The morning after
The first thing Stiles' noticed when he came to was the sound of sea gulls and low hum of waves crushing ashore.
The sun was warm on his skin and he relished in the feeling for a few moments before he slowly blinked his eyes open.
When his eyes found Derek's peacefully sleeping face right in front of him, Stiles couldn't help the happy smile that formed on his lips.
Stiles had finished his Bachelors last week and Derek had surprised him with a short-trip to Hawaii to celebrate.
When they had arrived at their hotel, Stiles had basically jumped Derek the moment the door closed behind them and after a very enthusiastic round of mind-blowing sex and a quick shower, they had spent the afternoon walking up and down the shore, their fingers intertwined whenever they were not trying to push each other into the cool water.
At dinner Derek had smiled at Stiles over their candle-lit table and Stiles hadn't been able to resist pulling Derek's hand close to him, nuzzling his face and neck against Derek's warm fingers.
Stiles had watched as Derek's eyes turn dark at Stiles' blatantly marking himself as Derek's, and he huffed out a laugh when Derek basically devoured his dessert in less than a minute before pulling Stiles off his chair and dragging him up to their room.
It had taken all the restraint Stiles had to not just climb Derek like a tree right there in the elevator, so as soon as Derek had fumbled the door open, Stiles had been already latching onto his neck, hungrily sucking on the skin there.
Derek had let out a guttural moan, gripping Stiles' hips, pulling him flush against him as he kicked the door shut.
When they both had caught their breath again, Derek had rolled off Stiles and onto the soft linen of their bed.
"You completely ruined my plan," he had huffed, a small exasperated smile on his lips as his eyes found Stiles. The comment had made Stiles perk up. "Oooh, how intriguing! You had something planned for tonight?"
Stiles had wiggled his eyebrows suggestively as a big grin had spread on his face. "Are we talking sexy plans? Did you want to blow me under the dining table? Or no, you wanted to 'take a night-stroll on the beach' only to ravish me under the moonlight, didn't you?"
Derek just rolled his eyes, but he had snorted a laugh as he shook his head.
Stiles had grimaced in staged shock as he rolled over until he half covered Derek with his own body. "Don't tell me this whole trip was an attempt to secretly get rid of me?" This had Derek snort out a laugh.
"Did you plan to poison me with dessert tonight and throw me into the sea just to make it look like I had an accident while skinny-dipping?"
Stiles' had grinned as he circled Derek's right nipple with his index finger. "Did my knowledge of how to sex-up a werewolf just save my life?"
Derek had playfully snapped his teeth at Stiles who had let out a happy squeal before leaning down to press a kiss at Derek's lips.
"So?" he had asked. "What was your big plan, oh alpha-of-mine?"
Derek had looked at him for a moment, eyes warm and full of fondness, before he had leaned up to kiss Stiles once more. He had then leaned over the side of the bed and reached for his pants, fumbling something out of its pocket.
Stiles had been too distracted by Derek's naked ass on display to really pay attention to the object Derek had procured, that was until it had been carefully placed in front of him.
It had been a small box, covered in dark red velvet and Stiles almost had forgotten how to breath for a second.
"This..." he had whispered. "Is this...?"
As if he hadn't trusted his voice to actually give a spoken answer, Derek had simply opened the box with slightly trembling fingers, revealing a simple ring made from silver.
Derek had watched Stiles carefully as the younger one had reached out a hesitating hand and let his fingers run over the smooth surface of the ring.
"I know I'm not the best person and I have a lot of shit to work through still," Derek had started. "But... We've been dating for 3 years by now and been through more than most people can imagine, so..."
Stiles had bitten his lips to keep himself from getting too emotional, but when Derek continued he couldn't hold back the wetness in his eyes.
"...So I was hoping that... that you'd... Do you want to marry me?"
Stiles had let out a sob, grabbing Derek's face to place a messy, uncoordinated kisses on his lips.
"Oh my god, yes!" he had cried in between kisses. "Absolutely yes!"
Stiles looked at the golden band around his ring finger, the way it twinkled in the soft morning sun and his heart clenched, his chest too full of happiness.
To think that Derek fricking Hale had actually proposed to him!
He wished he could travel back in time and tell his 16-year-old self about this. His face would be priceless for sure!
To think about all the shit they had been through together, all the pain, the fear and the losses; about their slow journey from strangers to enemies to acquaintances to friends; about all the frustration when Stiles' had finally admitted that his relationship with Lydia was not what he actually wanted anymore, that he wanted something more rough, moody and broken.
Stiles remembered the heartache he had felt whenever he had been on a mission with Derek, convinced that there was no chance this broody alpha would ever look at him in that way; the surprise when after almost loosing his life Derek had kissed him so full of desperation and relief.
They had fumbled their way through the beginnings of their relationship, often more at each others' throats than anything else, but growing closer and closer with every survived battle against the supernatural, every petty little argument, every round of passionate make-up sex.
Even when Stiles had left for his studies and Derek had been anxious about what new connections Stiles might make, their bond just kept growing stronger.
Stiles pushed himself up on his pillow, watching his ring twinkle in the sun as he ran a finger softly across Derek's thick eyebrows.
Derek crinkled his nose and Stiles watched as his fiance drifted out off his sleep and slowly blinked his eyes open.
"Hey there," Stiles whispered happily.
"Hey there," Derek replied softly as his eyes traveled from Stiles' eyes, to his smile until they settled on the golden band around Stiles' finger.
Derek reached for Stiles' hand and watched Stiles as he placed a small kiss on top of the ring. Then, his thumb running small circles over Stiles' skin, he asked: "No regrets for accepting this yet?"
Stiles knew that despite the playful tone, the question was earnest and Derek would release him of any promises he might have given if Stiles really had reconsidered. And that knowledge made his heart swell with even more adoration for this man in front of him.
"Never," he answered and leaned forward to kiss Derek softly.
"Actually," he admitted sheepishly. "I've bought a ring, too. Like... had Scott help me pick out a design that would go with your bad-boy-look and all.
"I wanted to propose to you once I was back in Beacon Hills. We had this whole thing planned with, like, a picnic in the woods, puppies, a fake hunter attack and doves and glitter and all..."
Derek just stared at him. "...We?"
"Yeah..." Stiles bit his lip and shrugged. "The whole pack was kind of in on it."
He watched Derek's eyes wander to his chest, clearly checking if Stiles was just making this up, and when Derek reached out to pull Stiles in for a kiss, Stiles just laughed happily.
"You totally ruined my plan, you know."
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I don’t do flayed!Steve because my heart can’t take it but now I’m thinking about Robin’s You Rule / You Suck board. The You Suck half is full of hash marks until one day...a line joins the You Rule side.
And lines keep hashing through You Rule. 5. Then 10. Steve’s going home with these girls - and then they’re not just girls. Robin’s not out, and she’s not stupid. She doesn’t tally the boys Steve flirts with and convinces to stay until his shift ends, because Steve may be risking his neck, but Robin will vouch for him even if the stupid board is all they have in a homophobic town.
But Steve’s not even subtle. The guy went from striking out with every other customer, to home runs every time.
Robin had hoped that the goofy Steve was the real deal, but King Steve was back in full force. He was an asshole. Sure, it’s Hawkins, but damn everyone is so desperate to get laid, they’d let Steve Harrington -
Then he slips up. Because Steve was always nice to the kids. Gave out free scoops left and right. Hated the abysmal uniform hat, but wore his emotions like the little ice cream cone patch on his uniform.
Steve always threw back as much sass as Robin gave him.
Steve wears the hat. He throws a toddler out of the store. Then slaps on a winning smile for the next screw-able candidate who walks in. He ignores Robin completely, like she’s not even there.
It’s downright rude, which is oddly something Steve never was. A royal douchebag, sure, but he never literally ghosted anyone.
And as someone who sat next to Steve for more classes than she liked to admit, because teachers always hope proximity to a brainiac will help the C students improve their grades -
Robin knows this isn’t Steve.
And that board of hashed out little sentinels just grows, and watches.
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So I saw this post about the apartment door being jammed and the drunk neighbor encouraging the person to kick it, then the fact @strangehighs tagged it “it’s BoN” and felt inspired.
Today was the longest day of Nile’s week, with three classes and a five-hour work shift. Her back was aching almost as much as her feet, but her head was the worst pain. A headache had started about three hours into her shift and she was ready to pass out in her bed.
Or her couch. At this point, she wasn’t feeling very picky.
She approached her apartment building and saw a large figure sitting on the stoop. She squinted, wondering if she should be worried, then recognized one of her neighbors. She didn’t know much about him other than he was a bit older than her, was called “Booker” though that wasn’t his original name, and he had recently gotten divorced and wasn’t handling it well.
“Hey, Book,” she said as she got closer so she wouldn’t startle him.
He raised his head and looked at her. His eyes were bloodshot and she couldn’t tell if it was from drinking or crying. The skin around his eyes was puffy.
“Niiiiiile,” he said, his voice slurring slightly.
Maybe it was both.
“That’s me,” she said, stepping onto the stoop and reaching for the door.
“It’s jammed,” he said, and though he was clearly still intoxicated, it came out clearly.
She tried it anyway, just to be sure. The doorknob turned but when she tried to push it open, it didn’t move.
Nile thunked her head onto the door, then groaned at the pain that shot through her skull.
“You alright?” Booker asked.
“No,” she said shortly. “I just wanna go to bed.”
“Mmmmm. Long day?”
She didn’t wanna talk about it but his tone wasn’t mocking, just understanding and maybe even curious.
“Yeah. Longest of the week. And I’ve got this damn headache and I’m tired and-” she cut herself off, taking a deep breath to settle herself.
“Stress headache or something else?” he asked.
Nile rolled her neck. “I work at the museum at the visitor’s desk, but it wasn’t super busy today so I was doing computer work. The way the desk is set up, it’s a lot of looking down.”
“My wife-” He broke off and winced, but continued. “My ex-wife had a similar problem. She found that a heating pad around her neck and a massage worked wonders. Do you have someone who could give you a massage?”
“No, I’m between someones at the moment,” Nile said. “But that’s a good idea about the heating pad, thanks for that.”
Booker waved a hand nonchalantly.
“Alright,” Nile said, taking in the door. “Looks like it expanded in the frame. So we just need to push harder than the friction holding it in place and we should be able to get inside, right?”
Booker shrugged. “I’ve had too much to be able to think scientifically, but sounds right.”
Nile squared up to the door and rammed her shoulder against it.
It didn’t budge and she rubbed her now aching shoulder, glaring at it.
“This is fun,” Booker said suddenly and Nile looked down at him curiously. He was leaned against the railing, looking at her with a dopey smile on his face. “Being locked out together. We should hang out more.”
Nile laughed a little hysterically. “Okay, Book. As long as it’s inside and not out here, I would be happy to hang out more.”
She switched to the other shoulder and tried hitting with that one.
“You know, you’re like, what, six foot something? You could probably do this a lot easier,” she said to him.
He shrugged, a sloppy movement. “Perhaps. Or I would bounce off of the door and tumble off these stairs to my death. I would rather not risk it.”
Nile stared at him a moment. “You know, my therapist calls that kind of thinking catastrophizing.”
Booker laughed. “Yeah, so does mine.”
They looked at one another and there was silent understanding between them.
“Try a kick,” he said, motioning to the door. “Try… kicking it.”
Nile took in the door. She huffed out a breath and then donkey kicked the door. It splintered under her foot, crashing open until it banged against the wall.
“Damn,” Booker said, clamoring to his feet and staring at the now open doorway. “That’s more torque than I expected. You have a surprising, uh, torque to size ratio.”
“I was a Marine,” Nile said, then recoiled slightly. She didn’t really talk about her time in the service. Not even to her family. Didn’t want to talk about the scar on her neck or how she got it. Just took the money that allowed her to study from her tour and left it at that.
“Huh,” Booker said. “Well, I’m glad to be in the building. If you wanna talk about that sometime, you know where to find me.”
And maybe it was because Nile was tired and feeling vulnerable, but she replied, “Only if you give me a massage afterwards.”
He blinked at her a few times, then nodded.
“I’d like that.”
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Time & Tide
“Time and tide waits for no man.” Scott clapped a hand on Stiles’s shoulder as they looked up at the mostly rebuilt Hale house.
