#but i hope the emotions sorta manage to come through anyway
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( />/</) ehehe
#botw#zora#sidon#bazz#sidbazz#oh wow is this the first time im posting a ship art of them? really?#i thought i already drew so many#anyway#this is supposed to take place some decades before botw events when sidon was more in his teenage-ish years#thats why the size difference isn't that visible#i have the whole timeline figured out you see#there is even a whole story for this stupid ship that im not going to share now#but i hope the emotions sorta manage to come through anyway#also yes i am ignoring the 3d-ness of sidon's head handlebars very hard why are you asking#it's in service of having pretty posing i am justified
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an: hi. been awhile since i’ve written anything. im sorry if this isn’t really tzuyu, but im #trying. sorry if this is bad too. mistakes are mine!!!!!! half asleep posting this… sorry….
prompts: im worried about you” // “you don’t seem like yourself tonight
college au kinda sorta
tzuyu eyed you quietly, you seemed to be lost in thought about something and none of the other girls seemed to have noticed. that didn’t surprise tzuyu though, no one could read you better than her.
she bit the inside of her cheek, rummaging through her brain of any possible reason you could be so down. however, this was a failure because surely you would’ve come to her already if something was bothering you, right?
it wasn't long before you started to feel a set of eyes staring into the side of your head. tzuyu gave you a look of concern, but you brushed it off and laid your head atop nayeon’s shoulder, bringing your attention back to the movie that was on. this made tzuyu even more concerned than before, but she couldn’t do anything about it now.
instead she watched as you cuddled into nayeon, your body slowly turning away from her seemingly every 10 minutes. tzuyu couldn’t help but feel a little hurt by your actions. has she done something to upset you? did someone tell you something bad about her? did you hear a rumor around school and believe it to be true?
tzuyu spent the next 30 minutes waiting in what felt like agony for the movie to be over with. she knew you’d go to bed afterwards as you didn’t like staying up too late since classes started early.
you said your goodnights to the surrounding girls and made your way down the hall and into your room. you sighed knowing you couldn't avoid her from this point on. nonetheless, you peeled the sweatshirt off your body, leaving you in just a tank top and shorts, and buried yourself under the covers. maybe if you pretended like you were trying to sleep she wouldn’t question you?
wrong.
only a mere two or three minutes went by before you felt tzuyu’s slender body slide next to yours. she was hesitant at first, but decided to wrap her arm around you anyway. a few more silent minutes went by and you’d started to think she might actually not bring it up.
again, you were wrong.
“i’m worried about you…” tzuyu mumbled.
“don’t be.”
“you don’t seem like yourself tonight.” she countered, hoping to get somewhere.
“I’m just tired.”
a hum could be heard, “maybe. but i doubt that’s the reason you’ve been avoiding me.”
there was another beat of silence before she spoke again. “have i done something?”
“no.” you answered calmly, which only confused tzuyu further. “then what is it?”
your body shifted beneath the covers, eyes now staring into hers with the help of the moonlight shining on her face.
“you’re good at everything, you know. it’s like you don’t even have to try. always getting a’s, never anything below, loved by so many people despite you keeping them at arm's length, i’ve never even seen you lose your temper. you’re perfect. i don’t now why you settled for me. i get b’s and c’s in class, i don’t really have a lot of friends, or people that remember me, i get annoyed and irritated too easily, even the way i dress is questionable. you’re just so put together and-”
“except i’m not.” your girlfriend interrupted. “you shouldn’t compare yourself to me.”
you exhaled. “well you sure make it look like you are.”
“exactly, which is why you shouldn’t compare yourself to me. i’m nowhere near put together all the time, i just know how to manage things and my emotions to the point where it looks like i am.”
the way she stared down at you, seriousness filling her eyes caused you to avert your gaze.
“i just think you could do better than me.” you mumbled softly.
“ah.” tzuyu brushed her finger against the line of your face. “well i don’t think so. i think you’re the one for me and that’s all that should matter. you’re important to me for many reasons, but the fact that i love you in the way that i do should be enough. nothing that you said negatively affects our relationship. im happy and that’s all that matters to me. i hope that you are as well?”
you met her eyes again and nodded. “i just want to be enough for you.”
“you are,” she promised. “now let's go to sleep. you need to rest well before classes.”
and so you did, face snuggled in the crook of her neck as she held you close.
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okok so ummmmm ,,, this took me a while to write down bc i fucking SUCK at writing down my thoughts in actually coherent ways so i hope this all makes sense:
i think sozo's sorta the black sheep where he comes from . a lot of stuff abt ants is usually abt how BRUTAL they are toward other ant colonies , literally ripping each other apart an kidnapping babies n shit . so i think sozo's colony was sort of like that—very warrior-oriented with not much space for anything else . then there was sozo , who didn't have Any interest in fighting or anything to do with battle , instead WAY more interested in fungi an stuff
in his colony (and in others) fungi r generally treated as life-threatening pests , since EVERY ant ever knows tha horrifying tale of cordyceps an how they'll rip apart a colony from tha inside out n whatnot . most of sozo's colony just thinks his fascination with fungi is simply a childhood phase , that he'll get over it n realize how dangerous they are , but he doesn't because it's NOT A PHASE , MOM !!!!!!!! he wants to be a MYCOLOGIST , not a WARRIOR !!!!!!
(his colony is also in silk cradle . i forgot to mention that so i'm putting that here)
so sozo ends up leaving his home as a young adult after growing up as a social outcast , wanting to pursue his own dreams instead of just listening to whatever his queen wanted . he eventually Does become a mycologist an one day , ends up at shamura's grand temple to add his knowledge of fungi to their great library , which is when they first officially meet each other . at first it's a fairly generic follower meeting his god type thing , but after a while of talking their conversations slowly get more casual an they begin regarding each other as friends , an then eventually Close friends . maybe they could've become more if sozo hadn't gone off to anura , discovered those mushroomos, and ,,, well . you know what happens to him .
eventually shamura forgets about sozo (since this all takes place After narinder's betrayal) but they occasionally get a strange , yearning feeling ,,, like someone used to come to them everyday to talk about ,,, something. they can't quite remember what , though ...
it's only after the lamb takes over , when shamura is indoctrinated and sozo gets brought back from the dead (then promptly goes through rehab) that they meet again . shamura doesn't quite recall sozo an he only vaguely remembers them , but they still like to hang out together , especially as shamura's head injury slowly stabilizes into something more manageable for them . shamura likes to hear him talk abt his studies , and sozo likes having an attentive audience . they're really good friends who also maybe wanna kiss (but shamura isn't willing to unpack THOSE emotions yet bc they have weird feelings abt romantic relationships after that whole fiasco with their ex a few millennia ago but sssshhhhhh)
anyway that's abt it :3 i'm just realizing it kinda dipped into sozura toward the end there but ehhhhh that's still TECHNICALLY a sozo headcanon if u squint so
SORRY I TOOK SO LONG TO ANSWER THIS MY LIFE GOT A BIT CHAOTIC BUT YOOOOOOOOO OH MY GOSH OH MY GOSH EEEEEEE I ABSOLUTELY LOVE THIS!
It’s very different from other sozo headcanons and I like that a lot. I like to imagine for your headcanons sozonius is literally like hiccup from how to train your dragon lmao. To be fair he might know some self defense based on how he was raised.
I like the idea that sozonius colony was in silk cradle in which I have it in my headcanons that after Narinders banishment silk cradle becomes the most dangerous land of war, just killing without thinking. God bless Sozonius for making it through their bro💀🙏
AND YOU KNOW ME IM ALWAYS A SUCKER FOR THAT SOZURA FOOD. I really like the idea of sozonius meeting Shamura before sozonius went to Anura. THE BUGS ARE BESTIES a bishop and a mortal ant.
