if the other person out there has also taken the test). That way it’s a choice to find out or not. Would an already established couple want to take the test to find out if they’re really “meant” to be together or not? What if they find out other people are their “soulmates”? What about the possibility of platonic soulmates vs romantic? Discussions for the future if/when one partner dies before the other? I’d love to see these questions played out with one of my fave ships in either a happy or somewhat angsty/dark way.
Vacation/travel stories. Being unable to travel this past year+ thanks to covid-19 has me desperate to explore and live vicariously through my favorite characters! So I’d love a story involving travel to somewhere new (to them). It could be a romantic getaway/honeymoon trip to somewhere special - and I love it when an author “takes me” to a favorite city/place of their own. Or two friends just going on an escapade together, maybe one sensing the other needs some time away from a stressful situation or workplace.
Smutty likes: I love extended kissing scenes, frottage, light restraint play, sharing-one-bed-for-~reasons~-ooops-how-did-we-wake-up-cuddling, bathing/caretaking an injured partner-turns-erotic, desperate/reunion sex.
Canon-divergent AUs - I’m always good with fix-its, shifts in canon that only change one thing and see what happens next or instead.
Do Not Wants:
A/B/O dynamics, mating heats. (I do like Supernatural fics that explore Castiel and the angels having bird-like behaviors and instincts, however.)
animal abuse/death
anything related to pregnancy/childbirth/kidfic (except for Jack in SPN)
formalized BDSM relationships
scat/watersports
unrequested alternative-universe scenarios such as high school/mundane/genderswap/coffee shop/fantasy/etc. There are a few ships/groups where I would enjoy specific AUs, and those are outlined below.
Completely sad endings/permanent character death or injury that isn’t part of canon
Rape/non-con between requested characters. Dubious consent is fine in situations like magic spells/possession/fuck-or-die, however.
Supernatural
AU - Canon Divergence, Character Development, Established Relationship, Getting Together, Fix-it fic, Interpersonal Drama, Smut, Angst, Canon-Style Plot - Freeform, Hurt/Comfort, Mystery/Procedural, Slice of Life, Worldbuilding, Horror
In general for SPN, I love canon-divergence AUs at pretty much any point in time (especially as they kept having so many dumb reasons in canon to keep Dean & Cas apart just when one or the other seriously needed support or TLC!) I’m okay with post-series Heaven fics as well as canon fix-its/completely ignoring the finale, and I like exploring both human!Cas as endgame or Cas keeping/getting his full angelic grace back (which is a slight preference to me, as he repeatedly seemed to genuinely value/want to be an angel? But exploring all possibilities in fic is cool for me.)
I’m a sucker for Castiel Whump/hurt!Cas in general, so long as the author remembers Cas is a bad ass and not just a baby in a trenchcoat. If he’s going to suffer, I want him to suffer stoically until he just cannot keep up the facade any longer.
SPN-specific DNWs: mentions/implications of Wincest, past or present; extreme bashing/characterization of John and Mary Winchester, or Jimmy Nowak, as homophobic.
Group: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Group: Castiel/Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester
Give me all the finale fix-it fics - no I’m still not over it, I’m still happy to read any new twist on how Cas got out of the Empty and got back together with Dean (and Sam). If Dean still dies early/ends up in Heaven, I’d like a story that explores what happens when one gets bored of peace-and-happiness-ever-after. (Yes, I’m a big fan of The Good Place and as such it makes me wonder if eternity with no conflict and everything you could ever want would just melt your brain and identity after a few millennia.) So what then?
I’m also stealing a Tumblr rant as a prompt I’d love to read, if you want to get into some good dirty smut:
ive had it up to here with fictional gays being like “i love you and if all i can ever have is that knowledge it’s enough for me” we need more “i have been struck down by horny insanity and i beg you to fuck me once. i’ve had three smirnoff ices and i’m gonna be crazy now. we can pretend it didn’t happen i don’t give a shit just gimme daddy’s blunt instrument” it’s more realistic [x]
Um so yeah. I’d love an au where, anywhere along the line when it’s been their/someone’s/the universe’s life on the life, Cas takes the initiative decides they’re gonna have crazy sex even if it’s just once before the end of the world/we die. But then, oops, we’ve survived, now we have to deal with it. ...Please?
