#i hope a gust of wind blows all his chips away and he has to awkwardly bend over to pick them all up to throw them away

[tobeos]

doodle i did in class of the dismantled chip bag eichi card. what is wrong with this guy

#why did he take it apart like that #i hope a gust of wind blows all his chips away and he has to awkwardly bend over to pick them all up to throw them away #eichi tenshouin #ensemble stars #enstars

[holdinbacksecrets]

yoon jeonghan. “so we’re both paying attention?”

cheers/ty to @taetaespeaches for beta reading

“this is starting to look awfully familiar.”

your lips part, and a single exhale slips past them as his voice crosses the threshold. slender doors were pushed open, but their noticeable creak was swallowed by the party’s noise. 

“hmm?”

“you’re on the balcony again instead of inside pretending to enjoy another party. why do you continue to come? i’m sure there are all kinds of things you could be doing on a saturday night.”

“sure, but i always see you. isn’t that enough?” my bedroom is quiet, and you’re not there. you don't even know the color of my walls.

“i didn’t expect you to be so honest.” he’s leaning against the railing, facing away from you for only a moment. he blinks as a gust of wind blows, lifts the ends of his hair. it’s brown again. 

“so you’re telling me you knew? i’m somehow obvious?”

“i’m… hopeful and thought it was worth mentioning. you’re not easy to get to know.” he takes a swig from his beer before turning around, and setting his sights on you. what a rush. 

“when have you tried to get to know me?” 

“you’re right. every time happened in my head… you’ve caught me.” what’s the point of alcohol when he smiles at you like that? so electrifying, creating the only buzz worth craving. 

“you only last out here for the length of time it takes to finish your beer. i’m lucky if the bottle’s full. usually it’s not.”

“is that so? i thought it was a song that always pulled me back inside, or a call of my name. i can’t be rude you know.” 

“of course not, with all your consideration and everything.” your tea’s on the round coffee table. the steam has stopped; you trace the rim. does he notice your finger’s tremble? 

“this is what i mean. i can’t tell if you’re annoyed or flirting with me.”

“i wouldn’t be talking at all if i were annoyed, but flirting? hmmm, the idea’s intriguing enough. giving it a try isn’t too bad either.”

“you’re making this sound like a science project.”

“what if it is one? would you be intrigued, too?”

“what about me is worth studying?”

your smile is hidden behind the white mug. its chip presses against your mouth. tea trickles down your chin. “ooo, a stimulating question. i knew these parties were worth coming to.”

jeonghan notices the droplet and waits for you to wipe it away. he takes a step forward, imagining his thumb on your skin, but you catch the earl grey runaway before it stains your t shirt. 

“is my question worthy of an answer?”

“i can’t give all my thoughts away. what will make you come outside again if i do?”

“a mystery can only take me so far.”

“what else do you need?”

“stimulation.”

“ahh, i should’ve guessed. i could’ve made a bet out of it for whatever’s in your wallet.” 

“i have enough to buy a couple coffees.”

“i’m not a coffee drinker.”

“tea exists… water too… or juice if that’s for you.”

“your beer is empty, yoon.”

“i’m not done talking to you, and there’s a date i’m hoping to plan.”

“hoping… hmmm just hoping? i’m almost disappointed.”

“wanting, executing… fuck, will you get coffee- tea with me this week? thursday?”

“will you even recognize me in broad daylight?” 

a memory crosses his mind at your words. oh sweetheart, you have no idea. 

“right because we didn’t know each other for years prior to last fall when you decided to start hanging out on balconies at parties.”

you blink, and finish your tea. it’s lukewarm at best. seungcheol would be disappointed in you. he was so excited to introduce you to jeonghan, thought the two of you would hit it off, maybe fall in love… his words.

“thursday works. i’m glad you remember. i didn’t think you paid much attention to me before.”

“how would you know? you never asked. maybe i thought about you every day and wondered if i’d see you in this exact apartment. maybe the beer boosts my confidence enough to come out here and talk to the girl who’s mysterious and beautiful and laughs at my jokes and can be found reading by the architecture building because the willow tree offers the perfect amount of shade in the final month’s of summer… on thursday, you’ll know i’m thinking about you. my beer’s empty.” 

“good night, then.” 

he smiles, endeared, amused, realizing his heart is quite possibly yours. “good night, then. dream about trampolines or something.”

your lips part, and the gasp isn’t swallowed by the party’s noise. “you remember?” 

“i pay attention. i’ll text you about thursday.” 

“wait! that night on the trampoline… didn’t you try to get to know me then?”

“yeah.”

“so what you said earlier… it hasn’t always been in your head.” 

“so we’re both paying attention?” 

“stimulating, isn’t it?” 

jeonghan smiles once more, and for a moment you wonder if he’ll stay despite the empty bottle. he doesn’t. he closes the door. you hear it’s creak and exhale, hoping to dream of the trampoline. 

#seventeen scenarios #seventeen reactions #seventeen imagines #seventeen blurbs #seventeen fic #seventeen fluff #seventeen oneshot #jeonghan scenarios #jeonghan reaction #jeonghan imagines #jeonghan blurbs #jeonghan fic #jeonghan oneshot #jeonghan fluff #jeonghan x reader #jeonghan x you

[sevenmikento]

A/N: hello!! this request sounds super lit but i am Scared of not writing their dialogue witty enough so imma just try my best! :D i hope you have a nice day as well hehe

genres: fluff, BIG angst, sort of happy ending?, tw death, tw blood and gore; 2k words

divine omniscience [Sukuna X Reader]

“Do you guys think it’s true? What Gojou-sensei said?” Nobara asks out of the blue as she casually munches on a fry that certainly was not from her tray.

“You gotta be more specific, dude,” Yuuji replies, speaking with his mouth half-full of burger. She scrunches her nose at him as she reaches for another one of Megumi’s french fries.

“Y’know when he said all that stuff about Sukuna having only one known trusted companion or whatever. I mean, everything in the texts seems pretty vague, no?”

“Yeah, ‘companion’ is not the kind of word I’d associate with someone like him.” Megumi chips in, pushing his tray closer to the girl sitting opposite him.

“Kinda wanted to ask if they meant it sexually but I swear he’ll just start giggling and wasting our time.”

The three friends continue to chatter on about their theories and interpretations of their earlier class’s contents, all the while completely unaware of the fourth party listening in–the one who is actually most knowledgeable on the topic they’re so oddly curious about.

Or perhaps it would be more accurate to say that you are the one who knows the most, that is if you’re still alive. Though Sukuna doubts you died within the time he was away. You’re too smart for that.

The village chanted, faces obscured behind masks carved from wood and dyed red from the colour of the witch’s blood. Watching from within the shadows, Sukuna felt compelled to observe the ritual, having never felt such a strong surge in cursed energy in his entire existence.

He was proven to have wrongly assumed it was coming from the outraged villagers when they finally set your crucified body alight and a blanket of black cursed energy covered the area, engulfing every single one of the citizens beneath it. Bone-chilling screams and begs for mercy filled his ears, the sound muffled but satisfying to listen to nonetheless.

When the strange turn of events finally came to an end and the energy receded into your bloodied and broken body, the King of Curses himself decided that he’d finally found someone worth his time.

At the end of your torturous life as a human and the start of your existence as a newly born cursed spirit, you were honestly a little too much for Sukuna to handle. Despite having never heard of cursed energy or jujutsu sorcery, you were quick to pick up everything you needed to know and then some.

Not only were you dangerously intelligent, but you were also completely unphased by him and his raw power, no matter how much he made sure to display it–whether it be in the form of exterminating a town of people or setting a forest ablaze with just a snap of his fingers.

“Scared yet?” he would ask, a smug grin on his face. You would smile back without a hint of sarcasm or dishonesty.

“No,” you’d reply without a second thought, “because I know you will never hurt me.”

What Sukuna initially assumed was well-hidden arrogance turned out to be a mere fact you were stating. A piece of truth you’d gained due to the nature of your ever-growing curse technique. Outwardly, the King could deny it all he wanted to, he could threaten you day and night, grab your throat and tighten his grip just to prove you wrong but he would never–has never–done any harm unto you.

When he had come to accept that as the truth, he tried deluding himself into believing he kept you around merely for your wealth of knowledge and powerful supply of cursed energy. Those were, in fact, his reasons at the start of it all–they were why he even walked into the village that fateful day and used his reverse cursed technique on you.

“You can say that all you want,” you once said, reaching up to wipe the blood off his face with your sleeve while the same red substance stained your own skin, “but we both know the main reason you keep me by your side.”

He did not respond.

Instead, he scoffed and grabbed your chin with one hand before raising the other and mimicking your gesture. With an uncharacteristic tenderness, Sukuna wiped the blood off your face with his thumb as the cries of the dying soldiers around you slowly faded to nothing.

“Their name was (Y/N).” His voice echoes shortly within the confines of Yuuji’s dark bedroom.

“What?” the sorcerer blearily murmured, having been on the verge of falling asleep when the King of Curses himself decided to speak.

“My companion… though, they would have preferred the word ‘partner’... was named (Y/N).”

“Why’re you telling me this?” Yuuji groaned, rubbing his eyes.

“The inaccuracies your teachers spread to your friends are painful to listen to,” Sukuna scoffs. “Frankly, it’s insulting and disrespectful.” The cursed spirit’s choice of vocabulary throws his vessel off guard.

“... You must’ve liked them a lot, huh?” Yuuji responds, voice softer than before as he feels his initial frustration of being denied his sleep fading away. “It’s weird to imagine someone like you feeling indignant on someone else’s behalf.”

“Well,” Sukuna smirks to himself, “let’s just say they’re the only one I have any respect for in this godforsaken world.”

“He plans on betraying you,” you stated matter-of-factly, opening your eyes for the first time throughout the entire meeting.

Sukuna had called forth a few powerful cursed spirits under the pretence of forming an alliance, with his true intentions being to simply size them up and subtly intimidate them into leaving his newfound territory alone–if they valued their lives, that is. He didn’t need to tell you of his plans and he knew he didn’t have to for you to understand it completely.

The cursed spirit you’d singled out widened his eyes before his expression turned hostile. “Don’t spout bullshit! I’ve done nothing but agree with everything Sukuna-sama has said!”

Sukuna watched the events unfold silently, unable to help but feel something in his chest swell with warmth as he observed you.

“I know everything.” Your simple reply was enough to enrage the spirit who shot out of his chair and seemingly began to lunge in your direction.

“You fucking wh–!” he cried.

Where his head used to sit was a neck sliced cleanly through the middle as everyone in the room felt a gust of wind brush past their terrified faces. The only outliers were you and the perpetrator of the murder himself, both smiling as one would out on a walk on a pleasant afternoon. His skull bounces twice on the tatami flooring before it disappears alongside his body.

“That was a bit much, don’t you think, Sukuna?” The other cursed spirits practically break out in a cold sweat upon hearing you so daringly speak to the King of Curses after such a display of his power.

“That was merciful, my dear,” he responded casually, reaching out a clean hand to wipe away the droplets of blood that had reached your face. Still touching you, he turned to the others. “Does anyone else have anything to say?”

“No, they’re terrified,” you laugh when they fail to respond, all still shaking where they sat.

“Good–”

“Of me.”

He scrunches his nose and softly pushes your face away but a smile still creeps onto his face as he thinks to himself, ‘as they should be.’

Nobara and Megumi would find it hard to believe had the information not come directly from Yuuji’s mouth, as well as the additional mouth that had unceremoniously popped up on his cheek mid-conversation.

“You’re saying everything wrong!” Sukuna had exclaimed after making his appearance and refusing to leave until Yuuji had gotten all the facts right.

When he was finally satisfied, he still didn’t leave right away, sensing the two sorcerers wanted to know more. “Well?” He prompts. “Just ask your fucking questions already, we don’t have all day.”

“If you put it like that… then I’ll just ask it as it is and you’re not allowed to get all pissy, ‘kay?” Nobara responds. Megumi and Yuuji share a nervous glance.

“How’re you so sure they’re not dead?”

He wished he hadn’t left you on such a bad note; that he didn’t spit at your feet and push you away when you tried to stop him from leaving the temple in which you both sought refuge. He wished he’d at least bade you a proper farewell and that his last words to you didn’t consist of him questioning your abilities just so he could keep his ego intact.

As Sukuna laid dying, surrounded by Japan’s most powerful sorcerers, he realised, finally, that he would never see you again; or feel your hand wipe at his face after another victorious battle.

For the first time in his life, the King of Curses shed a tear.

The braver sorcerers scoffed, some even taunted him, assuming he was merely afraid of death, whereas the warier ones hesitated in approaching him to deliver the final blow, taken aback by the uncharacteristic gesture. Still, with his immense cursed energy forming a protective barrier around him as a last resort, the sorcerers hadn’t won the battle quite yet.

A few minutes later, in fact, they lost it.

Sukuna remains silent, pondering over Nobara’s question. As promised, he didn’t show his anger and hid his grief even better. Truth be told, he doesn’t know if you’re alive.

“I told you not to go,” you spoke, voice trembling as you rested his head in your lap, your hands wiping the blood off his face. “I told you you’d die, didn’t I? Why didn’t you listen? Why?”

The sound of your soft sobs mingled with the noise from outside the pitch-black barrier you’d placed around the both of you. The sorcerers who survived your ambush were chipping away at your cursed energy shield and it was only a matter of time before they would break through.

“Even after all I said to you before I left,” Sukuna murmurs, relishing in the feeling of your skin against his, “this is what you choose to scold me over?” He let out a weak chuckle.

“I know of your grief and regret, I know you’re sorry and I’ve long forgiven you.”

“Thank you, my (Y/N).” He turned his head to press his lips against your palm for the final time. “Now go. You have to escape before the damned sorcerers force their way in.”

“No.” Your defiant tone juxtaposed with your tear stricken face amused him. “I’ll be here to see you off and then I’ll kill them all.” You leaned forward to kiss his forehead. “I’ll wait for your return, my love.”

When Sukuna refused to answer Nobara’s question and promptly disappeared, the trio assumed that was the end of it all. As much as they wanted to leave the information behind them, they still find themselves talking about it as they wait in line at a new sushi place that opened near the school.

“Kinda weird he was so insistent on telling us everything, huh?” Yuuji remarks.

“I highly doubt that was close to everything, though.” Megumi scratches the back of his head. “It felt like he was withholding a lot, like when he didn’t answer Nobara’s question.”

“Yeah, that was pretty lame,” she says with a pout. “I really wanna know if they’re alive or not. I mean, their whole story was pretty interesting but imagine how scary it’ll be if (Y/N) was still alive and in Japan after all this time.”

“Table for three, please,” Yuuji says to the staff at the counter once it’s their turn. They stare at him for a brief moment before a happy yet somehow sinister smile stretches across their face. The jujutsu sorcerer feels his blood run cold as he feels Sukuna suddenly begin to vie for control over his body.

“Finally,” you whisper, body and soul flooded with sheer relief as tears run down your face. You reach your hand out to touch Yuuji’s face and though he tries his very hardest to turn away and run, he finds his body frozen in place. “I’ve been waiting for you, my love.”

#jjk #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen x reader #sukuna #ryomen sukuna x reader #sukuna x reader #imagines #scenarios #fluff #angst #somewhat happy ending #tw death #tw blood and gore

[dimensionwriter]

Flufftober Day 2: First Meeting

M! Orc x GN! Reader

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

Apologies for this one being late. A lot of problems arose yesterday and my mother got sick (she’s fine now, just migraines) and I just couldn’t get a flow for this story.

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Blind dates. You either ended up loving them or hating them. Your friends swear on their life that this person would be great for you, but then you meet them and it doesn’t hit off. Or you two hit off for the night, but then after a few days of texting, the magic wears off. 

You were turned off on the idea of a blind date, but when a coworker happily talks about how well you will get along with her friend and how you guys will really hit it off, you couldn’t say no. 

So, there you sat at on a chipped green bench in front of a random building you never heard of while you waited for this random person to show up and within the next few hours ‘blow you off your feet’. Your outfit was quite light and breezy considering the last few days have been quite sweltering; however,  today was the day that mother nature decided to turn down the temperature and have giant gust of wind slamming against you every few minutes. Tonight was not starting off on a good note. 

“Um.. hello?” Tilting your head back, you were met with the sight of a dark red. You had to bring your eyes down to see up the person. The dark red was actually a really thick coat that had a white rim around their neck. Finally, your eyes landed on their face. “Hi?”

His murky green skin had a dark red blush to it. Maybe at a quick glance, you would have assumed that it was natural, but it was too neatly placed. Especially the shiny red around his eyes that was been accentuated by a black wing.

“Are you waiting on anyone, by chance?” he asked, walking around to the front of the bench. With him in front of you, you could see how truly tall he was. He wasn’t as tall as some orcs you met, but he was still past the 6 foot range. 

“Are you Pai by any chance?” you asked, getting ready to stand. A part of yourself was preparing yourself to just get this over with to take a nice relaxing bath. Although, you tried to repress it in order to not ruined the date.

He nodded and sat down next to you. His form took up most of the space on the bench causing his thigh to be pressed against yours. He jumped a little and scooted over to give you some more space. 

Hmmm, respects personal space. That’s some bonus points.

He glanced over at you with a scrunched look on his face. His brown eyes looked so dark, like a storm brewing in them. “I’m going to be real with you.’

Oh, that never goes well. 

“I didn’t know I was going on a date until my friend bust into my room 2 hours ago and said she had set me up. I don’t know what’s going on and I’m feeling so weird right now. I’ve never dated a human- nothing against you guys, you’re quite a handsome and beautiful human- this is just a first. So.... yeah.” 

He seem to have shrunken into his coat as he got that off his chest. His eyes flickered over to you before looking back forward. You cracked a smile and relaxed down into the chair. “Well, I’m so sorry your friend dragged you into this. Just to be honest with you, I wasn’t looking that forward to tonight; so it won’t hurt my feeling if you decided to go back home.”

His fingers inched towards each other as he twirled the fur of his jacket. You could pretty much heard the wheels in his head churning as he weighed his options. 

“I-well. I got dressed up for tonight,” he laughed out, pointing to his outfit. The main colour was red with white and black being accent. You had to admit that it made him look good. “And behind us is a new arcade that just open that I’ve been wanting to go to.”

His lips parted to reveal a beautiful smile that caused his eyes to squint up. Two tusk were peaking  past his lips. On the left one was a band around it that had a little dangly gold star on it. 

“Well, I wouldn’t mind just chilling for the night. At least now we don’t have to try so hard to make this ‘romantic’.” He let out a tiny giggle. He readjusted his jacket and smoothly raised off the bench.  

You followed his lead and got off the bench. He walked over to the dark brick building. Looking up, you could see the neon pink sign glowing out the word “Lucky Plays”. 

“I heard they had a lot of the retro games in here-” he explained to you as he pulled on the metal door. A blast of cold air hit you instantly making you take a step back. Goosebumps spread throughout your entire body from that single breeze. 

He stopped as he looked at you shivering . A glance at the door and one back at you, he walked over to you. You're had slowly tilted back as he moved forward so you can keep you eyes locked on his face.

"I know this isn't really a date anymore," he grumbled out. His thick fingers worked quickly to undo the buttons on his jacket, allowing it to slide down his shoulder. "But I can still be a decent orc."

He was ever so gentle as he let the fabric drape around your shoulder. Soft furs brushed against your skin as warmth seeped deep into your bones.

You were prepared to thank him, but was stopped as he dropped down to a knee. Grabbing the front of the coat, he pulled the buttons a little and started to put them together.

"You know. I thought I looked good in red, but sweetie you look so much better than I do," he hooked the final button and looked up at you, "especially when it's my clothes."

I-um- what? He just went from awkward adorable orc to a flirt real quick. What's is going on? And why is your cheeks heating up?

"I'm joking. Had to tease a bit," he laughed out. He stood up to his normal height making you realize just how big he was.

"Come on, let's go in. Gotta show you how good I am at Galaxian." His hand came down to lightly ruffle your hair. Turning away, he started walking towards to door. You were a little slow this time to keep up because of you trying to ignore the blood rushing through your cheeks.

"Pai?" You called out. In you hands were two sticks of pink cotton candy that Pai had asked you to get. He said he needed to do something real quick, but he hasn't came back.

So far, tonight has been amazing. The two of you have just been running around whatever video game caught your eye. Pai wasn't kidding when he said he was good at Galaxian. He pretty much carried you most of the rounds.

This non date felt a lot more enjoyable than the actual dates you have been on. You didn't feel the pressure to talk the entire time about yourself or half heartedly ask your date about themselves.

This date was different. You guys just talked when you felt like it. There was no need to fill in the silence or worry if you were looking attractive. It was just laughter, screaming, and fun.

"Dang it." Your head tilted at the familiar phrase you've been hearing all night. You followed it past some machines into a small corner.

Pai was hunched over to reach to the controller as his eyes focused on the swinging claw infront of him. The sleeves on his white shirt was rolled up, showing you how serious he was. It was funny that it was just over a plushie machine.

"Pai, if you wanted to play some more, you could have just said so," you mumbled walking over to him. He glanced over to you with a pout on his lips. Most of the makeup on his cheeks were wiped away from constantly wiping it throughout the night.

"No, I wanted to surprise you with this little teddy bear," he said pointing to a green bear that was sitting on top of the others. "I know it's cheesy and this isn't really a date, but I wanted to get you a little something that could remind you of me after this."

Ah, your heart. He was too cute.

"Well, I mean," you walked towards the machine causing Pai to back up; you handed over the cotton candy to him before looking forward," This won't be the last time seeing you. I was hoping there would be a next time."

You dropped the crane into the center of the bear. The claw wrapped around it's torso, lifting it up and bringing it over to the hole.

"I would really like to meet you again too," he admitted, smiling brightly. You picked up the bear and turned towards him. Holding it out towards him, you gave him your own big smile.

"It's a date then."

#exophilia #monster love #monster boy #monster romance #oc x reader #monster x reader #dimensionwriter #monsters #monster boyfriend #orc boyfriend #orctober #orc

[ms-rampage]

New Dawn: New Horizons Chapter 1 - Prelude 

Warnings: Language

Word Count: 3.7k

Summary: It's been almost 20 years since the nuclear explosions that destroyed all of Hope County. A lot has changed, many new faces, old friends and new enemies are all head. 

Guest OCs: Cristina Winchester-Smith (FC: Brianna Hildebrand), Bianca Winchester-Smith (FC: Maisie Williams), Daenerys Winchester (FC: Xia Brookside)

Guest Characters: Nick Rye, Carmina Rye, Gabriel [Supernatural], Lucifer [Supernatural], Mickey and Lou [mentioned], God/Chuck [mentioned], Joseph Seed [mentioned], John Seed [mentioned].

Written by @athenalillystar and myself. Supernatural & Far Cry New Dawn crossover. Hope y'all enjoy! 💗💗

Taglist: @wargames94 @rabbitsoldier @mrsladydiana

________

"I was just an infant when all this happened. My name is Cristina Tatiana Winchester-Smith, and life has never been the same, to my parents at least. Half my life I spent living underground in a bunker. All this was just an experience for my siblings and I. My family had to rebuild everything they had established. Saving, helping out those in need, it's our family business. 

The next generation of the Winchester family has grown over the last 15+ years. Ever since the bombs dropped, Joseph Seed was right about everything. Everyone in Hope County emerged from their bunkers after 7 long years. The Collapse happened, sending the world into a nuclear holcaust by the Man upstairs, but that still doesn’t mean he, God, didn't play Joseph Seed and his family. 

Cristina Winchester-Smith, the eldest daughter to Paige Winchester and Kenneth Smith along with her younger sister Bianca, and their cousin Daenerys, the only daughter to Kate Winchester, and unfortunately the daughter to John Seed, whom she doesn't know anything about because she doesn't know of his existence. 

Walking through the ruins of what was once Holland Valley. Everything's destroyed, gone, obsolete. 