Bro my heart of thinking of Shamura remembering sozo in random moments and wondering where he is, then having to be explained to that Sozonius went missing years ago, before forgetting him again AGH MY SOUL!!! THE POTENTIAL HERE
I ADORE THIS SO MUCH THANK YOU FOR TELLING ME ABOUT YOUR HEADCANONS! Seeing this stuff inspires me and I love being able to interact with yall💜
#✨tarty has mail ✨#AAAAAA I LOVE YOUR HEADCANONS SO MUCH OH MY GOSH#not my headcanon#sozonius headcanons
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These thoughts are plagging my brain and need the rejuv-nation to suffer with me.
Have you noticed that Paragon!Melia is....off? Ever since waking up from the dream/alternate universe, she has been acting strange- she even wore pigtails at one point (post Terajuma) which I figured she'd avoid bc of Melanie- kinda detached, even? But still nice.
So, here is what I think. I think Paragon!Melia is M2 too, but she has been subdued in anger because of the positive memories in Melia's body, so she is playing her role to help us until our friend comes back properly.
I too think she act a bit off, especially right after she met the real protagonist in the "wilted" world
And ngl, when Melia requested to be added into Zeight, i...did not trust her. Like you've said, she feel off and if you play renegade route or watched it, it's understandable that you would assume that M2 is replacing our Melia. I thought me popping right outta the Zeight, that would trigger Melia to say st else but nope, nt happened.
Personally, i don't think M2 is possesing paragon_Melia body, cuz' in renegade, it shown that M2 don't have any memories of the host she in so i don't think her emotion would be skewed by Melia's posistive thoughts.
My theory is that, that is still our Melia, the current version_Melia of the world we are currently living in. And...the reason for her odd behaviors was that, she is coping.
Like, put yourself in her shoes...
She got the whole team Xen after her;
Discovered that she have some god-like power which was placed in her since birth, then discover that the same thing is giving her some sort of rare disease;
Is sorta having identity-crisis about herself (Maria-Marianette-Melia);
Going through multiple bad timelines and one of them feature the world is in literal state of static (PMD explorer of sky reference, lol), and the reasion was that she and the protagonist failed.
And then the whole revelation about karma
Like, that must fucked up your mental health a lot
And another thing is...there is no other options than keep moving on.
So like, Melia has all these responsibilities on her and yet, in the end, she still gonna died to a disease anyway, unless the interceptor manage to change it (which i think Melia is very hopeful about). So that's why her action can come off as off and...secrety, at least to me
Adamant on getting into zeight, her fucking up the time zone in there seem to be another way for her to slow down her death time
Making End-of-Nights, hinted that she know Renegade MC and had communicated with them, without fully explaining this to anyone else on the team, so she is doing things alone...again.
Breaking up with Venam, which is...idk, this action seem weird, sure, we are too busy saving the world, relationship come seconds but like, idk, like, you doesn't have to stop acting lovey dovey while on the jobs, you know? Idk, this decision from her is lowkey strange, i know you're gonna die so why lock yourself out of any happiness.
As for pigtails, i don't think it meant anything tbh
#pkmn rejuv#So...um yrah that's my essays😅#Sorry for not answering this sooner. I was not in the right mood to communicate#Anyhow. Overall. I agree with you. Melia act really strange.
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The Pretenders - s/t
No one sounds as dismissively cool as Chryssie Hynde. Somehow the blend of new wave, power pop, and punk manages to be catchy and aggressive. On the first half of the album the lyrics are confident, often sexual sung in a matter of fact way. She wants to fuck, and you'll do, but you're not special baby. By the second half the music calms down a bit and we get a few new wavier tracks. It's a tight little snapshot of the unique change that rock music was going through in 1980.
George Michael - Faith
Whenever I listen to this album I really wanna like it. And I do like it! Sorta. It opens with three extremely strong tracks. Faith and Father Figure are bangers and I Want Your Sex is the nine minute funk jam of my dreams. But I kinda lose interest over the course of the whole thing. It always loses me on side two for some reason and by the time Kissing A Fool starts I really just want it to be over. The good bits are just bursting with sensual vanity though so it's obviously worth a listen. And who knows maybe this one will grow on me if I listen to it a few more times.
Bruce Springsteen - Nebraska
I can't describe this album in any way that would do it justice. Nebraska will pick away at your brain until it unearths an emotional scab that you thought was long healed. Its stripped down lo fi acoustic songs are so personal yet so universal. I think I put on Nebraska hoping that this time it will tell me everything is going to be ok. It never does, but I listen to it anyway. Because at the end of every hard earned day people find some reason to believe.
John Prine - s/t
John Prine is so unassuming at first glance. Oh a few cheeky folksy tunes some sorrowful country ones yes that will fit in nicely with the 70 adult contemporary scene. But it's impossible to really listen without realizing just how biting the cheek is, just how genuinely sorrowful those tunes are. You notice that he isn't just someone cobbling together popular musical styles. That mix of folk rock, country, and Appalachia is so uniquely Prine's. He can turn a phrase with the sophistication of a poet, but without a hint of self satisfaction or irony. And the disarming humor of songs like Illegal Smile or You Flag Decal Won't Get You Into Heaven Anymore make the tragic songs like Sam Stone or Six O'Clock News hit even harder. He's unfortunately overlooked everywhere except for on lists like this and in other musicians record collections.
Frank Ocean - Channel Orange
This album is what the entire neo soul genre was building up to. A sorrowful meditation on love, fame, and money with intensely introspective and personal lyrics. Ocean battles with his feelings over some of the most perfect instrumentals ever created. There's a little funkiness here and there, some strings at times, but mostly stark emptiness accentuated by cold synths and distant drums. This production is what makes it all come together. The way that Thinin Bout You is almost acapella pushes the tenderness to it's extreme. The church organ sound on Forrest Gump evokes Motown in a way that is fitting for his ode to his first love. Super rich kids plods along, with a constant thump as it dispassionately reaches its tragic conclusion. Pyramids is a nine minute prog soul epic that describes the diminishing of black women's role in society using Cleopatra as a metaphor. Every song has some particular quirk that makes it perfect while also feeling like a cohesive part of the album. Channel Orange might be the best album of the 2010s. Channel Orange might be my favorite soul record (top 5 at least). This is required listening for all humans and probably some other animals if they're into music.
Jeff Buckley - Grace
Jeff Buckley is primarily known for his cover of Leonard Cohen's Hallelujah. And the sweeping beauty of that song is just a sampling of what the album Grace has to offer. There is no end to the flowery flourishes, falsetto'd vocals, and fiery guitar that inhabit these songs. Some, like Hallelujah itself stay well within the confines of delicate art rock. But much of the album lulls you into a dreamlike state before crescendoing into soaring electric guitar solos. It's an extremely dramatic album filled with excesses both emotional and musical. Buckley's only fault as an artist is that he died before he could record another album.
#the pretenders#george michael#bruce springsteen#john prine#frank ocean#jeff buckley#500 album gauntlet
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182 Days of TPN: Day 32
Chapter 32: “Action, Part 1”
From the very moment Norman walked out that door, Emma didn’t give herself any time to grieve and began formulating plans straight away and if that’s not the definition of strength and perseverance then I dunno what is. (kinda wish the anime had showed us how her mind was working overtime but I get they wanted to keep us on edge. that and it lacks internal dialogue to being with).
WARNING: Master actor trope coming in hot! My love for this girl shot through the damn roof when I experienced ep11 for the first time. She is unbelievably clever and nothing thrills me more than seeing our sweet girl so pissed off like this.
Once again, thanks to Krone for this valuable piece of advice because it certainly works wonders on Isabella. Well, I’ll partially give her credit for telling Emma this, but most of the praise goes to our leading actress as she effectively kept up the defeated, woe-is-me act for two whole months while also planning the real escape on the side, leaving Isabella (and even Ray) in the dark.
I love them. I love my chaotic little duo so much. The fact they barely spoke to each other since Norman’s shipment yet managed to stay on the same wavelength by focusing on their respective escape plans and maintaining an effective false mask around Isabella is amazing.