“Enjoying your “Foundations of English Lit” class I take it?” Stiles asked.
Scott gave him a very pleased look and it reminded him of when Scott was studying for the PSATs and constantly trying to incorporate those words into conversation. He loved the big goofball.
Stiles took in the structure that had slowly, slowly been restored to…well, maybe not its former glory but something livable. Derek had huffed and puffed his way through it, but Stiles helped him get the property back from the county. There were a lot of hoops to jump through, and Derek still didn’t like any problem he couldn’t just punch in the face.
But between finishing up getting his degree, working part time as a PI, and an internship, Stiles hadn’t had time to breathe, let alone come back to Beacon Hills to visit for the last year. Sometimes Derek would call him, exasperated with some particular task, and Stiles would have to send him a YouTube video to walk him through it because the man had no sense of technology and seemed hardly able to work Google.
Now he was here to take it all in.
Scott darted up the steps and Stiles followed. Before they even knocked, Derek had the door open for them.
“What are you doing here? This is private property.” Derek scowled at them for just a moment before his lips curled up into a smirk.
And there was something about him repeating those first words he had ever said to them, something about him actually teasing, that made Stiles realize he had really missed the guy. He couldn’t believe they had both made it to this point in their lives that they were able to actually do something with their lives instead of just constantly worrying about dying.
Before he knew what he was doing, Stiles had his arms around Derek in a hug that seemed to surprise both of them. Derek was frozen for a moment, before he seemed to lean into it and give Stiles a pat on the back.
Stiles fell back on his heels with an awkward cough. “Nice house,” he said, pushing on past Derek.
“Thanks,” he said, stepping aside so that Scott could come in.
But Scott stayed on the porch. “Actually, I just realized I promised my mom I’d have lunch with her at the hospital. But you guys catch up. I’ll talk to you soon.”
Stiles glared at Scott, but Scott just gave him a warm smile. “Time and tide,” he reminded Stiles before heading back to his car.
Stiles took it back. He totally hated the big goofball.
“So…” Stiles took in the hardwood floors, the comfy armchair in a little reading nook, and he couldn’t help but notice that Derek hadn’t added back the fireplace that Stiles remembered in the ruins of the previous house. Finally, Stiles took in Derek himself. His beard was a little longer and he was wearing an honest-to-God cardigan.
“You’re so domesticated,” Stiles told him. “You’re a domesticated wolf now.”
Derek ducked his head with a small laugh. “I guess I am.”
Wearing a cardigan and laughing? Who was this man?
Stiles stepped right in front of Derek and gave his face a thorough inspection.
“Um, what are you doing?”
“Trying to see if you are just a Derek impersonator.”
Derek rolled his eyes, and Stiles decided it was really him after all.
Stiles gave a small tug on the end of Derek’s beard and stepped back.
“You’re older but still the same,” Derek said, but Stiles could detect a hint of fondness in his exasperation.
“Yep. I’m older. Twenty-two. I can drink, smoke, vote…just not all at once, or so I was told on election day.”
Derek chuckled. “Are you staying in Beacon Hills long?”
“The summer, at least. Not sure about after.” Stiles crossed his arms over his chest but then that felt defensive so he put them in his pockets and since when did he not know what to do with his own hands when talking to someone?
“I like what you’ve done with the place,” Stiles tells him. “It’s homey.”
“I wanted it to feel inviting.”
Stiles raised an eyebrow. “For who?”
“You,” Derek said. He quickly cleared his throat. “You guys. All the pack.”
“Right.” Stiles rocked on his heels. “Well, I guess I should-“
“Would you like to stay for dinner?” Derek blurted out. “I mean, a thank you dinner is the least I can do. I wouldn’t have this place if it weren’t for you.”
“Yeah.” Stiles wanted to play it cool, but he couldn’t help the huge smile that stretched across his lips. “Yeah, I’d like that.”
And that was the moment Stiles decided he might not just stay for dinner, he might stay forever.
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Back to business
“Holy shit.” Jake whispers as he sees the letterhead after ripping open the unmarked envelope Amy had just handed him, nothing but his name on it in Holt’s immaculate handlettering, and then does a quick look around for any parroty kids catching that little swear, but luckily he’s in the clear.
“Watch it, babe.” Amy still says as she climbs onto the couch next to him, wraps her arms losely around his shoulders as he reads with his eyes ever-growing.
“Holy shit, Ames.”
“Holt’s glowing recommendation of you must’ve caught some interest.” She grins before kissing his cheek and snuggling into his side.
“Aww, no ‘this letter will self-destruct in 5 minutes’ at the bottom, though.”
“Well you’ll need it for contact info, so...”
“What do you think they’ll say if I pull a ‘Damnit, I’m too old for this shit’ at the interview?” He grins back, and Amy only rolls her eyes as she scratches through the short gray hairs on his temple.
“I don’t think they take jokes like that as easily as the 99 did, babe.”
“Nah, I’m gonna try it.”
She sighs, but before she can tell him not to fumble this, and before he can kiss her properly as a thank you for very obviously being the one to get the ball rolling on all this, they’re interrupted by loud pitterpatter of bare feet on wood, and a lanky, attention-needy six year old climbing up onto the couch right between them.
Maya pushes herself into Jake’s lap without question, very much helped by his arms opening immediately, and tries to grab the letter he’s holding aloft to keep it from her still paint-stained fingers.
“What is it???”
“Daddy got a really cool job offer.”
Her brow scrunches up as she turns to look at him, and if she could look any more like Amy while doing that, he’d consider the option that she’s actually just a clone and not a mix of the two of them.
“Daddy you have jobs!”
“Yah!” She almost shouts, still trying to grab the letter he’s keeping away from her, and maybe there is some Jake in her too.
“You help Aunt Roro and Uncle Charles and Terry and you do the shops an’ wash our clothes an’ you help with Mama’s binders an’ you pick us up from school an’ you cook an’ you go on school trips an’ you clean an’ you go to Grampa Holt sometimes an’-” She starts counting on her grubby, red and yellow and green stained fingers from today’s art class at the library, but soon runs out of fingers to count as Amy giggles.
“You’re right, I have a lot of jobs.” Jake ruffles her curly mane, finally set free from its ponytails after they got home and changed into comfy clothes, and gives her forehead a little kiss. “But this is a really big job every day, like Mama’s. And it’s really, really cool.”
“What is it?!” Another voice and body crashes into the couch-conversation as Mac drops against Jake’s other side, holding an almost finished juice box and actually managing to grab Jake’s wrist with the letter in it to pull it down and stare at it. Amy’s giggle turns into a short laugh as she wonders when exactly they’ll stop climbing over their dad like little monkeys, and hopes that day won’t come too soon.
“It’s from the FBI.” Jake explains as the 8 year old clearly tries to read it with his lips moving, but then gasps up at him instead.
“The FBI?!? Dad, holy shit!“
“Mac!” Amy shoots him a look, but Mac is far too busy turning and climbing even further to stare at Jake with the most-awed face he can muster, almost as awed as he looked two weeks ago when the coolest zoo guide in the world let him hold an iguana.
“So do you think I should take it, bud?” Jake asks him, as the casual conversation partner he’s treated him as ever since he was born, and Mac nods with his curls swinging just as much as Maya’s as she climbs over to Amy’s lap.
“You still pick us up from school?” She asks a bit more hesitant, puppy dog eyes already starting to warm up. “An’ make our lunch boxes?”
“Well, I think sometimes Mama would do it then, ladybug, but of course I will.” Jake grins as Maya stretches her arms up around Amy’s neck, who presses a kiss to her forehead as well.
“Then yah.” She concludes as surely as only a 6 year old could, and Mac nods with her.
Jake grins at Amy, whose rolling eyes are superceded by a soft smile.
“Guess it’s decided then. I got a job interview.” He stares at the letter again, while his other hand takes the offered, empty juice box from Mac without even having to think about it to let him crawl up some more and hug him.
“Oh no, Ames.” He stares at her, eyes wide and almost on puppy-dog-level, and she tilts her head confused.
“Does that mean I have to learn how to tie a tie again?”
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Cas opens his eyes, feeling Dean's lips on his own.
“Mornin',” murmurs Dean, and kisses him one more time. Why? Because he can.
“Hello, Dean.” Cas smiles at him unknowingly, Dean always could make him happy. Just his presence is enough, and the fact they're finally together makes it even better. It's like Cas' dreams came true. “What was for that?”
“It's our anniversary, Cas!”
Cas chuckles and rolls his eyes. It's not true, it's September, they don't have anniversary.
“We don't have an anniversary, Dean. You can't make things up.”
“I don't. It's September 18th, the day you saved me from Hell. And the night, we met.”
Dean rests his head on Cas' chest and buries his nose in the crook of his neck. He gives him a sloppy kiss on his collarbone.
“I like it, our anniversaries, all of them.”
“So, what do you wanna do today, my angel?” asks Dean.
“It doesn't matter as long as we do it together.”
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"You got a death wish?" Kelso and Hyde
"You can't just keep pretending things are fine!" Red and Hyde
Hey, so I probably won’t post the new RYLH chapter today because I’M EXHAUSTED. I know I promised but please be patient I’m sensitive.
Anyway, since I can’t post the whole chapter because I’m really not in the mood to get my computer, here’s a ficlet from the prompt game that’s been sitting on my drafts since forever! Enjoy!
Trigger warning for Kelso being a self-entitled dick, lol.
(In this scenario, Kelso finds out about Jackie and Hyde a few weeks later, so their relationship is a little stronger, and he decides to confront them when they’re in the basement with everyone just chilling. Donna and Eric are in-character so they’re cool in this, hence why Kelso didn’t find out about them sooner. They covered for them).
“Don’t worry, his brain will stop working soon enough. He has a word limit” Hyde whispered in Jackie’s ear, and she silently giggled.
She was sitting on his lap, resting her head on his chest and playing with his fingers as he held her close to him, both of them trying to tone out Kelso’s annoying voice and he kept on rambling about how Hyde “dogged” him and how “creepy and unnatural” they are as a couple.
"This is Jackie and Hyde!" Kelso said, pointing at the couple "Jackie and Hyde! They hate each other!"
"Well, clearly not anymore" Eric mumbled as he started to suck on his popsicle, staring at Donna's exposed legs. Thank God for catholic schools.
Donna slapped the back of her boyfriend's head "Perv" She muttered under her breath
"YOU GUYS! THIS IS IMPORTANT!" Kelso yelled, trying to get everyone's attention "Jackie and Hyde are together! As a couple! In what world would this be right?!"
"I don't know, I kind of saw it coming," Donna said "I mean, if you think about it, they fit, in their own, twisted way"
"I saw it coming too," Fez added, not taking his eyes off the TV "They always had spark and chemistry. For example, whenever Jackie and Hyde argued about something, I got needs from all the sexual tension, and whenever you and Jackie argued, I got annoyed and left the room"
"And after you and Jackie got back together the second time, Jackie did mention an awful lot how Hyde is a better kisser than you..." Donna said
Jackie blushed and Hyde smiled smugly as Kelso's jaw dropped.
"UH!" Kelso shrieked
"Lumberjacks have even bigger mouths than cheerleaders" Jackie muttered, crossing her arms and glaring at Donna, who was laughing at Kelso along with Hyde, Eric, and Fez.
"When did you two kiss?!" Kelso asked indignantly "Did you cheat on me with Hyde too?! Wasn't the cheese guy enough, Jackie?!"
Jackie raised an eyebrow, and Hyde immediately stopped laughing, his face hardening into a scowl.
"Tell me he didn't mention the cheese guy" Eric whispered in Donna's ear
"Nop, he did" Donna whispered back, watching the scene in front of her, wondering if she should be entertained or annoyed.
"How long have you two been having an affair behind my back?!” Kelso stopped pacing and glared at the couple.
Hyde was staring at Kelso like he wanted to kill him with his bare hands, and Jackie’s face was red from a mix of anger and embarrassment.
“And Jackie, you’re such a...”
"If you finish that sentence Michael, I swear to God..." Jackie interrupted him, getting up from her boyfriend’s lap to glare at her ex.
“You’ll what?! Kiss someone else?! Because you already did that, twice!”