Paige used to tell them how everything was, how everything was beautiful, the small town of Falls End, the church, the bar, the agriculture. How life was beautiful and simple, before the bombs fell, and now everything is obsolete. Never, not once telling them about the Cult that terrorized the whole town and how the leaders tortured their whole family.

They walk through the tall grass, rummaging through the prepper stashes in the abandoned destroyed houses looking for supplies.

"Did you find anything!?" Bianca calls out, from a nearby house.

"No, nothing!" Daenerys yells back, not far from her.

In another house 20 feet away from them, Cristina is digging, and pushing debris of a collapsed house out of the way. As she's searching for supplies, a gust of wind blows through the house, and a flutter like noise. She doesn't think anything of it. She hears footsteps from behind her, thinking it's her sister or cousin.

"Hey, did you find anything?!?" she asks, not looking back. Digging through the rubble.

After a few moments of no response, she speaks up again, still not looking back.

"Hey, did you find anything?!?!" she asks again. The voice of a man makes her snap her head back. 

"Ooh how this world has changed" he whispers. She turns around, and sees a tall blonde man with his back to her, slowly standing up, her hand ready on her pistol. 

"Umm who are you?!?" she asks him. 100% suspicious. 

He turns to face her. He's very attractive, he looks like he could pass for her dad. He’s so much older than her, and has beautiful piercing blue eyes.

"I go by many names" he tells her, stepping closer to the eldest Winchester.

She narrows her eyes at him and says, "I don't understand. Is that a reference to something?!".

"I'm Lucifer" he says in a calm voice that sends shivers up her spine.

Her eyes widened for a second, taking a few steps back, and let out a soft chuckle. 

“Okay!!” she laughs. When he doesn’t respond, and stares at her with a serious, dead look. She internally panics.

"Wha-?!!? No?! You serious??" she whispers, trying to play it off but the fear in her voice betrays her.

"Yes" he responds softly, standing still in front of her, blocking the doorway, the only way out.

"You better be joking” she tells him, after a few moments of no response from him “Are you gonna kill me?!?!". 

He steps closer to her, examining her face. He tilts his head to the side while examining her face. She slowly backs up. 

"You look familiar" he says softly. 

Cristina is a splitting image of her mother Paige. Lucifer thinks that this person is Paige Winchester, but appearing much younger, and with blue streaks in her hair. 

He reaches his hand out to touch her face. She backs up against the wall. 

She’s able to duck underneath him, avoiding his touch, only for him to appear in front of her again.

She lets out a slight gasp, and drops to the floor. Crawling away from him.

“I’m not gonna kill you” he tells her, with a hint of annoyance in his voice. 

She crawls back to where she was before, her back against the wall. He kneels in front of her, his hand reaches out to touch her face. Freaking out, she’s never seen, nor met this man before. His huge hand touches her forehead, and he closes his eyes. After a few seconds his eyes open, and are now glowing red. 

She panics, and crawls away from him. Her scream getting caught in her throat, unable to call for the other two.  

“Winchester” he mutters,”You’re a Winchester”.

“Yeah” she responds, softly, her voice breaking. 

“I’m guessing the other 2 are Winchesters as well?!” he asks.

She nods her head, “Yeah” muttering softly.

“Paige Winchester is your mother I’m guessing” he asks, standing up, and taking a few steps away from her. 

“Yeah?. Why?” she asks, beyond confused. 

He sighs, and with a hint of annoyance in his voice, “I know your mother, and her sister Kate Winchester. Pretty much your whole damn family”. 

He turns back around to face her, and says “Sam and Dean Winchester are, or were Paige and Kate’s 1st cousins. So that makes them your 2nd cousins? I’m guessing?!”.

Dumbfounded, and wondering if this is all some dream or hallucination. He’s telling her about relatives that she has never met before, she’s heard her mother talk about them to Kate and her father Kenneth. 

“I still don’t understand” she tells him, shrugging. Confusion written all over her face.

“The famous Winchester clan. My dad, God, he was bored of the human race. That he did all of this” he explains to her enthusiastically, with his arms out. Referring to the collapse, and the world being destroyed. 

“My mom said that some man named Joseph Seed said that all this would happen” she tells the Archangel.

“Yes, because he was picked by God, but what he didn’t know was that, God, Chuck was playing him, and would lead to the destruction of humanity. Hence The Collapse" he tells her. 

Her eyes widened, everything made sense. Everything that her mom, and aunt have said over the years makes sense. 

After emerging from the bunker after 7 years, they were able to rebuild their home. Making sure everything would be protected from the Highwaymen. A group of assholes who force people out of their homes, taking whatever they want from whoever they want. 

“I didn’t catch your name” he says, breaking her from her thoughts. Crossing his arms. 

“C-Cristina” she hesitates. 

He claps his hands, “Well Cristina, you won’t see the last of me. I might pay your folks a visit. Most Angels, and a few Archangels were all cast out of Heaven when my daddy farted on humanity. So I’m gonna go find my bros” he says, “But before I leave. One more thing. You look too much like your mother. It’s weird”. He tells her with a smug, disgusted look on his face, as if she were responsible for how she looks. His last words to her before he disappears, or are they?!. 

She looks around looking for him. Cannot believe that she met Lucifer. The Fallen Angel. The Devil, Satan himself!!. Her thoughts are interrupted by her little sister and cousin calling out for her. 

“Cristina!!” Daenerys calls out. Startling, and disturbing her thoughts. 

She steps out of the house, “Yeah!?!”. 

“Did you find anything?!” Bianca asks.

She shakes her head, “No I didn’t find anything”. Trying not to show any fear in her voice or in her eyes. 

“Well, I found 5 rolls of duct tape, 3 metal springs and some titanium pipes” Daenerys tells her.

“I found titanium pipes as well, and 3 rolls of copper wire” Bianca tells them. 

She nods her head, “Okay, well let’s head back to Prosperity then” she tells them. 

They jump into their motorcycles and ride back to Prosperity, their safe haven. Cris riding by herself, Bianca in hers with Daenerys in the side cart. 

They didn't find much supplies, but enough to fix a car or part of a motorcycle.

The eldest child, Cristina who is still disturbed, and discombobulated after encountering "Lucifer". She didn't say anything to the other 2 because she didn't want to freak out, or have them worry about it.

She would tell her parents but they might not believe her, telling her that it was some Highwayman trying to scare her, but that didn’t explain him disappearing out of nowhere, and his eyes glowing red. Thinking about everything he said. Him saying that he knew her mother, and aunt.

They make it back to Prosperity, walking through the front gate with their supplies. They hand all their supplies they found to Nick Rye, and they go inside the house.

"Hey, are you guys hungry?" Paige, the mother to Cristina and Bianca asks.

"Yeah, sure" Cristina replies. Trying not to look bothered

She hands them plates with different types of sandwiches and chips. They all sit outside on the steps. Paige notices her eldest daughter looks bothered.

“Cri, you okay?” she asks. Putting on her best concerned mother look.

She lifts her head up, and looks at her mother, “Yeah, I’m fine. I’m just a little tired” she replies.

Paige nods, and goes back to making lunch for everyone in the safehouse.

As they’re sitting outside eating, Kate along with Selene walk down the stairs with boxes of medical supplies. Daenerys sees them, and immediately gets up from the steps. 

“Hye mom!” she calls out. Kate turns to face her only child.

“Yes Dany!?” she asks.

“Would it be okay if Cristina, Bianca, Jeff, Tom, Carmina and I go to Roughneck’s Crag tonight?” she asks, trying to use her puppy dog eyes that she inherited from her. Kate furrows her eyebrows at her, scrunching her nose. Trying to be a good parent, but also wanting to keep her daughter away from danger, but also wanting her to have fun and be a kid.  

“I’m okay with it, but you have to ask your father. He has the final word” she tells her, and walks towards the infirmary.

Daenerys’ adopted Archangel father Gabriel, whom she doesn't know is an Archangel, nor her biological father walks by, going towards the garage. He was one of the several Angels that were all cast out of Heaven when the bombs fell. 

“Hey dad!” she calls out.

He stops, faces her and says with a smirk. “Yes Dany boy?”. She rolls her eyes in embarrassment at the nickname he gave her. 

“Would it be okay if Bianca, Cristina, Jeff, Tom, Carmina and I go to the Roughneck’s Crag tonight?” she asks, with her blue puppy dog eyes.

He crosses his arms, staring at her, trying to put on his best strict father face. “Did you ask your mother?”.

“Yes” she replies.

“And what did she say?” he asks, looking down at the small pink haired human that is his daughter. 

“To ask you. But she said she was okay with it” she replies, using the puppy dog eyes on him “Sooo is it okay!?!”.

He stays silent for a moment, anticipating to answer her question. “It’s okay with me. Just be careful” he tells her.

“Thanks dad” she says, and goes back to her cousins at the steps. He goes to the garage where Nick Rye, and Kenneth Smith are. “What did he say?” Bianca asks her. 

“He said it was okay” she answers. 

****

Later that night, at the Winchester-Smith compound, Bianca, Cristina, Jeffrey, Thomas and Daenerys leave for the Roughneck’s. Which is a hang out spot for those who survived the Collapse, and need to take a breather.

“Be safe!!” Paige shouts as they drive off the property. 

Kenneth taught Cristina how to drive when she turned 15, since there are no cops. Well there are a few cops but they don’t care. No law enforcement officers that survived the bombs cares about their jobs. So she can drive without a license.

All of the adults stay behind. Paige, Kate, Kenny, Gabriel, as well as their old friends Mark, Nate, Martin, Cody, Adrian and their families. Paige and Kate’s mother Mandy, and their godmother Barbara. 

They had to rebuild, and expand their house, once they came out from the bunker after 7 long years. Splitting the house into 3 houses once again.

Putting up a 25 foot wall, solid concrete with a 25 foot iron gate. Security cameras pointed at all corners of the property. Always heavily armed.

“I’m not very comfortable about them going out this late” Kenny says to Paige. 

She sighs, “I’m not either, but I want them to have fun. They know what to do when they encounter the Highwaymen”. 

Kate and Gabriel approach them from behind. 

“Daenerys has an ear to detect trouble, they’ll be fine” Kate explains, reassuring them.

“Yeah, I know. I just don’t want them to run into the twins” Kenny tells her. 

Kate scoffs, shaking her head “The twins. Mickey and Lou, a couple of little fucks, who need an ass whooping”. Paige chuckles, “Yeah, no shit”. 

“They’ll be fine. I know it” Gabriel tells them, sitting on the kitchen counter. They turn to face him, “Are your Archangel senses kicking in?!” Paige jokes. 

He nods his head side to side, “Whatever I have left, which isn’t much” he tells them.

“So you’re a human?!” Kenneth asks.

“Partially human” he says, before joking “I hate it. I know I’m fond of humanity, but how do you all live like this?!?”. 

They laugh, despite what this celestial has gone through, from being cast out of Heaven, losing his grace but he got to marry his soulmate, even if she doesn’t know it. The soulmate part. 

“You know you love it!!” Kate teases, wrapping her arms around his neck. Placing his hands on her waist, pulling her closer to him.

“If I have to deal with you, I’ll take it” he responds, kissing her. He gets off from the counter, and heads outside. 

“Where you going?!” she asks him. He turns to her, “I’m gonna try, and contact my old man for the 5,678th time”.

“Is Heaven radio even working?!” Paige asks, “Is anyone up there taking the calls?” 

He shrugs “It does work, nothing but static. They still should get my calls. Even if the line is busy”. He goes outside, standing far away from the house, so he can get his message through the line. 

He looks up at the sky, and prays “Hey dad, it's me, Gabriel. Answer me, or you won’t get rid of me until you answer all of my questions. You’ve been holding off for 17 years and you will reply back”. 

A moment a silence, then a gust of cold wind blows past him. Looking up at the night Montana sky with green, pink Northern lights illuminate all day and night. 

“Well, well, well” a familiar male voice says. He turns around, and sees his older brother.

“Lucifer?!” he exclaims, surprised to see his fallen brother.

“Gabriel?!” he mocks him, “You’re one of the Archangels that fell?!”.

He shrugs, “Yep. The old man won’t respond to my calls”.He takes a few steps closer to his older brother, “He owns me, and every other angel an explanation”. 

Lucifer steps closer to his little brother, he sighs, then his eyes wander up, and sees Kate at a window inside the house. 

“Are-are you living with the Losechesters?!?” he asks. Look of disgust on his face. 

He looks back at the house, then back at Lucifer, “Yeah, after I fell and landed on Earth. With the very little powers I had, I teleported to them” pointing back towards the Winchesters who don’t see them.

“So they took you in?!?” Lucifer asks, confused.

Gabriel sighs, “Yeah, and I uhh. I eventually had a relationship with Kate”. 

Shaking his head in confusion, nothing knowing what to say, “You had a relationship with Kate Losechester?!” he asks.

“Well, I'm still in a relationship with her” he says. Still beyond confused that his brother is in a relationship with a weak inferior human, “I’m practically a step father” he adds.

His eyes widened, “You? A father?. How the Hell did that happen?!” he asks, holding back laughter.

He sighs once again, “Well around the time daddy dropped a deuce on humanity. Kate was pregnant, and when I teleported to their bunker, she was 7,8 maybe 9 weeks, Paige was also pregnant, she had triplets. Kate had a daughter, and that's how I became a step father. Being underground for 7 years because of radiation. I would’ve nailed Kate, and impregnated her myself but you know the whole Nephilim thing, and she’ll die giving birth to it”.

Lucifer trying to take in everything Gabriel said, and trying to process it all at once.

“So. So you’re human?!?” he asks. 

“Partially human. I still have my powers, they're just very limited. I have no access to Heaven, Hell, Purgatory. I can still teleport, but I’m not as strong as I was before I fell”. He sighs loudly, crossing his arms, looking up at the night sky. He looks back at his brother, and asks “So why are you here?!”.

Lucifer shrugs, and says “Looking for my brothers, and I found one so far”.

“Hey Gabe!” Kate calls him from inside the house.

“Come on Gabe, I can take you away from here. Away from them” he says, trying to convince his brother to go with him to looking for the other Angels. 

He shakes his head, “I’m sorry Lucifer. I live here now, I’m glad you want me to help, but I can’t leave them. I can’t do this to her”.

He rolls his eyes, sighing in annoyance. “Come on Gabe, this is the same Kate Winchester that killed Lilith, and freed me from my cage, which I am thankful for. The same Kate Winchester that watched her own sister get turned into a vampire, and didn’t do shit. The same Kate Winchester that lost her soul, and was a demon. The same Kate Winchester that-”.

“Stop!!. Just stop!” Gabriel cuts him off. “I’m not staying just because of Kate. Yeah I married her-”

Lucifer cuts him off by groaning in disgust, “You married a human?!?. Even worse you married a Winchester!!”. 

He ignores his interruption, and continues, “I married her, but I’m not staying just because of her, I’m staying because of Daenerys. Her daughter. My daughter!”. Lucifer crosses his arms, rolling his eyes in annoyance. 

“She is not your daughter!. She’s John Seed’s daughter. She’s not a damn Nephilim, nor does she have any angelic grace".

He glares at him, “John Seed is dead. I was there throughout Kate’s pregnancy. Since the beginning before Daenerys was even a damn embryo. It’s dad’s fault, he’s responsible, he kept me away from her because of his stupid little game”.

He raises his hands in defeat, “Okay. That's fine. If you wanna live amongst the humans, that's fine with me. But I’m not done with you little brother.” 

Gabriel rolls his eyes, turns around, and walks back towards the house.

“Maybe. I’ll pay little Dany a visit” Lucifer speaks out, making Gabriel stop in his tracks.

He turns to face his brother, “If you touch her, or go anywhere near her. I will kill you” he threatens him.

Lucifer smirks at him, “How?. You ain’t gotten any powers”. He goes to grab him but he disappears before he could get to him.

“Gabriel!!” Kate calls out for him again.

***

Bianca, Cristina, Daenerys, Thomas, Jeffrey and Carmina Rye are hanging out at what was once Steele Farm. Laughing, having a fun time, enjoying the Montana night. The radiation caused the sky to have their own Northern Lights. This was always a great hang out for them because you can see pretty everything from this view. 

Especially from the second floor of the hut. They spent 7 years living underground in their bunkers, and when it was time to come back out. 

Their families rebuilt everything, upgrading everything, their security, their weapons.

The Winchester kids come from a long line of hunters, their parents, their grandparents, their great grandparents, and so on were all hunters, but they don’t know this information because their parents didn’t want them to know of the evil that is out there in the world.

Cristina was always told that “God doesn’t care about anyone. That’s why everything was destroyed. He wanted all of us dead, to wipe us all out of existence because of one man. His name was Joseph Seed”.

She always thought that was a metaphor, or something like that. Yeah everything was destroyed by the bombs, and everything looks depressing. Mainly for their parents because everything was once beautiful, and normal. Life was enjoyed. They lived through it.

To them, to the kids, this was beautiful, and it was just the beginning for them.

Cristina keeps thinking about what “Lucifer” said to her. She feels like she should tell someone maybe not her siblings, or Daenerys or Carmina. Maybe she can tell her parents, her aunt, or her grandmother about that. Maybe this Joseph Seed man, maybe he’s still alive.

#far cry new dawn #far cry new dawn ocs #New Dawn: New Horizons #paige winchester #kate winchester #cristina winchester smith #daenerys winchester #bianca winchester smith #supernatural x far cry new dawn #supernatural lucifer #supernatural gabriel #joseph seed #mickey and lou #fcnd ocs #supernatural references #my crossover shit #my crossovers #far cry new dawn series #my writings #writers on tumblr #my series #my ocs stuff #supernatural ocs #spn x far cry new dawn #hope county

[masterjedilenawrites]

The Helmeted Hunter: Chapter 30

Boba Fett x Reader

Chapter Warnings: Fighting, Injuries

AO3 Link (In case you like it better over there, it’s okay, no judgement)

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Chapter 30: Fire Away

"Should be just out here!" one of the bounty hunters called to the others, standing on the edge of the platform and pointing almost directly at you. You all jumped to hide back around the corner, but not quickly enough.

"There! I saw something! In the ravine!" You recognized the voice but couldn't immediately place its owner.

Boba grabbed your wrist and you looked at him in confusion.

"The tracker," he swore, bringing out a pocket knife and flicking it open beside your skin. "I knew it was a risk."

You didn't have time to steel yourself before he cut into your flesh and dug the tiny device out. He flung it into the ravine and then tore part of his cape off to tie tightly around your wrist and stop the bleeding. You could hear the voices from the platform carrying over in the wind that was picking up, seeing what they believed to be you descending into the ravine on their monitors, before realizing it was probably a trick.

Your mom was frazzled, her eyes wide behind her mask, hands trembling as she inspected her own little monitor. There were nine heat signatures on the platform, three of them peeling off to investigate the room inside, to find a way down into the ravine after you. Maybe they wouldn't find the closet with the vent; maybe they would....

Boba was tense as usual, but you could also sense a level of panic in him as well. Though it had been a quick series of events, it had been just enough time for you to think things through.

Not too long ago, Maz had told you she'd felt the end of your journey coming, and now you felt it, too. It was here. You had come for answers, but a part of you had hoped to also find a way to put an end to it all. To the running and the hiding and the fear. In about as much time as it had taken you to go through that portal all those months ago, you had now made a decision of your own. If you succeeded, you would not only free yourself from ever being hunted again, but also your family.

"Take my mom," you said through your mask before either of them could begin to strategize. You gripped Boba's arm forcefully, looking at him with pleading eyes. He predictably shook his head, and your mom started to protest as well, but you waved them all off.

"Take her first," you stated with a fierceness you didn't know you possessed.

"Honey, they're after you," your mom said from beside you, running a hand over your back. "I'll be fine."

"They'll always be after me!" you shouted. The wind was continuing to pick up, and the raindrops were falling just a little harder. "And they'll always be after Dad and those damn codes. I know what to do...."

"No," said Boba, wrenching his arm from your grasp and punching something into the panel on his wrist cuff. "You'll both take the jetpack, and my helmet. I just put the coordinates of the ship in. I'll go do whatever it is that will stop them from following."

"You don't understand," you said, despite him ignoring you and beginning to undo the straps on his helmet. "There is only one way they stop coming for me."

He lifted his helmet off, grimacing at the stench in the air. He continued laying out his idea as if you hadn't said anything. "I left instructions on how to fly the Slave I in the cockpit just in case it came down to something like this. And there's coordinates in the helmet for a rendezvous point. I'll meet you there later."

He was trying to hand you his helmet so he could work on freeing himself of the jetpack, already out of breath from the toxic air. But something inside you had snapped. You were tired, and you were tired of being tired. You were done. Seeing him and your mom side-by-side, two people you loved dearly, who were ready to do whatever it took to protect you... There was no way you could live with yourself if anything happened to either one of them. They were all you had left.

This would not be their end, it would be yours. Specifically, the end of the galaxy's most valuable bounty.

"Listen," you said with an amount of finality that made him and your mom finally look at you. "They need the codes to operate the portal. But they also need that generator, right?"

Your mom nodded.

"So I blow up the generator."

"I will blow it up," Boba insisted.

"No." You finally grabbed his helmet from him, pulling off your own gas mask and tossing it his way. You took a few steps back toward the vent, showing that you were serious and time was of the essence. "It has to be me. I can hide long enough so they'll think I died in the explosion. You can't collect a bounty on someone who no longer exists."

Boba and your mom shared a look, checking if the other had any ideas to counter yours. They both seemed ready to start challenging you, grasping at any straws they could, but you held Boba's helmet to your chest and bit back your tears.

"I'm not running anymore," you said. "I'll find a way out and meet you at the rendezvous when it's safe."

You had been cautious to phrase your plan so that it sounded like there was hope, that you knew what you were doing and would be okay. It'd be the only way for them to let you do it. But all you knew was there were uncertainties, things you couldn't predict or control. You could very well never see them again.

But if you couldn't win your freedom, at least you'd give them theirs.

"Here." Your mom was the first to acquiesce, handing over the monitor and then pulling you in for a hug. "I love you."

You merely nodded in her arms, knowing if you said the words back, you'd only fall apart. She let you go and stood beside Boba. He was blinking at you and scowling as hard as you'd ever seen him.

"We're better together," you could barely hear him rasp above the wind. His last attempt to convince you otherwise.

You put his helmet on, wanting to hide your own sadness from him. "Don't worry," you said in reassurance, tapping the visor. "You'll still be my eyes."

* * *

You clambered up the vent, a little awkwardly, but eventually made it back into the closet room. Your music was still blasting through the intercom speakers, a different, more subdued song now playing. There was banging over the top of the music from behind the locked door as some hunters tried to bust their way in. The monitor you'd brought with you showed three of them clustered at the door.

You forced yourself to pause, resting on your haunches from where you'd climbed out of the floor. You took Boba's helmet off and held it in your lap while you took a few steadying breaths of your own air.

His helmet was something you'd become very familiar with, back when it'd been the only part of his identity you'd known. Every paint chip, every scratch and dent, every contour... You ran your hand over it briefly, wondering if you'd ever see the man it had once masked again. Perhaps you should have kissed him, just in case.

A crackling sound like fire came from the door as the hunters tried a different tactic to get through. You put the helmet back on over your damp hair, taking another moment to get familiar with the way it felt and how it changed your view. The T-shaped visor limited your peripheral sight, but there were sensors and other readings that helped you instead. It was similar to the old stormtrooper helmet you'd once worn on Jakku, only this one smelled like Boba.

You quickly grabbed a gun from one of the shelves, cursing how he never had gotten around to teaching you to properly shoot. The door swung open as the hunters finally made it through the lock. You didn't give any of them a chance to know what had hit them, firing rounds through the opening at anything that moved. The gun was silent, barely making a popping noise as you pulled the trigger. The three figures crumbled over each other in the doorway. There were no visible injuries on any of the bodies from where you'd shot at them, so you weren't sure what kind of gun it was. You'd never imagined yourself a killer and tried to pretend they weren't actually dead.