I love Isabella with all my heart, but how could she not notice all the supplies that went missing from the house? I know she was solely focused on RE and Emma mentions “Even if mom was watching us like a hawk, she only has two eyes,” but not once did mom ever question anything..? Really? The kids most likely secured items one thing at a time so she couldn’t notice something missing here or there, but that’s still a lot of stuff. (And someone tell me why the house even had backpacks?? It’s not like the adults wanted the kids to actually go anywhere.)
Y’all don’t have time to chat! By now you got less than twenty minutes til midnight and Emma is already very aware of the crazy idea Ray’s hoping to carry out thanks to the note Norman left behind, but YEAH, sure! Let’s take a seat! Relax! Go ahead and fool us all sweetie, it’ll all contribute to the surprise factor later.
I voice this wish a lot, but I really wanted to see them use those molotovs. It would’ve caused some damage to the other plants too but who cares! Imagine watching the escapees run across the wall and setting fires left and right, oohh that would’ve been so sick. Ray prepared so much for the escape with these and the tracker breaking device yet they all go unused and it’s a shame!
I always loved this panel but recently I gotta admit it ain’t perfect. In my mind anyways. Of course it’s iconic and it sorta parallels that upcoming moment of Emma’s in ch33, but it annoys me that it breaks the 180 degree rule by suddenly having Ray on the right side! He’s been on the left for the majority of this chapter, so why switch our view of this entire scene now??
Of course Ray’s still against taking the babies since they’ll be more of a hindrance once outside the farm, but what matters most to him is that Emma escapes safely, so he drops the unspoken argument. The way he also tells her to leave so she doesn’t have to witness himself being engulfed in flames is so bittersweet.. aahh god he just cares so much about her well-being and emotions and that makes me so soft for them.
♫ Do you hear chidoroki scream? Screaming the name of an angry boy? It is the moment of the series that she’ll want not to witness again! When the beating of her heart echoes the laughter of his voice, she feared there will be no more Ray when tomorrow comes! ♫
Dear boy, I love you to the moon and back, but I dunno whether to be very proud, scared or concerned??
I always say that Ray used the camera for its intended purpose and took pictures to throw off any suspicions that Isabella could’ve had about the real reason why he wanted said camera as a reward, but the fact he kept every picture to give to Emma, the one person who loves this family more than anything, is so damn precious. (and it completely breaks my heart that the pictures eventually become altered at the end of the story thanks to demon bastard.)
This post already feels long as hell but aahhh, this is definitely a moment I’m glad I didn’t have to wait for the manga to update.. I would’ve been crying the entire week.
Favorite panel/moment:
My sweet boy I’m glad you had fun but noooo!!!!!
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Hey, Aqua! Happy (near) Halloween! :D Hope this ask finds you well, because . . .
TRICK OR TREAT. 8) 🎃🎃🎃🎃
Thanks for the ask Jax. Since you gave me a treat, have one in exchange from me. I'll tell you what the original plan was with regard to putting Moradin's Anvil back together. Kinda-sorta spoilers for Fangthane's Folly under the cut
Ok so, the plan was for the party to go off into the mountains to locate the biggest pieces of anvil and find a way to being them back to Kar Kherril, where they'd left Meredith and Yoruk. Now while the party was gone, the Emerald Dragon had a bit of time to work with Meredith to hone her Shaping skills and explain that they would work with anything that was infused with sufficient Creation Magic and that it wasn't limited to the God Clay (which was now all gone anyway). So Meredith knows that Moradin uses his anvil to help Him shape the souls of dwarves across the multiverse, that's the first thing every dwarf that worships Moradin is taught. This sounds suspiciously similar to Shaping, and she realises that the anvil - the most sacred and magically powerful religious relic that she can think of that can possibly exist- must, therefore, be stuffed to the brim with Creation Magic. Given that the only way it can return back to Celestia is if the thing is made whole again (because something something godly magic bs), the pieces will need to be put back together, and Meredith is the only person on Titan that can do that.
Now, bear in mind how much of a toll using the God Clay took on Merri when she resurrected Deep Sachellas. The only reason she didn't die in that attempt is because Destiny (i.e the DM) had other plans for her and gave her Plot Armour*. Also remember that, at this point, Meredith is now an NPC (as I am the DM). So there I was, totally ready to go through with what was probably going to be the most gut-wrenching session the party had been through yet. And my Dear Husband decides that the easiest way to solve the problem is by summoning a genie and making a Wish.
It gets even better. The first genie he summons isn't quite high enough, and the party doesn't have enough pieces anyway, so Laurence shrugs his shoulders and figures he'll try again when the party have found another couple of pieces. A couple of sessions later, they've got all the biggest bits of the anvil in more or less one place, and he tries again. Once more he gets a genie that's too small to help, but he then has the sheer gall to ask for this genie's manager because he's a lazy sod and doesn't want to take these big, heavy chunks of star metal all the way back to Kar Kherril. Thinking this will make for a humorous interaction, I make him roll for persuasion.... Natural fucking twenty (we'd been using crits for skill checks as a homebrew rule all campaign and I wasn't about to change that). So, in the end, the Anvil was Wished back together and sent back to Celestia. Queue me figuratively throwing out all my notes and having to deal with the emotional rollercoaster of realising that Merri was probably going to survive the rest of the campaign after I'd already made peace with her demise (which, although not guaranteed, was extremely likely given the DCs of the checks I'd be rolling for her). I mean, I'm obviously happy that the original plan didn't come to pass in the end, but at the time, I was so miffed.
*To be fair, I did only fail two out of five or so checks and had Elowyn Helping the whole time, so the likelihood of failure due to dice rolling wasn't very high. Obviously, in terms of the story, Moradin was the one that wanted Meredith alive, so she did have help from her deity as well.
#writeblr trick or treat#answered ask#titan fighting fantasy#writing meta#d&d shenanigans#meredith gruksdottir
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🌙 Moon, 🪤 mousetrap, 🔫 pistol for Tyr!
These are literally SO delicious, I LOVED these ones even if they made my head run like a motor trying to shake answers out of him. Shakes him up like the Scrabble dice.
OC Emoji Asks
Moon - What is your oc's greatest wish? How far are they willing to go for it?
There was a time where I would’ve been inclined to say it’d be officially working for the SIS. No more double agent, just straight up “you can leave! If it sucks, hit da bricks!” [kazoo noise] Anyway, meme for my emotional distress aside, why I was “was” is because that has been… complicated by having the Alliance to consider.
Probably now more than ever before, Tyr can’t help but weigh that his actions reflect on the entire group rather than just himself, and risking taking out the Alliance for his “vengeance” isn’t a gamble he’s willing to make. He’s willing to put himself up on those stakes, no hesitation, but… the fate of the entire Alliance? Filled with people that maybe weren’t disloyal a second of their lives, but would be branded traitor by association? He’d rather not, thanks.
I can’t even say he has an escapism dream because he… largely does not think too hard or too long about getting out, fucking off to some remote edge of space and settling down. It didn’t strike him as realistic, so he put it aside. It’s one area where he falls far short of being an idealist.
Nebulously, he hopes it’ll just be worth it. That something will come out of all of this. That whatever he manages to do will be enough, even for a second. Genuinely entertaining ideas of slipping quietly into the abyss of time is something only just perhaps slipping in - if only because he’s starting to get too bloody fucking old for this bullshit. It’s been what, twenty some years with all the expacs now? Man’s going into his late forties. All this spy shit is probably wearing on the joints, lol.
But, that said, he hates to leave a job unfinished. And I think we've established that "how far" is ah... pretty damn far, depending on just what the objective is.
Mousetrap - What will always lure them into certain danger? A loved one in danger? A promise of something they are always searching for?
I sort of got into this in Deryn’s ask, but Tyr seems almost incapable of sticking his nose anywhere but in immediate danger if it spares a comrade, collegaue, particularly someone he cares about. For as much as he plays Twister to dodge me calling him even a little bit selfless, most of his steps where he puts aside “better judgement” to speak up is to intercede on someone else’s behalf.