“I fear we’re seeing the last moments of our friend Kelso,” Fez said, taking a candy bar from his pocket
“If he keeps his behavior, he won’t be my friend for long, I can tell you that” Donna muttered angrily, and Eric nodded in agreement.
“I’m surprised Hyde didn’t kill him yet,” Eric said, watching as Jackie started to tear Kelso apart with her words.
“And Steven is such a better kisser than you! You’re nothing compared to him, and I mean that in every conceivable way, Michael! Just leave us alone!” Jackie yelled, but Kelso didn’t flinch
"He’s not! You know what? Kiss me right here, right now! Then you can tell me who's a better kisser!" Kelso said, taking a step towards Jackie and placing his hand on her shoulder.
"You got a death wish?" Hyde hissed as he pushed Kelso away from Jackie, shoving him into the wall "Touch her again and you're dead"
"That's not fair! She's mine!" Kelso whined, trying to free himself from Hyde’s tight grasp. He sent a pleading look at his friends sitting on the couch, but they didn’t move “Guys! A little help here?!”
"Nah, I’m good,” Eric said, wrapping his arms around his angry girlfriend’s shoulders
“Kick his ass, Hyde!” Donna yelled from her seat, and Kelso shrieked in indignation again.
“Fez! Little buddy! Come on!” He pleaded
“You, my friend, are a whore!” Fez said “Jackie and Hyde have sparks and chemistry, and you and Jackie didn’t! Get over it!”
“No! I’m not going to get over it! Jackie’s mine!”
“I’m not! We broke up months ago, you moron!” Jackie said angrily “And I want to be with Steven. Not you. Steven! Got it?!”
Kelso tried to escape again, but Hyde’s grip on him tightened and Kelso started having trouble breathing.
“Kelso, get the fuck out of here before I kill you” Hyde hissed at him
“No! I’ll...” Kelso choked out, but Hyde interrupted him
“I’m saying, get out, and go cool off”
“Go cool off, Kelso” Hyde repeated threateningly, and Kelso gulped in fear “And until you’re cool with the fact that Jackie and I are together, and are going to stay together, you can’t come back here”
“This isn’t even your basement!” Kelso tried to argue, looking at Eric, but the boy just shrugged
“Actually, he literally lives here, so the basement is more his than mine at this point,” Eric said “And I agree with Hyde. You’re being a dick and you shouldn’t come back until you... y’know, stop being a dick”
“Fine!” Kelso yelled, and Hyde let him go. Kelso stomped his way out of the basement, making sure to slam the door on his way out, and Jackie walked over to Hyde, wrapping her arms around his waist.
“If he doesn’t leave me alone, I won’t be hanging out here anymore,” She said, and Hyde hugged her back, tucking her head under his chin.
“Don’t worry about it, Jackie” Donna said, smiling at the cute sight in front of her “We got your back”
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a snippet | still dreaming | hero & villain
trigger warnings: death, blood, corpses, suicide, knives, mention of drunk driving
The nightmare was a fever dream.
Without pulling herself to her feet, the hero looked out over the landscape—dotted with fresh blood and bodies, the farthermost ones could have been poppies, save for their stillness. The air was awful, the smell of the thousands of decomposing bodies enough for there to have to be a forcible effort to keep the contents of her stomach from regurgitating, the wind that was breezing past the area not enough to clear the stench, only enough to blow her hair in her face. A face nearly identical to hers stared up at her from the ground, the cold, limp fingers entwined with hers, the feeling almost disgusting. Her brother was dead from a stab wound to the chest. The world tilted, and spun, blood and grass and death blurring together, before going black.
The hero was in a living room now, the Persian carpet soft beneath her bare feet, the fireplace roaring, making the room stifling hot; her mother in the rocking chair, the rocking chair not rocking. Despite the heat, her face was pale, her eyes were closed, and when the hero checked, she had no pulse. This time, the world went dark of the hero's own accord: in her dream, she fell to her knees and closed her eyes, and felt tears fall from the corners of her eyes down her cheeks, leaving their cold trail of despair as the scene around her changed.
Marble replaced the carpet, and the hero was scared to open her eyes. The swish of water back and forth caused her heart to sink. Opening her eyes barely a fraction, she saw the filled-up bathtub, the head slumped forward into it, the brilliant mind gone, the dark hair staining the water, the locks she had so enjoyed running her fingers through before looking for soft lips with hers. The bathroom was cold. That was all the information she needed as the dream pulled away from her again, dragging her mercilessly on.
The hero stood in front of the mirror. Her hair was shorter. Her eyes were empty. Her hand positioned the knife just above her heart.
The knife slid home.
She woke up.
Stumbling over her own feet as she woke up, she pushed the covers from her body, sitting up and staring at her hands that didn't quite look like hers.
She was still dreaming.
She was awake.
Head spinning, she shuffled to the bathroom. Was that her? Touching things didn't feel real. Perhaps she really was still dreaming. Her mother, and her brother, and her girlfriend weren't really dead, were they? That had just been a nightmare. She didn't know the truth. Weren't they coming over for dinner?
Brushing her hair, she felt vaguely like she was watching someone that looked like her. She dressed, and set the table, mumbling to herself all the while. She ignored the hero's outfit in the corner. She wanted to see her girlfriend again.
The villain crossed his legs, seated on the rooftop, checking his watch. No hero. She was supposed to show up to stop him in thirty seconds.
Frowning, he rappelled down the side of the building and set off towards the hero's apartment. If she was bringing backup, he would seriously have to reconsider showing up. Skirting around the main roads and sticking to the laneways, he made his way to the alley that the hero's fire escape emptied out into. His fingers touched the freezing metal as he hoisted himself up and he cursed silently, berating himself for not having brought gloves. The crisp fall air was intent on chilling him to the bone today, it seemed.
Clambering up to the fifth floor, he peered inside the hero's window. No crowds of police in tactical gear, the hero barking out instructions like a drill sergeant. No extra guns. The hero herself wasn't even in gear. She was sitting at a dinner table set for four, the plates void of food and the seats void of people, mumbling to herself as she put a hand out in front of her and stared at it curiously, as if unable to believe it was hers.
The villain shoved the window sash up and climbed in, wondering if the hero would even notice him. She did, but didn't seem to care.
"You must be really out of it if you don't care that I'm in your house," the villain said by way of greeting, pulling out the seat opposite her. Her eyes were eerily blank, with no sign that she recognized him.
"You're in my girlfriend's seat," she said.
That raised an eyebrow. "Pardon?"
"Annie will be here soon. You're taking her seat."
Annie, or Anna, had been the hero's girlfriend of six years, if he recalled correctly, before she had drowned herself in a bathtub after hearing that her father had been killed by a drunk driver. That had been a year ago.
"Hero," his voice was low as he spoke, "are you alright?"
Her response settled it. She was dissociating hard, if not suffering amnesia.
"Annie couldn't make it. She had to help out her aunt with the baby."
"Oh." The hero's voice was so small. "What about Mam? And Ben?"
"They both couldn't make it either," the villain lied, recalling that both the hero's mother and brother were gone.
She stared sadly down at her plate. "They were supposed to come over for dinner."
"Another time," the villain promised, seriously hoping that she wouldn't remember this conversation. "Here. Let's go sit on the couch."
She did not seem inclined to move. He picked her up and put her on the couch. Her eyes were still blank as she looked up at the ceiling.
"Will they be okay?"
"Definitely." He really hoped that she wouldn't remember this. "Have you eaten today?"
She shook her head. The villain chanced a glance at the nearby clock. Three in the afternoon.
"Okay. You," he pointed at her, "stay here, and I will make you food."
"You're the best, Annie." She curled up and closed her eyes. The villain stumbled back into the kitchen, feeling out of it himself.
The hero woke up as the sun was setting, her sleep having been undisturbed by memories. There was mac 'n' cheese in a pot on the stove, and the table had been cleared. Why was she up so late? Why was she on the couch? Hadn't she set the table this morning for a reason she could no longer remember? The entire morning was a blur that she'd forgotten. She had missed her fight with the villain, too. Hopefully the agency would forgive that. Sighing, she ate dinner. The mac 'n' cheese did not taste like when how she made it. Perhaps in her hazy stupor of the morning, she'd done something differently.
The hero would never remember that morning. The villain would never forget it.
if you enjoy my writing, please consider buying me a coffee!
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With how popular Whitney is, pretty much any picture of her goes viral instantly. The nudes, even more so. That’d be a problem, if Whitney had any shame whatsoever. Which she didn’t.
It helped that there wasn’t anyone in the school that had the balls to stand up to her. Fucking pansies staring at their shoes when she walked past, only to go home and jerk it or fuck their fingers to pictures of her online. It made her feel powerful.
It wasn’t just the students at school that didn’t do anything. She remembered one time she posted a video of her swiping some moron’s coffee right out of his hands at the cafe. She didn’t need it, she just wanted to flex. An hour after she posted it, that same person liked the video. Little bitch knew how things worked.
She was sure the police knew about her, but they hadn’t tried anything yet. Even she knew where the line was drawn, though. She never showed off stealing from the cops. If they knew she raided them for collars, handcuffs and whatever other shit she saw and liked, they’d go after her for sure. Those didn’t get recorded.
Of all her posts, though, her favorites were the ones featuring her adorable little boyslut. He’d been so shy, when she first met him. So timid, such a submissive little bitch. Well, she supposed he still was, but the difference was he didn’t hide it anymore. And he went along with everything she said, like a good boy.
Sometimes she stripped him naked and made him pose, or masturbate. Other times he was dressed a bit more modestly, in a bikini, a maid dress or a little miniskirt. One time she just wrapped him in ribbons. But no matter what, every shot was humiliating. And her fans ate it up.
Every so often, she’d get a specific type of message. She was used to people thirsting over her, but every so often, she’d get someone talking about him. About how cute he was, how pretty his hair was, how they just wanted to kiss him and hold him and all that sappy bullshit. A few people even got mad at her for ‘ruining’ him. Little shits.
Every time, she’d respond the same way: posting a new series of pictures with him. Her thighs squeezed around his face, his mouth wrapped around her clit. Gripping his hair with one hand, and his collar with the other. Showing his glazed, needy eyes as he practically slobbered over her pussy, worshipping her the only way he knew how.
At least a few pics of that, and then one last shot of him lying down, completely worn out. Her slick covering his face, his cheeks red. If she was lucky, his tongue would be hanging out of his mouth like the little slut he was. And his hair was always parted, so everyone could see her name tattoo’d on his forehead.
She posted it with the same caption every time: “learn your place, bitch.” Most people figured she was talking about him, but that wasn’t right. He already knew his place, she’d made sure of that. No, she was talking to the little shits who fawned over him. He was her slut, her pet, her boyfr- boytoy. Nobody else’s. He belonged to her. And that’s the message she sent.
Learn your place, bitch. He’s mine.
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cannot stop thinking about some Solstryce Academy freshman in 10-20 years being like, “...and for Transmutation 101 I have Widogast. He seems kinda dry, lecture-wise, but there was a cat on his desk the whole time so, like, pretty good?”
“Oh hell yeah!” says the other student in the cafeteria. “You got Widogast? I’m so jealous. I heard he nearly gets fired or even arrested like every other year for treasonous rhetoric.”
“Yeah! Also, the cat. He has like three I think.”
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"Your vitals are back," Alex sweeps into the MedBay, black leather boots scuffing the shiny floors. She shifts her weight to the side, a stack of files balanced in one hand. "Everything seems fine."
"Phew," Kara says out loud, kicking her feet back and forth on one of the gurneys under a solar array. "No infections? No cancer? No blood-eating fungi?"
"Nope," Alex pops the 'p.' "It still bothers me, though. The pollen spray was obviously a defensive measure, and in one of the interrogation rooms no less. It doesn't make sense that it wouldn't do anything."
Alex bites at her pen cap, quickly thumbing through the thick file one more time.
"Maybe I'm resistant," Kara shrugs. "At least everyone's not clawing to have sex with me."
Alex's eyes lance up from the file.
Did Kara just say that out loud?
"Yeah…" Alex answers slowly, watching her sister skeptically. "Crisis averted…"
But Kara doesn't get the sense she's nearly in the clear. She attempts a quick escape, anyway.