The song on the intercom changed to something more upbeat now, snapping you back to reality. You looked at the monitor, noting six were left out on the platform, in between you and the generator. There was also a mass of heat signatures approaching in the hallway. Something about their formation made you believe they were stormtroopers.

You leapt over the bodies in the doorway and went for the box your mom had been carrying earlier, filled with little metal balls that looked like grenades. You put a few in your pockets.

You also went for the gun that Hondo had mentioned as having a "missile" setting. You played around with one of the dials on the side, turning it to what seemed to be the highest charge. The barrel hummed in your hands and grew warm. It certainly sounded like it'd pack a punch, so you turned the dial back off and shouldered the weapon.

You were as ready as you could be in such a situation. Before you could talk yourself out of anything, you strode down the hall a few paces, pulling up at the glass doors that led outside. You punched the button to make them swoosh open, letting in a dramatic gust of wind and rain.

The hunters were spaced out on the platform and they all turned toward you as soon as they heard the doors open.

"Boba Fett!" one of them exclaimed in surprise, its voice warbled in a weird accent.

"Oh no. It's not Fett... it's her," said the man who was standing closest to you. It was the one who'd seen you in the ravine earlier, and the only one of the group who hadn't thought to wear some kind of mask or helmet. You immediately knew where you recognized him from. It was Elon, the traitor from Maz's palace. Apparently she hadn't succeeded in finding and punishing him after all.

You would need at least one witness of your death - fake or real, whichever you could manage first. But it didn't need to be this bastard. You decided you weren't going to feel guilty if your weapons were deadly, not after how he'd treated Maz. He was breathing heavily from the foul air, but still insisted on talking. You weren't listening to a single word. You pressed the button on one of the devices in your pocket and then brought it out and flung at the ground in front of him.

It detonated with a satisfying bang and a large puff of smoke swirled all around the area of the platform that had now cracked and was starting to slide down into the ravine. Thankfully, two of the other hunters had been close enough themselves, and went hurtling down with Elon into the smoky debris.

You didn't dwell on any of this, though, only registering the aftermath from the corner of your visor as you rushed outside. You held the gun to your chest and tried to run as fast as you could without losing traction on the slippery surface of the platform. You hadn't realized how large it was, how far you'd have to go to get close to the metallic cylinder that jutted out from the cliffside and into the air.

Your only strategy was to run, hoping the hunters would still only try to capture you and not kill you. But the three remaining were on you fast, shooting out cables and firing stun guns in an effort to incapacitate you. One of them moved in your way, whipping out some kind of staff with a pink electrical charge at the end and poising to swing. You let yourself fall onto one haunch, sliding through the rain and under their aim, thrusting your gun out at their legs to throw them off balance.

You managed to grab their staff as you pushed yourself back up, just in time to swing it at another hunter that had approached. It grazed their side painfully, sending them sprawling on the ground, but not before they had kicked you down, too. The gun and the staff went clattering out of your grasp, sliding in different directions.

A boot came down on the staff. You looked up to see the last of the mercenaries pick it up and twirl it, sauntering over to you with an air of cockiness.

"Dryden's missed you," she drawled through her dark helmet. You weren't certain it was the Crimson Dawn woman you'd once fought on Jakku, but you had a feeling it was. "He'll be pleased to have taken one of Fett's bounties yet again."

She held the staff at your throat. You could feel the static buzzing just beneath the lip of the helmet.

"Where is that little bounty hunter? Is this his pathetic attempt to protect you?" She tapped the side of the helmet, the electricity causing the display inside to twitch and falter. You shook your head away from it and she laughed.

"I took it from him," you said, your voice sounding foreign through the helmet. It made you sound more confident than you felt. "Just like he took away my freedom."

For whatever it was worth, you wanted to keep up the appearance that you had been Boba's prisoner this whole time. There could be no doubt in anyone's mind that he had only come here as another bounty hunter trying to capture you. He'd need to keep his reputation, his livelihood, especially if you didn't make it back to him.

"The Empire took something from me, too," you continued. "So if you'll excuse me, I'd like to return the favor."

The woman laughed again. "Crimson Dawn isn't interested in hurting the Empire. On the contrary, we'd like to do business with them." She twirled the staff away from you, stepping aside to look behind her at the squadron of stormtroopers that had at some point appeared in the entrance of the platform. She shouted, "What do you say, Krennic?"

Orson Krennic stood in front of his troops, hands crossed calmly in front of him. You were quite a ways away from them, almost to the end of the platform. You slowly shifted your position on the ground, curling your fingers around another grenade in your pocket, preparing to make a break for it as soon as you found an opportunity.

"I say that the Empire has had enough of this nonsense," Krennic replied. "You will step away from the girl and leave this planet at once, or else your syndicate alone will be held responsible for the destruction here."

The woman lowered the staff back to your throat again. "You ought to listen to our terms, first."

Krennic flicked a hand out and the first row of troopers raised their guns. "Kill the girl first if you wish, but you will leave immediately. This is the last time I'll say it."

You could see fear in the woman's posture as she realized she had no bargaining chip. Your own heart was hammering away in your chest from Krennic's words. You were useless to him now. He would have his soldiers fire at her and then you within a second. You'd have to time your distraction just right, just long enough to get to the gun.

The woman huffed and stepped aside, letting the staff fall right beside her leg.

"Smart girl," Krennic said. He flicked his hand again, this time as a signal for the troopers to collect you. You watched as they stepped forward, lowering their guns slightly. Their guard was down. Your chance had come.

You did multiple things at once. Your arm hoisted the grenade into the air, sending it as far across the platform as you could get it. And your leg kicked out at the staff, the pink tendrils of electricity hitting the woman's calf and causing her whole frame to spasm. And then you rolled, pushing yourself up to start running as best you could manage in the now pouring rain.

Blaster shots rang out through air. You didn't risk looking behind to see how much damage your grenade had done, and clearly it hadn't been enough to stop all of the stormtroopers from firing after you. Their shots hit the platform around you; one hit the backside of your helmet. You were already stumbling forward, still tying to gain your footing. The blast threatened to send you sprawling, so you used the momentum to take one last leap toward the gun just in front of you.

You landed on it, rolled over it, and brought the butt of it to your shoulder as you swung yourself up onto one knee.

You turned the dial, watching the barrel glow in response.

You aimed it at the generator above you.

In the distance, through the continued shots from the stormtroopers and the downpour of rain that had already soaked through to your bones, you could hear Orson Krennic cry out, a pitiful No!

You pulled the trigger.

A bright ball of a blast fired out of the gun, straight for the generator. The kickback sent you falling backward just as a shot from one of the troopers clipped you in the shoulder. Your helmet smacked onto the platform, your body contorted painfully beneath you. You weren't able to see how the generator reacted to your shot, only the dark, stormy sky above.

There was a moment of quietness, of calmness. You knew it wasn't possible, but your head was throbbing and you couldn't think why. Maybe there was music playing softly in the distance, or maybe you were imagining it. All you knew was a bright, orange cloud of light, like fire, was crawling across the sky.

You could feel yourself falling gently, as if you were floating down into the depths of a lake. You couldn't feel anything else, couldn't make sense of anything that was happening. The only thing you could think about was Boba, and how you wished you had kissed him good-bye.

And then everything went black.

#star wars #boba fett #boba fett x reader #boba x reader #romance #fluff #mystery #team up #action #adventure #lots of planets #bounty hunting #bounty hunters #making plans #the empire #family #friends #enemies #home #orson krennic

[katsukikitten]

Rouge 3

A/N MAJOR TRIGGER WARNING FOR DEPRESSION AND SUICIDAL THOUGHTS

×××××××××××××××××××××

"April 20th, I know that's Bakugou's birthday but...but he said...." You swallow thickly your body raging with emotions not sure which you would finally land on. As if it were a wheel of fortune spun, hinting heavily that it would land on either mind numbing despair or burning hot wrath.

Why would he *lie* to you?

And why did you care?

The room flashes in vibrant color and in boring tones of grey. Kirishima's ruby hair and eyes are suddenly too bright before they dull just to blind you again. The red reminds you of something.

Of someone.

Of skin decaying away like caked mud to reveal crimson beneath.

Of scarlet eyes pleading for you to move. To run and far away from what the two of you faced.

Despite him being trapped.

A scene that has since played in your dreams for the past few months.

The world spirals with dizzying color that attempt to swatch into gray.

"Y/N?" Kirishima calls softly, strong hands cupping onto your shoulders as his face leans towards yours. Alchohol wafts into your nose, burning as everything else does.

You clench your eyes shut. Forcing the episode into its place, before letting your face meld into a small smile.

"I guess I really need this drink then." You force a laugh and Kirishima cannot tell otherwise, "Thanks for setting me straight Kiri."

He smiles softly, pressing a kiss to your hair line before whispering in your ear.

"He's been worried about you."

With that he leans over and pours extra liquor into your cup. When he leaves the kitchen you swallow down the whole bottle in a few swigs. A dangerous game to play considering there could be two outcomes when you're fucked up.

One you're giddy, overly happy and laughing your ass off.

Two, the world is so oppressive that everything is tainted in an awful sickly black.

Slolwy the world blooms in distorted color as a smile creeps onto your face.

The music shakes the house with heavy bass as lyrics filter through the massive speakers.

*"I'm only alive when I'm with yoooouuu."*

You sway to the music allowing yourself to be lost in the blinding swirling colors as more and more heroes offer you drinks. Smiling faces as they laugh with you and your stories. Coming alive thanks to booze and the occasional slipped pill. Your head is heavy, yet light as you float across the living room turned dance floor as the bass rings out hard enough it seems to shake the sweat from your skin.

You're not sure who ends up grinding on you first, or who kisses who first but you know you enjoy it. Love laughing, teasing and touching with anyone who's down. With anyone that helps you forget. Further encouraging your high, the colors blinding and so vibrant you can see them even when your eyes are closed, especially so when they're pressed against a soft set of lips.

Mina breaks the kiss first giggling as she does.

"Okay Denki now you've got to take the three shots!" The crowd erupts in a cheer as he does watching him down those three double shots causes you to stare into your empty solo cup.

Reminding you that you need another drink.

But the longer you stare at the blinding bright red, the more it seems the plastic melts in your hand.

Turning sticky, thick and much darker.

"Fuck." You hiss to yourself as everything floods your senses at once.

Your quirk finally kicking in to sober you after the ungodly amounts of painkillers and alcohol you've consumed.

Suddenly it is as if you've touched a live wire, hearing beyond the ear shattering cheers all the way into the walls of the house where the mice chew on the wood.

As if their teeth are gnawing directly on your eardrums.

The sound competing with the crowd's seemingly collective heart beat with their red cups raised high. The plastic catches in the lowlight shimmering with the sweat of condensation before everything snaps.

Feeling everything so intensely it's numbing.

The room plunges into deep black but no one bats an eye, especially not as you snatch a pack of smokes and a lighter from an unsuspecting bystander right out of his black denim jacket.

You climb the steps, eyes guiding you in the dark, pushing past a kissing couple that you think is Todoroki and Momo but your mind is too warped to tell.

After three tries you finally find a room empty of slapping bodies and drunken moans. You slide open the window, snaking out before climbing onto the upper roof.

Back nestled against cooled shingles beneath the light of the stars. Filter to your lips you flick the lighter and watch the black flame dance before you inhale enough for the tabbacco catch.

The bass vibrates the ceiling below you as smoke escapes your lips and nostrils in a slow hiss.

"I feel like Bakugou would fucking hate this type of party." Is all you can think to say to the pale moon hanging high in the sky.

Silence stretches between you two as you stare into the ancient face of a long forgotten deity.

"Did I miss telling him happy birthday?" You ask the moon and still no answer comes.

Typical for you to ask all the wrong things.

At the wrong time.

And to the wrong celestial being.

Tears prick your eyes as that endless weight settles in your chest, slow blinking hoping that one day your lids will never reopen.

"You're right. I do fucking hate this party." Fear hardly clutches your stomach before the vice is quickly released, spying flecked red eyes.

Your fingers twitch before you light another smoke, half wondering if he is real or just something your ever adaptive mind is giving you to ease the pain.

The heavy loneliness.

Still you sit up and tilt the pack towards the possible mirage despite his sitting more than ten feet away.

He sucks his teeth, using precision to obliterate the offered pack with out burning your fingers.

"That's new..."

"Those are fucking bad for you." He snarls, you manage enough energy to roll your eyes before meeting his again.

Wholly noticing how his irises pale in the soft light, looking more like two blood moons forever suspended over a perpetual snarl.

It makes you laugh how something so breath taking could be paired with such displeasure.

Well that and the fact that he thinks a little smoke is gonna hurt you.

"Uh did you forget my quirk?" You tease, slowly you manage to force some life back into your face.

It's his fucking birthday after all.

Embers burn hot into your skin until shame settles over you once more.

You sigh out gripping the shingles of the roof, trying your damnedest not to break them. Thoughts swirling in your head with every passing second.

Continuously landing on a few.

Like how could you really forget his birthday?

Or more like how could you really think almost a whole year passed since your last failure?

Or how could you even count the days when all you could see was the red of his cheeks as his arms snapped backward?

Of the way his sunkissed skin fell as if it were chipped away by dirty nails?

Of the color beneath the flaking skin solidified before threatening to turn that precious fucking red into soul shattering grey.

The tile shingle snaps coming up to slice your palm causing red to ooze out onto all the shades of black.

The quiet between you becomes suffocating as time ticks by, furthering your spiral.

All the while memories from high school until now flood into the forefront of your mind as you feel nothing but a heated gaze raking across your skin.

Had he always been watching?

He sure did show up at odd times in your life.

At times you were moments away from the edge, even pulling you back majority of the time.

All the while acting as if you were the biggest nuisance to walk the Earth.

But looking back you can see it, subtle yet obvious when it clouded those blood red moons.

Worry and fear paired with a tight grip and even harsher words.

An instigated fight, an encouraged argument until slowly the emotions changed from that worry.

From the fear you hadn't thought the arrogant hot head capable of to something else entirely.

Relief.

That's what flooded his eyes each time he safely brought you back to the dorms or the agency. It feels as if he's been the only one to ever truly worry.

The only one to look hard enough, to see past the fogged glass.

Words claw up your throat, fighting one another as they do.

Phrases and cries for help all the same as all you want to do is reach out for those strong arms to wrap around you.

To openly cry as you pulled on the fabric of his shirt until it took the form of your fist, even when you released it.

You swallow thickly finally deciding on what to say.

"Happy Birthday Bakugou-chan!" You sing song, forcing every ounce of what little happiness you have into the well wish. Hoping beyond hope it makes up for everything you should've said.

His heart hammers in his chest as he watches your lips curve upwards and over your teeth, as your cheeks scrunch up your face, lids closing over such a stunning fucking color.

He would have thought it real if he hadn't known better.

If he hadn't watched you climb from the window with that God damn zombie look plastered on your face.

"Don't." He bites, causing your heart to free fall into your stomach, "I can't watch you fucking lie any more."

His jaw ticks while your nails bite into your fresh wound, keeping it open to keep you seated.

"I..." He growls audibly before going on, "You can show me you know. I can handle it. I can fucking try to help."

You open your mouth to say something but a gust of wind blows through you before a hand is wrapped tightly around your neck.

Half of a lanky grey body justs out from a swirling portal in the sky.

"You think we'd let you get away with that golden quirk? The things we could do with you..." Manic joy oozes out in the form of a grotesque smile. Chapped lips wide enough to be seen from beneath a large hand.

"Let. Go." His tone is primal as he speaks, coming to his feet as you're yanked to your own.

"Oh I didn't realize you had company golden goose." For once fear stays with you as it curls into your muscles, your bones. The grip on your throat tightens as your heart hammers in your chest.

This is it, this would be the last time you ever saw him. Your last opportunity to ever say all the things you needed to fucking say after being so ignorantly oblivious to his actions.

To his heart.

Things begin to go in slow motion, watching him obliterate the roof beneath his feet, fingers outstretched for you as that damn emotion plasters openly on his face.

Fear twits into rage on his features.

But all you can do is smile, wholeheartedly smile as you look at him.

Tears of mixed feelings blur your vision as you say the one thing you so desperately needed to say to him.

"Thank you, Katsuki-kun. Thank you."

Just as he is within arms reach the portal swallows you whole closing as quickly as it opened.

Leaving Bakugou Katsuki to fall onto his hands and knees, slamming popping firsts into shingles that turn into sharp confetti all the while fat droplets fall from angry cheeks.

#bnha bakugou katsuki #bnha bakugo #bakugo x reader #bakugo angst #bakugou angst #katsuki bakugou x reader #bakugou x reader #bnha x reader #bnha angst

[bethpeaches123]

Oh, it’s you.

So I had an idea rolling around in my brain for a little while, and then a real-life situation presented itself that was eerily similar to this, and instead of acting on it in real life, I’m acting on it in fanfiction form. Because it’s less risky, ha. Here’s some enemies to friends to luvers. I’ve also posted it on AO3 for your reading pleasure. :) Enjoy! I would love some feedback too!

“Thanks,” said Katniss Everdeen briskly to the Uber driver in the front seat of the red Corolla. He grunted his acknowledgement in response as her hand grasped the door handle and pushed the rear passenger-side door open, swinging her slender legs out onto the sidewalk. She leaned back into the car and grabbed the bottle of wine off the seat, then ducked out and straightened up, slamming the car door closed as it drove off.

Turning to face the towering brick townhouse belonging to her cousin Gale and her childhood best friend Madge, Katniss squared her shoulders and took a deep breath.

“You don’t have to stay all night. Just a couple of hours,” she muttered to herself. “That’s like…four half-hours. Or...six twenty-minute periods…or 12 ten-minute chunks…or…anyway, whatever. Just do it. It’s Madge’s birthday, she wants you to be here, just suck it up.”

The night wind suddenly swelled, a gust whooshing past her, stirring up a pile of dead brown leaves around her feet that had fallen from the maple tree on their tiny front lawn. She realized with a start that she probably looks a little crazy to any onlookers, standing on the sidewalk in front of a picturesque townhouse after dark, staring up at it and muttering irritatedly to herself.

She huffed and rolled her eyes. “You’ve gotta get out more, you’re losing it being alone in that apartment all the time,” she muttered again, before stopping and shaking her head. You’re doing it again; quit talking to yourself already and just go inside, she thought.

She adjusted the crossbody strap of her clutch (the bright gold colour was out of character for her, but it was a gift from her sister and the nicest purse she owned) and curled the loose strands of dark chocolate hair that had slipped free from her side braid behind her ears. Smoothing her forest green shirt dress down over her slim frame, she tweaked the braided brown leather belt around her waist and absently brushed a piece of lint from the right thigh of her black tights, glancing down at her camel-coloured heeled booties.

She wasn’t entirely sure of the dress code of the evening, but at twenty-five, they were still at that age of being grownups, but not totally grownups, if that made sense; they were old enough to legally drink the copious amounts of liquor they downed at one of Gale and Madge’s house parties, but they were still young enough to thankfully not feel the full force of a crippling hangover the next day.

Hopefully this looks okay, she thought. Who are you trying to impress anyway? Stop. Stalling, she grumbled internally.

Irritated was her mood of the night and the night was only just beginning.

Clutching the bottle of wine with the golden bow on the neck, she pulled open the wrought-iron gate and proceeded up the short staircase to the house.

Leaning over and pressing the doorbell off to the right of the heavy black door, she glanced up at the night sky over her left shoulder and her eyes flickered to the wind blowing in the trees again. It was a warm night for the end of October – so warm she’d left her jacket at home and opted for just the long-sleeved dress. It wasn’t like she was walking anywhere. She’d take an Uber home later.

Katniss could hear the sounds of an upbeat indie tune floating through the open living room bay window off to the left. Her eyes flicked back to the front just in time to hear a voice on the other side of the door, where it swung open to reveal the guest of honour for the evening.

“Katniss! Hey! God, I’m so glad you’re here – Gale was wondering when you were going to show. Now maybe he’ll finally shut up,” said Madge, her smile spreading across her face and reaching her arms out to hug her best friend.

“Sorry I’m late,” said Katniss sheepishly, squeezing her back. “Carl the Uber driver wasn’t as prompt as the app said he’d be. He won’t be getting five stars from me tonight.”

Madge’s grin grew. “No matter – you’re here now, that’s what counts,” replied the pretty blonde. Her eyes softened as she looked at her old friend, hesitating. “How are you doing? How’s…everything? After…everything last week?”

“I’m okay. Really. It’s getting better every day.” Katniss said, quietly. She really didn’t want to go into details right here, right now. Or ever. The evening was supposed to be a happy occasion, for Madge. Katniss didn’t want to get into the depressing details of the collapse of her relationship with her long-time boyfriend Darius a few weeks before and the messy division of their things when he moved out of their shared apartment.

“Good, I’m glad to hear that...listen, I know it’s not the time or place, so I won’t pry, but please, let’s go for coffee again this week. You can bitch all you want about how much of a douchebag he is, and I’ll happily reassure you how you’re so much better without him,” said the birthday girl wryly.

“Deal,” replied Katniss, a small smile on her lips. “Here – this is for you,” holding up the bottle of Nova 7 that she knew Madge loved. “I know technically I should’ve gotten you champagne for your champagne birthday, but I thought you’d like this more.”

“Oh my God you’re my favourite person, you know that, right?” squealed Madge. “I mean, besides Gale, but whatever – where did you get this?! I’ve been trying all the liquor stores around town and they said they haven’t gotten a shipment in ages!”

“I had it specially ordered from their website! I’m glad you’re happy – I love you, but I’m never going through that hassle again. Customs are a bitch,” grimaced Katniss. Getting the white wine shipped from Canada seemed a bit much, but 25 was a big birthday and Madge had been Katniss’s best friend ever since they’d been paired together in Mr. Heffernan’s English Lit class in sixth grade. She deserved to be on the receiving end of a splurge.

“Well, you and I are going to drink this together tonight – no one else gets a drop,” beamed Madge. “Come on, I’ll stick it in the back of the fridge so no one can get at it before we do.”

She stepped over the threshold into the front porch and started to toe off her booties when Madge glanced down and stopped her. “No, no, leave them on, they’re part of your whole outfit. You look really good tonight, by the way,” she said, appraisingly. “I mean, not that you don’t usually, but, y’know, dresses are kinda rare for you. I’m babbling. Ignore me. It’s the wine. Come get a glass or three and start drinking with me please,” pleaded Madge as she turned back towards the kitchen down the hall and spotted her new husband. “Gale! Gale, Katniss is here! Get her a glass of Riesling, ASAP!”

“Hey Catnip! Good to see you – finally,” smirked Gale as he strode down the front hall towards them, but Katniss could see gentle concern in his eyes. He didn’t think you’d show, she thought to herself. She mentally huffed at her cousin.

“Obviously I’m here, it’s not like I’d miss my best friend’s birthday,” she said, somewhat shortly.

“Oh – of course not, I know that, I j-just...anyway, I’m glad you’re here. There’s a taco dip with your name on it so I hope you came hungry,” her older cousin stammered, glancing at his wife for reinforcement.

Both he and Madge seemed a little on edge at her presence, like they were afraid anything they’d say would set her off in some way. She knew they were only worried about her since the breakup, but it still irritated her to think that their shared glances probably meant they’d been talking about her before she’d shown up. Katniss hated being the centre of anyone’s attention or gossip.

It’s not gossip; they’re concerned about you because they love you, Prim’s voice popped in her head. Her younger sister was always her voice of reason and regularly called her out when she got in her own head and complained about people being interested in her personal life. With Prim on the other side of the country in medical school at Stanford though, she wasn’t here in person to call her out. But Katniss knew her as well as she knew herself, and knew it was exactly what Prim would say in this situation.