And he just cannot leave well enough alone when it comes to fighting back against the Empire. The biggest balk he had with Jonas asking him to turn on the heel and go back to the Empire to report double agent style was siding with the Republic on Iokath. Sure, additionally, he’d rather never see the place again, but it’s first and foremost because he hears that, hisses a breath through his teeth, and can’t help but at least mentally point out isn’t that a bridge we sorta burned? Is that really the most effective cover? But then he gets back into the thick of covert work and it’s all old hat. There’s almost a comfort to how old hat it is. It cropped up again to me on Ruhnuk that he thrives when he’s out of that spotlight, when he’s allowed work as an operative more than Commander. There’s at least a part of him that did genuinely enjoy the work. It’s what he’s good at.
But he’s not a thrill-seeker. It’s not about the adrenaline. I think it’s conviction. Tyr commits to what he believes is the most effective and right course of action. He’d still more than likely walk into something even if he knew full-well it was a setup because he doesn’t leave people he cares for behind. He doesn’t throw those people to the wolves. And it’s almost that he’s loyal to that ideal more than any specific person, which kinda takes me to part of the next question.
Pistol - Do they trust people easily? How easily will they turn their back on someone? Have they been backstabbed before? Will they betray someone given an ultimatum?
Starting with what’s related to where I left off - it’s actually an absolute yes. Perhaps no surprise for an actual saboteur, but I think what hooks me on this being such a delicious question is Tyr will do this with people he loves if he thinks it will protect them in the long run. So, would it be a full technical betrayal? Maybe not, but that’s sort of the other half of this question-
Tyr doesn’t consider for even a second to hold Nathema against Theron. They’re agents. It’s what they do. Stars, if anybody in the Alliance could understand Theron’s motivations and reasons, it’s Tyr. Was it still reckless and kind of stupid and did he want to smack him upside his head a little? Yeah. Tyr doesn’t say ‘I understand because I would be willing to do the same,’ but he knows it. I don’t think anyone else really does. It doesn’t exactly come up for him to hint towards and he wouldn’t want to if it did. Tyr does not see Theron in that scenario as a traitor, in the end. He did what he had to do. Tyr respects that. He gets it. He was more worried about getting everyone back home in the aftermath.
That all stabbing me in the feelings again, Tyr did trust easier than I might have expected - before the Castellan Restraints. That doesn’t just break whatever tinted image he may have been trying to hold onto about working to better the Empire where they could, it makes it incredibly difficult to trust for… a very long time after. He even gets hesitant about trust he already established. Nothing changes with Vector, but Tyr’s changed. In accepting Ardun Kothe’s offer to go double agent, Tyr knows he’s… really playing. He doesn’t believe the vast majority of his crew would ever agree with it. Hell, he’d half expect some of them to turn him over or save the Empire the trouble and do the deed themselves. Vector’s the strongest exception, but it’s still difficult. In that sense, Hunter really did keep the promise to take everything from him. He’s in a precarious position with the Empire and a lack of Imperial Intelligence backing his movements. His trust in himself and his own operatives is tested. It’s hell on the nerves, even though he rarely - if ever - admits it or lingers on it.
Theron Shan is the first new person that he feels any measure of relief from those burdens with. It’s a bit nerve-wracking at first on Manaan, but the time spent on Rishi… Tyr sees him as more an equal than he’ll see Lana for… ever, actually. Because while they eventually repair what missteps they have early on and become friends, their dynamic is inherently different. She’s eventually his sort of brutally honest friend, but she’s tough love and Tyr has already been masking and moving on for literal years, so… It’s not exactly the answer to actually processing anything he’s been through, lol.
Tyr still doesn’t trust all that easily - not wholly. He still keeps most people out at certain distances, different layers, only keeps a small inner circle. Theron, Lana, Vector… They’ve all been through some of his lowest damn lows with him as well as the highs. They’ve been there for the fallout and stayed. He does not give up on people he lets that close that easily - the Minister and Ardun Kothe as examples. Both people that absolutely tried his trust that, ultimately, he still respects greatly. His loyalty is certainly not a commodity. It’s hard-won and he fights tooth and nail for it in return. Even if that means making sacrifices. Even if he’d have to go behind their back to do it.
#answered#swtor ocs#ch: tyr#this bitch is out here makin me think up essays about him#imperial agent
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Other Social Media sites? (+ a little rambling about recognition)
OK, so, I am obviously starting to prioritize Tumblr more and more; and I think it'll take some time for me to really get the hang of it. Tumblr might be a place I will stick with, but I am wondering at the moment what to do regarding my presence in social media.
With how much of a broken mess the blue bird place has become, people have migrated to other places; the most notables ones being Tumblr, Mastodon, BlueSky, and, most recently, Threads. I do have a slight interest in the latter since I am already on Instagram. Though, regardless, I don't wanna overstuff myself with tons of social medias sites and apps to handle, since I wanna limit my time on the internet and focus more on enjoying life, expanding my potential career and developing myself as a person. Of course, with that said, if I do end up joining one of those other places, I will be notifying people everywhere I can. For now, I have Tumblr, obviously. The blue bird app will be staying as a sort of stand-by. YouTube is a place I've been creating videos on and off, but I do wanna try uploading more there; including stuff I recorded, but never released. I am also on Discord and on Instagram! However, there is one place I am thinking about leaving, that being DeviantArt. For years, I have felt there isn't really anything substantial I can do there, plus, some of the people I follow there are people I can find elsewhere. Plus, the need to pay to change your username will always leave a sour taste in my mouth. This is why I don't advertise myself there.
There is one more thing I wanna talk about, and it sorta relates to the topic, but I have been on Twitter for a really long time, enough time for me to have gone through various changes in terms of branding, but also in terms of behavior. My past social media experience is...one that I don't like to talk about. I was such a self-centered attention seeking idiot back then, and I always felt like I came off as disturbing or a weirdo. Even these days, I sometimes feel like I can come off as odd to others, especially when I'm in a large community, like a Discord server, and those are where most of those bad experiences took place. Every day, I log on to social media, these memories are always lingering and I always feel I'll be ignored just because of those and, potentially, other bizarre reasons. The point is, I just want others to understand me more; I feel like it'll be too much if I talk about my own personal stuff, which I did a lot before and I was always ashamed because no one truly understood me. But, I guess I'll stop here before I let my emotions get the best of me; I already had a depressing day today and I don't wanna lose my temper.
Anyways, yeah, I hope my last rambling was cohesive enough. Like I said, if I ever join those other social media places, I'll post about it; I just wanna manage too much accounts at a time. I grew up not wanting to have too much of everything, cause it would overwhelm me; and this is no exception. Hope everyone had a great rest of their day!
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Don’t You Worry (Your Pretty Little Head)
Pairing: Guitarist!Bucky x Reader
Summary: You agree to spend twelve hours with Bucky whom you just met.
Word Count: 9.1k
Warnings: THE LENGTH lmfao, soft smut??? Nothing vulgar and it’s sorta implied
A/N: I am honestly nervous about posting this piece because idk, aside from it being fucking long, I was never satisfied with how this was written lmfao. I literally rewrote this like idk 5 times??? And the fact that I made a mood board for a oneshot lmfao only means I poured my heart out into this shit and I’m really hoping y’all would enjoy this as much as my other works 🥺
MAIN MASTERLIST
Your idea of a fun Friday night involved your couch and Netflix playing in the background as you scrolled through your phone with a glass of wine in hand. This was your definition of pure bliss, something that Wanda violently opposed to.
So here you were, seated in the front of a music bar while Wanda’s favorite band played.
“See? This isn’t so bad, right? Better than wallowing in your apartment alone.” She teased as she leaned over to you, needing to amp up the volume of her voice so you can hear her.
“The fact that we can’t even hear each other properly makes wallowing alone sound so much better.” You told her, not even bothering to repeat yourself when she didn’t understand what you said over the loud music playing.