"So, I can head home?"
"Hold on a minute," Alex places the file on a nearby, silver medical tray. "You feeling okay?"
"A little bored," Kara answers without thinking, glancing around the barren black rock of the underground headquarters. "I hate being here."
"At the DEO?"
"Yeah," she shrugs. "I only come here for you, and I want to go home. I don't know what I'm going to wear yet when I see Lena for lunch, it always takes me forever to choose, and—"
Kara slams her jaw shut so hard there's an audible click of teeth. Jeez, she knows what she was about to say, but why had she almost said it out loud?!
Alex takes a step closer with the kind of parceling, intense scrutiny she typically dedicates to their holiday 1000-piece puzzles.
"I don't like how you're looking at me," Kara swallows.
"Well, we haven't done a full neurological check."
Alex tilts her head to the side.
"An interrogation room…" she says, thinking aloud. "Can you just answer a few easy questions for me?"
"Your name? Your birthdate?"
"My name is Kara Zor-El. My birthdate is 21 Ogtal 10,031."
Alex gazes at her a little strangely. "That's not your earth birthdate."
"The Earth calendar isn't as accurate as the Kryptonian measurement of time," Kara rattles off, and, wow, she hasn't heard herself sound that intellectually superior in awhile.
"But it's convertible."
"Not precisely," she continues, though she's not sure why. "Your scientists haven't even discovered a thrib. In fact, your entire system is flawed."
"Just tell me your earth birthday." Alex says with a long suffering sigh.
Alex stares at her, gets that look in her eye.
"Tell me your earth birthdate, damn it," she demands.
Kara wants to comply, and she knows what it is. She can even think the date. The rough translation of her birthday is October 4th, 1988. She opens her mouth to say it even, to breathe the words into existence, but nothing happens.
Alex waits. And waits. She narrows her eyes.
"My leather jacket, the one I let you borrow in high school, did you—?"
"Yes, it was me," Kara doesn't even let her finish.
She slaps her own hand over her mouth.
"I knew it!" Alex shouts. "And you said it was Kenny!"
Kara doesn't trust herself to remove her hand.
Alex throws her another dirty look before she begins pacing the room, hands on her hips.
"The release was in the entry-way, you went in first. It's probably some kind of aerosol truth serum meant for prisoners," she mutters.
Kara takes her hands from her mouth.
"How long will it last?"
"I have no idea. But just to double check… tell me a lie."
Alex picks up her pen.
"Tell me this pen is blue," she hands it to Kara.
Kara takes it. It's just a pen. This should be easy.
"The pen is—" she starts, but she can't finish. She laughs at the absurdity of it, trying again.
"The pen is—" she once more attempts but goes red in the face with the effort of trying to proclaim it's blue (IT'S NOT! IT'S BLACK!) Then, before she can so much as utter one more word, she snaps the pen in two with her super strength, and ink goes everywhere. She also goes crashing down from the gurney into a giant heap on the floor.
"That answers that question," Alex snorts with laughter. Kara slaps her palm to her foreheand, back against the ground.
"Rao! What am I going to do? I can’t take sick time. I was gone for a whole month already. Pulitzer Prize winner or not, Snapper will fire me."
"And you can’t tell people about Supergirl, obviously, " Alex reminds her. "All the work you do here—the number of NDA's you've signed…"
Kara curses again before steeling herself, gripping the gurney leg until she hears the metal whine. She quickly balls her fists into her lap and takes a breath as she sits up, cross-legged.
"No. I can do this. I can be careful with my words."
Alex considers her.
"Well, that must be true if you just said it."
"Right?" Kara says, suddenly filled with a kind of manic optimism. "I can do this."
She jumps up onto her feeet, taking two steps to leave.
"Wait—" they both say at the same time.
"I shouldn't be around Lena," Kara finishes.
Alex shakes her head like that's the last of their concerns.
"What? Why? She knows about Supergirl."
"I—" Kara struggles. "I don’t want to say," she finishes delicately.
"You’re keeping a secret from her?"
Kara closes her eyes, trying to focus.
"Alex," she warns.
"Come on, you can tell me."
"Alex!" Kara yells more sharply, eyes open. "Please just leave it alone. I don’t want to tell you, please don't make me. It isn’t fair. It’s not consent."
Alex looks crestfallen.
"You're right. I'm sorry. I'll try to play interference with you two. Is there anyone else I should keep you away from?"
Kara pauses for a moment before guiltily shaking her head.
"You know, it's going to be hard now that she's part of the team. She's probably already read these results," Alex indicates the file with the point of a finger. "I'm pretty sure she set up some sort of backdoor trigger alert for any information related to you."
"She's too smart, and—"
She nearly slaps herself to stop the next flow of words.
"I mean—yes, you're right. I'll just pretend to be busy!"
"How are you going to do that when you can't lie?"
"I DON'T KNOW!"
Kara cancels that day's lunch with Lena. It takes quite the acrobatic maneuver of linguistics via text message to avoid outright lying, but after twenty minutes and a lot of shouting at her traitorous, honest fingers, she gets it done.
After that, her night continues without incident (if you don't include her commenting "I hate that" while she pointed to her neighbor's new anti-alien, political sign), but she's feeling mostly positive by the next morning when she has to go to work.
It's fine. She can do this. It's fine. It's fine.
"How are you doing, Kara?" Mark from accounting greets her first thing as they step into the golden CatCo elevators. She'd hoped coming in early enough would mean no encounters with overly friendly, well-meaning colleagues, but oh well. Kara dons her trademark, thousand watt smile.
Fine, fine, fine, she thinks.
"Oh, I've been better," her mouth says instead.
Mark from accounting threads his eyebrows, a portrait of appropriate inner-office workplace concern.
"Oh, is everything okay?"
Just tell him I'm fine!!!
"Not really!" she continues with radiant brightness. She hates herself.
After that, she glues her teeth together, and Mark has the social grace to look politely befuddled as more people enter the elevator, and by the grace of Rao, their conversation drops. She thinks she's in the clear. Until…
Those four breakfast street tacos she'd jammed into her mouth this morning don't sit quite right. She's Supergirl and all, but she still has bodily functions. She can't hold it in. And oh… the smell is foul.
The kind Alex might've described as 'yellow' or 'practically a solid.' Karen from HR makes a discrete attempt to bury her face in the armpit of her sweater.
"It was me!" Kara yells as she exits the elevator, scurrying into the lobby of her floor.
She was wrong. This is going to be a nightmare. This was all a huge mistake. It's all she can think about as she walks with near superspeed towards the bullpen.
No. No, she encourages herself. She just has to keep her mouth shut. She just has to NOT TALK. FOR ONCE.
But, still, she absolutely cannot be around Lena.
She hasn't told anyone about it. Especially not Alex. Rao, she can barely think about it. But it's just the matter of the babiest, tiniest crush she has on her best friend. It's the matter of how every time she so much as glances at Lena, her mind starts cataloguing a rigorous, thoroughly detailed flowchart of the tone of her body: the curve of her waist, the subtle round of her claves, the harsh line of her jaw, the thick, parceling scrunch of her eyebrows, those pouty lips—STOP.
See, that's the kind of thing she can't let her traitorous mouth give voice to. On top of the fact that if Alex knew, it would make her sister practically insufferable. Look at William. There's a whiff of romantic interest with some guy (who had been quite mean to her at the beginning, but who listens to Kara) and it's all, 'go on that date with him' 'he likes you because he knows your coffee order' 'you vibe so well when you sing' and 'when's the wedding?' comments. Honestly, Alex is worse than mom. If Alex knew about Lena, she'd never let it go.
Then, like Kara's summoned him purely from the strength of her desire to avoid him, William Dey appears directly in her line of sight, holding two coffees.
"Kara!" he greets her enthusiastically. He offers her one of the drinks.
"Oh no," she finds herself saying, shuffling past, without so much as a tendril of control over her mouth. "I’m not interested."
He pauses, arm still extended.
"In the coffee?"
"Both—I mean, all, I mean—"
She rushes away from him.
"I have—" she tries to say 'to go.' But finds she can't. Double crap. "I want to leave—I mean! I am going to walk to my desk."
When Kara huddles into her desk, she bows below the visible cuble line and she puts both hands over her eyes. She grumbles. Loudly.
Is that really how she feels? She'd gone on two dates with William. She's not interested? At all?
She thought she was. She thought she could be.
"How's it going?" Nia singsongs, and Kara realizes her friend has wondered over at some point while she was still trying to peel her face off with her fingers.
"Did Alex tell you?" Kara asks, dropping her hands from her face.
Nia nods with sympathy.
"This is hard," she hisses. "I lie a lot. About everything. Little things. Big things! Oh no, am I a liar, Nia? Am I? Is my whole life a lie?"
"Please don't have a breakdown at work, Kara," Nia reaches forward to squeeze her shoulder. "You can do this, buddy! I'll try to talk for you when I can today."
"Okay, thank you, you're the best."
"Aw!" Nia replies, hand to her chest. "I know that's true now!"
Kara smiles back at her weakly.
Fortunately, Nia is able to speak for Kara for the most part throughout the day. Until a team meeting when Andrea assigns Kara a new, hardhitting piece on the city's efforts to rebalance the police department.
"Only the best for our Pulitzer Prize winner," Andrea says with that ingratiating smile, and there's a round of light applause.
"Oh, I’m not a good writer," Kara finds herself answering in reply. "I just have inside knowledge—I mean, I'm usually there."
Andrea's eyebrows kink. Nia elbows Kara.
"What Kara means to say is that she has excellent sources."
"I see," Andrea's lips quirk. "It's good to be honest about one's work. We can always improve…"
But that's when Kara hears it. An explosion. She turns quickly to leave the room.
"Kara?" Andrea calls after her in that typical, condescending tone. "Surely there's not something more pressing than a team meeting with your team. And boss?"
"Oh, this is is way more important!" Kara chirps back, and Andrea shoots her a look that could liquify. Meanwhile, Kara's already out of the room and changing into her Super Suit.
It is way more important. From what she can hear, it's some sort of attack at L-Corp. She doesn't even think twice before she's in the air, and there, landing on Lena's balcony. She sweeps into her office. Lena is standing, hand near her panic button.
"Is everything okay?"
Lena startles, turning sharply to look at her. Once she realizes who it is, she smiles softly, the kind that's only reserved for Kara. The kind that makes her thinks that sometimes, maybe—no, Lena didn't feel that way. If she did, she definitely didn't after Kara told her the truth about her secret identity.
"Nothing my security can't handle," Lena answers. "They think it's a handmade pipe bomb that went off in the parking garage. No one's hurt."
"That's good," Kara breathes a sigh of relief. "I don’t know what I would do without you. Also, you look great. Those heels, that skirt—I mean, how are you?”
Lena's eyes widen slightly, but she's still smiling, red lips pressed together.
Crap. This is why Kara wasn't supposed to come here! She instantly tenses up, and Lena senses the subtle change, moving closer, beautiful green eyes sweeping over her in dissecting concern. Kara takes a moment to register her brilliant blue, silky tucked in blouse. The black, high waisted pencil skirt. The pointed toe Louboutin heels.
"Are you alright?" Lena asks, and Kara can smell her expensive, intoxicating perfume.
"Physically speaking," is all Kara can say.
"I saw the DEO report. You were sprayed with an unknown substance during your mission on that alien ship?"
"And you're fine?"
Kara closes her mouth, resorts to a shrug.
"But you couldn't come to lunch after?" Kara can hear the thin trace of hurt, of question in Lena's tone.
"Are you busy?" Lena seems to be testing. Kara wouldn't be surprised if she's going through some sort of check list in her mind. "Do you want lunch now? After this incident, of course."
"You're not avoiding me, are you?" she asks with a self-deprecating smile.
It's an easy answer. No, she wills herself to say.
"Uh…" Kara says instead in a higher pitch.
It hasn't even been a full twenty-four hours, but Lena had sent a few texts that Kara hadn't replied to. Of course she knows something is off. She's too damn smart.
And this is important. Lying about this, lying now, she needs to do it. Kara wouldn't call it a fresh wound necessarily, but she and Lena have only been copascetic for a few months. And she can see the way Lena registers the desire to lie on Kara's face, the disappointment in her thinned lips as she turns back to her desk, hand splayed on the always too-white surface.