Steeling herself and wiping the scowl off her face, Katniss offered Gale a small, embarrassed smile and said, “I was really hoping you’d make your famous taco dip. I skipped dinner specifically for it.”

A flicker of relief passed over his face and Gale turned and gestured for her to follow him towards the dining room down the hall as Madge returned to the living room filled with guests. “I even covered it in extra shredded old cheddar, your favourite,” he grinned.

“Mmmm, hell yes. Where are the chips? I’m digging in right away,” she said eagerly, following behind him.

As they bypassed the living room and entered the dining room, she glanced back towards the front of the house and scanned the crowd. There was already a decent number of people here, some faces she recognized like old college pals Rue, Thom and Thresh, but others she’d never seen before. Gale’s work friends, probably, she thought absently.

“Is Joanna coming?” Katniss asked, turning her attention back towards the spread of food. “I haven’t talked to her all week. I meant to text her earlier, but I forgot.”

“Yep, she said she’s coming by once she’s finished at the office. Some big case she’s working on or something,” Gale replied. “Let me get you that Riesling, I’ll be right back,” as he turned towards the kitchen, leaving her to focus on the food. Grabbing a plate from the stack off to the left, she started piling taco dip onto it, her mouth watering in anticipation.

“Yeesh, Everdeen – leave some for the rest of us, why don’t you?” drawled a familiar voice.

Oh no. Not him, she groaned inwardly, the flush of annoyance rising up her neck and spreading across her face. She stiffened as she heard him chuckle softly and reluctantly turned to face the speaker.

“Oh, it’s you. Hello Peeta,” she said politely. “I didn’t know you were coming.”

“Why? Obviously I’d come to celebrate Madge. Besides, would you have stayed home and not graced us with your presence had you’d known?” Peeta smirked.

“Hmm, something like that,” she replied, pursing her lips before continuing reluctantly. “How are you? How are Delly and Connor? He must be, what, three now?” enquiring after his wife and son.

“…Yeah, he’s three now. Three and a half, actually, as he’ll tell you. Time flies when you’re having fun,” Peeta replied grimly, averting his eyes from her face. Confused at his response, Katniss was saved from having to reply by Gale appearing to their sides with her glass of wine.

“One Riesling for the lady. Hey Peeta, what can I get you? Beer? Liquor? Something to wipe that sour expression off your face?” asked Gale, wryly.

“Beer is fine, thanks Gale,” the wavy-haired blond replied. “I have to have something that’ll help wash down this taco dip, if Katniss doesn’t eat it all first.”

Katniss scowled at him. “Chill out, Mellark, there’s plenty there. I barely took any,” she retorted. Grabbing her plate and piling on a handful of nacho chips quickly, she turned and carried the plate and her glass of wine away from the irritating man before he could respond. Fuck, he’s such a dick, she stewed. Why does he have to be related to Madge?

Peeta Mellark and Madge Undersee-Hawthorne were indeed cousins, but he was also a former classmate of theirs from junior high and high school. It wasn’t like he and Katniss were friends though – they couldn’t have been further from that. Complete opposites throughout their early days, Peeta was a popular jock who seemed to get along with everyone. Everyone except quiet, kept-to-herself Katniss.

She had no idea why he never warmed to her – she’d sometimes catch him staring at her across the classroom or in the hallways, but he rarely spoke to her throughout their academic careers. She’d usually shoot him a puzzled look in return, because that’s exactly what he did to her – puzzled her.

Stupid Peeta Mellark. Why did he have to be here? And where was his wife, Delly? Katniss hadn’t laid eyes on the blonde bitch yet, but she was sure she’d know when she entered the room because the temperature would probably drop to below freezing, just like Delly’s chilly demeanour.

Katniss was never friends with Peeta, but she never understood what he saw in Delly. What was the title of that book she’d seen in Barnes & Noble one time? Why Men Marry Bitches? Maybe someone should’ve picked up a copy for Peeta Mellark because he could use some psychoanalysis as to why he married someone so horrible. Though, considering what she’d heard about the elder Mrs. Mellark while in school, maybe someone should pick up a book called Why Men Marry Their Mothers for him instead.

She moved through the crowd towards Rue and Thresh, when a flash of short brown hair caught her eye in the main hallway. “Jo! In here!” she waved to the petite brunette in a black pencil skirt and crisp white collared shirt. Johanna was her and Madge’s former college roommate-turned-other-best-friend who was currently kicking ass working at the hottest law firm in the city. She was fresh out of law school and had to article for a year before she could pass the bar and be a full lawyer, but the partners at her firm were already so impressed by her drive and her no-holds-barred attitude, they’d already offered her a position once she’d passed the bar in a few months’ time.

“Hey Kitty-cat, how goes it?” said Johanna, snaking her arm around Katniss’ shoulders in a side hug. “Ooh, gimmie that, I earned a big drink after the freakin’ day I’ve had,” pulling the glass of wine from her friend’s hand and taking a big gulp, then grimacing. “Ugh, never mind, I forgot you like girly drinks. I need something harder tonight.”

“Wine is sophisticated, thank you very much. Rough day?” Katniss asked sympathetically, taking the glass back and swallowing a mouthful of the cold, sweet liquid.

“Fuck me, it was brutal. This lawsuit is gonna be the death of me and I’m not even a lawyer yet,” Johanna groaned. “If I have to read through one more brief, I’m gonna stab my eyeballs out and shove them down the managing partner’s throat.”

“Graphic, but okay, sure,” winced Katniss. Jo was never one to hold back with her…colourful language. “Here comes Gale – give him your drink order, he’ll get you sorted.”

“Hey Jo, want a whiskey?” asked Gale as he approached, sizing up the brunette’s irritated expression.

“You read my mind, Hawthorne. Make it a triple? Or will we all judge me?” Jo drawled, glancing at her friends.

“Nah, the night is young. We’re celebrating!” Gale grinned. “ice, right?”

“Yep, thanks. So, Kitty, how are you? Finally feeling free of that douche canoe, Darius? Jesus, I’m so glad that’s finally over. You were way too good for him.”

“I can always count on you to not mince words. Jesus,” Katniss shot back. She knew Johanna hadn’t been Darius’s biggest fan, but now that they were broken up, she didn’t hold back on voicing her dislike of him.

“Well, at least you didn’t marry him. Divorces are messy. Though, you would’ve had me as your lawyer and I would’ve milked that fucker for everything he had, so maybe it’s a bit of a loss. I would’ve enjoyed that,” smirked Jo.

“God, you’re unbelievable,” sighed Katniss, but she said it with a small smile. Even though her bark was bad, Jo’s bite wasn’t. Katniss knew it was her friend’s way of showing concern and care for her.

“Whatever, you know you love me. Hey, is that Peeta? I saw his bitchy wife when I came in but didn’t see him,” Johanna said, gazing towards the dining room.

“Ugh, yes. What a tool. I was barely in the room when he started harassing me about taking too much taco dip. I’m pretty sure every one of our friends knows that taco dip was made with me in mind – Gale knows it’s my favourite.” Katniss grumbled.

“Well, maybe he needs a reminder. You can tell him yourself, because he’s headed this way.”

“Ugh, fuck me.” Katniss groaned, her eyes rolling back into her head.

“Sorry Everdeen, I’m a married man,” smirked Peeta, coming up behind her, a bottle of Stella Artois in his grasp.

Katniss flushed at his response, while Johanna smiled blandly at the young man. “I wonder for how much longer,” she muttered under her breath so that only Katniss could hear. Katniss’s brow furrowed at the comment, but brushed it off. Odd.

“Ah, Peeta. Everyone’s favourite prick,” smirked Johanna as she raised her voice, her eyes flicking between Katniss and the tall, brawny blond.

Katniss snorted. “What a lovely description, Jo. Very flattering.”

Peeta shot Katniss an irritated look before turning back to Johanna. “Nice to see you too, Jo. How’s life at your hot shot firm? Madge tells me your bosses love you.”

“Yeah, I think it’s more so that they’re afraid of me. Which I’m fine with. Men need intimidation a lot more than they realize.” Johanna replied, smugly.

“Well, you’ve got that covered then,” Katniss piped up.

“Speaking of intimidating women, Mellark, where’s your wife? Still got your balls in a vise or what?”

“Jo! Jesus.” Katniss blurted, her eyes wide and flickering to Peeta to gage his reaction. She didn’t like Peeta, but she also didn’t like awkward conversations about people’s relationships. Or any kind of conversation about relationships.

Peeta stiffened slightly at Joanna’s remark and drew his mouth in a thin line. “She’s over there talking to some co-worker of Gale’s. She’s fine.”

“Really? That’s not what Madge sa-,”

“Jo, I think Gale is waving at you – he’s got your whiskey,” Katniss interrupted. If there was one thing that could shut Johanna up, it was the promise of liquor.

“Finally, be right back,” Johanna threw over her shoulder as she strode towards Gale in the dining room.

Peeta glanced at Katniss, a slight frown on his face, which she ignored. She was eager to move away from the subject of his wife. “How’s Connor? How old did you say he was again?” she asked, nervously. She realized too late that by drawing Johanna’s attention to Gale and her drink, she was leaving herself alone with the person she despised the most at the party. Great. Just when I thought I’d escaped him, I land myself in another conversation with him. Good one, Everdeen.

“…Um…he’s three and a half…what was Johanna talking about? What did Madge say about Delly?”

Katniss pulled her bottom lip between her teeth and chewed on it, stalling. “Oh, nothing. She just…she said Delly seemed a little off lately, that’s all. I think she was concerned.”

Peeta snorted. “Concerned. Sure she was. You’re a terrible liar, Everdeen,” he said, bitterly.

Katniss glanced at him again, thinking awkwardly about the conversation she’d had with Madge the week before. Madge had made a passing comment to her and Jo about Delly being bitchier than usual and said Peeta seemed withdrawn and moody. It wasn’t really Delly she was concerned about; it was her cousin. Peeta wasn’t a bitter person. But ever since he and Delly married a few months before Connor’s birth, almost four years ago, they’d all seen a shift in him. He was friendly to everyone (except Katniss, of course) but there was an edge to him that hadn’t been there before. It seemed to be getting more and more pronounced as time went on.

Why do you care if he’s out of sorts? She didn’t, really. She was just curious. Even though he wasn’t nice to her, he was generally nice to everyone else, so to see him so bitter confused Katniss. Not that she cared, though. Because she didn’t. Really.

“Yeah, well, ask her yourself then. Excuse me, I need a refill.” Katniss said shortly, turning and leaving him alone for the second time that night.

_________________________________

The night wore on, with Katniss managing to avoid Peeta for the most part, sticking to chatting with Johanna or Madge or one of their other college friends. When she noticed Madge’s wine glass empty at the same time as hers as they were both pleasantly buzzed, she said, smiling, “what do you think, Mrs. Hawthorne? Time to crack open the Nova?”

“Excellent idea, Ms. Everdeen. Would you do the honours?” beamed Madge, her eyes a little glassy by now. The two of them made their way to the kitchen, where a few other people were already gathered, chatting. Katniss pulled open the refrigerator door and poked her head in, searching for the bottle of imported wine, but didn’t see it.

“Where’d you put it, Madge? Did you forget to put it in?” she asked.

“No, it’s in there, I swear – you know I love it super cold.” Madge replied breezily.

“What are you looking for?” asked another voice.

“A bottle of wine I brought for Madge– ” started Katniss, turning around and stopping, her eyes on Peeta Mellark.

And the bottle of Nova 7.

The empty bottle of Nova 7.

“…what the fuck. Are you KIDDING me right now? Did you open and DRINK that?!” Katniss screeched. “Are you actually kidding me?? Fuck you, Mellark!! Do you know what I went through to get that for her?!” She could feel hot tears forming in her eyes, catching her off guard.

Peeta had started to smirk, but when he saw her face, he faltered and his mouth dropped open slightly. “I didn’t–I thought–Gale said there was white wine in–we didn’t–” he stammered, his eyes darting to his wife’s, then back to Katniss's. Katniss hadn’t noticed Delly off to the side, her hand clutching an almost empty wine glass.

“What’s the big deal, it’s just a bottle of wine, there’s plenty here,” said the blonde woman testily as she rolled her eyes. “Personally, I never saw the appeal of Canadian wines. There are so many better brands from Australia or Spain. Canada’s not even that foreign; they’re like, right next door.”

Madge groaned and launched into Delly and Peeta, shouting about the importance of the special birthday gift to the oblivious couple. Katniss tuned her out as she could feel the heat rising in her neck up through her face. She was already having a shitty day moping over Darius and didn’t even want to come to the party in the first place; she definitely didn’t want to have to deal with stupid Peeta Mellark and his stupid bitch wife; and the only thing she’d been looking forward to was sharing the bottle with her best friend.

And the two of them had ruined it.

She had to get out of there before the tears spilled over and she embarrassed herself in front of them. She turned on her heel and stormed out of the room without a backwards glance.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

#katniss everdeen #Peeta Mellark #everlark fanfiction #everlark fanfic #enemies to lovers

[nat-roman0ff]

lover - pt. 2

lover, pt. 2 - the first kiss take me out, and take me home. -- words: 2k warnings: fluff, more gin and tonic, snow

The early winter chill cuts you to the core as a gust of wind blows by, knocking the air from your lungs. It had been a hell of a day at work, and you stomp as quickly as you can to the bar to meet with your sorta-kinda “friend-boy”, Shawn, for drinks. 

 It was new. So new, in fact, that you weren’t quite sure what to call it yet. You were definitely exclusive, but exclusively what was still up for debate. The lamp posts that line the city streets twinkle, wrapped in Christmas lights and the air is sterile and crisp with the smell of the upcoming winter. 

 Another gust slices you while you struggle with the front door to the bar you’re meeting Shawn at. He’s already there, and you feel like an asshole for being late, but also grateful that he reserved a spot for the two of you towards the back of the room. Work had been stressful, and you were ready to swig back a couple drinks and eat some greasy bar food. 

 You spot him first, tapping away on his phone, brows scrunched and that one little S curl hanging in the middle of his forehead. He’s chewing on the inside of his cheek, something you picked up on quickly as a nervous habit for him. His eyes scan the room nervously, melting when they lock on you. 

Shawn waves you over and pulls the seat out at the table by the picture window. It has just the right amount of glow and the he looks absolutely divine in the dimly lit bar (although you could argue he just about looked divine anywhere). You shrug off your coat and plop into the seat across from him.

 “Rough day at the office?” He asks with a chuckle. 

 You groan, “that obvious, huh?” 

 Shawn laughs, “when you texted me ‘I need to fucking drink tonight’ I figured it was a trying time. I hope you don’t mind, but I already ordered us some beer.” 

 You breathe a sigh of relief, “oh thank god. As long as it’s not Corona.” 

 Shawn’s face goes white. 

 “So I ordered myself  some beers,” he answers. 

 You laugh, “it’s fine, drink your piss water. I’ll have a big girl drink.” 

 He smirks and the two of you sit in a sort of comfortable silence. It takes your fingers and toes a few moments to warm up, and your senses start to clear as your body melts from the freezing cold outside to the toastiness of the bar. The quiet doesn’t make either of you uncomfortable. He’s the first person you’d ever met that didn’t need to fill a room with noise or chatter. The two of you, sitting together with the harmony of the jukebox and clinking glasses brings peace.

 “So what was your day like?” You ask when your drink arrives, “anything exceptional going on in the world of Shawn Mendes?” 

 He shakes his head, “if laundry and leg day are exceptional, then yes.”

 “Everything you do is exceptional,” you let out, not even mad that your lips spoke before your brain had a second to edit. 

 Shawn tilts his head, his lips curling up at the corners, “you really think so?” 

 You nod, “of course. You’re probably the most down to Earth and normal person I know. Which is terrifying considering you’re, ya know, you. I’m sure you find my office talk very boring when you’re Snapchatting John Mayer.” 

 His smile fades, “oh.” 

 “No not like that!” You defend, “Not like, ‘oh you’re normal for a famous guy’. I just mean…I don’t know, I’ve never known someone that’s had success like you before. I just figured you’d have a big head or something. Like your head physically is quite large. Maybe it’s the hair. Shit, I’m fucking rambling. Sorry.” 

 You pick at your chipping nail polish under the table, looking to your hands and avoiding Shawn’s gaze at all costs. 

 “It’s just hard to get to know people,” he starts, “It’s hard to get to know people who are genuinely in it for me, or in it for everything that comes along with it. I can’t hide who I am or what I do or pretend that it doesn’t exist. But I certainly hope that you’re here because you like me.” 

 You smile, “I do.” 

 Shawn’s eyes catch yours, and though you both don’t know it yet, it’s not the first time he’ll hear you say those words.

 -

 The winter never suited you. Despite living your entire life in a place with a frigid winter climate, there was something about the bone chilling cold that just hurt. You huddle as closely to Shawn as you can while you walk the short distance from the bar to his condo. He holds your frozen hand tight in his, occasionally rubbing the soft skin at the back of your hand with his thumb.

 The treetops shine with Christmas lights, some even zigzagged across the road, illuminating the streets below while the early winter snow dusts the streets. Your body shakes involuntarily against the cold as you feel it seep through all your layers.

 “I could give you my coat if you want?” Shawn says, feeling you shiver beside him. 

 “No, s’fine. Just a wuss when it comes to the cold.” 

 “Hold onto my arm,” he says, “come in a little closer, you’ll be warmer.” 

 There’s a blueprint of a smile when he says it, but it goes as quickly as it came. 

 Have you ever been able to pinpoint a single moment in your life where you know it’s the beginning of a radical change? An absolute millisecond of realization that nothing going forward will ever be the same?

 It happens as quickly as blinking, you think. One second he’s the boy sitting across from you and the next he’s the man you’re going to fall in love with (although neither of you know that just yet). It’s something like electricity, a sort of static that buzzes and you know the universe is colliding with all it’s little atoms and although you can’t see it you can feel it. It’s in the air, in the way that it pricks your skin and leaves your hair on edge. It’s in the unrhythmic beating of your heart, in how it surges the blood in your veins. Every particle is thick and palpable and you can feel the universe shift around you, for you.

 “You okay?” He asks, his hand giving yours a quick squeeze. 

 You nod. He lets you stay quiet, and you think that’s what you enjoy the most about him. He doesn’t need to fill the air with noise or words, doesn’t have to fill the space between you with promises of tomorrows and Sundays. Just the buzzing of the air and the flurry-lined streets of Toronto are enough to satisfy.

 “We’re close, my place is right here,” Shawn says, pointing to the building across the street. 

 Breathing a sigh of relief you loosen your grip on him a touch, giving him space to fish out his keys. He’d never taken you home before, on the few dates here and there that you had been on. Usually you just parted ways wherever you were meeting your he ordered you an Uber to get home safely. It had been his suggestion that you go back to his, and with the promise of fuzzy blankets, a comfy couch, a fireplace, and Christmas movies, it was a hard offer to pass up.

 The condo surprised you, but not in a bad way. It was much smaller than you’d imagined. A simple one bedroom; modern with clean lines but nothing over the top. It was unusually clean too, but then you remembered he was rarely home enough to get comfortable before taking off again to live the life that came along with being him.

 That was going to take some getting used to.

 “This is different than what I expected,” you say, shrugging off your coat and placing it on the hook by the door, neatly lining up your shoes beside his.

 Shawn couldn’t help but think how perfect your things looked beside his, and it wouldn’t be for another year and a half when he’d ask you to leave them there permanently. 

 “Different?” He asks, “Like, bad? Were you expecting a waterfall? Trophy case? A renaissance style portrait of Drake above the fireplace?” 

 You laugh and pinch his side. In one swoop he pulls you into his arms, pressing his forehead against yours, the tip of his nose brushing yours. You think he’s going to kiss you but instead he lets you go and takes a half step back, worried he’s moved too fast, too soon.

 “It’s...cozy. It’s simple,” you point at the streamlined kitchen, “but also unequivocally you.”

 He follows your gaze to the array of photos on the wall of friends and family. There’s even a photobooth strip of the two of you from the wedding you met at just a couple months ago. 

 “Do you want a drink?” He asks, pointing to the bar cart in the living room. 

 You scoff, “is that even a question?” 

 Shawn smirks, “Gin and tonic, right?” 

 You nod, and he starts to busy himself with making your drinks. You scan his gallery wall, smile so wide it hurts your cheeks as you look at childhood photos, recognizing old faces in younger days.

 “So what are you doing for the holidays?” He asks when he hands you a drink.

 You shrug, “just a boring Christmas at my parents. Presents in our pajamas, a good home cooked meal and some movies. Nothing crazy, we keep it pretty low key.” 

 Shawn smiles, “that sounds perfect.” 

 You take the first sip of your drink. Honestly, it’s shit. 

 “What about you? Any big plans?” 

 He shakes his head, “not really. We keep it pretty quiet on Christmas day. But, my parents do throw a big party on Christmas Eve. The whole family is there, close friends, things like that,” he pauses for a second and chews the inside of his cheek, “I was...wonderingifmaybeyou’dliketocome?” He says in one quick breath. 

 You purse your lips together to try and hide the shit eating grin on your face, “I’d love to.” 

 Shawn looks at you, like really looks at you. He’s searching for something in your face, eyes focusing on yours and a deep crease forms between his brows. Before you can ask what he’s doing, he speaks. 

 “Can I show you something?” He asks. 

 You shrug, “sure.” 

 He plucks your glass from your hand and places it on the coffee table next to his. With your hand in his, he brings you to the other side of the living room, where a small desk studio is set up overlooking the city lights of Toronto. He sits down and starts clicking around the computer’s desktop for something, opening a program with a bunch of notches and lines and nothing that makes sense to you. 

 “Can I play you a new song?” 

 All the air is sucked from your lungs before you can speak, “absolutely, yeah,” you manage to choke out.

 Shawn smiles wide and clicks play, turning up the speakers on the desk. It starts slow, a wedding band type of slow that you picture slow dancing with your Lover to. It makes you feel...warm, and safe, and happy, and at home. The room melts around you as the tempo picks up into the chorus and Shawn’s voice is so delicate and raw that you almost feel embarrassed for listening in. You stand facing the floor to ceiling window, watching the snow blanket the city and swirl around you like a living snow globe. You’re not sure at which point Shawn stands next to you, but his fingers intertwine through yours as you both stare out of the window in front of you, his song echoing off the walls.

 It ends on a single chord that leaves your ears ringing and he waits a few seconds before turning his head to look at you. 

 “So what did you think?” He asks, his voice shaky.

 He doesn’t have the nerve yet to tell you he wrote it for you the day after you first met.

 “Can I kiss you?” You respond.

 Shawn relaxes a touch, a smile tugging at his lips, “yeah, I think I would love that.” 

#shawn mendes #Shawn Mendes Imagine #shawn mendes fanfic #shawn mendes fanfiction #lover #shawn mendes blurb

[suncityblues]

Former Ghosts

Dean/Cas fic  ~2k words, pretty fluffy/light  AO3 -> https://archiveofourown.org/works/27648394

On TV, hospital rooms are usually these clean, white places with a sunny window and a nice chair in the corner. A family member or loved one would be there, desperately pleading for forgiveness, or redemption, or something like that. The nurses are all hot 20 somethings and doctors take time to talk to the patient and their family in soothing, apologetic tones. By the end of the episode there is either a miraculous recovery or a heartbreaking death.

Dean knows this well, television practically raised him. So no matter how many times he ends up in one it’s still a bit of a disappointment to wake up sweaty and alone in a dark room with puke green walls on one side and a curtain separating another patient on the other. This time, his back hurts like hell and he wants to know where Sam is and what happened to those kids.

As usual, he ignores the disappointed part of him that wanted to have not woken up at all. He’s grown accustomed to that thought over the years, and it’s easy to shoo away, but not as easy as it used to be.