Her favorite band introduced their last song for the night and as they did, you checked your phone for the time. It was barely past ten in the evening and you were already dying to get home. You’ll bid goodbye after this, you promised yourself. Just one last song and you’re out. Before the band could even finish their last song, you’d already decided on what pizza to order and which wine to bring out.
That was until the next band came up on stage to prepare for their performance. You were leaning over Wanda already, about to tell her that you were heading home, when one particular guy caught your eye. Something that Wanda noticed when she saw you gawking at the stage.
“Oh my god. He’s definitely your type.” Wanda said when her eyes landed on the bassist.
He had dirty blonde hair and a clean-shaven face that looked a little too innocent for someone to be in a rock band. Your exact type— one with the boy next door appeal, someone you’d want to bring home to introduce to your parents. Wanda was so sure you were crushing on the bassist but as soon as he followed your line of sight, she almost choked on her own spit.
You weren’t eyeing the bassist, instead, you were completely focused on the lead guitarist. You were so enamored by this guy that you failed to notice Wanda gushing over the fact that you were enamored by someone who was the complete opposite of your type.
It was the lead guitarist who caught your attention. The one with long hair tied into a low, messy man bun, his stray locks framing his perfectly chiseled face. It wasn’t only the hair that made you look at him, it was also his left arm— it was covered entirely with tattoos. And then he started playing the guitar and good god, his fingers were something else.
It was rare for you to have certain thoughts, the kind that would make you sweat in church. And thank fuck for Wanda finally snapping you out of your filthy trance because if she hadn’t, you would’ve seriously drowned in your not so pure thoughts.
“I can’t believe you’re attracted to that guy. This makes me so excited, honestly.” Wanda squealed.
“Huh?” You played dumb of course. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Wanda snorted out loud, “I just witnessed you drool over the guitarist for a good five minutes. Stop denying.” She said.
You rolled your eyes, “Maybe I did. And so what? It’s not like I’m gonna act on it.”
“You have to fuck him.” Wanda casually suggested, making you choke on your drink.
You weren’t a prude but you didn’t like the idea of hooking up with people, most especially strangers. You weren’t going to lie though, it did cross your mind. Obviously, the way his fingers moved on his guitar really threw your brain down the gutter. Sure, you might have wondered what it’d be like to have those fingers on you but again, would you act on it? Hell no.
“It’s just one night. Live a little, come on. And you getting attracted to someone like him? That’s once in a blue moon, all the more you need to bring him home.” Wanda said.
“One night stands don’t really work well for me and you know that. The first time I tried that was also the last time because I ended up getting attached. And how did that end? Terrible. So no, thank you. Never again.” You told Wanda.
Fortunately, Wanda stopped bugging you about fucking the guitarist. It wasn’t really a big deal, it was nothing but a moment of admiration. You were hell-bent on going home anyway, well, maybe after his band finishes their first song. Besides, he wouldn’t notice you so why bother staying?
“Oh my god, he’s looking at you!” Wanda almost screamed, slapping at your arm until you turned to the stage.
And holy fuck. He was really looking at you. Why though? You even looked behind you to make sure it was you he was staring at and when you turned back at him, he smirked and threw a wink at your way.
“You know what, I think I’m gonna head home.” You said, not knowing how to act.
Wanda pulled you back down when you stood up, “Oh no, honey. No one’s going home this early.” She said. “You wouldn’t want to disappoint him, would you?” She quickly added, tipping her head towards the stage.
When you looked up at the guitarist, he was still looking at you as he played. This time, he was actually pouting, as if pleading for you to stay. You quickly avoided his gaze and although it was dimly lit in the bar, you still bowed your head to hide the blush creeping up to your face.
You managed to survive the entire setlist of the band despite the flirty smiles and winks that the guitarist gave you. Wanda was ecstatic about it, it made you wonder if she was actually the one crushing on the guy. As soon as the last song was done, you excused yourself and hurried into the bathroom to compose yourself.
It was the first time that you experienced such attraction towards a guy like him. You always went with the good boys, so why were you so drawn to this guy who looked nothing but trouble? You were in denial, this was totally out of your comfort zone so you shook the thoughts away and promised yourself (again) that you’d head home this time. For real.
“There you are.”
You gasped out loud when you stepped out of the bathroom, quickly colliding against a solid chest when you heard his voice. It was low yet gentle, soft-spoken but sinful.
“I’m sorry?” You sputtered out, bowing down your head to avoid the lead guitarist’s gaze.
“I thought you left already.” He said. “I’m Bucky, by the way.” He introduced, extending his left arm for a handshake.
Your eyes landed on his tattooed arm, despite the ink covering it all up you could actually see his veins.
“And I’m going home.” You quickly shook Bucky’s hand, ignoring the electricity that ran through your veins and brushed past him, eyes scanning the bar for Wanda.
Bucky jogged ahead of you, blocking your way and chuckling to himself. “Don’t I at least get a name?” He asked.
You were internally screaming, but you managed to mention your name just so he would leave you alone. Sure, he was hot and he was actually flirting with you. But your fear of the unknown outweighed your attraction. You weren’t ready to step out of your comfort zone. Yet.
Bucky trailed behind you as you looked for Wanda, cursing to yourself when you couldn’t spot her anywhere. You took out your phone and called her immediately.
“Wanda? Where are you?” You hiss into the phone.
Bucky watched you with amusement and it was making you uncomfortable. He was just staring at you with a grin on his handsome face. And now, you just discovered that Wanda left you.
“What?! But why?! You’re my ride home! Come back and pick me up!” You exclaim into the phone, unable to believe that Wanda just ditched you.
“You can’t— hello? Wanda? Hello?” You groaned in frustration when your friend ended the call.
“I’d love to offer you a ride home but it’s too early, so how ‘bout I just buy you a drink?” Bucky asked, flashing you a charming smile that made your knees weak.
Part of you wanted to give in and just say, fuck it, let Bucky do whatever he wants with you. The reasonable part of your brain though, highly opposed to this and pulled on the alarms. This guy probably just wants to get you into his bed and although it doesn’t sound that bad, you worried more for what could happen afterwards. You weren’t ready for a repeat of the past. You were too emotional, you had too many strings and they get attached way too quickly.
“No, thank you.” You told Bucky and headed outside the bar, deciding to book an Uber instead.
Bucky was persevering though and followed you out, blocking your way into the sidewalk and snatching your phone away.
“Hey, give me my phone back!” You exclaimed.
“The night is young, c’mon. Why are you so aloof anyway?” Bucky asked.
“Because I don’t know you?” You responded.
Bucky chuckled, “Have you ever heard about making friends? I mean, pretty much everyone you meet starts off as a stranger. And it’s not like I’m a serial killer or anything. I’m not gonna rob you but I most certainly won’t give you your phone back until I convince you to stay a while.” He said and god, he was too charming for your own good.
He made a good point about making friends. You couldn’t even remember the last time you made a new one. Bucky could see the gears in your head working as you stared at him, cheeks flushed and lips parted in deep thought.
“So, what do you say? Stay a while? Keep me company. It’ll be fun.” Bucky insisted.
“Why me?” You blurted out.
It wasn’t that you were insecure, but you were way too different from Bucky. You didn’t seem like his type, but then again, he wasn’t your type either. Until the moment you saw him on stage.
“Why not?” Bucky responded as if he couldn’t believe you just asked him that question.
“Do you ask that every time someone flirts with you? Besides, it’s not everyday that someone like you stared at me like that.” He teased.
Fuck, so he noticed you drooling over him. Quick! Think of a way out, you told yourself.
“Someone like me? What did you mean by that?” You asked, sounding offended.
Bucky’s eyes widened and shook his head, “I didn’t mean for it to sound like it’s a bad thing. I mean, you come in here wearing a chiffon blouse and a pencil skirt and expect me not to notice? I’m actually flattered that a girl, no...a woman...was ogling me. Definitely piqued my interest.” He explained.