"I thought we promised no more lies," she says without making eye contact, feigning interest in invisible dust that isn't there on her desk.
"I'm not—" Kara means to say, 'I'm not lying,' but the last part won't deliver.
But she isn't! Not right now, at least!
Lena looks up at her then, expression vulnerable. Kara can just make out the rounded line of her pale collar bone disppearing under her blouse. Her lips are parted, blush pink.
"We're supposed to be a team. I thought you trusted me."
Kara experiences such a concentrated desire to comfort Lena, to lay her unfounded fears to rest, that she can't help the next few words out of her mouth.
"We are a team. I haven't been avoiding you because of that."
"But you have been avoiding me?"
Kara nearly barks out a frustrated laugh, directing her eyes to the ceiling instead.
"I know this is really rude," she pushes a hand through her hair, sighing heavily. "And I know I promised not to do it unless I had to, but… I have to."
She super speeds from the room.
Kara stews in her apartment for a few hours. She ignores several pointedly, passive-aggressive emails from Andrea. She briefly checks in with Alex to tell her, yes, the stupid truth pollen is still in her system. Lena doesn't text her.
The cold, calculated part of her knows it's too late. This has the kind of finality to it that telling Lena her secret identity four years after the fact had. But, like that, it can't be avoided. Not any more. The bear trap has sprung, and it's piercing, bone-deep.
With resignation, she flies to Lena's apartment, the cold night air a balm, a whip against her face. She lands on Lena's balcony, at the top of the tower, a lighthouse in the night. Lena is already waiting there with a full glass of wine.
She still smiles at Kara when she sees her. That same one. Although, it's a little rueful.
"Hey, stranger," she says. She's dressed in a soft, cashmere grey sweater. She's in jeans. Kara wonders if she was waiting for her or if she was waiting for someone else…
"You're—are you waiting for someone?" Kara asks nervously.
Lena shakes her head no, still smiling, and tastes her wine. It leaves a dark red stain on her lips, her trademark lipstick worn off this late in the day.
Kara steels herself.
"Something did happen. At the alien ship."
Lena sits up a little straighter, looking focused.
"It was an aerosol truth serum, when we entered the interrogation chambers."
Lena nods once, faster certainly than she or Alex had been at reaching conclusions.
"So, you can't lie," she states factually. "And you're hiding something from me?"
Kara nods, reaching out to grip the cold metal banister. Lena's leaned against it, back to the city, and if Kara were imaginative it's almost like putting her arm around her. Almost.
What a bad friend she is.
"You deserve so much more. Than this," she motions to herself. "Than me. You know that, right?"
Lena's thick, sculpted eyebrows pinch.
"You really believe that?"
"Obviously. I can’t lie."
Lena considers her. "That's a subjective truth. It may be true to you, but that doesn't mean it is true. And it definitely isn't. Not to my, anyway."
Kara takes a breath. Now or never.
"I watched the finale of Bake-off without you."
Lena blinks. Then she laughs, musically.
"You didn't," she swats at Kara. "That's why you weren't surprised Rahul won."
"I had to know. Also, it was me, I ate all the rice when we went to Chef Chu's. And your leftover birthday cake."
Lena continues laughing.
"Well, those things I knew."
"I also can’t stand Dancing with the Stars," Kara barrels on. "I only watch it because it makes you laugh, and sometimes you grab my arm on the couch. You’re really pretty after one glass of wine and your cheeks blush. You smell so good. I’ve seen you naked—
Lena sobers up at that. "What?"
"On accident! I used my laser vision to check for injuries when you fell, and I saw—a lot! I’m sorry! What’s with the tattoo—nevermind!"
Lena makes a 'wrap it up' hand motion.
"Okay, okay," Kara continues. "I listen to your heartbeat all the time. I spend a lot of time above L-Corp, just making sure you’re okay. When we weren't speaking, one time I heard you listening to I Can't Make You Love by Bonnie Rait and crying, so I had your favorite food delivered."
"That was you? I thought it was Jess."
"It was me," Kara nods. "You act like you're not hungry, but I know you are. Kind of like the way you dress. So sharp and hard at work, but at home," Kara indicates her body. "Your soft clothes are so—" she takes a deep calming breath, "sexy."
Lena takes a big drink of her wine, but Kara's barely looking at her, willing herself to go on.
"I nearly screamed the first time I saw you in glasses. You’re naturally blonde. We all know it but we no one talks about it."
"I'm not blo—" Lena balks.
"And it scares me how far I would go for you. 'There is no line in the universe I wouldn't cross to keep you safe,' I heard you say it in the hallway to James, and I agreed with you."
Lena's mouth is still half open in denial, but she freezes solid at that, eyes glistening and unblinking.
"I acted fine with you dating him, but I wasn't. Not really. I was terrified he'd propose. Or you would. I was so relieved when you broke up. I don't want you to be alone, or unhappy, but I don't want you to be—"
Kara takes a pause here, she's getting to the meat of the point of all this and is suddenly feeling acutely afraid, hand trembling by her side.
Lena consider this.
"And anyone else?"
Kara shakes her head. "Not them either."
"Four years," Lena says slowly. "You never said anything."
"I couldn't—my pain, my fear. Supergirl isn't supposed to be those things. So, I always keep it on the inside. Everything I say, everything I do, it comes through a filter. How could I tell you? I’ve been so scared that—you don’t feel the same way. Or that you did have feelings for Kara, but not for Supergirl. Or that if you ever felt anything, it was killed and buried by my confession, by the fact that I lied to you."
Kara finds her voice breaking, her eyes watering, but Lena doesn't say anything to this.
"The truth is… I'm an alien. I’m a killer. Hollywood horror movies are about creatures like me."
"No, let me finish. People think I’m not Red Daughter or the red kryptonite version of me, but they are me. They're pieces of me. I'm flawed and faulty, just like my parents, just like my unstable planet. I could be a monster. And I'm not good enough for you, Lena Luthor…"
Lena takes a deep breath, clearly repressing an unknown frustration, wine all but forgotten. A gust of wind pushes a black strand of hair across her face, but before she can reach to fix it, Kara tucks it back into place for her, fingers lingering on her ear and cheek. She's moved closer at some point, eyes locked, and Lena goes still once more.
"But when I try to imagine my future, I don’t see myself with anyone but you. I want to kiss you. I've wanted to kiss you since the first time I saw you. And I’ve never told anyone."
She lets her hand drop. She takes a step back again.
"Nothing needs to change, I just—didn't want you to think I was lying to you. Or that I don't trust you. Or love you."
Lena doesn't speak for a long time, long enough that Kara starts to say,
"I can go—"
"So, that's what it took?" Lena interrupts her. "A truth pollen?"
"Technically, an aerosol spray—"
But Kara can't finish because Lena's smashed their faces together, lips warm and hands soft behind both sides of her jaw.
After a few seconds (or all five seasons of Breaking Bad, for all Kara knows), they pull apart.
"I stole your MIT sweater," Kara breathes onto her mouth, still staring at her mouth. "I wear it in my apartment when no one's around."
Lena rubs the pad of her thumb over Kara's lips.
"Please be quiet and come inside."
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Zutara Week 2021 Day 4: No Official Prompt
Prompt Used: Lavender
It had started with garden walks. Zuko had needed an excuse to get away from ruling a nation and Katara had needed time away from ambassador duties. And they both needed a friend. So they’d walk the palace gardens together for an hour or so a few times a week and talk about anything but politics or war.
The thing about palaces, however, was that privacy was a hard thing to come by. There were too many people, too many eyes and ears casually waiting about, even in the flower gardens, that it was hard to feel relaxed. So Zuko and Katara would go slightly farther afield. As it turned out, the palace vegetable and herb gardens were much less populated during certain times of day, particularly the lavender field.
Katara loved lavender. Loved the comforting smell, the bright yet subtle colors, the many medicines and foods it could be added to. And she loved having a special, private spot on palace grounds that was just for her and Zuko to share.
As years went by they would walk the rows of the lavender field together as often as they could. It was there where Zuko finally got annoyed at his own uncertainty and actually asked Katara if he could officially court her. He’d been so determined to make himself go through with it that he sounded more angry than hopeful. It was a sign of just how well Katara knew him now that she was able to see through him. After she had stopped laughing, she kissed him squarely on the lips in a way that left no doubt of her answer.
The first time they said “I love you” was in the lavender field at sunset. The scent of lavender seemed to cling stronger than usual that night when sleep was hard to find.
After they eventually married they still tried to walk together in the field. As an anniversary gift Zuko had erected a small gazebo there, just big enough for two, where no one else was allowed. However running a nation was a lot of work, even when it was flourishing in a non-colonial way, and it was often hard to spend much quality time together even outside the lavender field. They both preferred to be busy and useful rather than be idle for very long, but there were times when the long days took a toll on them.
During the hard times it wouldn’t be uncommon for a small clipping of lavender to be found somehow rolled up in the pile of documents needed to be read that day. Or for lavender tea to be brought unrequested. Little unexpected gestures that to any onlooker might seem cute, but to Zuko and Katara were silent declarations of love. Katara would wear lavender in her hair to a meeting and Zuko would be itching to kiss her, his mood instantly improved. Zuko would secretly stuff Katara’s gloves with dried lavender when he’s unable to join her on her visits home and Katara would sleep with them at night, breathing in their shared memories.
But more often than not, the little gestures would be unnecessary. Because the Fire Lord and Lady would clear an hour or so from their schedule and walk together in their field, talking about anything but politics or war.
Wheee! That’s it for my two contributions to this year’s ZK Week! Now I get to sit back and enjoy the influx of Zutara creations! Thank you to the mods for being so dedicated and amazing for the Zutara community! <3
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Jack is... a kid now.
Dean is looking right at him and he still can't wrap his head around it. He's a kid, he's fucking three, and he's extending his arms towards Cas who collects him in his arms with barely any effort. Like he was always meant to do that, like he was ready for it.
Yes, when Jack was first born he expected him to be... well, a newborn, but upon finding him and everything that followed, the concept was long buried in the back of his mind. He never thought it would happen.
Correction: Jack has always been a kid.
But now Jack is human (his own wish to Amara, who he bestowed his power to), and, therefore, looks his age. Three.
He's cuddling up to his father, Dean's angel-no-more, whom they just rescued from the Empty a few hours ago. With whom he still has so much to talk about. Jack's tiny arms are wrapped around his neck and his head is pressed tightly against it, and Cas is smiling like he could fly all over again.
That's his kid. That is a kid.
And it suddenly all comes rushing back to Dean. How unfairly he treated him. How much pressure he put on him. How little he appreciated all that he did.
But now he got Cas back, again, and he's a little three year old kid, and Dean can feel the tears prickling behind his eyes.
He's such a piece of shit. He was no better than John.
The tears spill over as Cas starts humming a tune and bouncing Jack softly, pressing him tighter against him and caressing his little blond head. Cas turns when Dean fails to suppress a shaky exhale and a sniff, and Cas must recognize the all-consuming guilt in his eyes. He steps toward him with a sad smile, never interrupting the bouncing or the song that Dean now recognizes as Believe It Or Not. It's incredibly endearing and just makes him cry more.
Cas swivels so Dean can see Jack's face now. Up close, it's incredibly clear that it's him, an uncanny resemblance to his dad and big blue eyes that find his.
And then Jack is smiling and reaching for him, begging to exchange arms.
Dean takes him and, instead of settling against him like he did Cas, Jack starts wiping at his cheeks with his tiny, chubby hands, and Dean can't believe he ever thought this being could be anything close to evil, much less treat him like he was.
It's at that moment that Dean decides he's gonna spend the rest of his life making it up to him.
EDIT: There's a part 2 in the notes!!!
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“Arachne was cast down by the gods, and so became our patron goddess of blasphemy,” said the priestess. “She protects those who question the station of the gods, those who challenge dogma. She is the mother of schisms, of science, and of curiosity. She doesn’t ask us to think of her; she only asks that we think.”
The novice nodded. “Fine, fine - but why the tapestries?”