He tries to get up and make a run for it before an orderly notices he’s awake and starts questioning him about the health insurance he doesn’t have, but the moment Dean moves forward he’s overcome with a stab of pain that makes his vision go black in the middle. He lets out a sharp “paaah” sound that hurts his throat, and falls back into place. He feels nauseous and winded.

A heavyset woman in her 30’s comes into the room. “Hello,” she says kindly, “I saw your heart rate was up, do you know where you are?”

Dean shakes his head no.

“St. Sebastian Hospital” she answers, then: “Give me one moment, please.” Dean’s mouth is so dry he doesn’t think he could argue even if he wanted to. The woman pulls his medical chart off the back of his bed and checks it over.

“Mr, ah, Bolan, it seems like you were in a serious car accident and have been out for the last few days. You have a punctured kidney, and quite a few other injuries, you’re really lucky to be alive and recovering as well as you are,” the woman says. There’s a softly scolding tone in her voice. Dean wonders if she thinks he wasn’t wearing a seatbelt or something.

Dean nods at her, feigning repentance. He guesses his full name on her chart must be Marc Bolan, the rock star tragically deceased in a car crash. Good one, Sammy, though a bit on the nose.

Dean’s mouth is still dry so he gestures weakly at his throat. The nurse lightens up.

“I’ll have someone bring you some ice chips, and the attending physician will be in soon to get you up to speed on your recovery.” She points out a little red button attached to his bed, “If you need anything, press this, okay?”

Dean nods.

—

Dean spends the next few days in the hospital. He wants to leave as soon as Sam gets there in the morning but Sam insists he stay the full amount of time that the doctor recommended. He says something to Dean about the possibility of sepsis but Dean doesn’t really listen. He knows how to keep his wounds clean, he’s not some dumb kid.

Eventually Dean gets discharged back to the bunker with a handful of unpaid-for antibiotics and by the time he’s healthy enough to get to the bathroom by himself without blacking out, they get a call. After much hemming and hawing from Dean, Sam goes off to a hunt in Texas by himself. It scares the shit out of Dean to see his brother go alone but he puts on a brave face and pats Sam on the back, like it’s no big deal.

“Call if you need anything. Anything at all,” Dean tells him. Sam rolls his eyes but agrees.

Dean waits. And waits. And waits. And nothing bad happens. Sam comes home victorious. Dean knew he would.

And then Sam goes off by again. And comes back. And keeps doing it. And after a while Dean gets used to it, though he can’t help himself from feeling like the world is moving on without him.

—

Dean’s back still hurts. He feels like a burden to Sam, and to himself. He drinks beer with the dog and watches TV and eats chips, then goes to bed and gets up the next day and does the same thing. Sometimes he’ll help Sam out with research over the phone, and hates that these moments are the highlight of his day, sometimes week.

He tries not to think about Castiel, but almost immediately gives up and starts researching ways to get him back. When Sam is home, sometimes he asks what Dean is up to but Dean can’t bring himself to lie or to tell the whole truth.

“Looking for trouble,” Dean replies jokingly, and lets Sam assume this means Dean’s searching for a new case rather than researching ancient enochian summoning rituals. Because he knows what Sam would say. Cas sacrificed himself so they could win, and he’d want them to move forward. Cas would want them to be happy, and live good lives. Especially Dean.

But, Dean’s not entirely sure he wants to be happy, it would be a pretty foreign feeling after all this time. In fact, Dean’s not sure he wants anything, anymore. Except for Sam to be happy and Cas to be home, with him. He doesn’t think he’ll ever finish processing what Castiel had said to him the last time they had seen each other but Dean reserves the right to try.

Around the time Dean’s back wound is fully healed and he’s ready to start hunting again, Sam runs back into Eileen hunting an angry spirit outside Lafayette. They start spending more time together on the road. Dean is happy for them, though a little sad when Sam starts to move on.

But, the plus side is that this gives Dean extra time to do something very stupid and ill advised without his brother walking in on him.

—

He’s about halfway through the summoning ritual when the candles blow out on their own and Dean feels himself thrown backwards by an otherworldly gust of wind. It hurts badly but the live ram Dean was about to sacrifice seems relieved.

A man in a trench coat appears in the room with a very cross look on his face. The relief Dean feels when he sees Castiel is so powerful he almost needs to sit down.

“Did it work?” Dean asks. “Not even close,” Castiel replies, “You were about to summon a huge sea monster.”

Dean can’t stop himself from smiling anyway. The ram makes a grunting sound.

—

Castiel comes clean that he’d been saved by Jack, and instead of saying anything was waiting for Dean to die of old age and get to heaven, which Dean finds pretty insulting. “Time passes differently in heaven” Cas had said which sounded to Dean like a cop out.

He ignores the fact that, as usual, Sam is right. Dean is actually pretty great at ignoring Sam when he wants to.

“I wanted you to have a real life, Dean,” Cas had said irritatedly, “I wanted you to know happiness and freedom. Freedom from everything.”

Dean doesn’t like Castiel’s tone when he says the word, “everything” because he knows Cas is including himself in that. It pisses him off, in fact.

“So what?” Dean nearly shouts before collecting himself to grit out, “You get to say your peace and then leave? Just like that?” Dean doesn’t add “It’s not fair” but petulantly thinks it. He’s so mad he has to take a step back and breathe through his nose. It had never occurred to him Cas was back and simply didn’t want to see him, especially after what had happened. It stings.

Cas says nothing for a long moment, just levels a sad look at Dean that says the differences are insurmountable between them. That they’re wholly different creatures meant to be on different planes of existence and never meet on earth, and certainly never care for each other. They are, at best, to have a post-life cordial business relationship. Dean huffs. He steps closer to Cas, and Cas lets him.

“You know how I feel, Dean, but...” Cas finally starts but is cut off.

“Okay, well. Do you want to hear what I have to say?” Dean asks. Cas says nothing. Dean can feel himself choking up, which he hates.

“I want to say that I love you too, you know. Love you-love you. And I don’t wanna be here if you’re not around, and I don’t wanna get old without you. I got hurt, bad, after you were gone and I thought to myself: good, finally, this is how it’s supposed to be. Because if you were gone, I wanted to be gone too. I’ve been counting down my days since I was a kid, man.”

He doesn’t cry but his face is hot and scrunched up and he knows he looks like a mess. He doesn’t often let himself willingly experience these feelings, but they’re there. They’ve always been there. They’ve gotten so much worse without Castiel beside him.

Resigned, Castiel replies with absolutely no irony but a bit of pettiness, “Should I have not saved you from those vampire clowns, then? I’m sorry, Dean, I couldn’t help myself. I had hoped you’d be able to outlive John, at least.”

Of course, Dean thinks. Of course you don’t heal that easy from a punctured organ, but what’s a subtle bit of healing magic between friends? The hot air leaves him all at once and he feels empty.

“Cas” he says. He doesn't actually know where he’s going with this. He leans his face close to Castiel, so their foreheads and noses are touching. He is deeply relieved when Cas kisses him.

—

A few days later Sam is surprised to come home to a ram grazing outside the bunker, but not at all to find Castiel and Dean cuddled up on the couch watching movies.

“Welcome home,” he says.

#spn #destiel #dean winchester/castiel #Supernatural #supernatural fic #my fic

[brightening-the-stars]

Ms. O’Leary’s Dandelions

This is the first story I’ve posted on here, so I’m a bit nervous. I hope you like it! Any feedback is very much appreciated😊

Here’s how it all started: last March, Ms. O’Leary had decided that dandelions were a beautiful type of ground cover, and she really just could not understand why people disliked them so much. Her sentiments on this topic grew and grew, until on one infamous day, she raised her gardening shovel into the air and cried with righteous fury, “Down with grass! All hail the yellow flower!” She stormed out into her front lawn and methodically pulled up all of the grass, blowing dandelion seeds over the bare dirt.  

Now, lawn renovations were not uncommon in Ms. O’Leary’s neighborhood (it was one of those suburban picket-fence places common on the East Coast) so no-one really commented about the giant piles of dirt in Ms. O’Leary’s yard, and the piles were gone in a few days anyways. The neighbors, however, had known Ms. O’Leary for some time now, and were skeptical that the renovations would be for the better. They watched her front lawn with trepidation, and thanked whatever God seemed to be running the world at the moment for the invention of fences and walls. 

A few weeks later, Ms. O’Leary’s dandelions had risen from the dirt and unfurled their leaves and petals, bathing her yard in their flaming, golden glory. Much like Ms. O’Leary herself, the dandelions’ presence was glorious, ostentatious, and completely inescapable. It was also, predictably, loathed by all of the neighbors. All, that is, but one.

In any great war, there are the two combatants, clashing ideologies and incompatible belief systems driving them to battle as they struggle over small patches of land. There are also war profiteers, the people who arm both sides in exchange for money, but really have no stake in the affair. Finally, there are the civilians-- noncombatants who watch the battles with either horror or mild interest, depending on their proximity to the fight and the lethality of the fighting. 

In Ms. O’Leary’s war, the neighbor’s daughter from across the street, Eliza Mendez, played the part of the civilian. Being a teenager, she had too much on her mind (and too large an ego) to be truly invested in the budding conflict, but she thrived off of drama, which alleviated the boredom of sitting through Spanish every day and was available in spades. 

One early April afternoon, Eliza had been struggling with her precalculus homework, playing with her pencil as she debated calling Amelie (would it seem too needy?) when a loud bang startled her out of her thoughts. Her head snapped up, and she crept towards the family room, where her father was holding a Homeowners’ Association meeting. She peeked around the corner just in time to see her father bang his fist on the table again as he addressed his friends. 

“And who does O’Leary even think she is? This neighborhood has standards, doggone it, and she is failing to meet them. We have principles! We have dignity! And we will not allow dandelions, of all things, to be what drives down the property values in this locale!”

A cheer rose up from the assembled HOA members. A few pounded the table, which was covered with maps, county law printouts, and real estate values. Eliza thought it looked a bit like the pictures in her textbook of generals’ strategy centers during the Civil War. 

A brunette woman stepped forward. “What’s our plan of action?”

Eliza’s father frowned. “Well, I am of course open to suggestions, but I’ve been thinking, and I reckon the best way to go about this is to get her with violation of property laws.” Eliza’s father was a lawyer, and litigation was what he did best. “If we go about this the right way we won’t need to take any, well, drastic measures.”

The crowd quieted. “Drastic measures” entailed a ban from the bi-monthly Neighborhood Barbecue. Ms. O’Leary always brought a divine plate of chocolate chip cookies, and they would be sorely missed if the HOA was forced to disinvite her. 

“We ought to give her a chance to back down before we come at her with legalese,” the brunette said nervously. “I know I would at least want a warning first.”

“Yeah, ‘cause you’re a coward!” 

“Who said that?”

Eliza crept from the doorway as the meeting devolved into shouting. She had no interest in making polite small talk with her parents’ stuffed shirt friends. It was always “Oh, Eliza, do you know where you’re going to apply for college?” or “Eliza, what do you plan to major in?” Never let it be said that being a teenager on the cusp of adulthood is easy. 

The next day, Ms. O’Leary was standing on her front patio, hands on her hips as she admired her dandelions. They all seemed to be thriving, bobbing gently in the spring breeze. She lifted her gaze to squint towards the horizon, and blinked when she noticed a few silhouettes against the rising sun. Her eyes narrowed. It appeared to be Mr. Mendez from across the street. She readied herself for battle.

Mr. Mendez led the march to Ms. O’Leary’s doorstep. He and his four escorts (other officials within the HOA) were dressed in their neatest outfits, wearing their shiniest shoes. He walked up to Ms. O’Leary, and brandished some very official paperwork like a sword.

Ms. O’Leary adjusted her spectacles. “Cease and desist…” she read aloud. She smiled widely. “What a gift. More paper for my paper mache pumpkins.” Her smile disappeared. “You shouldn’t have.”

Mr. Mendez and his compatriots were sprouting truly admirable fake grins. “Whether I should have or not doesn’t matter,” Mr. Mendez beamed through gritted teeth. “The law is the law, and you broke it.”

“The law says that I cannot plant flowers in my own lawn? The law dictates that I must conform to your quaint notions of normalcy?” She paused, waiting for a reply. None came. “I thank you for your directness.” She extended her hand. Mr. Mendez handed her the papers, his shoulders slumping slightly from their tense position. He smiled smugly. Ms. O’Leary stared at him, eyebrows raised. “You may leave now.” After a beat, Mr. Mendez nodded, harrumphed, and turned away. A quick glance at his shoes greatly diminished his aura of smugness; they were covered in dust from Ms. O’Leary’s lawn. Nevertheless, he bravely rallied and marched back home, his fellow representatives offering Ms. O’Leary the requisite good day’s as they turned to follow. 

Ms.  O’Leary stared down at the paper for a few minutes, then lifted her head to the sky. She slowly ripped the cease-and-desist order into four quarters, opening her hand to let a gust of wind blow the quarters away. “If it is a war they want,” she told the fluffy clouds overhead, “It is a war they shall get!” Her voice rang across the neighborhood, echoing longer than it should have. Eliza looked up from her homework and watched her neighbor shake her fist at the sky as her father did a victory dance in the kitchen. She rolled her eyes. Why did this neighborhood have to be so weird?

Several days later, Eliza’s curiosity (and a bit of hunting around in the bushes) had informed her that the quarters of the paper fit together into a dire warning of what would happen if Ms.O’Leary failed to assimilate to the neighborhood norm. A cursory glance at Ms. O’Leary’s lawn informed Eliza that she had done nothing of the sort. Her lawn was even brighter than before. Or, at least, most of it was. Pausing on her way to take out the trash for Tuesday’s collection, Eliza watched Ms. O’Leary inspect a dark patch in the far corner of her lawn.

Ms. O’Leary whipped her head around, spotting Eliza instantly. “You, there!”

Eliza jumped, avoiding eye contact as she prepared to nonchalantly wander back up her steps. Observing the eccentric neighbor didn’t mean she actually wanted to talk to the eccentric neighbor. 

“Eliza Mendez!”

Eliza sighed and stepped forward. “Yeah, that’s me.”

“Come over here and tell me what you think this is!”

Eliza hesitated for a moment, worried by Ms. O’Leary’s sharp tone, but her curiosity won out. Standing at the edge of the dark patch, she performed her assessment.

“Uhh… It looks dead,” she diagnosed with some confusion.

“Weedkiller!” Ms. O’Leary shouted. “They used weedkiller, the bastards!” She stared at Eliza with an incensed expression until she realized that Ms. O’Leary probably wanted a reply.

“That’s rough.”

“It is, indeed!” Ms. O’Leary agreed empathetically. “And all because I simply asked the Chair of the County Landscaping Department to allow my lawn to be the way I like! I suppose your father and his cohorts were forced to resort to more underhanded measures. These are truly lawless times we find ourselves in, hmm?”

Eliza nodded, trying to keep the corners of her mouth from twitching upwards. 

“And I had been so looking forward to my dandelion tea,” Ms. O’Leary continued. “It’s good for the psychic powers, you know.” she winked at Eliza, who raised an eyebrow skeptically. “Come to think of it, psychic powers might have been useful when I was trying to persuade the County Chair… But no matter! Now, we must focus our efforts on revenge. This travesty cannot go unpunished!” 

Eliza nodded again, watching as Ms. O’Leary paced back and forth, muttering to herself. She stopped in the middle of her yard, snapping her fingers. 

“I’ve got it! Eliza,” she began, turning to face her, “Would you say these dandelions are aesthetically pleasing?”

“I guess so,” Eliza said. She had never understood why her father hated them so much.

“And it’s the responsibility of good, friendly neighbors to help each other improve their landscaping, as your father so kindly demonstrated when he vandalized my property with weedkiller, of all things.”

“Um, well--.”

“What I’m saying--” an evil grin spread across Ms. O’Leary’s face-- “is that it is my responsibility to kindly allow my glorious, flowery offspring to spread across their lawns. We can, in fact, start with yours.”

Eliza opened her mouth to object, then closed it, imagining the sheer chaos that would result from such an action. “Okay,” she said. “I’ll help.”

That afternoon, she blew a dandelion puff in her front yard, watching the seeds proliferate, spreading across the ground. So ended the first battle in what would prove to be a long and costly war. The Golden Hordes of dandelions spread across the neighborhood like wildfire, with the Brown Death of weedkiller following close behind. The battle raged, neither side able to gain an advantage. Mr. Mendez and Ms. O’Leary’s sneaking around in others’ yards gradually got more and more blatant. Unseemly dark and yellow patches appeared all across the neighborhood, and noncombatants were beginning to get fed up.

At the next HOA meeting, amidst the lawn schematics and bulk weedkiller orders, a dark haired woman scoffed. 

“This is ridiculous,” she told Mr. Mendez. “I propose that we take drastic measures.” A hush spread at her words. 

“All in favor?” Mr. Mendez scanned the room. “It is decided then. We will go to break the news tomorrow.”

The next day saw Mr. Mendez and his entourage once again marching on Ms. O’Leary’s lawn. Their imposing image was marred by the pouring rain and the ginger way that they were forced to pick their way through the mud on Ms. O’Leary’s lawn, but they rallied and Mr. Mendez sharply rapped on Ms. O’Leary’s door. 

“A moment, please!” There were some scuffling noises, then Ms. O’Leary opened the door. She was leaning against the doorframe, holding a book entitled “The Paranormal Uses of Common Flowers and Herbs”. She snapped the book closed and raised her eyebrows at the muddy group on her doorstep. “Come to surrender, have you?”

“No,” Mr. Mendez began, taking a breath to gather his courage. “We’ve come to disinvite you from the Neighborhood Barbecue.”

Ms. O’Leary blinked. “I see,” she said slowly. “And of my cookies?”

“We’ll do without.” (Ms. O’Leary swore she heard a sob from behind Mr. Mendez at that.)

“I petition to come to the Barbecue one last time to deal with unfinished business. I must demonstrate to Susan that my cookies are statistically proven to be superior to her brownies.”

“You can come when everyone’s yard is back to normal. Including yours!” 

“Very well,” Ms. O’Leary said. “When is the next Barbecue?”

“In a week.”

“I will see you then.” Ms. O’Leary smiled slowly. 

Mr. Mendez shifted on his feet. “Um. Right then. We’ll be going now.”

Ms. O’Leary watched them leave. She returned to her book as she closed the door. It was open to a page entitled “wishes”. She muttered to herself, heading out into her yard to pick some dandelions. 

On the day of the barbecue, the lawns were no nicer than they had been before. Eliza loitered around the brownie table, mourning the loss of Ms. O’Leary’s cookies. Maybe she could get some as payment for her involvement with starting this whole thing? She was broken out of her train of thought by a raindrop falling on her from above. The neighbors glanced upward, tittering in alarm. The sky was dark gray, with gusting wind shaking the tops of the trees. 

“Looks like tornado weather,” someone remarked. Susan, who was hosting, ushered everyone into her basement. The neighbors huddled together, listening to the storm pick up outside. The wind howled, and they could hear Susan’s house rattling above them.  

When the rattling stopped, they emerged to a very bizarre sight. The grass was ripped from the lawn and the barbecue setup was strewn about, but Susan’s house was untouched. A quick inspection of the backyard reported much of the same: no grass, but no lasting property damage. Wandering into the corner of the garden, Eliza did a double take. “Hey, dad!” He approached, and she pointed at the patch of dandelions that was completely untouched. (Susan had done her best to rid her yard of the pests, but they really were persistent.) They rushed back into the front yard, watching in bewilderment as many of their neighbors discovered a similar phenomenon. Dandelions are good for wishes, she remembered. As if summoned when Eliza thought of her, Ms. O’Leary rounded the corner and marched toward the gathering, a plate of cookies in one hand, and “The Paranormal Uses of Flowers and Herbs” in the other. 

“Well, that was quite a storm, was it not?” She asked cheerfully. “Although, I had been quite wishing for a bit of a breeze. It gets so hot in summer, hmm?” The neighbors stared. Ms. O’Leary’s gaze alighted upon a surviving patch of dandelions. “Tenacious things, aren’t they? I do suggest that you all plant some. They are beautiful and low maintenance.” She winked at Eliza. “And, legend has it, good for wishes.” She righted the table where Susan’s brownies had once sat, and placed her plate of warm cookies on top. Turning to Mr. Mendez, she asked, “I  trust I will see you at the next Barbecue? I believe I’m hosting.” He nodded slowly, and Ms. O’Leary turned to go. For weeks afterwards, the neighbors would argue in hushed tones about whether she had walked away, or simply vanished into thin air.

The next month saw yards full of dandelions lining the streets of Eliza’s neighborhood. The HOA had succumbed to the pressure of having a “witch” (according to Susan) in the area, and had written “Ms. O’Leary can do as she pleases” into the neighborhood building codes. Eliza sighed at her homework, and looked up through the window. Ms. O’Leary waved to her from her yard, then went back to… was her cat floating? Eliza dropped her pencil and hurried outside. Ms. O’Leary laughed, and turned inside to grab the tray of cookies that she always prepared for Eliza when she came to visit and inquire about her more unusual habits. 

#writeblr #my writing #fiction #short story #witch #cottagecore #i guess?? #spilled words #spilled ink #writers on tumblr #writing #original writing #original content #original work #first post #original fiction #writers

[the-angst-chronicles-fanworks]

DRACO’S WISH [PT 6/14]

<< | < | >

WORD COUNT: 3303

PAIRING: Drarry

TAGS:

hidden identity

Down and Out Draco Malfoy

Pretty Draco Malfoy

Talented Draco Malfoy

Auror Harry Potter

Smitten Harry Potter

Harry Potter Being an Asshole (just for a while)

Angst

Fluff

Angst with a Happy Ending

Falling In Love

Torture

Skipping Meals/Hunger

Cold Weather

Libraries

Hot Chocolate

Veritaserum

SUMMARY: Draco does a good deed and is granted a wish - 12 days of anonymity in a world that hates him CHAPTER SUMMARY:   Draco and Harry’s ice-skating plans get interrupted

on FF.net

on AO3

STORY:

December 13th , 2007

The brief warm flash from the previous day unfortunately doesn’t last, and Draco is woken before sunrise by the freezing air. “Bloody fuck,” he mutters, shivering violently as he sits up. It’s not even a consideration that he tries another warming charm – today is one of those days that is just too cold to bear without it.

It’s hard to focus enough to cast wandlessly when it’s this cold, which is just counterproductive really, but it’s not as though Draco hasn’t faced days this cold before. He inhales a shivering breath, ignoring his trembling as much as possible and endeavouring to block out the chill, as he reaches down into his magic.

He tries some of the new techniques that he’d studied yesterday, but it doesn’t come immediately to him. It takes a few tries before he actually manages to cast the spell but, to his great relief, the new technique does expend less effort. It doesn’t improve the potency of the spell though – the room warms enough to be only just bearable – so Draco makes a mental note to find a way to improve that.

Not wanting to risk the spell wearing off, Draco hops quickly out of bed and rushes through his shower. He pulls on his clothes and his outdoor gear, shuddering at the cold fabric.

He’s meant to meet Potter today for ice skating, and he shivers at he very prospect. Hopefully, the weather warms up by then – his clothes aren’t all too warm as it is, and skating about at any speed is sure to make it worse. It would be terribly embarrassing if he has to beg off skating early because he’s cold.

Then again, maybe it’s embarrassing just to go out dressed as he is. He looks himself over critically in his chipped little mirror, taking in his appearance and grimacing. He’s scrawny, malnourished and it shows, his naturally sharp features turned harsh and unattractive. His hair is neither as glossy nor as healthy as it once had been but it’s not greasy either. He fiddles with it until it lays in an acceptable wave, framing and softening his face.

But his garments still hang too loosely on his thin frame, ragged and torn and not flattering at all. His gloves have so many holes that they scarcely count as gloves, his coat is threadbare, his pants are patched and baggy, and his boots are one hard knock away from falling apart. Draco scoffs at himself and turns away from the mirror. What is he doing, trying to primp himself, trying to look attractive? Those days are long past.