That was a compliment, right? The sirens in your head grew louder at the way Bucky was easily throwing you compliments. He must be used to flirting his way into women’s panties, huh?
“I wasn’t ogling you.” You defended even though you were, looking away from his eyes.
“Sure, you weren’t.” Bucky teased. “Loosen up, will ya? When was the last time you had fun anyway?” He asked.
“Depends on your definition of fun.” You retorted.
“You know what I mean.” Bucky sighed.
“Well, my idea of fun doesn’t involve a guitarist getting me into his bed for a one night stand.” You blurted out, mindlessly.
Bucky made a face and clutched his chest, “Ouch. You went hard on that judgment, I’m not gonna lie, that kinda stings.”
Okay, now you felt bad for jumping to conclusions. Bucky did look like he was hurt from your brash statement. Fuck, he probably thought you were one of those stereotypical bitches! It wasn’t entirely your fault, right? You were just being careful. Were you? Or was it purely overthinking? Your brain was moving all too fast but Bucky quickly distracted you when he took your hand and placed your phone back onto your palm.
“You know, I think I get it why you said that and I honestly can’t blame you. A band dude flirts with you just like that, understandable why you thought that I wanted to get into your pants.” He explained much to your relief.
“I’m sorry, it was tasteless for me to judge you like that.” You quickly apologized, genuinely feeling like a terrible person.
Bucky smiled at you, “Nah, you had every right. I’m sorry if I was too forward but I do really want to spend some time to get to know you. So how about a little proposal?”
There was a glint in Bucky’s eyes that made your heart flutter and your brain go into overdrive. You knew it was a bad idea to give in to Bucky. Someone as charming as him might really be up to no good. Sure, you felt bad for judging him based on his looks. But something in your gut tells you that he was trouble.
“What proposal?” You asked curiously.
“Spend the next twelve hours with me.” Bucky suggested.
You frowned, “What?”
Bucky took your phone again, but only to check the time. “It’s a little past eleven now, I promise you’ll be home before noon tomorrow. Come with me, let loose for once and let’s spend the entire night together. Twelve hours, that’s it.” He said excitedly.
“And I don’t mean have sex with me.” Bucky explained immediately. “We’ll just hang out, it’s a wholesome proposal. But if you do want to have sex with me, I’m not gonna turn that down. I’m just saying, it’s not my motive but I won’t be saying no to it either.” He reassured.
You felt hot all of a sudden at how Bucky casually talked about having sex with you. It made you feel feverish and for someone who wasn’t really a sexual person, it made you feel like you were about to commit a major sin just by listening to Bucky talk like that.
Bucky beamed at you cutely, waiting for your response and honestly, with how his doe eyes were looking at you like that, was it even possible to say no? Despite the continuous alarms in your head and your inner prude begging you to stay within the confines of your comfort zone, you decided to do something for a change.
So you said yes.
You were spending the next twelve hours with Bucky and you could only hope that you wouldn’t regret it.
-
The night started off slow, thankfully, with Bucky ushering you back into the bar for a couple of drinks. You had to remind yourself to still be alert for any red flags that might show up sooner or later. You knew you were being a bit paranoid, but to hell, it would be better that way than to make mistakes tonight.
“Where do you work?” Bucky asked before calling the waiter.
“I work at a bank.” You told him.
The waiter arrived and took your orders, a tall glass of mojito for you and a rum and coke for Bucky. He asked you a couple more things, where you graduated, your hobbies and what you often did during your weekends. All of which you had pretty boring responses to. Bucky listened though and he didn’t seem bored too, what a relief.
“Are you really sure about spending twelve hours just like this?” You asked, taking another sip from your second glass of mojito.
Bucky snickered, “We won’t be talking the entire night, did you really think I’d ask for your twelve hours just to talk?” He asked.
“What are you planning then?” You asked nervously.
Bucky offered you an amused smile, “Nothing illegal so stop worrying, pretty lady. I can see the gears in your head turning.” He said and leaned forward to smoothen out the crease in between your brows with his thumb.
“Come on, time to have fun.” He said and got up, offering you his hand.
You haven’t even recovered from how gentle Bucky was when he touched your forehead. And now here he was, standing over you with his tattooed arm extended, waiting for you to take his hand.
“I don’t bite.” He stated.
Letting out a sigh, you finished up your drink and stood up, slipping your hand into Bucky’s. He smiled at you, lifting your hand up to his face and pressing a kiss on it before winking.
“See? I told you, I don’t bite.”
You cleared your throat and pursed your lips, biting back a smile as Bucky tugged you as he walked out of the bar, keeping your hand in his the entire time. Maybe he wasn’t so bad after all?
“Here.” Bucky said, handing you over his helmet.
It was then that you realized that he was about to give you a ride. On his motorcycle. The sirens in your head went off once again, bringing you back to your usual tensed state.
“Oh, no. Look, I know I said yes to your proposal but I’m not going to ride on that.” You disagreed and took a step back.
Bucky looked disappointed but shrugged anyway, placing the helmet back on the bike. “Fine. I’ll let you off this time, just because I don’t want to make you uncomfortable. Come with me.” He said and took your hand in his again as the both of you went back inside the bar.
He brought you towards the booth where the rest of his band were staying at. They all looked at you with smirks on their faces when Bucky introduced you to them.
“That’s Nat, our vocalist. Sam here is our drummer and Steve the bassist.” He said.
You gave them a polite smile and a quick wave. Bucky threw his keys over at Steve, who was supposed to be your type. Wanda thought so and you were just weirded out that you happen to be drawn towards Bucky instead.
“Hey punk, switch your car for my bike? Just for tonight.” Bucky said.
Steve looked so done with his request but shook his head in defeat as he fished his keys out of his pocket. He pointed at Bucky threateningly, “Don’t mess up my car, jerk. You know what I mean by that.” He said before throwing his own keys over at Bucky who caught it with ease.
“I wouldn’t worry about that if I were you. Thanks, pal!” Bucky bid goodbyes and pulled you again before you could even say your own goodbyes to his bandmates.
Now, you were inside Steve’s car with Bucky and you were nervous as fuck. Although you did find it considerate of Bucky to borrow his friend’s car to make things comfortable for you. You were going to admit that, but it made your heart flutter. You mentally snorted at yourself because fuck, the bar is set pretty low alright.
“What’s going on in that pretty little head of yours?” Bucky asked, noticing how you tensed up all of a sudden.
“Do we have rules?” You asked.
“This night is all about letting loose and the first thing you thought of are rules?” Bucky laughed.
“I’m about to spend the next twelve hours with a complete stranger, of course I’d be worried! What if—“
“Okay, calm down!” Bucky said, turning in his seat to face you, placing his hands on your shoulders.
“If it’ll make you less tense then fine, I’ll come up with rules. Number one is to stop worrying.” Bucky said, rubbing your arms up and down and you were supposed to feel uncomfortable with the intimacy but you didn’t.
There was no malice to it and it made you panic all the more because ugh, Bucky was making you all soft and vulnerable around him. You could hear Wanda inside your head, commanding you to just calm down and go with the flow. You took in a deep breath and composed yourself.
“You gotta learn to trust people. I promise you, we won’t be getting in any trouble. I’ll take good care of you.” Bucky said, letting your arms go and tipping your chin so you’d look at him.
“Rule two, no what ifs. Just focus on the present, okay? If you keep worrying about what could happen, you’ll miss out on the now. Trust me, you wouldn’t want that.” Something about the change in Bucky’s eyes when he said that made you curious.
He was on to something, like he really meant it. You wanted to ask him about it, hell, you should start asking him for more information. If he wanted to get to know you better then you should attempt to do the same to him too.
“Last rule is to just enjoy. Like I said, I won’t let anything bad happen to you. You trust me now?” Bucky asked with hopeful eyes.