She gestured up to the tapestries that hung along the walls, huge and high and impressive and bearing such slogans as “HEPHAESTUS JERKS OFF INTO A SOCK,” and “APOLLO HAS AN ASS’S FACE.”
“Our Lady also encourages blasphemy for blasphemy’s sake,” said the priestess.
“And that one?”
In the centre of the hall was the massive loom, where the tiny, glittering spider-goddess scuttled between the threads to churn out a new tapestry. This tapestry was huge and grey and read in big, bold, serifed letters: “SOME PIG.” In one corner the weaver had included a sow with a war helmet and the helpful label of “ATHENA” on its rump.
“That,” said the priestess, “is personal.”
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do not mind me I am just here thinking about Jake being the little spoon with Amy while also being the big spoon with Mac and creating the perfect Peraltiago cuddle sandwich
(I do mind you very much anon because I had never thought about that before and oh my god do I need it now)
The sound of Mac's favourite new tv show echoes quietly from the bedroom when Amy steps out of the bathroom in a towel, and as stressed out as she still is after that hot shower she just enjoyed, the sight of Mac and Jake cuddling on her side of the bed is enough to make her shoulders relax, no matter what they've just put behind them. They're here now, safe and sound, Mac's eyes closed shut and his pacifier bobbing away, Jake's hand absent-mindedly stroking over his head, the other one wrapped around his middle to hold him close while he stares at the television screen across the room with hazy eyes.
They've all had a pretty hard and frankly scary week. Amy'd already warned Jake that she would probably not be home much to help out at all, gearing up for a major meeting and discussion panel with several higher-ups she was trying very hard not to panic about, and she was more than relieved that Jake had taken it all in stride even when daycare called in as well, to tell them that Mac's usual two days a week would have to be cancelled due to another outbreak.
And then Mac had gotten sick anyway, so sick that Jake lost his nights to sitting up with him as well, as Amy tiptoed in and helped as much as she could - she'd gotten maybe 3 or 4 hours of sleep a night, barely able to make herself presentable for work in the mornings, but she could tell from Jake's haggard looks every morning as she kissed him goodbye for the day that he'd gotten even less.
It was enough to make that week one of the few she underscored with a harsh black line in her monthly planner, but she added a red line underneath on thursday, when Jake called her at work - something he rarely ever did, sticking to texts she could choose to ignore until later if she was too busy - to tell her he wasn't taking any more chances and bringing Mac to the ER after the morning had brought another intense round of throwing up, 5 blown out diapers in under 10 minutes and a fever that made the super-smart kid thermometer she got them blast out a rather terrifying warning beep.
Seeing her baby with an IV in his arm as she raced into the ER after giving Holt the quickest explanation she could, quietly sniffling and sucking on a freeze pop Jake was holding for him while also hugging him in his lap, told her he made the right call before the pediatrician coming over to speak to her ever could.
"He needs more fluids than he could drink right now." Jake explained what the doctor had already said when she came over to kiss both him and Mac on their foreheads, a tired sigh from the both of them in response. "But his fever is already down from the medicine they gave him."
They were allowed to take him home for the night, luckily, after his fever had gone down some more and the nurses had made sure he'd kept at least one meal in, with another big bag of medicine and 'What To Do If...' instructional booklets Jake was reading out loud for her as she drove them home. Jake was holding onto Mac's foot in his car seat like a lifeline, even as his little buddy dozed on and off from the stress of the ER and so many foreign people around him, lifted him into his arms more carefully than ever to carry him up the stairs to their apartment, and Amy knew he was not going to just put him down into his crib-converted toddler bed, nor would Mac let him, the way he clung onto his shoulders with a sad little whine in his throat from the exhaustion of the past days.
So she'd switched on the bedroom tv for some comfort - screen time rules be damned in this case - while Jake got Mac into some fresh pjs, took him just long enough so that Jake could get into sweats as well, and promised to take over for him after her shower so he could jump in, too.
But she doesn't believe he's going to take her up on that offer as she sees them side by side on the bed now, Mac's back pressed firmly against Jake's chest as he curls around the little guy.
Everyone likes to be the little spoon. It makes you feel safe.
Mac is fast asleep now, as safe as he could ever be. On a normal day, she'd probably think about lifting him out of Jake's arms to put him to bed in his own room, but she'd rather sleep there herself than to break up their little bubble of quiet.
"You know you can turn it off once he's asleep." She whispers instead after getting her own PJs on, climbing onto the free side of the bed carefully.
"Beep and Boop are gonna explain why we need to recycle next." Jake mumbles as an answer when she leans over his side, strokes through his messy hair as she reaches for the remote on the bedside table.
"Your wife should not need to explain why you need to take the chance to sleep when you can after this week." She presses a kiss to his temple as the screen switches off.
"I feel like I've forgotten how to do that." Jake sighs, and she can see the exhaustion on his face, the lines around his mouth and bags under his eyes that actually make him look his age for once. "What if Mac wakes up again? I don't think he ate enough, and-"
"If he wakes up, you'll wake up. You always do." She says in the most soothing voice she can muster, her hand not stilling in his hair as she watches his eyelids flicker. "And even if you don't, I'm still here to wake up too."
Everyone likes to be the little spoon. It makes you feel safe.
She slides up to him without moving her hand from his nape, nestles against his back as he sighs once more, deeper and calmer than before. One of his hands lets go of Mac and settles on her thigh instead, wrapped around his hip to really stay close.
"I'm gonna call in sick tomorrow. Holt will understand." She mumbles against his shoulder where her head rests, her fingertips scratching along the very edge of his hairline as her other arm comes around his waist, finds his hand on Mac's tummy to interlock their fingers against his soft, even breaths.
"Love you." Jake mumbles in reply, and his voice is halfway into dreamland, she can tell from its cadence alone, but she still answers.
"Love you too."
She spends a moment longer awake, feeling the steady breathing of the two most important people in her world under her hands, before her eyes fall closed as well.
None of them have moved even an inch when she blinks awake first in the morning, and Jake growls in his sleep when she twists around to reach for her cellphone on the bedside table, so she's quick to settle back against him once she's sent off a sick-call text to Holt and receives, weirdly enough, a thumbs up emoji as a reply and nothing else.
There's a much more expected follow up of "Dear Amy, I hope you and your family will feel better soon. Give Jake my best. Sincerely, Deputy Comissioner Raymond Holt" when she wakes up again a few hours later, and Jake makes no noise in his sleep this time, when she sneaks around to the side of the bed were Mac is smiling at her wide awake. She lifts him out of Jake's hug as only she ever could without waking him, and they share a lazy, tummy-friendly breakfast before Jake pats into the kitchen with his eyes half-closed and hugs them both from behind before getting himself a massive cup of coffee.
"Did you sleep okay?" She asks with a smile as the cup lifts into the air as he downs it.
"You never sleep badly as the little spoon, Ames." He grins softly before kissing her, Mac's hand slapping onto his cheek from her lap to keep them from completely getting lost in their kiss.
"But I did dream about Beep and Boop making me sit through an exam about recycling and I completely failed."
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One day, Cas is walking around the bunker when he hears some music. He recognizes the sound of the guitar, it comes from Dean's room.
Cas knocks at the door, and music stops immediately.
“Yeah? Come in,” shouts Dean, and he doesn't have to tell this twice. Cas opens a door and walks in, Dean is sitting on his bed, and the guitar is lying next to him. “Hey, Cas. What's up?”
“Nothing. I didn't know you can play a guitar.”
Dean chuckles and rolls his eyes.
“I'm not good at that, actually. Sonny taught me a few chords when I was a teenager, and I found the guitar in the basement a few weeks ago. I practice since then.”
Cas nods, he understands why he didn't know about it earlier. Dean started playing guitar when he was gone...
“Could I sit here and listen to you for a while?” he asks.
Dean bites his lip, wondering if it's a good idea.
“I... Yeah, okay.”
Cas sits next to him, but he gives him enough space. Dean takes guitar and clears his throat. He play 'Simple Man', and to Cas surprise, he also sings.
“Mama told me when I was young...”
Cas' expressions is changing all the time. First, he's smiling, but later he's frowning and tilting his head. Dean is too focused on guitar to notice this.
“I'm sorry, Dean,” says Cas, after Dean finishes.
“I was that bad,” he jokes, but there's something bitter in it. He scratches the back of his neck nervously. Shit, Cas didn't like it, he shouldn't have sung.
“No, it was beautiful, you're very talented...” explains Cas quickly. “But it was also sad. That's why I'm sorry.”
“Sad?” Dean looks at him finally, not understanding why Cas thinks it's a sad song.
“The lyrics. I know you've never had what you wanted.”
Dean laughs and smiles at him.
“Cas, it wasn't my words. I didn't write this song,” he says, and Cas is even more confused.
“You didn't? I don't understand, it was about you and Mary...”
“No, dumbass. It's just a song...”
Cas nods, but he's still not convinced if it's true. The song is perfect to describe Dean's life.
“I see... But still, I'm sorry. You deserve for a happy life with family.”
“I have family already,” points Dean. “I have Sam and Mom. And Jack, he's like a son to me, you know?”
“I'm glad to hear that.”
Dean hesitates for the moment, before he adds: “And... I have also you, right?”
He seems to be scared that Cas will deny, but nothing like that happens. Instead, Cas nods.
“Of course, Dean. Always.”
They're staring at each other for a while, until Dean clears his throat once again.
“Do you want me to play you something else?” he asks, and Cas smiles at him.
“Yes, please, Dean.”
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Hi, I love your blog! Could I request a hero who is injured/kidnapped, expecting help to arrive any second...but then it is the villain who rescues and takes care of them? Thanks!
"My friends are coming," the hero said, almost sneering. "I don't need you to rescue me."
The villain looked at them for a long moment, just looked at them. The villain never just looked at them. They always had something to say, and it was normally withering.
The hero's throat lodged tight. Something rotten wriggled in the pit of their stomach. Because that expression...
"My friends are coming?" They hated that it was a question, that the conviction had sucked out of them. Right? It echoed in the air between them, as if anything about this was right. "They wouldn't leave me here. I can't leave, in case they come, and then I'd have to - have to -" The hero trailed off, because the villain still wasn't saying anything. They just had that expression.
Sad. So damn sad.
The hero crumpled.
They hadn't cried when they'd felt an ankle snap, or when their stomach began to gnaw on itself in hunger, or when the dark and the cold closed in around them in the cell for what felt like an endless amount of time. They'd been unmoved by their kidnapper's taunts, by the vials of blood stolen from their veins, by the bruises swelling on their cheek. The hero's eyes burned with the terrible urge to cry then.
"Come on," the villain said, and held out a hand. "You're hurt. Does it really matter who gets you out of this hell hole?"
The hero took the villain's hand. They knew they were being ungracious, ungrateful. It wasn't like they didn't want to get out.
The villain was terribly gentle, pulling them up, pretending that the hero had the strength to have done it themselves if they really wanted to. They hobbled towards the exit.
The hero caught flashes of blood in the corners of their vision, prison guards removed from the board with a single-minded viciousness. The villain had a cut a visceral path through the compound to reach them. They had raised hell to do this, no holds barred.
"Are my friends hurt?" The hero asked, and tried to pretend the words weren't almost hopeful. Almost. "What's happened?"
The villain's jaw tightened. "Let's just keep moving, okay?"
"They make some kind of deal with you to come get me? Whatever it was, I swear -"
The villain rounded on them, viper-quick.
The hero flinched, and it wasn't really because of them.
The villain caught hold of the hero's arms, steadying, even as they glared. Their gaze promised carnage. It simmered with enough rage to an end a world.
"They're not coming for you," the villain hissed. "They weighed up the odds of getting you out, and they decided not to bloody well try. They decided it wasn't worth it. They're fine."
The hero swallowed.
"They're fine," the villain said, grip tightening a fraction. "And you - you're -" The villain's gaze scoured over them, livid, and then there was something very different on their face. It wasn't, exactly, soft. Yet... "You're hurt." Those words were soft. Raspy. A confession, of something, at least.
There was something vulnerable about the very word, wasn't there? Hurt. Not 'you need medical attention', with its clinical diagnosis. Not 'you have sustained severe injuries'. Hurt. You are in pain. It stripped everything bare.