For something different, maybe more romantic/fluffy, I’d really love a vacation/getaway story here, since they never really got anything like that of substance on the show. I want to see Cas take Dean somewhere beautiful and amazing in the world he’s never gotten to see before. Show him there’s more than just greasy diners and the landscape of America to enjoy and experience. If you want, they could stumble on a case/haunting/monster from another part of the world while they’re at it...but I just really want to see Dean having some mind-opening and expanding experiences beyond what’s he’s known and seen so far in life.
In specific with Cas/Dean + Sam, I love another tumblr idea I saw recently where Sam totally keeps bringing up the idea of “Sastiel” as a fun joke between him and Cas, and Cas plays along, and it drives Dean up the wall. Cas has to just keep re-assuring Dean that no, he doesn’t see Sam that way...but why does it bother Dean so much? A.k.a. Dean has to finally own up to the fact that it bothers him because he wants Cas to feel that way about him.
Castiel (Supernatural)
I just love Cas, period, end of story, he’s my One True Character of SPN. I love any stories that try to explore him more fully—be it his relationships in the past with other angels and being a BAMF commander/warrior of Heaven, or what specifically it is that keeps him so tied to the Winchesters. I love stories that feature his true-form in some fashion or try to dig into the alien/different nature of angels vs. humans.
Also, another Tumblr-musing-turned-prompt (I lost who posted it, sorry!) I'd love to see explored in a canon divergence fic focused on Cas. Specifically:
"I would have loved an arc for Cas (after he got his grace back) where he wanted to help people, like he was helped. Spending time in soup kitchens or healing people, and through that developing a sense of self purpose, leading to his grace replenishing unexpectedly. Sort of fulfilling the traditional angel role (as we know it nowadays) by replacing his faith in heaven/dean with faith in himself, to redefine himself as a protector of humanity instead of heaven's soldier."
Group: Castiel/Dean Winchester & Jimmy Novak
Group: Castiel & Jimmy Novak
We know Cas carried a lot of guilt for what happened to Jimmy and his whole family. So I'm interested in a post-finale, canon-compliant (I guess?) fic where Cas tries to reconcile things with Jimmy in Heaven. Maybe Jimmy & Amelia were one of his first "projects" or test cases in trying to build a new and better Heaven with Jack? (And it's what he was so busy with while Dean was still alive.) Or, is it weird in Heaven with Cas and Jimmy looking so similar? Does Cas still fight doubts as to whether Dean really loves him, or just desires this body/form that isn’t his own?
Otherwise, I've been thinking about Endverse!Cas, who had lost his grace/powers as the angels have all left and abandoned humankind. What happened to/where is Jimmy in all of that? (If we go by the canon that Jimmy was not killed, nor went to Heaven, until the end of Season 5, when Lucifer blew up that vessel and Cas was resurrected by Chuck.) Are they now two "mortal men"/souls trapped sharing one body? Is that why Cas is so messed up/always seeking an escape through drugs and sex? (Besides of course Dean having changed so much.) This is one prompt where I don’t mind a very dark/not-so-happily-ever-after ending.
The Police
Angst, Character Development, Established Relationship, Getting Together, Humor, Interpersonal Drama, Smut
Group: Sting/Stewart Copeland
Yeah I’ll always request these two together even though I know it’s a long shot to find anyone else as obsessed about them as I am. Really anything at all whatsoever would make me happy for this ship: Reunion Tour-era fic, early punk days before they grew successful, soulmate AUs...
I’d also love a spooky story where they’re on tour/on the road somewhere and end up in a haunted hotel. Or their tour bus/van breaks down in the middle of nowhere and they have to seek shelter in an abandoned house or farm or something...and supernatural weirdness ends up affecting them or bringing them together.