The alarms in your head still kept going, but as you gazed back at Bucky, the softer they were becoming. You could feel yourself start to give in and you know what? It actually doesn’t sound so bad anymore. Maybe this would help with your attachment issues? This will probably teach you how to have fun with no attachments. Take things for what they are and just enjoy.
“Hey, will you trust me?” Bucky asked again.
“Yeah, yeah I will.”
-
1:15AM
Bucky took you to a hole in the wall open mic bar. It was a small place and everyone there seemed to know each other. And when Bucky arrived, everyone just greeted him and welcomed you there.
“You seem pretty popular here.” You told him as he led you to one of the seats near the makeshift stage.
“I spend a lot of time here.” He said and called over the guy by the bar.
“Hey Happy! Wanna introduce you to a special friend.” He said. The man approached your table and greeted you with a smile.
“Must be really special, you never bring anyone here.” Happy said, making you blush uncontrollably.
Bucky bit his lip as he turned to you, “Do you sing?” He asked.
You quickly shook your head, “Oh god, no. I don’t have the talent.” You said.
Happy chuckled, “That wouldn’t be a problem, trust me.” He reassured.
Bucky lifted an eyebrow at you, “Wanna go up there and sing with me?”
“Bucky, no.” You laughed, shaking your head. “I’m not doing that.”
“Come on, no one’s gonna judge you. Let loose, remember? And if anyone here laughs at you, I’ll be the first to punch them in the face.” He promised.
You thought for a while, keeping your eyes on Bucky. Fuck this. You called Happy and requested for a shot of tequila.
“That’s my girl! Just needs a little bit of liquid courage, huh?”
You snorted, “Oh that’s not for me. That’s for you. You’re gonna need it if you’ll be hearing me sing.”
You never performed in front of a crowd, well, back in high school maybe for some school plays. But hell, you were never the center of attention and whenever you had to be, you always experienced a panic attack. But now being on stage with Bucky behind you, playing the guitar as you sang (screeched actually), you’d never felt more alive and relaxed. True enough, no one cared about how off tune you were. In fact, you got a lot of cheers from the crowd.
2:45AM
“You hungry?” Bucky asked.
You couldn’t believe it, you’ve been singing on stage the entire time at the bar. You’d like to believe that it was probably the alcohol running in your veins, but you weren’t that drunk. Tipsy, maybe but definitely not drunk. It was fun, you were surprised at how much you enjoyed singing with Bucky and everybody else. You made a couple of new friends aside from Happy, talked to them and even exchanged numbers with a few. This was the most sociable you’ve ever been.
“I could use some carbs right now.” You laughed, wiping off the sweat on your forehead.
Bucky reached out to fix your hair, moving away the sweaty strands sticking onto your cheeks and tucking them behind your ear. He flashed you that oh so charming smile again and good god, Bucky was truly something else.
“Let’s get you something to eat.” He said.
Bucky drove to a 24-hour food truck somewhere. It was close to 3am but you didn’t feel exhausted, which was shocking given that you’ve been dying to go home a few hours ago before meeting Bucky and agreeing to go on an escapade with him. You could already hear Wanda squealing over the phone once you tell her everything.
The both of you ordered some soft tacos and sat on one of the benches beside the food truck.
“Enjoying so far?” Bucky asked with interest.
You nodded enthusiastically, your mouth full of food as you devoured your tacos. “Very much.” You admitted.
Bucky’s eyes crinkled as he laughed along with you, obviously pleased that you were enjoying yourself. Not long ago, twelve hours seemed a bit too long. Now, they felt too short. You could feel your brain begin to overthink what would happen once the the twelve hours are over, but you quickly shook them away and followed Bucky’s advice to focus on the present.
The two of you continued to talk as you ate. You discovered that Bucky and his bandmates go way back and that they’ve been performing since their days at the university. You also found out that Bucky’s last relationship ended six years ago and that he hasn’t dated anyone since then. You found out a lot of things about Bucky, most of which were far from your first impressions.
“Why’d your friend leave you at the bar?” Bucky asked, taking out a cigarette and putting it in his mouth.
You watched him with hazy eyes as he lighted the cigarette, puffing out a thin line of smoke with ease. You were always drawn to Bucky’s fingers and initially, it was because of the impure thoughts they made you think about. But more than that, they were the gentlest you’d ever seen.
“Probably to get me to have fun.” You responded, looking away timidly when Bucky noticed you staring at his hands.
“She’s gonna be very proud of you after this.” He said.
You nodded and breathed out a chuckle, “Oh, for sure.” You said before turning to Bucky. “Can I try?” You asked, motioning towards his cigarette.
“I haven’t smoked. Ever.” You admitted.
Bucky grinned and passed you the cigarette. “Go on.” He urged and kept his eyes on you as you brought the cigarette up to your lips.
The way Bucky watched you was intimidating in the sense that it felt intimate. It wasn’t like he was eye-fucking you or anything, his eyes were just too...expressive? They held a certain softness to them, a bit of sadness too when you look at it closely. They were the bluest, most beautiful color you’ve seen and they were captivating.
You ended up in a coughing fit from that first drag. Bucky chuckled and took the cigarette from your hand, patting your back as you continued to cough.
“Definitely not for me.” You frowned and took a sip from your iced tea.
“At least you tried. I’m proud of you.” Bucky said, the gentle pats on your back slowing down until his hand remained still.
“You good?” He asked again, sliding his hand lower until he reached the small of your back, but not low enough to make you uncomfortable.
You nodded, “What else is up in your sleeve?” You asked with interest.
“Well, I really wanted to take you on a ride on my bike but I guess that’s for next time.” Bucky confessed.
“Next time?” You asked and you tried not to be hopeful.
“Yeah, next time. We’ll do that next time.” Bucky said and he sounded so sure that you began to worry.
Will there really be a next time? At this point, Bucky could read you like an open book because he chuckled and pressed his thumb against the crease on your forehead again.
“You’re doing it again, whatever you’re worrying about just forget it for now.” He said, soothing out your crease before pinching your nose.
You scrunched your nose making Bucky lightly laugh. He checked the time on his phone and let out a sigh.
3:43AM
“Can I bring you back to my place?”
-
If you told Wanda that you ended up in Bucky’s place, she would freak out and ask for all the details. But no, you didn’t come home with Bucky for that reason. As he promised, it wasn’t his motive to get you into his bed and he seemed to be genuine about it.
Bucky lived in a small studio-type loft. It wasn’t the penthouse kind with the floor to ceiling windows overlooking the city. It was simple and minimalistic, with just a few pieces of furniture. What Bucky owned were a couple of guitars— different kinds of them, and an electric keyboard.
“It’s not much and I don’t even have a bed frame, I hope you won’t judge me for that.” Bucky said, scratching his neck as he led you inside.
“No, not at all. It’s very cozy in here, actually.” You said, looking around and taking in your surroundings.
Bucky had a lot of indoor plants, you definitely didn’t think of him as a plant guy. As you let your eyes wander, something white zoomed past your vision. A cat.
Bucky also owned a cat.
“This is Alpine.” Bucky said, picking up the feline and carrying it onto his shoulder.
As if Bucky and his plants didn’t make him attractive enough, he really had to own a white cat. You could feel yourself internally screaming about how you haven’t been seeing any red flags. If any, you’ve been seeing green flags pop out every now and then that it was pretty alarming. Strangely, the sirens in your head died down as if they’ve given up on warning you.
Or maybe, there was really nothing to warn about Bucky.
The cat purred and nuzzled its nose into Bucky’s neck and you couldn’t believe that you got jealous for a brief second. Oh, to be cat against Bucky’s chest.
“Feel free to look around, I’ll get you water.” He said, bringing Alpine with him into the kitchen.
You walked around his place and observed the surroundings. He was very organized, more than you actually. You could hear Bucky talk to Alpine and it was the most adorable thing you’d ever seen.
A couple of picture frames that sat on Bucky’s bedside table caught your eye. They were photos of him with his mom you assumed, and three more girls.
“Those are my mom and younger sisters.” Bucky said, appearing behind you with a glass of water.