Giving up on the mirror, he goes over to his little stove and fiddles with it, trying to coax it to life. It takes a minute but, against all odds, turns on. Draco inwardly cheers. He’s going to be expending energy today, if he’s to go skating, and he hadn’t eaten yesterday. It most certainly won’t do to faint in front of Potter just because his stove won’t cooperate.

He toasts himself a couple of slices of bread, eating them dry, and boils some water that he pretends is tea. Then he heads to the library, where he and Potter are to meet.

The librarian catches sight of him and gives him her usual smile. “Hello dear,” she says, as she does every day. Draco returns the smile, genuinely happy to see her friendly face.

“Good morning,” he replies, waving his hello. That’s the extent of their daily conversation, so he goes on to browse the shelves.

He’s very early – the clock on the wall shows that it’s just barely eight, and they’re not set to meet until two. He has plenty of time to make use of the library, and he’s hoping to move onto more advanced wandless theory.

He finds his usual book, double-checks the index to make sure that it covers spell potency, and then carries it back to his armchair. He means to study until Potter arrives, but he only gets about three hours in before his interrupted sleep and the warmth of the library get to him.

He doesn’t even notice drifting off, but he finds himself waking sometime later, comfortable and warm enough that he almost falls back asleep. Then he sees Potter, sitting in his summoned armchair and watching him, and that startles him enough that he stops drowsing. “Creepy, Potter,” he mumbles, blinking and rubbing his eyes to clear the bleariness. “Do you make it a habit to watch people sleep?”

“It’s Harry,” Potter pouts. “Do you make it a habit to sleep in libraries?”

“Touché,” he yawns, too sleepy to bother with a comeback. He glances up at the clock, which shows quarter to three, and frowns. “You should have woken me.”

“Oh, right, sorry,” Potter fumbles. “I just- you looked comfortable.”

Draco stretches languorously and blinks at Potter, who’s staring back at him intently. “You’re an odd one Potter,” he tells him. He extends a lazy hand. “Help me up, won’t you?”

Potter snorts, but grips Draco’s hand firmly and pulls him to his feet. Draco sleepily admires the ease with which he does so. He pokes at Potter’s bicep and finds it firm with solid muscle. “Bloody Aurors”, he mutters, then grabs his book and wanders off to the shelf to return it. When he returns, Potter’s face is as red as Auror robes, and that’s when Draco realises what he’s done.

His own face burns with mortification and he casts around for something to say, but all that comes out is a useless squeak. “I just meant,” he finally manages. “Very good, Aurors. Doing great. Thanks for your service, and all that.” Merlin, what is he even saying? He doesn’t even like Aurors, they’re usually not very nice. He needs to get over this humiliating habit of just babbling nonsense when he’s embarrassed.

Potter laughs, though, and his face clears of its embarrassed flush. He throws one of those muscular arms around Draco’s shoulders. “And you called me the odd one,” he says, his voice oddly fond. “Come on then. Let’s get a move on.”

He guides them out of the library and into Diagon, where the freezing air finally wakes Draco the rest of the way. Merlin, he’s so mortified. He’s never going to fall asleep in public again.

He thinks about pulling away from Potter – he’s really thrown this ‘staying away’ thing out the window – but it’s still freezing out and Potter is decidedly warm. “Sorry for all that Potter. Very embarrassing of me,” he says, making no move to dislodge Potter’s arm from his shoulders.

Potter grins, jostling Draco a bit in a playful manner. “Don’t worry about it Emory. And please, it’s Harry.”

Draco hums and thinks it over, but something about calling him Harry is too intimate. “Hmm, no, I think I like Potter better,” he decides.

“You are unbelievable,” Potter laughs, shaking his head.

By this point they’ve left Diagon and have travelled down at least two other streets. The area here is residential, with cute little houses decorated with festive lights lining the street. They don’t look big enough to have backyard ice rinks. “Do you live here then?” he asks Potter.

Potter, for some reason, laughs. “Here?” He says. “No, I don’t. It’s the nearest ice rink that I know of, that’s all.” He pauses and looks around contemplatively. “It’s a nice area though,” he offers. “Very jolly.”

Draco smiles. “I like jolly,” he says, watching the lights of the nearest house twinkle. That, at least, has always been true. Granted, the décor at the Manor was far more extravagant than this, but he’s learnt to appreciate simple things too.

Potter is silent again, and when Draco looks up, it’s to green eyes smiling down at him. He looks away, flustered, and something glinting in the street ahead of them catches his eye.

“What-?” he begins, but as the shape draws nearer and resolves into an ethereal, silvery otter he realises what it is. A patronus.

“Harry!” It says urgently in Granger’s voice. Harry jerks to attention, startled.

“Hermione?” He asks, pulling his arm away from Draco’s shoulder and turning to address the otter. “What’s wrong?” Draco shivers, mourning the loss of Potter’s warmth, and turns to the otter also.

“Sorry to bother you,” says the otter contritely in Granger’s voice, “but Ron’s got a work emergency and Rosie fell of a table and hurt her leg. I have to take her to St. Mungo’s, but Walker’s is getting that new wool I wanted to get for Molly today and I’m afraid they’re going to sell out. I’m terribly sorry to ask, but can you please pick some up for me? Just a skein of each colour please.”

Potter groans. “Hermione, I’ve got plans!” He whispers furiously, shooting an apologetic glance toward Draco, who’s trying to keep from shivering in the cold air. It takes him a moment to process this, and then raises an eyebrow, shocked. Potter is blowing off his friends for him? He can’t help feeling strangely pleased at the notion.

Then another burst of wind gusts through his shitty coat, threatening to freeze his skin. Draco hifts from foot to foot and does his best to hold himself still. Without Potter against him to warm him, it is impossibly cold. The very idea of skating like this is unthinkable.

He touches Potter’s arm gently, hoping the other man doesn’t feel how he’s trembling, and says “Don’t worry if you need to go shopping Potter. The ice will be there tomorrow.” He hopes Potter agrees. He’d much rather chance that the weather will be warmer tomorrow. He doesn’t know how he’ll manage to get on the ice today.

Potter looks frustrated though. He opens his mouth and turns to look at Draco, and then frowns. He glances between Draco and the otter a couple of times, and then finally says “Alright Hermione, I’ll get the wool.”

The otter looks between them and says carefully, “I check if someone else is available.” Granger’s voice is loaded with something that Draco doesn’t understand, but it makes Potter snort.

“No Hermione, I said I’d do it,” he says.

The otter’s expression doesn’t change, but Draco can hear the relief in Granger’s voice as she says “Thanks Harry. And you too…Emory, was it?” Then it swirls in a circle and disappears. Draco, trying to hold in his shivers, takes a moment to wrap his head around the fact that Granger apparently knows his fake name. That can only mean that Potter’s talked about him to her. He peers over at Potter, who’s face is flaming red and who is looking anywhere but at him, and the earlier pleased feeling comes back to him.

He doesn’t call Potter out on it, though, because he quite frankly wants to get out of the cold as soon as possible. He’s disappointed that they’re parting ways so soon, but he feels as though he’s going to freeze his bollocks off if he stands out here for much longer. “I’ll meet you tomorrow, same time?” He offers to Potter, already turning to head back.

Potter catches his hand, though, and, instead of agreeing, says “Come with me.” Draco looks down at where their hands are intertwined, his face exploding with heat and his words abandoning him. When he doesn’t answer quickly enough, Potter adds, “I’ll get you a hot chocolate to make it up to you?”

Draco looks up then. Potter seems intent on plying him with free food and drink, and he’s not willing to turn them down when he gets them so rarely. “Okay,” he says, his voice unsteady from the cold.

Potter rocks back on his heels with a wide, stunning grin. “Brilliant,” he says. Unfortunately, he doesn’t through his arm over Draco’s shoulders again, and Draco bites down on his lip as another cold gust hits him. He follows behind Potter, hoping that the wool store is nearby.

He must not hide his shivering very well, though, because Potter after a little while Potter turns to him. “Okay, you’re clearly cold,” he says, his dark brows furrowing with concern.

“I’m fine,” says Draco, and shivers.

Potter rolls his eyes. “Sure,” he says. “We’re not going to the ice anymore. Why not cast a warming charm?”

Draco flushes, embarrassed. He doesn’t want Potter to know how pathetic he is, having not even a wand to his name. But Potter is looking at him expectantly.

“I…uh…I don’t have my wand on me,” he hedges, mind racing.

“What? Why not?” Potter asks with a frown. He looks around, as if Draco’s wand will just appear in front of him.

“Well…I’m trying to learn wandless magic so…” Draco fibs. “To encourage myself to use it, I…left my wand at home.” Potter stares at him incredulously, and Draco worries for a moment that he’s going to call him out on his ridiculous story. What wizard just leaves their wand at home?

Potter raises his brows. “I thought it was just an interest?” He challenges.

Draco nods. “Yes,” he decides on, not elaborating further. He and Potter stare at each other for a moment longer, and finally Potter laughs.

“You’re a strange one Emory,” he says.

“I take offense to that,” Draco sniffs, and then shivers again.

Potter frowns. “Can you not cast a warming charm wandlessly though? Surely you didn’t leave your wand behind without being able to do it in this weather.” He asks.

Draco bristles at his tone, although Potter is not wrong – if Draco had a wand, he would never leave it behind on so cold a day unless he knew with absolute certainty that he could keep himself warm. “I’m still learning Potter,” he replies. “I could try casting one, but I certainly wouldn’t want to cause an international incident by accidentally setting fire to your hair.”

Potter is still frowning, but his lips twitch slightly. “Merlin Emory, that’s a bit dramatic,” he says. He waves his wand carelessly. “But don’t worry about it. I’ve been set alight more times than I can count – job hazard, you know? I’m very handy with an extinguishing spell. Go ahead.”

He seems almost eager. Draco sighs. He’s cold, and he doesn’t want to argue with Potter. “Very well. I shall accept no complaints if something goes awry,” he says. Potter just nods encouragingly.

Draco closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, focusing on his magic. The motions are at once familiar and new as he reaches down into the well deep inside himself and draws some forth, shaping and tuning it. He holds the form, with more ease now than he had even just this morning, and draws more magic to his command. His brows furrow in concentration as he holds the first shape and pushes the additional magic through the suspended spell, giving substance to the charm.

To his surprise, the air around him immediately warms. His and Potter’s breath both catch in tandem and he opens his eyes to meet the other man’s intense gaze, the warm glow of magic fading between them. Then the air starts cooling again, the heat dissipating into the open street.

Draco flushes and looks down at his ratty boots. “I – ah – haven’t really learnt self-contained spells yet,” he mutters, embarrassed.

“That was amazing,” Potter says, his voice awed. A wave of warmth settles over Draco, and he looks up, surprised. “Until you master self-contained spells,” Potter says with a wink, putting away his wand. Draco’s cheeks heat further, and he tucks his face into the collar of his coat to hide the silly smile spreading across his face.

The shop that has Granger’s wool turns out to be back on Diagon. It’s one of the new storefronts, a small building called “Walker’s Enchanted Fabrics”. It’s warm and cozy inside, and smells of new fabric in the most delightful way. Draco lets Potter get on with his errand and wanders through the various displays of fabric and wool skeins. He’s drawn to a midnight blue bolt, the fabric shot through with an icy white-blue that twinkles like stars. It’s soft to his touch, like silk, and Draco feels a melancholy ache somewhere in his chest as he runs his hand down it. It’s the type of fabric he would absolutely have coveted once upon a time, the kind that his father would have commissioned the finest of robes from at Draco’s demand.

“It suits you,” says a voice from behind him, and Draco jolts. He turns to see Potter standing there with a large, lumpy parcel in his gloved hands. He’s smiling warmly at Draco. “Do you sew?”

Draco chuckles lightly, pushing down the bittersweet memories as he pulls his hand back and tucks it into his pocket. “Oh no,” he says. “I’m terribly undomesticated Potter. I manage to boil water well enough, and you simply cannot expect more of me than that.”

Potter lets out a delighted laugh. “Well, as lovely as boiled water sounds,” he says, “how about we get that hot chocolate I promised you instead?”

Draco agrees wholeheartedly, and he follows Potter out of the store. “What is the story with this wool then?” He asks as they walk. “Surely Granger could get them to hold it for her? Being a great important war hero and all”

Potter laughs. “It’s a new blend, very high in demand. This is the only shop in Britain that carries it, because it’s so bloody expensive, but Hermione and the owner… don’t exactly get along.” Draco raises an eyebrow, curious as to what Granger has possibly done. “Hermione took very public umbrage to Walker’s use of Sicilian Silk Bat silk,” Potter explains. “It’s lucky any of us are allowed in here at all.”

Draco laughs. “What in the name of sorcery is her objection to Sicilian Silk Bats?” He asks.

Harry shrugs. “There was an overharvesting problem for a while apparently. The bats weren’t being left enough silk or something. I don’t really know the specifics.”

“Potter,” Draco sighs, shaking his head, “if you’re to be banished from stores on Granger’s account, surely you ought at least to know why?” Potter shrugs, unrepentant.

They go to the coffee shop from the other day, and Potter pulls open the door for Draco once more. He thanks him, smiling to himself as he walks in. Potter follows him in and sends Draco to get a seat again – even though the café is still empty – while he goes up to the front counter.

Draco watches as he chats with the girl at the til and hems and haws over what he wants to buy and drops his money all over the counter, and feels unbearably fond. He can’t help the smile that tugs at his lips, not even when Potter turns around, floating another pair of frothy chocolate monstrosities and two huge cinnamon buns along with him, and sees it. “What is it?” he asks.

Draco shakes his head. “You keep feeding me sweets. I think you’re trying to make me fat,” he fusses jokingly, while eagerly tearing off a piece of cinnamon bun.

“You got me,” says Potter. “My original plan was a house of candy, but this seemed easier.” Draco has no idea what he’s talking about, but Potter’s smile is bright and directed only at him and he finds that he doesn’t mind. Twinging with happy warmth, he pops the bit of torn-off cinnamon bun in his mouth and lets out a pleased hum, closing his eyes at the delicious flavour.

When he opens them again, Potter is watching him with his impossibly warm green eyes.

Draco ducks his head, smiling into his hot chocolate. He could get used to this.

#drarry #drarry fanfic #harry potter #harry potter fanfiction #draco malfoy #writing #draco #harry #fluff #angst #Draco's Wish

[tigereyes45]

RWBY-Whiterose, ruby rescues Weiss from her father's mansion

(Sorry it took a bit to do but I hope you enjoy it! Ao3 link here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25216039   WARNING: More physical violence from Jacques)

There will be an escape

Weiss knew she could expect many things. Her inheritance, taking control of her grandfather's company, Winter coming home to celebrate her graduation from Beacon academy, becoming a top-notch huntress second only to Pyrrha, the one who would take her father down. She would mentally go through them in times of stress. A quick deterrent to keep herself in place. A little comfort that there would be more even at their lowest points. What she knew was shackles that held her down and in one place. They were keys to doors she had no other way of opening.

They were lies. Beacon was gone. Ironwood couldn't save her like he had saved Winter. Pyrrha was dead, there would be no graduation, and her father had no plans of just letting her step up and take charge. He would not allow her to become a huntress. She couldn't inherit the company. Leaving the mansion was out of the question. Her face still rings hotly from where his hand had landed. There was only one certainty anymore. Her escape.

She had a plan of course. Weiss Schnee always has a plan. In fact there were three. Each would become increasingly more difficult if the first was thwarted by her father. All were chancy. So she decides to go with the first one that presented itself with an opportunity to be used.

It was a waiting game. Months passed before there was a chance she could leap at. With a smile, Weiss was ready to fly the coop. Freedom lures her away with promises. Endless potential, a chance out from her father's grasp, a way to make her own path in the world just like Winter had, perhaps even a peaceful death at the end of a long life. With every possibility, her feet carried her another step towards the open kitchen window. Weiss doesn't question who opened it. What point was there in pondering whoever else was foolish enough to disobey her father. If this worked they would lose their job, but Weiss could finally escape. In her delirium, only the chance mattered. Who cared if she had no clothes, no money, no way out of the city yet. Answers could be found. She was Weiss Schnee. The Weiss Schnee. If anyone could find a way to make it out of a damaged iron cage, slowly collapsing in on itself, it was her.

One of her heels almost slips on a mop left besides the largest oven. Her arms slams against the counter. Throwing all her weight onto the other foot it takes seconds for her to find balance again. Stumbling in the next few steps, Weiss could now taste freedom. It was fresh air, Ren's pancakes, blood from a fight, victory, chocolate chip cookies, rose tea, Ruby's lips. Her knees scrape against the counter. Soft skin scratches old training cuts open. All those months hunting, and her flesh could still tear so easily. It was frustrating, but now wasn't the time to be angry. Steady hands hold the sill tightly. Nails trimmed so perfectly dig into it's sanded wood. Her head slips through. As her nose catches it's first scent of the outside world in three months pressure builds up on the end of her ponytail.

The young woman was given no time to react. Violently Weiss is dragged back through the window. A brief moment of bliss stolen. Hands flying back weren't fast enough to stop her fall. Her body slams against the marble flooring. With hatred in his eyes Jacques glares down at her. His nostrils flare, as those light blue eyes narrow down at her. He stands imposingly above Weiss as if she was a child again. Just like that a chance was snatched away.

Jacques is quick to yell. Even quicker to bend over her, closing that space he had thrown between them. As his hands shake and move Weiss doesn't move. She doesn't flinch. Her eyes don't watch those hands shaking hands. Not one minute was wasted on thinking about all the lines he had already crossed. Nor would one second ever be spent on them ever again. As his voice rises she starts to hear him less. Every word became less and less important. If it was her body breaking down, or just finally able to tune him out she honestly couldn't tell. It didn't matter anyways. The window was still there. Hauntingly it hangs open, the wind whistling. It calls like a lifelong friend. Every snowflake drifting in more comforting than all the soft moments her father had ever shown in her entire life.

"Get away from me!" Instinct takes over. One moment she's pinned between the floor and her father. The next her hands were in his coat. Red painted nails dig into the soft cloth. His body doesn't budge. Tension builds up under her hands like a geyser about to blow. Moving stiffly, Jacques goes rigid as he watches her struggle to push him away. All that training. All those moments. None of them mattered. He wouldn't stop her. No one could ever stop her again.

A glyph starts to form on his chest between her hands. It glows dimly at first. Barely there and then gone again. Blinking like an eye, in and out of existence several times. Weiss tries to focus on it without looking. She faces her father down. Eye to eye, brute strength against a true brute.

Somehow the old man doesn't notice what's happening. Just like always it was the stuff right under his nose that went unnoticed. When Winter was planning to abandon him she couldn't have been more obvious. Even if she had written a simple note saying 'fuck off I'm leaving' he wouldn't have known. Mother's slow descent to alcoholism. Though she had a deep suspicion that even if he had noticed he wouldn't have stopped it. Whitley's unhealthy obsession with being just like this cruel asshole. Maybe if he was just a little more observant he could actually get more done. If he did there was no way this would work then. So his clueless-ness wasn't all bad. Years of negligence all coming back to bite him in the ass.

"I am your father! Cease this at once!"

Ah the orders. They always followed his temper like good little men dressed up to play their part. Unlike before those words hold no power over her. This imbalance was done!

Loosening her grip Weiss pushes her hands flat against his chest now. Jacques smirks as if that meant he won. Had he always been this quick to accept victory? Possibly. She couldn't recall. With one last grunt it was done. The glyph shines as brightly as the sun had in Vale. Shock, replaces his anger. As she removes her hands those light blue eyes show relief. His body goes flying back against the fridge. The sterile silver metal dents from the impact. With a sense of smug satisfaction Weiss risks taking just a second to look over him.

She doesn't smile. This was a victory but he was still her father. Horrible as he was, she hadn't wanted it to go this far. When did it all go wrong? Could things have been better if just one or two parts of their life was changed? The questions plague her mind even as she climbs back onto the counter.

"I don't think so."

Whirling her head back, Weiss glares Jacques down. "I'm leaving."

"No. You're not." He smirks as his hand slowly rises up. It looks painful. Was every inch causing him agony? Had she gone too far? Hesitating Weiss watches as her father reaches into his coat. There's a soft, smothered click. Alarms blare throughout the house. It stings her ears worse then a pack of beowulf howls.

Weiss turns to climb out the window. Now it was just as much to escape from the sound as it had been to free herself. Before she could even put a hand out metal bars shoot down from outside the window. Heartbroken Weiss holds back her cries. Head hanging low, she couldn't stop her bottom lip from quivering let alone convince her body to stop shaking. The moment to fly free was gone. Once again she was frozen in place. Those shackles of broken promises and opportunities lost begin to climb up her body again. Crawling like inch worms over her skin they wrap around every limb. Her forehead falls against the metal bars. The freezing steel rests comfortably against her skin. It was warm compared to her heart.

"Need a hand?"

That sweet voice felt like it was from another life. It sends warmth flooding through her body. With a force Weiss wasn't used to hope grows within her once more. There, right on the other side of the bars was Ruby. Briefly Weiss wonders if she was a hallucination. Desperately her hands reach out through the bars. They brush against Ruby's cheeks.

With an innocent smile Ruby tilts her head. Resting her fingers over Weiss' hands she holds them there, against the warmth of her cheeks. She has to keep herself from laughing. Trully being in Atlas so long must've frozen her to the core. Ruby felt warm despite her cheeks being flushed a deep, crimson from the cold weather.

"I'm sorry it took so long Weiss."

"You idiot." She laughs, breaking her cruel words up. For a moment Ruby frowns. She lets go of Weiss' hands and reaches through the bars herself.

"I should've been faster. I'm so sorry Weiss."

Weiss viciously shakes her head no. "This isn't on you Ruby. None of this is your fault. Not Beacon, not Pyhrra, not this."

Water builds up in Ruby's eyes. She leans against the metal bars. Her forehead nearly meeting Weiss through them. "I love you Weiss."

Before she could respond Ruby was gone. In a gust of rose petals she flies through the bars. All around her the soft petals gently rub against her skin. They graze her cheeks, and brush against her hair. It really truly was her love. Weiss scoots herself off the counter. As she lands on her high heels Ruby reforms right before her. Almost nose against nose Ruby grabs her hands.

"I brought help."

"It would've been foolish for you to come alone."

"Yeah well, I wanted to once I heard about what happened."

Weiss glances away, averting her gaze. "You'll have to be more specific about what you heard."

The younger girl glares back at Jacques who was seething with anger as he watches the two. Weiss must've hurt her father a lot. Otherwise he would already be standing up again. No matter what he thought he had no chance against Ruby.

Ruby lets out a long high whistle. She wraps her arms against Weiss' waist. There's a loud shout, and then the sound of metal against metal. Twisting around as much as she could against Ruby's hold Weiss catches a glimpse of green. The yelling only grows into a uproarious battle cry. When she looks back at Ruby, she was smiling.

"I wasn't the only one who missed you." With that Ruby lifts Weiss up. Her semblance activates flying them around the kitchen once before they shoot through the now unbarred window. Weiss moves to hold on to Ruby tighter, but her fingers only grasp as hundreds of petals. Fresh air and hits her all at once, almost as powerful as Ruby's arms had been around her. It felt like a dream as they flew away. Far from the prison that used to be her home.

#rwby #whiterose #weiss schnee #ruby rose #fanfic #fanfiction #ff #ao3 #weiss #ruby

[musutofu]

【 Captivating 】 Drabble

♡ pairing | ᵞᴬᴺᴰᴱᴿᴱ Midoriya x ᵍⁿ Reader ✑ word count | 1.4k ✎ genre | yandere ✗ warnings | kidnapping, blood prompt | 11. “So... do you want your underwear back?”