If you want to go the crack route: it wasn’t enough for Miles to take them all around the world to tour in “exotic” locations back in the day. He’s arranged for them now to go on the ultimate tour...of outer space and alien worlds.
Crossover Fandom
Action/Adventure, Character Development, Interpersonal Drama, Angst, Canon-Style Plot - Freeform, Hurt/Comfort, Mystery/Procedural
Group: Abe Morgan (Forever TV) & John Munch (L&O: SVU)
I’ve had a long running headcanon that these two could have been friends back in their respective 60s/early 70s hippie days. I’d love either a story set back then, “pre-canon”, or them running into each other in NYC later in life. Munch ending up in Abe’s antique shop, for instance, while on an investigation?
Group: Dean Winchester (Supernatural) & Ezekiel Stone (Brimstone)
Group: Castiel (Supernatural) & Ezekiel Stone (Brimstone)
I’m fascinated by the idea of crossing over these two canons. Even if there’s some conflict in their approach to Hell/Lucifer/demons, there’s still a lot in common. Dean & Ezekiel having both put in their time in Hell and being demon hunters, for instance, and their complicated relationships with (fallen) angels. I’d love to see them bonding over their experiences (Maybe they even meet in Hell? Time DOES work differently there…) Maybe somehow after Ezekiel completed his mission for the Devil, he did get his second chance at “life on Earth”…but the devil’s trick is that it’s not HIS Earth, it’s in a different dimension (Supernatural’s). I’m also curious how Ezekiel might respond to Castiel as an angel–perhaps he mistakes Cas for a demon at first, with his powers, but then they realize they are in fact hunting the same demon? Cas is stuck in an alternative dimension and recognizes Ezekiel as a similar soul to Dean’s, and seeks out his help?
Basically I’d love some kind of casefic/demon hunt here, with the characters bonding over their shared/similar past traumas, taking care of each other when/if injured on a hunt, and/or perhaps helping them sort out their complicated feelings for another (ie, background Cas/Dean and/or Zeke/the Devil are TOTALLY welcome here, as I ship both of those ships.)
Law & Order: SVU
Group: John Munch/Odafin "Fin" Tutuola
Character Development, Established Relationship, Humor, Getting Together, Interpersonal Drama, Canon-Style Plot - Freeform, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Mystery/Procedural, Slice of Life, AU-Genre shift
Munch/Fin is one of my eternal OTPs so I’m always happy to see something new featuring them! I’m always good for procedural/case-fics. And this is one request where I’d love to read some AU-Genre or setting shift, reimagining the two in some other situations besides police work. I’ve always loved the idea of John hosting a conspiracy/weird news radio show or podcast, and Fin as someone completely skeptical but who gets wrapped up in one of John’s mysteries. Or John as the owner of a bar somewhere that Fin is one of his regulars, and over time their friendship develops/deepens into something more.
Supernatural RPF
Misha Collins/Jensen Ackles
Established Relationship, Getting Together, Smut, Fluff, Slice of Life, Humor
It’s odd for me to be into an actor RPF fandom (I usually only fall for music/band-related ones), but what can I say...these two just make it almost impossible not to see the possibilities!
I was thinking I’d love something set post-Supernatural...their first time seeing each other again after a long time apart? (What with the show ending, covid, Misha’s surgery, etc etc.) Could be at a convention or maybe they get to go off on a getaway together somewhere private/romantic and it’s...kind of tense and maybe nervous/angsty at first? Like with doubts about whether they can/should go back to the way things were before.
Or: putting tin-hatty speculation about the “secret/real identity” of Alma Perpetua aside, I love their poetry and I’d love any “Cockles” fic using one of their poems as inspiration.
2 notes
·
View notes
Last Seen Blogs
mf4inclusion
Mission Friends 4 Inclusion
haniel
Haniel
wujie888
无界丶之魂
sanctuaryinfear
Sanctuary In Fear
kitsure
K I T S U R E