"You said that before," the hero muttered. They looked down, and swallowed again, even harder. It didn't ease the thistle of emotion stuck in their throat. It didn't get rid of the bile. It didn't make it feel less like they were choking. The hero squeezed their eyes shut, and felt a damning tear slip free. "I'm fine. Always am."
They were so, so tired.
The villain's hold loosened, a little.
The hero opened their eyes.
Their gazes locked once more..
"You're fine," the villain said, quietly lethal. "Okay? I'm furious. You deserve better."
The villain looked at them again, with that same awful silence.
"Please," the hero's voice broke in turn. "Don't. I can't. I just - I can't."
They'd never said please to the villain before.
The villain didn't even look like they were getting any joy out of it.
They turned to continue leading the hero out instead, carefully, to continue rescuing them. That was the truth. The bitter-relief-disappointment of it.
The villain had come for them and no one else, no one they'd expected or trusted to be there for them, had. What was the hero supposed to even do with that?
The two of them eventually emerged into sunshine. It was shocking and warm and bright. The hero had forgotten how bright it could be.
The villain glanced at them again, in the full light, and sucked in a sharp breath as everything the morning exposed.
The hero tensed.
Still, the villain didn't try to press the topic, they didn't vow to go back into the compound and murder the hero's kidnappers again, though the hero knew that expression well enough to know that the villain definitely wanted to. Instead, the villain pulled the hero a little closer, and took a little more of their weight.
"I've got a first aid kit in the car," the villain said simply. "It's not far. You're okay. You're going to be okay, now."
And, with time, and a villain's diligent care, they were.
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Dean wasn’t sure exactly when it happened. When they went from Dean and Cas to DeanandCas. How they went from sleeping in separate beds to sleeping in the same one. How they went from brushing fingers against shoulders to pressing kisses to cheeks and ghosting their mouths against the corner of each other’s lips.
It was a slow progression.
Until it wasn’t.
Until one small little thing was a sudden jarring moment in Dean’s mind. They’re together together. And it’s so innocuous. This little moment that Cas doesn’t even realize.
They’ve been sharing things for weeks. Jackets. Blankets. Food. All of it happens without Dean even noticing. Besides, he was always stealing fries off of Cas’ plate, so it wasn’t really a surprise when Cas started stealing onion rings from his plate.
But this. Right now. Watching Cas get up from the warm cocoon of their bed sheets and proceed to open Dean’s drawer of clean clothes before stealing a pair of Dean’s clean socks. That was monumental. Cas doesn’t even realize he’s doing it, too busy rambling on about taking Jack bowling: “Isn’t that something normal people do? Talking of, I’ve never been bowling, either. Have you been bowling before, Dean? It can’t be too hard, can it? Isn’t there some sort of system used for kids to help them knock the pins down? Maybe we should use that for Jack? Or maybe he’d been fine without it?”
Dean doesn’t want to admit he’s tuned out; Cas’ words a white noise in the back of his mind. Because he can’t tear his eyes away from Cas’ hands. His socks in Cas’ hands. It’s a ridiculous pair with little burgers on them; nothing like the normal black socks Cas wears every day. Dean’s caught between shock and awe at the way Cas unrolls them, bending down and sliding one sock on and then the other, all the while never breaking his babbling about bowling and the history behind it.
And still, Dean can’t stop staring. They’ve shared clothes before. In fact, Cas is currently wearing one of his old AC/DC shirts; something the angel has taken to sleeping in every night since borrowing it two weeks ago. And just last week, Cas had draped the trenchcoat over Dean’s shoulders when they were on a hunt sneaking through the Michigan woods in early November; the angel noticed Dean’s shivers and immediately combated it by sliding the trenchcoat over Dean’s shoulders to warm him up.
None of that had made Dean stop and stare. It had been natural. As easy as breathing. But this. This was different. This was Cas taking Dean’s socks like they were his. And it’s at that moment Dean feels like his lungs are burning; thoughts swirling as the recognition dawns on him and settles like liquid gold burning through his veins. He’s in love with this dorky little angel currently stealing his socks.
And he doesn’t mean for the words to slip out, not while Cas is still rambling about bowling and if they could convince Sam and Eileen to join them; blissfully unaware that Dean has just had an epiphany.
“I love you,” Dean says on an exhale, the words tumbling out into the space between them.
Cas immediately cuts off mid-sentence, turning to fully face Dean with a look of starstruck surprise. “What?” he barely manages to say before Dean is getting up from the bed and pulling Cas into a kiss.
“I love you,” Dean repeats against Cas’ mouth, feeling Cas’ dopey smile pressed against his lips.
“Love you, too,” Cas murmurs right back without any hesitation, kissing Dean with enough fervor to leave them both breathless and dizzy.
It’s ridiculous, how a single pair of his socks could hold so much meaning, but it’s surprisingly them.
Later, when they’re at the bowling alley as Jack is taking his turn at knocking the pins down, having dragged Sam and Eileen along to their little adventure, Dean snakes his hand down to settle on Cas’ ankle, where a peek of his socks with their silly little hamburgers can be seen where Cas’ pants have ridden up.
“You like stealing my clothes that much that you’ve taken to stealing my socks too, huh?” Dean teases.
Cas looks from the socks to Dean’s face, before a flush creeps up his cheeks. He shrugs, trying to play it cool, but his facade wavers as he leans into Dean’s space; pressing their lips together. “What can I say? I love your clothes as much as I love you.”
Tag List Part 1 Below- (please let me know if you’d like to be added or removed from the list!)
Tag List: @likepurplemuses @expectingtofly @neo-neo-neo @shadowywerewolfqueen @feraladoration @xojo @paintdriesfaster @adsp-destielcockles @ivydean @justa-crayon
@dea-stiel @miluiel-erynion @y-yo-a-ti-cas67 @toxic-nebula @misha-moose-dean-burger-lover @proudace @galaxymysteryelephant @aelysianmuse @you-changedmedean @destielfactory
@welcome-to-crowleys-hellhole @iamsherlockedondoctorwho @dickspeightjrs @imbiowaresbitch @destielle @organicpurplepants @dean-you-assbutt-cas-loves-you @sapphirecobalt-1 @galaxycastiel @spnobsessed50
@jayus-fandom-writer @2musiclover2 @rainbowscas @bennedict @cassiecasyl @can-i-just-stay-in-the-corner @chaoticdean @wigglebox @50shadesofcockles @trasherasswood
@spittingpagan @mishafuckincollins @becky-srs @jiminthestreets-bonesinthesheets @top13zepptraxx @love-neve-dies @good-things-do-happen-dean @tearsofgrace @moi-the-bard @one-more-offbeat-anthem
@naturallyathief @queen-rowenas @lonely-nerd-angel @seffersonjtarship @imjustgenerallyclueless @wormstacheangel @smushedmuffins @unamusedelipsis @i-know-like-four-things @lifbitch
@rambleoncas @starlightcastiel @sinnabonka @cas-and-dean @bobbie3939 @hadtoomuchtothink @faithcastiel @wayward-angels-club @leftistcas @footstepsontherun
@imbellarosa @destiel-in-its-natural-habitat @apatheticanvas67482 @deancas-bumblebee @professorerudite @ragingdeansexual @llamasdumpsterfire @anglovesthis @earthangelcastiel @ensignabby
@houseofnovak @argent2289 @murdur-raven @imals18 @kittyk26 @i-put-the-ayyy-in-asexual @drriffly @y-yo-a-ti-dumbass @aphroditeindisguise01 @luckynightmares
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Good morning, I had an idea and I wanted to share (could be a prompt if you want): So, Jaskier definitely, absolutely wants to learn Geralts potions and which to give when. But they aren't labelled at all and you've got to discern by shapes and colours. I firmly believe Jaskier writes a little ditty for that and maybe it spreads or maybe Geralt wakes up after a hunt with vague memories of that song after Jaskier saved him...
Jessi you know exactly what to say to get a fic out of me. Invoke my musicality! Just for you, not one, but two songs Jaskier uses for Geralt's potions!
wc - 2476
Geralt wakes up after a hunt gone wrong and finds himself patched up in bed. He waits for Jaskier to arrive and overhears him singing a strange song to himself as he fusses with Geralt's potion supplies.
Rabbit stew, warm and fresh from the pot. It was the first thing Geralt could remember upon waking. They’d had rabbit stew at midday, just before the hunt. He almost imagined he could taste it on his dry, cut lip, but the lingering bitter taste of White Raffard’s Decoction chased the last of the memory away. He could not recall taking any potions. In fact, he had trouble remembering what it was he’d been fighting. His head was vague, all the details swirling at the edges in a haze. Someone had been speaking to him, he thought. Was it the chanting of a kitchen maid, timing her baking with a prayer? Or was it a song?
Geralt sat up with a grunt. “Jaskier,” he called, voice rough and catching in his throat. He looked around the darkness of the room, but he was alone. He scented the air. Jaskier had been near in the last hour or so, his smell not yet faded. It tasted bitter on his tongue, like the decoction: bitter like the musk of fear. The tang of salt hung in the air as well. Tears. But there was more. From the table at his side came an earthy scent and he discovered a bowl of mushrooms upon it. Sewant mushrooms.
That’s right. They’d been in the caves. The vision of the beast rose to the forefront of his mind and he remembered that they’d been fighting not a wyvern as hired, but a slyzard. It had been a deadly miscalculation, for the beast could breathe fire over a great distance. Geralt felt the fresh burns on the back of his neck, smelled the poultice pasted there. He remembered pulling Jaskier behind cover. He’d not had the chance to see whether he’d been burned as well. There had been too much to distract him; he did not even know if he’d slain the beast.
There had been mushrooms in the cave. Someone had to have brought them. Jaskier would be foolish enough to return to the caves, even if the beast still lived. But for mushrooms? Geralt could not imagine why.
“Sewant from the sewer caves, crows’ eyes, fang of beasts; blood from all the nasty things, and myrtle pure as priests.”
Geralt turned to the sound of Jaskier’s singing beyond the door. It cracked open and there the bard stood, arms hidden beneath a mass of white flowers. He had, too, a leather pouch dangling from around his wrist. Unloading his burden upon the table, he flipped through the open bestiary, still singing under his breath. It was not his usual kind of song; it was lifeless, simple rhyme and meter without passion. He did not even glance Geralt’s way as he set to work, grinding ingredients together in a mortar.
“Mistletoe and mutagen, aloe leaf of wolf; green mold, han, and celandine, then in the flame engulf.”
Jaskier poured the concoction into a potion bottle and hurried to the fire. He bent to light it, cursing as the matches failed beneath his shaking hand. He cursed louder, his hand slipping again. His voice began to shake as he continued his chant.
“Remember Raffard’s recipe and count it by this rhyme; be ye neither quick nor slow to measure out the time. Once the brew has bubbled and its color turns to red, let cool and cork then brew again to raise him from—”
Jaskier’s voice caught in his throat as he failed to light the match once more. He gripped the potion bottle in his hand and wiped at his eyes, unable to finish the line. “To raise him—”
“From the dead,” Geralt concluded.
Jaskier whirled around, dropping the bottle upon the floor. It shattered, spilling its contents into the hearth and over his boots. But he didn’t pay it any mind. He ran to Geralt’s side and knelt before the bed. His hands were everywhere at once, prodding gently, examining him.
“Geralt,” he breathed. Then everything came out in one great rush, each new thought interrupting the last. “Oh fuck, I was—! You weren’t moving. You just dropped to the ground the minute your sword—! I had to carry you back, and you only had one vial left. I was so worried I wouldn’t be able to make more before …”
“One vial is enough,” Geralt said. He nodded toward the supplies on the table. “Is that White Raffard’s?” he asked, knowing it could be nothing else.
Jaskier nodded, silent.
“What was that song just now?”
Jaskier bit his lip, looking guilty. “I … didn’t meant to pry,” he murmured. “I promise never to share trade secrets but … I had to know how it was made. It’s one of your most important potions. If you couldn’t make one, and if we were ever in a situation where we couldn’t find a healer, I needed to know that I could save you. So I watched, and I wrote it to remember.”