The air has a frigid snap to it, something sharp that cuts through the border between fall and winter; one still not willing to part in favor of the other. It doesn’t help that the only window in the room is cracked beyond repair. Neglect has turned the clear transparency opaque, a film of grime having settled on the glass so the light has to claw through the cracks that run like veins through the windowpane. Even the light seems repulsed, the very milky light of the moon fading to the dullest of glows as it filters through the dirty glass. The faint light that succeed only work to outline the faintest of silhouettes. There’s a putrid scent of dilapidation, unseen evidence of the neglect that’s visibly twirling through the slanting beams of light like a thousand snowflakes. Dust and dander swim on the ocean waves rippling off the figure shivering in the near darkness, chains rattling with every movement. It sounds like a symphony of bells all screaming out and clamoring for attention as you strain hard against the Quirk erasing cuffs and chains binding you to the wall. The chain is only held by a rusting loop stabbed between two bricks in the crumbling wall. There’s a distinct scratching sound above all the hubbub of chains and it sounds like freedom as the loop in the wall begins to grate against the weak mortar. The chipping stones bite into the bare soles of your feet as you turn to press against the wall, leaning away from it with all your weight. Your shoulders ache and your wrists feel like they’ve caught fire but the alternative to freedom is far less desirable than a few wounds to heal. With a thundering crack the wall gives out, bricks bursting from the seams of mortar and blowing up a plume of dust as they land around you. Your wrists scream as you land, blood pooling beneath your hands as you stop yourself from fully touching the cold cement floor. Unbothered by the blood you pull the gag over your head and unfurl your shirt. It’s mercifully long enough to cover your lower extremities but bonds the chain across your chest as it runs down both your arms. It’s still a step up from being bound to a wall and you take full advantage, picking up a brick and smashing the dirty window. Tiny shards skitter across your skin on their way to the floor. More catch in the skin of your hand as you knock the remaining pieces out of the frame. An unfiltered gust of wind rushes into the room along with a beam of light and for a moment you pause to breathe, breath hanging like white clouds in the air as you stare into the night. It’s the first time you’ve seen the sky in weeks and the sight of the moon and stars is enough to give you pause, then turn you manic as you jump to grab the window frame, brick still in hand and toes scraping against the wall as you climb your way out of the tiny window. The glass shards in your hand pop free as your tendons strain with the feat, pearls of blood joining the ribbons of blood already dripping from your wrists. The crimson rivers turn to ice water as the frigid night air fully envelops you. Wind wails through the air, whistling in and out of the destroyed buildings sagging into the ground around you. The ground is uninviting against your bleeding feet as you stumble through the ruins left by a villain attack. It had happened a few weeks ago. Shortly before he kidnapped you. Did he think himself romantic holding you captive in the place you’d met? It doesn’t matter what he thought he’d been doing. Now that you’re out and know where you are you can get back to safety, to society. A few blocks ahead you can see the yellow glow of street lights and hear the blare of a car horn carried by the wind. It’s a promising sound and you lurch forward to follow it. Slowly at first, as if in a trance, then faster when you remember he could return at any moment. And he does just as you’ve pasted the last building, materializing from the air in a flurry of green lightning that makes you think he’d been watching you this whole time. Waiting and wondering how far you’d get. Apparently too far for his liking as he stands from his landing, stalking towards you like a predator cornering it’s prey. Not bothering to think about consequences you reel back your conjoined hands and toss the brick you’d kept in hand. You’d thrown it with intent to hit him in the head but it arched lower, still not landing a hit as he simply catches it before crushing it to rubble in his fist. His face is patient, eyes empty of malice as he continues to close in on you. Deciding you’d rather be caught and crushed than backed into the same corner you’ve been in for weeks you bolt to the side, not to safety but away from him. He catches you by the back of your shirt and the chain beneath it snags on your neck, cold metal crushing your throat. He loosens his hold as you gag, turning you in his arms to assess the damage. His proximity offer an opportunity. It’s a cheap blow but you’re far beyond caring as you drive your knee upwards to catch him between the legs only for him to catch it and wrap your leg around his hip, pulling you into his chest. The feeling of you pressed so tightly against him seems to stir something inside him and his hero costume seems to tighten against your stomach. The ground suddenly disappears from beneath your toes as your other leg is wrapped around him until he’s holding you. “I hadn’t expected you to take a brick with you once you got out seeing as they’re plenty of rocks laying around out here but it would have cost you some time to stop and pick one up so I suppose that was a logical decision. I didn’t expect you to move so slow once you got outside thought, but you must’ve been in shock after being isolated so that can be forgiven. And you figured out where you were quite easily and headed in the right direction to get help.” He keeps muttering. Quieter, just to himself as he paces, still holding you on one hip. “Either way I’m proud of you!” “Deku.” it’s the first time you’ve said his name since that first night and his smile falters in shock before brightening to the point that it looks like his freckles cheeks might split. “Yes, honey?” “Can you not hold me like this?” It’s not what you want to say. You want to scream at him, fight him, demand to know what he thought he was doing with you. But the fact that you’re naked below the belt and he’s holding you in such a way that demands that your legs stay spread is what’s bothering you most presently. A bashful blush flares up on the hero’s cheeks as he sets you down momentarily only to knock your legs out from under you to carry you with his arms under your back and knees. “So… do you want your underwear back?” He asks. “I’ve been carrying them around with me for good luck but I’ll just take them off again when we get home.” “Home?” You’re less concerned with him toting around your underwear like a trophy. Perhaps you’d thought he’d let you go now that you were free. After all you’re not a nobody. You’re a hero! People have surely noticed your absence. “Well, yeah. I can’t have you going back to that apartment you used to live in. It’s already been emptied out and I moved all your stuff into my apartment. Your landlord didn’t even question why I wanted everything, but I guess he assumed we were dating. Poor guy was so worked up talking about how sweet you always were to him and how the world lost a great hero. I’m sure he’ll be happy to hear you’re alive. Everyone will be.” “You told everyone I was dead after you kidnapped me?” You’re squirming now, finally remembering the man holding you isn’t the kind and bashful hero Deku but the maniac who kidnapped you and held you captive for weeks. “No, you were pronounced dead after no one could find your body after the villain attack.” “Because you kidnapped me!” “Don’t think of if like that.” He frowns. “I’m just nursing my darling back to health after a terrible villain attack almost took you from me.” He bolts into the air before you can say anything and you can only hope he drops you before reaching your next destination.

#midoriya #midoriya izuku #mha midoriya #bnha midoriya #mha izuku #bnha izuku #midoriya x reader #midoriya scenario #bnha #mha #boku no hero academia #my hero academia

[multisfabulis]

Abhorrence in the Face of Adoration

Word Count: 4461

TW: Implied abuse, self worth issues

This segment took me a little over 3 weeks to write, due to the many rewrites I had to do and the late nights I pulled while knowing I'd be waking up early, but I did it!

I've been wanting to write the idea of Ferreth realizing his love for Ven for so long and I decided to write this after publishing chapter 6 of TRFBD because, if you think about it, they're related in that you see how far he's willing to go for her in TRFBD so I wanted to show when it began. Writing this has made me realize just how much I can't wait to write more Verreth segments set after MZCR because god, these two love each other and I have so many cute ideas to write for the both of them!

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     Ferreth stared up at the ceiling as he laid in bed, feeling frustratingly tired. His arms flared up in pain and he could only wait and beg for it to stop. It was like someone was chipping away at the embedded stones while they disregarded the agony they were putting him through. This was a hell he hated living in every time the weather turned cold because it meant sleepless nights of incurable pain till spring came around and even that wasn’t guaranteed. The only hope he had was that maybe living here instead of the mountains would make these times a little more bearable.

     A nice, relaxing stroll through town could probably help. Nighttime walks were a good pastime of his whenever autumn descended upon Thornewind and he needed a distraction from the pain. It was a time he’d let his mind wander off and wear him down enough to conk out soon as his head hit the pillow. He sighed, rubbed a hand down his face, and headed out the door into the cool dark.

     Aurora Zenith was different from Thornewind at night. There were hardly any noises, save for the distant waves of the ocean and the wind rustling through the leaves of the trees, and not a soul to be seen for seemingly miles. The only sources of light he could see came from the orange glow of the lanterns in town and the radiance of the full moon high up in the sky. It was a new place, with winter right around the corner, but it still held the feeling of peace he felt up in the mountains.

     He looked around the town as he walked. The end of Noctovka marked his arrival here 3 months ago and he was still getting used to everything. Coming from a place where there were others like him all living in a cold and constant drizzle, this was certainly different for him. He liked the warmth, missed the liveliness of Thornewind, and still had no idea what he wanted to do in life.

     He had a couple ideas in mind but there were already people working those jobs that did them ten times better than he ever could. What good was there in having an amateur come in and screw everything up? At least he was making himself useful, both in training to become Eric’s guard and being the guy to do odd jobs around town. He still had time to figure it out so there wasn’t a need to stress about it.

     He was nearing the docks when he saw her. A gust of wind blew the hood of the black cloak she wore back, letting her long snow white hair out to cascade down her back as she shivered from the chill it brought. The little skin she showed seemed to glow under the moonlight, which made eyes the color of bloomed orchids stand out even more than in the day. She looked like an ethereal fairy almost and he was absolutely entranced. This was Ven, the woman who had him dancing around the palm of her hand and didn’t even know it.

     Things had somehow changed between them now. It’s not that they had gotten into an argument or did something the other didn’t like. He wasn’t sure on where she was but things were definitely different on his side.

     There was no denying that he had been attracted to her since the beginning of their friendship but this was deeper and longer than his average “crush”. She could be so unbelievably cute at times, like the way her eyes seem to sparkle when something catches her attention or when she has the most adorable smile on her face once she gets a whiff of a delicious sweet. He was amazed at how big her heart was for someone so small and at the strength she had, both physically and emotionally.

     There were times he’d find himself thinking about her. There had been days he’d be so consumed by his self-loathing and seeing her, being around her would quiet the voices telling him he was worthless. She saw something in him that he wished he could see in himself, something that could make him believe he had worth. He wanted to be with her, stay by her side, and never let her go.

     It honestly scared him to realize just how deep his feelings for her went. He’s never felt this way towards anyone before and it was scary. The question of her reaction to if and when she discovered these feelings weighed on his mind. Would she still want him to hang around her or would she demand he stay away from her? He wasn’t sure if he could take the latter option.

     He shook his head to stop thinking about that. He was probably just overreacting; this was probably a crush that was overstaying its welcome but would go away at some point. Besides, even if it wasn’t, who’s to say she’ll find out? He was good at deceiving others with his winning smile and charming wit. He’ll just continue on acting the way he’s always been and, eventually, things will go back to normal. He just needed to wait this out a little bit longer…

     Coming back to the present, he figured he may as well talk to her. Odds are, she was out here for the same reason he was. He began walking over to her, his light footsteps echoing in the still night.

     Her shoulders tensed up at the sound before relaxing once she saw where it was coming from. She always did that when she heard footsteps behind her and he had a sneaking suspicion of why that was. The little hints she’s dropped of her past from their earlier conversations gave him some unpleasant imagery he so hoped wasn’t the case. Just focus on the now, Ferreth, he told himself.

     “Oh, Ferret.” She tucked a lock of hair behind her ear to stop it from blowing in the wind. “What are you doing out here?”

     He had long since given up on correcting her with his name. It became a lost cause once the first month passed and she was still calling him Ferret. It was a better nickname than Ferra, at least, so it was fine.

     “I couldn’t sleep so I figured to take a walk and see if that’d change anything,” he replied. “What about you?”

     “Eh, same,” she said with a small giggle. “I was actually thinking of going to the beach for a little bit and just walk around, clear my mind and stuff. Do you maybe want to join?”

     “Uh, sure, I’ll go.”

     So they walked down the cobblestone steps that led to the beach. He had been there only a handful of times since moving to Aurora Zenith but this would be his first nighttime visit. The pitch black ocean served as a mirror for the moon, its white light reflecting on the water far off in the distance. He could smell the salt the waves wafted as they rolled along the shore and soaked their feet. The winds carried a biting chill that ruffled through their hair and clothes, cooling them. It was already a peaceful place during the day but it was downright serene at night.

     “You know, I think this is my first time seeing you with your hair down,” he said, looking over to her.

     “Yeah, I only really wear it down when I’m going to bed,” she replied.

     “Why don’t you keep it down more often? You look beau---nice when it’s down.”

     “Eh, I doubt it. Besides, it’s more annoying than it’s worth. It gets caught on a lot of things and I can sit on it if I’m not careful. I should probably get it cut but I’m trying out a couple new styles for it and the ponytail’s working so far.”

     “Well, I think you’ll look good either way, long hair or not.”

     A scarlet blush tinted her cheeks and he had to tear his eyes away from her. It was always cute to see her blush from his compliments but this was different. He couldn’t explain why, it was just different. Maybe because if he didn’t, he would’ve said something stupid and embarrassed himself.

     Still, he wanted to say she looked beautiful with her hair down but she might’ve taken that as him flirting with her. He did that at the beginning of their friendship and stopped when he realized she had never been in that situation before. It didn’t feel right to keep going with it after that so he didn’t.

     She was beautiful, though, even without her hair being down. Seeing it as it was now, a waterfall of pure white that stopped just at the small of her back, only added to it. He wondered what it’d be like to feel it, wishing he could run his fingers through the fine tresses, tangling the strands in-between into knots, gently tugging on the ends to draw her head up as he---

     God, he wanted to slap himself right about now. He couldn’t be thinking those kinds of thoughts about her. She was his friend/crush/some other term that could be used to describe their relationship and how he felt towards her. The last thing she needed was him daydreaming about them being a couple like a creepy weirdo. That shit would drive her away quicker than he could blink.

     In an attempt to change the topic, he asked, “So, uh, if you don’t mind, why couldn’t you sleep?”

     “Oh, um…” She paused, seemingly troubled by her answer, “I suffer from nightmares. There’ll be nights where I have trouble going to sleep and, if that doesn’t happen, the nightmares will wake me up. Tonight happened to be one of those nights.”

     …Shit. That was NOT what he expected to hear. He could understand the insomnia part but nightmares? Knowing that little bit of information now only strengthened the suspicions he had of her past. It also gave an answer as to why she had dark shadows under her eyes.

     “That…sucks.” Nice job, dumbass. He wanted to ram his face into a wall for that terrible response.

     “I’ve had them for a while now so I’ve gotten used to them. It’s not like they can show me stuff that I haven’t already seen so…”

     “Well, if you want, you can come talk to me if they start to get worse. We don’t have to talk about them if you don’t want to, we can just hang out till you feel better, you know? Again, that’s if you want to, though.”

     “...I’ll think about it.” She let out a small smile.

     He was taken aback by that. She normally refused his help with anything so her actually taking his offer into consideration was progress. He knew he couldn’t do much, short of going inside her head and removing the bad dreams. If the best he could do was lend an ear, then he’d give it to her, no questions asked.

     “Um… Oh, are you going to the Solstice Ball?” she asked, her eyes filled with curiosity.

     “That’s next month, right? Uh, yeah, I’m gonna go,” he replied. “Are you planning on going?”

     “I-I don’t know. There’s gonna be a lot of people there and…”

     “Come on, it’ll be fun! There’ll be food, dancing, champagne… What’s not to like?”

     “It’ll be my first time going to a formal event like this. It may be fun to go to but I’d have to wear a really nice dress and I’ve never danced before and… I don’t think it’d be good for me.”

     “Look, think of it this way. This’ll be my first dance, too, and I’m gonna be going all out. Just imagine this handsome guy--” he gestured to himself-- “decked out in the best suit while he completely embarrasses himself with his dance moves. I mean, I’m a good dancer but this is a different dance so you get what I’m saying.”

     “Still…I doubt I’d look good in a dress.”

     “Ven, believe me when I say you’ll look stunning, no matter what dress you wear.”

     “Really?”

     “Uh, yeah. I wouldn’t say it if it wasn’t true.”

     He could just imagine it now. Ven arriving at the ballroom, all eyes drawn to her as she walks down the steps, wearing the most beautiful violet dress. Some of their gazes are filled with envy while others beguilement. She may not know it but everyone has become captivated with her. It’s too bad they’ll be brokenhearted to realize she wasn’t there for courtship. She was just there to have fun and if they couldn’t handle the rejection, then tough.

     Wow, she has got him messed up bad. While the stares of those who found her alluring would, of course, rile him up, it was only right they look at her like that. She was a beautiful woman and she should know it. Besides, she’d take care of anyone that overstepped her boundaries.

     “What about the dancing?” she asked. “I’ve never danced before and I’m probably gonna screw it up.”

     “Well, as I said before, I’ve never done a slow dance myself but--” he held out a hand to her-- “we could try together. Just save me the first dance, if you’re going, of course.”

     A few seconds passed before she giggled, put her hand in his, and said, “All right, I’ll go. I know it’ll be fun if you’re there and besides, I’m looking forward to seeing you in a suit, which’ll be nice, too.”

     Her hand felt cold yet soft in his. He was going to be holding it again when they danced and it only just hit him that they would be doing that. His mind began painting a picture of them slowly twirling around, dancing to the music. Their hands entwined, his other on her hip, and her fingers just at the crest of his shoulder. She was so small and delicate compared to him, he’d need to be careful when holding her. The aromatic scent of her perfume would hit his nostrils as he’d let himself get lost in her shimmering amethyst eyes and---

     For the love of god, Ferreth, stop, he begged. These fantasies of his were quickly getting out of hand. Whatever this was had become deeper than a crush and it fucking terrified him. This couldn’t be, shouldn’t be more than an infatuation but when did it grow into…?

     “Um, Ferret?” She stopped walking, still holding his hand. “Can I…tell you something?”

     “Y-yeah, what is it?” he asked, her voice ringing out like crystal amongst the cacophony in his head.

     “You’ve done a lot for me these past few weeks and I just want you to know that I appreciate it. You believe me, right?”

     “Of course. You don’t have to say anything for me to know you’re thankful.”

     “I know but I still wanted to say it. I appreciate all that you’ve done for me and I just wanna say--” she laid her other hand beside his-- “thank you, Ferreth.”

     Surprise and awe couldn’t begin to describe how he felt. That was the first time she ever said his name and it sounded so sweet and full of warmth. Her eyes looked at his in such earnest gratitude and her mouth was curved into the tenderest smile he had ever seen. She seemed to glow like an angel under the moonlight, she only needed wings sprouting from her back to match.

     Oh.

     Oh.

     That was when he understood, realized it. His fervent desire to be with her, his amorous daydreams of her, they had an answer. He was so, so stupid to ever think this was a crush. It may have started out like one but it became so much more than that in such a short time.

     He loved her. He loved her. When did it happen? When did he fall for her? When did he begin to love her? All of these questions swirled around and around as he came to terms with how he felt about her.

     He loved Ven. He was in love with Ven. He loved her.

     Then cold, hard reality crashed down upon him. Worthlessness, self-disdain, and self-loathing he tried to keep hidden away came spewing forth like a geyser. He couldn’t be with her. The moment he fell for her was the moment she flew out of his reach to the other end of the chasm that now separated them. She was extraordinary, special, one of a kind, and what was he? A no-good, worthless dragon that could never be the man everyone wanted him to be.

     Kandorinth’s wretchedly arrogant voice resonated in his head, whispering affirmations of his meaningless existence into his ears. It made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end as biting ice filled his veins. Memories of the ice entering his arms through the open wounds the stones created flashed by his mind’s eye, wicked laughter echoing off the walls. He so desperately wanted the voice to shut up but it only got louder and louder.

     Oh, Ferra… You know you’ll never be better than you are now. You’re just a weak, pathetic worm and that’s what you’ll always be. Why not just accept how inferior you are to the world and die like the trash you really are? That’s the only worth you’ll ever have in your sad, shameful life.

     Tears pricked at the corners of his eyes as he choked on the lump in his throat. No, he couldn’t break down here. Ven didn’t need to see him like this, see the worst his ugly, flawed self had to offer. He needed to get out of here, back to his home of solitude, and…fall apart.

     Blinking back the tears, he put on the best smile he could muster and, resisting the urge to close his hand around hers, said, “You’re welcome, Ven.”

     The expression on her face changed and she stepped closer to him. “What’s wrong, Ferret?”

     Oh, this was simply unfair. What did he do that was considered to be so wrong to have her eyes be full of concern for him? She didn’t deserve to worry over the likes of someone such as him. He was nothing; why should she care?

     “It’s nothing!” he replied, fighting to keep his voice steady. “Nothing to worry about.”

     “Are you sure?” she asked. He hated lying to her, especially when she looked at him with such care in her eyes, but it was necessary.

     “I’m sure, Ven. I’m okay.”

     “...Okay.”

     She moved back, her shoulders dropping. There’s no way she bought his lie but she dropped the matter, at least. It was for the best; if she kept trying to pry, he probably would’ve bared his soul out to her. It was too small and insignificant of a thing she needn’t trifle with.

     “Hey, listen, I’m gonna head back and try to get some sleep,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “You coming back with me?”

     “Um, yeah, I’ll go.” She turned around, ready to go back the way they came. “I don’t live very far from the docks. I’d just have to find the split in the road and find my way home from there.”

     He wanted to walk into the ocean and drown as he realized the stupidity of his actions. Why the hell did he ask her that? He knew that the more time he spent with her, the deeper he’d fall into his self-loathing. It wasn’t her fault, that he’d never blame her for, but he couldn’t be around her right now. He didn’t deserve the love he had for her and it only served to show the countless amount of flaws he kept buried underneath his mask on full display.

     Climbing up the steps they walked down earlier, they made their way through the inner parts of Aurora Zenith. It was hard for him to pretend that everything was all right when it was the complete opposite. He wished he could run past her and hightail it back home but it was too risky. If she began suspecting something was wrong or, even worse, discover she was the reason for his pain, she’d become wracked with guilt. That was just the kind of person she was and he refused to let that happen.

     Then they came upon the aforementioned fork in the road. Two paths in both directions, one leading to his house and the other presumably hers. He was so close to finally being alone. He just had to keep the charade going for a little longer and then it’d be safe for him to break down with no one around to hear it.

     “This is where I have to go.” She stopped at the foot of the left path. “I’ll see you tomorrow then?”

     “Yeah,” he replied, his voice at the cusp of cracking. “Goodnight, Ven.”

     She bid him goodnight, tucked her hair inside her hood, and went home. He held his wrist back to prevent himself from reaching out for her. The pain washed over him once more as he watched her figure shrink the further she got from him. Soon as she was out of his line of sight, he took off running towards home.

     He fumbled with turning the knob to push open his door. He forgot it had trouble opening from the outside as he struggled to get inside. This was the last thing he needed on top of the piling list of fuck-ups. In a fit of frustration, he threw his arm off to the side and caused a torrent of dirt to shoot out, pelting the nearby leafless bushes with upturned soil and grass. A firm enough push was able to unstuck the door and he stumbled in.

     Closing the door, he leaned his back up against it and slid to the floor. He finally allowed the warm tears to roll down his cheeks as he curled into himself. Sobs wracked his body, his voice growing hoarse from the crying. He wished the truth was wrong but he couldn’t deny it.

     He couldn’t be with her. He wasn’t worthy of being with someone as wonderful and special as her. How could he be deserving of love when he was unimportant, a nobody, nothing?

     She deserved to be with someone who wasn’t worthless. Someone who’d treat her like she was the most precious treasure in the world. Someone who’d cherish her, tell her she was loved everyday, make her as happy as she deserved to be. He couldn’t be that person, no matter how much he wanted to be.

     It wasn’t an issue of him never knowing unless he tried. He knew full well she didn’t reciprocate his feelings and she never would. Why would she when he wouldn’t ever be in the same league as her? They were of two different worlds, he’d be out of place in hers and rightfully so. It was a miracle he hadn’t been dropped yet and maybe it was by her grace he was allowed to stay with her.

     What was he going to do now? Avoiding her was out of the question, though he couldn’t tell if it was because he didn’t want her to believe she was the reason for it or his inability to handle being away from her for long. The way he looked at it, he was screwed either way. He couldn’t be with or without her and he wasn’t sure if he could strike a balance between the two.

     Still, he planned on keeping his love for her a secret. He had a few guesses on how she’d react if she ever found out but that was a big if. For now, he just needed to figure out a way he could be content with being her friend while sparing himself the pain. It’d take time and it’d be difficult but…

     He loved her and he’d be okay with never being more than her friend.

#airi's writing #ship tag; Lean on Me #Corona's Shadow #implied abuse

[pengychan]

[Good Omens] Winging It - Proverbs 10:7

Summary: Shockingly, attempting to destroy an angel without consulting God first comes with consequences. There is more than one way to fall, and a thousand more ways to inconvenience an angel and a demon who just wanted to be left in peace. Characters: Gabriel, Crowley, Aziraphale, Beelzebub, Michael, Uriel, Sandalphon Rating: T  

Prologue and all chapters are tagged as ‘winging it’ on my blog.

A/N: You'd think an archangel would know better than making deals with the literal Prince of Hell, but nah, not this one.

***

“Dagon.”

“My Lord.”

“Are all available demons out looking for the Archangel?”

“They are.”

“... You’re still here.”

“You required my presence.”

“Did I?” Beelzebub buzzed, frowning at the flames dancing at their fingertips. A few flies flew into it, and came out burning; the flames then were extinguished, and they kept flying as though nothing had happened. They didn’t notice Dagon frowning. 

“If you’ll forgive my insolence--”

“I don’t forgive and you’re always insolent anyway,” Beelzebub closed their hands in a fist, and the fire was gone. They leaned back on their seat, glancing over at Dagon. “Speak.”

“You seem distracted, Lord Beelzebub.”

Of course, Beelzebub could deny that; claim they were not distracted at all, and Dagon would immediately accept that Blind obedience. Absolute loyalty. The demand they rebelled against a long, long time ago, now upheld once again. Hypocritical, perhaps, but Beelzebub found they didn’t mind it when they were the one who could not be questioned. But they did not deny it. 

“Do you remember anything from before the Fall?” they asked.

Dagon blinked in surprise, but hardly paused before replying. “I remember the Fall. We all do.”

“But before that?”

“... Hardly anything. I remember the battle.” A pause, and Dagon’s hand reached up to her head. There it was for her, too, the pain whenever an attempt was made to bring up the past. Beelzebub wondered, for the first time, if angels got that as well whenever they tried to remember. “You got  in the way,” Dagon said slowly. “When Michael came to strike me down.”

Beelzebub vaguely remembered that, too, though they weren’t entirely sure they had truly meant to shield Dagon from the assault or to attack Michael the moment they’d seen her. Either way, it had been useless; Michael was a force to be reckoned with. Beelzebub had waited so long for a rematch, now that they were stronger, but even that had been denied to them.

“She struck down both of us,” Beelzebub muttered, the ache in their head spiking a moment. They ignored it and frowned, trying to recall more. They had been among the last to be cast out, the last bit of resistance before the Fall. But towards the start of the rebellion, in the heat of the battle, there had been a spear raised above them, like Michael’s sword later… yet it hadn’t come down. And Beelzebub… hadn’t moved, either.

“Gabriel, what are you waiting for? Strike them down!”

“Ba’al! Strike now!”

“Ugh--!” Beelzebub let out a groan, the pain in their head spiking into something nearly unbearable and oh, did they know something of unbearable torments. They shook their head, giving up on trying to remember, and the pain faded. They looked up to see Dagon still standing there, a pained grimace on her own face, and scoffed.

“... Enough reminiscing. Go, and don’t be back until the Archangel is found,” they snapped, like it had been Dagon to bring up a distant past. She obeyed, unquestioning, unflinching, leaving them alone. 

The Prince of Hell watched her leave and leaned back on their throne, silent, in wait.

***

“Here we are. They got sales going on, too. Lucky you, when I came in to get my stuff it cost an arm and a leg.”

Gabriel, who had absolutely no clue as to the monetary value of human appendages and still didn’t know precisely how much the money in his wallet was worth, let alone what he could buy with it, just nodded.

“Right,” he muttered, and made a point to look carefully, right and then left, before they crossed the street to the store. One car to the face had been enough to last him the entirety of a mortal lifetime, thank you. 

“You go in and have a look,” Daniel said, tilting his head towards the store. “A good sleeping bag is a must. Say it’s for camping.”

“Right.” Gabriel hesitated, not entirely sure what he was supposed to look for. What made a sleeping bag good or not? He could use some advice there. “Aren’t you coming?”

“Can’t go in with the fag,” Daniel replied, nodding towards the window. A tall, lanky man was rearranging the display. Gabriel frowned. 

“You shouldn’t call him that,” he pointed out. He knew little about Earth and its conventions, but even he had picked up that much. Daniel, on the other hand, gave him a slightly confused look. 

“What?”

Gabriel’s certainty wavered a moment. “Isn’t it-- derogatory?”

Another moment of silence, then Daniel laughed. “Hah! No, I didn’t-- can’t go in with the fag lit. I mean this,” he added, lifting up the cigarette and raising an eyebrow. “You’re not from around here originally, are you? I wondered, with your accent.”

Oh. “I... yes, I’m from. Abroad.”

“American?”

“... Sort of,” Gabriel muttered, and cleared his throat. “So, uh, I’ll have a look,” he added, and walked into the store. He returned a clerk’s greeting with a polite smile - the greetings were nowhere as effusive as those of his taylor back during the Regency, he mused - and walked right to the back, where the sleeping bags were on display. 

He walked up and down the aisle, staring at the prices without a clue as to how much money it actually was, and eventually walked back towards the entrance, hoping that Daniel was done with the cigarette and could at least suggest him what to pick. 

He had not finished the cigarette, and he was no longer alone on the pavement in front of the shop. Three boys were standing only a few steps away, laughing, eating chips and muttering something Gabriel couldn’t hear. 

And at first, he thought nothing of it. Then something was thrown at Daniel, bouncing off his jumper and onto the pavement; they roared with laughter, and the picture became much clearer.

It had been a long time since Gabriel had felt Righteous Anger. Even when Aziraphale had somehow screwed up the Armageddon, what he’d felt had been… yes, anger, but mixed with utter bafflement that they’d been betrayed in such a way by the Angel of the Eastern Gate and no small amount of embarrassment for never having noticed, over six millennia, that he was closely working with a demon.

He’d wanted him gone for his betrayal, he’d wanted him punished for the millennia wasted on a Plan that was not to be and for the blow to his pride-- a crime born of pride -- but it hadn’t quite been Righteous Anger, the kind that filled his chest with the power of the storm and turned his voice to into the crack of thunder. He’d almost forgotten what that felt like. 

But right now, with no power at all to speak of, he got a rather good reminder. 

“Cease at once!” 

No crack of thunder to underline his words, but there may very well have been. The clerk nearly jumped on the counter as he strode past him and outside, a client who’d wandered in nearly jumped in the arms of a mannequin displaying trekking gear, and the three boys on the pavement stumbled as though physically hit by a gust of wind.

Ah, that was… nice. Satisfying. An angel’s voice had a power to it, and that power was lost to him… but maybe not all of it. His voice rang still loud and clear, and it was time to make it heard. 

***

“Have the new entries been dealt with?”

“Yes. One bright side is that we were expecting… a lot of people to die last week. Which is to say, all of them. So we’re more than prepared for a regular influx.”

“Good.”

There was a brief silence, shuffling papers. In the end, it was Sandalphon to break the silence. 

“... Do you think he’s going to show up here, eventually?”

Uriel blinked. “Who?” she asked, and then paused at the look Sandalphon gave her. “Ah-- Gabriel,” she muttered, frowning a little. Of course he meant Gabriel, who else? She must be… taking on too much work, and let her mind wander. Never mind that angels are supposed to simply never tire. “If God will allow back, you mean? It has… never happened, that a Fallen was allowed to return.”

“But he’s not technically a Fallen,” Sandalphon replied. “As long as the other side doesn’t get him. Which… won’t happen. I think. I hope.”

Uriel sighed. “Michael said he’s safe as he can be.”

“On Earth, under the eye of the trait--” he trailed off, and paused. An unwise thing to call the angel that Hellfire couldn’t think and who seemed to have a special place in the eyes of God, that, and he corrected himself quickly enough. “... Of an angel and a demon who somehow derailed the Apocalypse.”

“Better than in Hell’s clutches, I suppose.” Uriel sighed, then spoke again. “He might return after his mortal life runs it course,” she conceded, barely daring to hope so. It would be the best outcome, she supposed, even if he would no longer be among them as an archangel. 

“Ah, right. That’s not too long. How many years do you think his mortal form may have left?”

“Well… maybe ten, twenty years?” Uriel guessed, not having precisely kept up to date with the average lifespan of humans in the specific geographic location Gabriel happened to be at the moment. Last time she had truly mixed up with anything going on on Earth it was to check doors for lamb’s blood in Egypt. Interesting times, those. Interesting lives. Short lives.

“That’s not long,” Sandalphone muttered. He sounded relieved; clearly, the thought Hell might sink its claws in Gabriel didn’t even occur to him. Uriel chose not to consider it, either. “Not long at all. Human lives are so short, he’ll be back in the blink of an eye.”

She nodded. “Of course.”

“And he’ll have let go of what happened by then, surely,” Sandalphon went on. “He must understand that we didn’t truly have a choice except, well…”

“Rebel,” Uriel said quietly. “And Fall.”

The mere mention of it seeed to make him uncomfortable, and he busied himself straightening papers that needed no straightening. “Well, of course, we couldn’t do that.” A small, nervous laugh. “Rules are there for a reason. I mean, Gabriel used to say… he used to say…”

Sandalphon’s voice faded; Uriel waited for him to continue, but he didn’t and suddenly she knew why. She looked up, dread gripping her throat, to see that same dread on Sandalphone’s face.

“Uriel,” he whispered, eyes wide. “I can’t remember what Gabriel used to say.”

***

“It was impressive, how you dealt with those kids.”

“Hmm.”

“No, really. You almost scared me, with that voice you made. The wrath of Hell.”

Wrong comparison, and it made something in Gabriel’s chest clench. Beelzebub’s claims that he belonged in Hell echoed in his mind, and he had to make an effort to silence the thought. He wondered, faintly, what Beelzebub was at. Maybe they were looking for him - not a reassuring through, that the forces of Hell may be patrolling the streets for him - but maybe they had just decided he was not worth the effort, after all. Somehow, the thought stung.

“Gabriel? You all right, mate?”

“Ah-- yes. Yes, I’m all right. It’s just…  I’d prefer to think of it as the wrath of Heaven.”

“Heh, of course. The Archangel Fucking Gabriel,” Daniel chuckled, then paused. “... Press the ice over your eye another minute.”

Gabriel made a face, pressing the ice bag a little harder over his right eye. His vision was a little blurred and he couldn’t open it completely, but it was only a black eye - the pain nowhere comparable to the utter agony of torn wings, or of multiple fractures after being hit by a car. It certainly would heal soon enough. Sooner than his pride, at any rate. 

A crime born of pride, Metatron’s voice echoed in the back of his mind. 

“Oh, shut up,” Gabriel muttered. 

“What was that?”

“... Nothing.” He sighed, leaning back against the backrest of the bench. On a branch little above him a gray squirrel eyed him, likely trying to decide whether the ice pack on his face might be edible and, if so, whether it was worth the risk of trying to steal. They were awfully bold, the squirrels of St. James’ Park. “So much for the wrath of Heaven. That was pathetic.”

“It was three on one.”

“Three children.”

“Teenagers. And they gave you no time to react.”

“I used to be--” ah, but he couldn’t finish that sentence, could he? This time, Daniel wouldn’t shrug it off as the ramblings of a drunken man; he may very well decide he was crazy. “... Stronger than this.”

“Well, you’re always on time to hit the gym,” Daniel chuckled, then fell silent for a few moments. When he spoke again his voice was quiet, almost somber. “Thank you.”

Gabriel glanced at him, taken aback. “What for?”

“For trying to do something,” Daniel muttered. His voice grew weaker a moment, and he cleared his throat. “A lot of people… wouldn’t,” he added, staring at the ducks currently glaring at them for having the audacity to sit there without bringing a snack for them as well. 

Ah, Gabriel thought. That. He’d been so taken by his humiliation, he had almost forgotten why he’d gone and confronted those youths like that. He shrugged, and managed a smile. “Someone had to do something,” he said. 

Oh, if only someone hadn’t reprimanded me several times for frivolous miracles whenever I did helped too many people! What have you ever done?

… Honestly, having other people’s voices echoing in the back of his head was getting rather tiring, and Aziraphale’s voice was the worst of all, bringing back that tightness in the pit of his stomach that he had yet to properly identify as guilt. And yet, maybe… yes, maybe Aziraphale was the one he should speak to. 

He could offer no real help to anyone, but Aziraphale could, so it was about time he swallowed his pride and--

A crime born of pride.

Can you please just shut. The fuck. Up?

“All right, are you sure you don’t have a concussion or something?” Daniel was asking, waving a hand in front of Gabriel’s good eye, most annoyingly. “I can still call an ambulance.”

Gabriel shook his head and stood, reaching into his pocket. “I’m fine,” he said, and walked a few steps away, to get some privacy. “I only need to make a call.”

“Ah. Sure. I just-- that meant a lot to me, even if you got a black eye.” A pause, then he laughed a little. “Especially because you went and got a black eye on my behalf.”

Gabriel tried to smile. It came out more of a grimace. “You helped me out first,” he pointed out. And without angelic influences, he almost added, but kept it to himself. Now that he thought about it, it was rather puzzling. Daniel had showed kindness without any sort of heavenly intervention, like it was his nature. 

Gabriel had never thought much about human nature; he’d always thought of mortals as slightly more intelligent apes sort of standing there, waiting for an input from either Heaven or Hell. And there he was now, a human himself, trying to make decisions without any sort of help from either side. Maybe, he mused, he should have taken that spiel about free will more seriously.

“You’re probably the kindest hum-- person I ever met,” Gabriel added. He wasn’t sure what reaction he expected - maybe an embarrassed laugh - but his expression just… soured.

“I’ve had my arsehole moments,” he muttered. For a moment he looked like he may be about to elaborate on that, but he did not. He just shrugged, and fished a cigarette out of his pocket - his attempt at offering Gabriel one earlier had ended with a violent coughing fit and some gagging - before leaning back. “I’ll have a fa-- a cigarette while you make your call.”

Gabriel nodded, and moved a few more steps towards the pond before taking the phone out of his pocket. As he called Aziraphale’s number and brought the phone to his ear, he failed to notice a fellow staring at him, standing by a nearby tree. 

Upon closer inspection, someone might have picked up something wrong about him - nothing major, but just enough small details and curious features to make it unnerving. Just enough to see he wasn’t human as much as something trying to pass as one and doing a job at it that was just barely decent, the features oddly undefined. But he didn’t look, and he did not notice a thing.

It would later occur to him that maybe, just maybe, St. James’ Park hadn’t been the best choice of location to come and rest.

***

“What the-- fuck-- there is a giant snake here! What the hell!”

“Sir, there is no need to curse--” Aziraphale began, but didn’t even get to see the customer as much as he saw a blur of movement, which was out of the door and out in the street the next moment. He blinked at the door a few moments, mug in hand - then, as it closed, he sighed.

“Crowley. Was scaring the daylights out of that poor man strictly necessary?”

A hiss, and a large snake slithered across the floor before turning back into the familiar human shape Aziraphale had come to know so well. He leaned against a bookshelf and shrugged. “You already wanted him out to close the shop.”

“I was about to come up with something. Now he’ll go to the authorities, someone will come to investigate the sighting of the Serpent of Eden in a bookshop in Soho, and I’ll have to do an awful lot of--”

“Naaaah, you won’t,” Crowley cut him off, and snapped his fingers. “There. He forgot. Now he has a sudden urge to visit the reptile house at the zoo and will head straight there.”

A sight of relief. “Oh, thank you. I mean-- that’s nice of you, but--”

“He looked awfully interested in the tomes of the Comedy.”

“... The ones with Gustave Doré illustrations?”

“Yep. First edition. I think he was rather serious about wanting to buy them.”

“Oh, in that case… well, thank you, dear,” Aziraphale conceded, smiling a little sheepishly. He was quite fond of those books, and perhaps he should move them to the back, better hidden from prying eyes. Except that the back of the shop was already full of other books he was quite fond of and unwilling to part with. The entire shop consisted almost solely of books he was fond of and unwilling to part with, really. 

A bookshop had seemed a wonderful cover for him to collect books and pretend to be a normal working citizen who paid his taxes - he actually did pay taxes - but back when he’d decided to open it, he’d failed to take into account the fact people may be inclined to purchase his books. 

“You’re welcome. I was thinking, there is this new French-style cellar with wine and cheese--”

The phone rang before he could finish, causing him to roll his eyes, the glasses off his face and in his pocket. Aziraphale gave him an apologetic look, and picked up the receiver to answer in a cheery voice. “Hello! I am afraid we’re closed, but--”

“Aziraphale? It’s me.”

“Oh. Gabriel.” The smile on Aziraphale’s lips faded, and he glanced over at Crowley, who gestured towards the receiver. Ah, right - that was their idea, wasn’t it? “We’re coming, hold the phone off your ear--”

“No, don’t. There are people there. You’d be seen.”

Oh, of course. Aziraphale sighed. “Please, don’t put down the phone. Where are you?”

“That’s… not important. Listen, there is someone I need you to help.”

“... Someone you need me to help?”

“His name is Daniel Brown. He’s homeless - lost his home, he says, and his job, and his wife died. Maybe that’s not the order it happened, but -- can you send a small miracle his way?”

Well, now that was a... surprising request coming from Gabriel, but not the unpleasant kind. Aziraphale glanced over at Crowley, who was listening to his half of the conversation with a confused frown, and nodded.

“Come back in the shop,” he finally said, holding back a remark about frivolous miracles. “And I’ll see what I can do.”

***

As he ended the call, Gabriel couldn’t help but notice that the knot in his guts had tightened quite a lot when Aziraphale accepted to help him. That didn’t precisely make him any more eager to see him in person, but if he was to get Daniel a much-needed miracle, he had to do it. 

He just needed a convincing story to tell about his black eye, because Heaven knew he had no desire to let the demon Crowley know he had been struck down by children. He, who during the War… during the War… well, he’d needed Michael and Uriel to help him out of a few sticky situations, but he’d defeated a few rebels on his own right, except… he’d frozen up at one point, hadn’t he? He couldn’t really remember clearly, but there was something--

“I didn’t freeze you as well, did I?” Beelzebub’s voice rang out suddenly, almost causing him to jump right in the water, which would probably have made waterfowl angry. He turned suddenly, opening his mouth to demand how they’d found him, but words died in his throat the next moment. Beelzebub was sitting on the backrest of the bench, and Daniel… he was just staring ahead, eyes glassy and jaw slack. 

“What-- what have you done-- release him!”

Beelzebub raised an eyebrow. “No need to worry, I simply… paused him, while we talk. I suspect you don’t wish this mortal to know the truth about-- wait. What happened to your eye?”

Don’t tell them it was kids. Don’t tell them it was kids. Don’t tell them it was kids.

“It was-- teenagers,” he blurted out, only to mentally kick himself the next moment. “I mean-- a car. Teenagers driving a car.”

An unimpressed look. “You were hit by a car? Again?”

“Uh…” Bit too late to change version now. “Yes?”

Another long look that told him, in no uncertain terms, that he was an idiot - but they didn’t realize he was lying so really, who was the idiot there, huh? Gabriel might have smirked, if not for the fact it could give away his little act. And also, angering the Prince of Hell while they could destroy the only human… acquaintance he had made so far might turn out not to be such a wise move. So, he did not and let Beelzebub speak first. 

“It seems you are determined to shorten your stay on Earth as much as possible, for all your fear to join me in Hell.”

“No, no. It was… and accident,” Gabriel protested, but Beelzebub went on as though he hadn’t even spoken. 

“You can end this charade any moment,” they said, holding out a hand. “Join me. You’ll have wings again, and power.”

For a single, terrifying moment, Gabriel was almost tempted to accept; anything to cease being so pathetically weak. But the thought of Hell still aroused too much horror in him, and he shook his head, taking a step back. “Never! I shall never--”

Splash.

Ah, right. The pond. Gabriel sighed, and sadly glanced down at his now wet shoes. An especially brave duck swam over to peck at his shoelaces. 

“Pffft--”

The sudden sound of someone trying and failing not to burst out laughing - and not the kind of Dignified Evil Chortle of the upper spheres of Hell, not to be confused with the Dignified Benign Chortle they did upstairs. More like a full-bellied laugh, and for some reason, Gabriel felt he knew how it would sound if it was allowed out - like it was something he had heard before.

But it wasn��t to be: laughter never came. When Gabriel looked up, Beelzebub was straightening up. They weren’t quite fast enough to entirely hide how their lips had curled upwards.

“Did you just--”

“Silence,” Beelzebub snapped, proving he’d just hit a nerve. Gabriel raised an eyebrow. 

“I could swear you were about to burst--” he began, but then Beelzebub raised a hand, Daniel’s glassy eyes turned white as though suddenly full of swirling fog, and Gabriel shut his mouth so abruptly his teeth clacked together. He swallowed. “Don’t,” he whispered. “Don’t harm him.”

A roll of their eyes. “What a difference less than two days as a human make. Were we not prepared to end every human life in order to get out rematch?”

“That was… then,” Gabriel muttered, markedly uncomfortable. He didn’t quite know how to explain that every human life was… a very vague, abstract concept. This human life, however… “Don’t do… whatever you plan on doing. Please.”

Beelzebub stared at him for a few moments, their expressions unreadable, then it turned sly. They smirked. “Are you ready to offer up your soul for his life?”

“I-- what?”

“I let him go without harming him. You follow me in Hell. We can strike the deal now,” they said, and hopped down the bench, holding out a hand. Gabriel looked at it, at a loss for a few moments… then he laughed. Beelzebub didn’t look pleased with that. 

“You can’t.” He grinned, giddy with triumph, entirely forgetting his own sensible idea not to anger the Prince of Hell while they literally held Daniel’s life in their hands. “If I give up my soul to save someone, that’s sacrifice. And it gets me right back to Heaven.”

Beelzebub seethed a moment, then their fury faded into a faint smile. “Oh, that is true. I forgot. Thanks for keeping me from handing you a ticket back to Heaven,” they said. Gabriel’s smile went out like a burned-out lightbulb. 

Ah. Fuck. 

A chuckle - the Dignified Evil Chuckle, this time. “Since you’re so clever, I’ll make another proposition. I spare his life, and you let me mark you. So you can never hide from me again.”

Absolutely not, Gabriel though, and was about to say it… until he glanced at Daniel again, at the fog swirling in his eyes. A large, lumbering man, but so very frail before the Prince of Hell. His mortal life could be snuffed out with a snap of Beelzebub’s fingers, and he was the one thing that stood in the way of that happening. 

Gabriel didn’t have to save him, but then again neither did Daniel have to help him out, but he had. And honestly, chances were that Beelzebub would be able to find him wherever he hid, anyway. The mark would change nothing. His wings had been torn out; what was one more scar? 

“If I accept, you will never harm him.”

“You have my word.” A pause. “... You know I always keep my word.”

That was true, if anything; Gabriel knew from experience that Beelzebub was many things - Prince of Hell and Lord of the Flies, for starters - but not one to take back their word. 

“... All right,” he heard himself saying. Beelzebub seeed surprised for only a moment before they gestured with their left hand, causing Daniel to yawn and immediately slump back asleep. Gabriel breathed out a sigh of relief, and held out his arm.

The grip around his wrist burned so hot that, for a moment, it felt cold.

***

"The memory of the righteous is a blessing, but the name of the wicked will rot." -- Proverbs 10:7

***

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