“You wrote a song to remember how to brew a potion?” Geralt asked. He looked at the ingredients. They were all correct, and well-measured from the look of it. Jaskier had prepared three bottles, two still sat empty on the table. Before them, their ingredients lay in even piles, waiting to be ground in the mortar.
Jaskier took Geralt’s hand in his, pressing his forehead to it. “I can brew Raffard’s, White Honey, and Swallow. I know you need Swallow with Raffard’s, for the toxicity. And … if I ever brewed a faulty potion, I would have the Honey.”
“You know what potions to take,” Geralt said. It was less of a question, more an expression of awe. He’d never taught Jaskier about the potions, merely asking for them as needed if Jaskier were in reach to fetch them. And from that, Jaskier had learned what was needed when.
“I wrote a song for that, too. All of them: what they’re for, the ones to take before a battle, and the ones to take after.”
“All of them?” he asked.
Jaskier looked up. He once more turned his head away in shame. Witchers’ potions were not for men to know, let alone theirs to brew. But he nodded. There was no denying it now.
“Sing it to me.”
The look on Jaskier’s face was nothing short of complete and total astonishment. Geralt never requested songs. “You … right now? You want me to sing the song?” Jaskier faltered.
When Geralt gestured toward the lute, Jaskier smiled.
“It hasn’t got music,” Jaskier said. “It isn’t meant to be sung, really. Not in that way at least.”
“But you could put it to music, I bet.”
Jaskier flushed. There was a bit of praise in there somewhere—an admission of skill. At Geralt’s request, he stood and fetched the lute. “You seem to be doing much better,” he said, sitting at his side on the bed.
“Raffard,” Geralt replied. “Are you in tune?”
Jaskier strummed the lute slowly, emphasizing each open note with pride. “Always am.”
It only took a minute of experimental plucking before Jaskier had a set of chords prepared. He strummed them twice in succession, then began his song:
Before one fights vampiric beasts
Drink Black Blood down to spoil their feasts
And if there’s acid on the rise
First taking Bindweed would be wise
When fighting something swift and cruel
Down Blizzard quick before the duel
And if the brawl takes place at night
Take Cat to see in dimmest light
Geralt watched with open admiration as he listened. Jaskier had learned it all on his own. He’d made a careful study of the potions without any help, and what Geralt heard was thus far correct. There were trainees who’d not kept such simple things in order, even with proper instruction.
When fighting wraiths one cannot spy
De Vries’ Extract evolves the eye
And wolves will howl in perfect tune
When given life by the Full Moon
At the play on wolves, Geralt rolled his eyes. Even so, he was impressed. He’d only encountered two wraiths with Jaskier at his side. He would’ve had to pay very close attention to remember De Vries’ Extract’s purpose.
The bit about the wolves did not escape his notice either. There was a little crook in the corner of Jaskier’s mouth as he sang the words. Of course the potion made for jokes among the witchers of the school of the wolf, but they weren’t the only ones who used them.
But if one’s poisoned first, let’s say
Oriole takes the sting away
And when one bleeds, to stop the aches
A simple Kiss is all it takes
If long the task you must endure
Then take a dose of Maribor
And if one’s signs aren’t up to snuff
Then Petri’s Philter is the stuff
If one cannot avoid a hit
The vengeful Shrike takes care of it
And if you’ve time while under cover
Swallow aids a slow recover
If the battle leaves you tired
Tawny Owl may be required
And while weak one cannot parry
Thunderbolt will make foes wary
When hope is lost and at its end
White Raffard’s revives your friend
And if while brawling stunned you be
Then Willow is the remedy
For power in your every blow
Take Wolf to strike against your foe
And though it makes one wobble blind
With Wolverine their fate is signed
Remember this what else you do
White Gull is base for every brew
And when the potions start to strain
White Honey lets you start again
“You ended with White Honey,” Geralt remarked.
Jaskier lay a hand over the strings of his lute, quieting them. “It lets you start again, does it not? Once you swallow a dose of White Honey, it nullifies the effects of all potions,” he said in his most academic voice. “I thought it would be fitting to end the song there; it certainly helps to remember the purpose.”
“And you know how to brew it.”
“I find it ironic that there’s not a trace of honey in it whatsoever. In fact, far too many of your potions involve the use of vinegar, the very opposite of honey. Would it ruin the potions beyond use if I were to add a bit? A spoonful of sugar helps the medicine go down, they say.”
Geralt smiled. He waved his hand, gesturing for Jaskier to come closer. He put a hand on his shoulder, whispering in his ear. “I think whatever potions you brew for me in the future will be made sweet enough by that sentiment,” he said. “So don’t fuck up my recipes, bard.”
Jaskier stammered, then laughed and batted Geralt’s face. “You cheeky thing! For a moment, I thought you actually intended to compliment me.”
“Didn’t you hear me the first time?” Geralt asked. “I did.”
“Not a compliment if you insult my cooking right after. Or—well, eh—brewing, as it were.”
“Oh, yes, that’s much more flattering. Assistant Alchemist! I do like the sound of it.”
Geralt chuckled. “You’re my assistant now, are you?”
“But of course,” Jaskier replied, waving a dramatic arm in the air. “Always have been. I only needed a proper title.
“Then tell me, assistant: what became of the slyzard?”
Jaskier grinned and leaned over to grab the leather pouch from the table. He tossed it for show and caught it with one hand before emptying its contents. A collection of sharp, bloody teeth fell onto the sheets, some with bits of pink gum still attached to the yellow base.
“I believe Raffard’s called for fang of beasts in the list of ingredients,” he said. “And there was no other beast nearby to take from. Your sword was still lodged in its back; all I had to do was give it one last thrust through the heart.”
Jaskier winked and produced another bag from his doublet, heavy with coin. “Needed proof anyway,” he said, setting it alongside the teeth. “I needed some distraction while you were out, so I checked off the list: put you on the mend, finish the hunt, get the pay, replenish supplies.”
For a moment, his cocky expression faltered. “I was just finishing up when I got a little …” he trailed, bundling up the teeth once more. “Well, it’s easier to get lost in worrisome thoughts when doing quiet tasks like foraging. But you woke up, and now there’s nothing left to fear. I’ll have a new set of potions ready for you by the time you’re well enough to get out of bed.”
“… You … killed the slyzard?” Geralt said.
“You did most of it. I just gave it the last push. It barely twitched. Honestly, its innards made more of a fuss when I went to bottle them. I think you’ll be well stocked for some time.”
Jaskier killed the slyzard. He stooped to rummaging in its bleeding corpse for the most vile and disgusting of ingredients. For his potions. Which Jaskier brewed. Which he knew how to brew by merely observing, putting it all together in simple songs to remember. And still he’d found time to collect his pay.
“Fuck me,” Geralt said in wonder.
“Maybe once you’re healed,” Jaskier laughed, ears a touch pink.
“Then kiss me,” Geralt amended. He lay his hand over Jaskier’s arm, leaning forward, enraptured. It was a simple revelation and he wondered just how long the idea had been bubbling in the back of his brain. “Kiss me,” he said. “I think I’m in love with you.”
Jaskier blinked twice, his cheeks flushing as he took in the seriousness of Geralt’s tone. “Did … you put too much White Gull in that last batch of Raffard’s?”
Geralt shook his head, his eyes never leaving Jaskier’s. “Will you kiss me?” he asked again.
“You killed a slyzard for me.”
“And you memorized my potions. In case I needed them.”
“You love me,” Geralt concluded. His heart gave a leap at the notion. Yes. Yes, this was something he never knew he wanted. No, not wanted—this was something he needed. If all that didn’t add up to love, he didn’t know what would. It was such a simple thing, and he was a very simple man in every meaning of the word.
“Love me, Jaskier,” he said. “Love me and kiss me, please.”
But Jaskier already did. And before the final plea could escape Geralt’s lips, Jaskier did.
I’m going to take care of you, Geralt thought. He would take care of Jaskier just as Jaskier had always taken care of him. Good care.
“I do love you,” Geralt corrected.
Jaskier chuckled. “Don’t need to think about it?”
“I don’t think I ever really did.”
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when kara gets back and lena quietly celebrates before slipping out the door when no ones looking. She books a flight—somewhere, anywhere, she doesnt really care. Just not here. It’s first class, of course, she may have lost access to l-corp’s private fleet but she didn’t lose her hatred of flying (unless its in kara’s arms).
The plan lands late in London. Lena stays overnight in a hotel overlooking the Thames and the London Eye, jet lag making her stay up all night sipping tea and watching the city lights flicker over the water and the dew slowly forming on the light posts and handrails. She tries not to think about what she left behind, about the lack of notifications on her phone. No one noticed she was gone, no one thought to check up on her. Without L-Corp, her phone was painfully devoid of emails, calls, and updates. She didnt miss the monotony of board rooms and kissing ass to men she didnt want or need, but to feel needed, to feel wanted was a longing that was so deeply rooted in her chest that it felt like she couldn’t breathe.
But it’s better this way. National City has its hero back. L-Corp is under the control of her demonic brother, but Lena doesn’t worry about him anymore. She knows Kara will protect the city and the world from whatever lex has planned. National City has nothing for her except a graveyard reminder of her sins. Sins she has to stop trying to atone for.
Maybe she’ll move to switzerland. It’s a nice, neutral country. No one will recognize her there. She can work at the large hadron collider or start her own tech company from scratch, just like she and jack had always planned. She could do real good get a fresh start away from her family. She had thought metropolis to national city was enough, but she was wrong. A luthor couldn’t share her home with a kryptonian after all.
at dawn lena falls asleep, tea mostly empty on the table beside her window seat. an immeasurable amount of time passes before a soft knock on the door wakes her. Half asleep, she uncurls herself from the ball she had rolled into to get comfortable in the too small chair. The knock comes again.
“god, im coming!” lena snaps at whoever has the audacity to wake her up at such an hour.
she half stomps to the door and flings it open. “i thought i told reception to—“
theres kara. at her door. at the door of her hotel room in london.
kara holds out a white cardboard box. “theyre fresh.”
lena stares at the box of what smells like scones like kara’s just handed her a bomb. kara herself looks like shes about to jump out of her own skin, fingers trembling as they grip the side of the box, hair in tangles like she didnt even bother to brush it when she changed out of the supersuit.
“you found me.” lena states.
“you left.” kara retorts.
lena takes the box of scones from kara’s still outstretched hands. “come in.” lena moves out of the doorway to allow kara to step inside. lena feels her own hands tremble; her body is alive with electricity, like just being around kara is making her synapses short circuit.
“why did you leave?” kara asks at the same time lena says “how did you find me?”
the both stop, each awkwardly gesturing the other to start talking. when they interrupt each other again, lena huffs a laugh and gestures for kara to finish.
“why did you leave?” kara asks, a sadness in her voice lena cant quite name.
“we both know i had to.” lena replies quietly.
“did someone say something?”
“dont patronize me by assuming that my actions depend on the opinions of other’s.” lena scoffs. “dont you see, kara? im not like you. im not like you or alex or brainy or nia. you all, you’re good. you make the right decisions. you save lives and dont hesitate to put others first. kara, i was ready to sacrifice national city—hell, the world— to get you back. If alex hadnt taken the tracking device from me...i dont think i would’ve made the decision to let you go.”
“lena.” kara stepped closer to her, taking one of lena’s hands gently in her own. “i know how it feels.”
“when we made that lead diffuser device to save the world from the daxamites. i made the choice to send mon-el away. i chose to poison the atmosphere and make this planet uninhabitable for him.”
“i dont understand. thats just you making the right choice again.”
kara chuckles softly, fidgeting with lena’s fingers as she stares down at their enjoined hands. “dont you remember? when edge put you on that plane with those chemicals to poison the water supply. i couldn’t let you go. i was fully prepared to let national city’s water be contaminated as the cost of saving you.”
“kara...” lena whispers, and kara looks up and meets her eyes.
“i need you to understand, lena.” kara cups lena’s jaw gently, so gently and pulls her in until their foreheads are touching. “if i was asked to sacrifice the world or you, i wouldnt choose to save the world. i would sacrifice anything, but not you. never you.”
lena feels a tear running down her cheek but makes no move to stop it.
“come back to national city.” kara pleads, voice barely above a whisper. “come back to me.”
lena reaches up and grips the hand that is still holding her cheek like a lifeline.
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