You thanked him as you took the glass and sat down on his bed, “Where are they?” You asked before drinking.
Alpine jumped into your lap and purred, making Bucky laugh with delight as he sat next to you. His parents were back in his hometown together with his sisters. Bucky told you everything about his family and how close he was to his sisters, how they were supportive of him when he decided to become a musician. Then Bucky went on to showcase his guitar collection, telling you the lovely stories behind each of them. You could see how passionate Bucky was for his craft and it was a wonderful thing to witness. You were envious how Bucky pursued his passion, how he took huge risks to get to where he was now.
“And this is my favorite one.” Bucky said, taking a black electric guitar with him as he went back to sit down next to you.
“First one I bought with my own money. It’s old and doesn’t sound as nice as my newer ones, but I love it.” He said and started plucking at the strings.
Alpine hopped off from your lap and went to sleep onto his tiny little bed beside Bucky’s couch. You focused on Bucky’s fingers as he played the guitar. It took you back to the moment you saw him onstage, how those fingers made you wonder about certain things. They moved gracefully against the cords, plucking with ease producing the most wonderful music. You really needed to snap out of your filthy thoughts.
Bucky played the guitar for you, singing some lyrics once in a while. You noticed his tattoos again and stared a bit longer, trying to decipher each design wrapped around his arm. Some were huge, some intricate more than the rest. They were all of different designs but molded together so perfectly.
You had to admit, you didn’t find tattoos attractive before. But on Bucky, it looked like a masterpiece. He himself, was a piece of art with his chiseled jawline and steel blue eyes that made you feel at home.
“I’ve been meaning to ask...” you softly trailed.
Bucky hummed in response, his attention focused on his guitar as he continued to play.
“Your tattoos, do they mean something?” You asked.
“I got them to cover up the scars from an accident.” Bucky looked up at you.
“I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to pry.” You quickly apologized.
Bucky smiled reassuringly, “It’s fine. It was a turning point for me.” He said, setting his guitar aside.
“It really puts things into perspective you know. I crashed my bike one night, I wasn’t drunk, mind you.” He chuckled. “It was pretty bad, my left arm suffered the most. I almost got decapitated but here I am. I got scars all over, really ugly scars so I had them covered up with a tattoo sleeve.” Bucky explained, extending his left arm and looking at it.
“For a while, I wasn’t able to play music. And I hated every second of it. Hated seeing the scars on my arm and how they reminded me of the accident. But you learn to live with it. At least I did, I learned to turn the negative into something positive.”
Now that he said that, you could actually see some of the scars beneath the ink. Bucky shrugged and continued with his story.
“The doctors said I was lucky that I didn’t die. Living my second life now, I realized that I gotta make the most out of it. Focus on the present and enjoy what comes your way. Take risks. Do what scares you.” He explained and now you understood.
You understood why Bucky appeared to be so laid-back and carefree, why he doesn’t worry a lot about the future. He almost lost his life so now he was living it to the fullest. He was living in the present, enjoying every second of it.
“Every time I see my tattoos, I get reminded of my second chance at life and how I shouldn’t waste it.” He said.
Bucky saw the look in your face, how guilty you looked from judging him right away. He took your chin in between his thumb and index finger, tipping it up to make you look at him.
“So when I noticed that bored pretty office girl in the audience checking me out, I didn’t waste the opportunity to get to know her. See where it goes, who knows if I’d still be alive tomorrow but at least I shoot my shot.” He said, making you chuckle.
Everything went still in that moment, your usually noisy mind included. Time seemed to have stopped as you gazed into Bucky’s eyes. Biting your lip, you gave in and totally let down your walls.
“What’s going on in that pretty little head of yours?” Bucky asked, doing the same thing with his thumb, soothing the crease in between your brows.
This time, he didn’t take his hand back and allowed it to rest against your cheek before sliding down to your jaw and neck. His thumb began to caress the spot beneath your ear, waiting for you to respond to his question.
What Bucky got was more than just a simple response.
“Fuck it.” You whispered before pressing your lips onto Bucky’s.
All your life you played it safe— from your college course to your choice of career. You weren’t one to take risks either and whenever you needed to, they were always calculated. You did things carefully, making sure that you’d get the results you were expecting to save you from disappointment. The unknown scared you and so does uncertainty. You liked staying in your comfort zone but as much as you’ve been denying it, it was starting to get boring.
You also said you weren’t one to entertain a stranger, let alone hook-up with one. But then Bucky comes along with his long hair and tattooed arm, looking like trouble but bringing you none. You’d think that he just wanted to get into your pants but as he showered you with gentle kisses and feathery touches, you realized that Bucky might be different and that he was so much more than just the hot lead guitarist of a band.
Bucky’s calloused fingers perfectly contrasted the smooth expanse of your skin. They felt rough but remained gentle as they moved along your chest, as they danced along your back, as they stroked your inner walls. And his lips, they were tender and soft; they whispered nothing but promises and praises against your ear as your bodies moved in unison.
His eyes remained on you, taking all of your nakedness in, literally and figuratively. He watched you closely, with those blue eyes of his that always made you blush. Bucky’s eyes were truly mesmerizing, no matter how much you wanted to look away from embarrassment, you couldn’t. You felt trapped in those eyes, and you never want to leave.
And his left arm— you could feel the ridges of his scars as you let your hands feel his skin. But they weren’t ugly, didn’t feel weird against the pads of your fingers. His arm offered nothing but warmth and support when you reached your high and came crashing down. His arms caught you and protected you, his embrace was reassuring and it made you feel safe.
5:58AM
The city was quiet and the sun was barely up. Alpine was still curled up on his bed, sleeping. You were exhausted but satisfied and comfortable as you laid on your stomach, head turned and facing Bucky as you listened to him talk.
He was talking about his band’s first performance in college, laughing when he said that he almost threw up from being so nervous. Bucky had the softest voice in the wee hours of dawn, you loved listening to him. Lucky you, Bucky had been talking about anything and everything until the dark skies began to change its hues. He shared his dreams and his secrets and you admired him more and more.
“You should come to our rehearsals.” He suggested, letting a hand trace patterns on your bare back.
“Sounds nice.” You yawned, blinking your eyes in an attempt to keep them open.
“What do you want for brunch?” Bucky asked, almost mumbling from being half-asleep.
You hummed, “By the time we wake up, it might be close to dinner.” You joked.
“Breakfast food is way better during dinner. Want me to cook for you?” Bucky said before yawning.
Your eyes were lidded as you took in Bucky’s form. He was laying beside you, long hair messed up and lips swollen pink from kissing. He looked unreal as a sliver of sunlight managed to peek through his curtains, embracing his body with its warm glow. The sun was now fully up, witnessing the tender aftermath of your intimacy with Bucky as he reached out to brush his knuckle along your cheekbone.
“I’m surprised you can cook.” You said softly, close to falling asleep.
“I’m pretty good at it.” Bucky chuckled before leaning in to kiss your forehead.
“I’ll cook for you when we wake up.”
Bucky’s soft lips against yours was the last thing you felt before sleep took over.
-
12:24PM
A soft purr paired with soft paws on his face stirred Bucky awake. He groaned at Alpine when she meowed right into his face. Must be feeding time, he thought.
Bucky gently moved Alpine aside and turned, only to be met by a cold, empty space beside him. He sat up on the bed and rubbed his eyes before quickly scanning his apartment for you.
You were gone.
And judging by the cold sheets on your side of the bed, you’d left hours ago. Bucky sighed in disappointment as he got up, putting on his boxers and quickly checking the bathroom. He hoped you’d be there, but you weren’t.
You didn’t even leave a note.
Bucky ran a hand through his hair in frustration. He wanted to cook for you, really. He wanted to bring you to his band’s rehearsals, maybe even write a song for you.
He wanted more than twelve hours with you.
-
Wanda had been on your ass for days now. When you told her about your twelve hours with Bucky, she was happy and proud. By the time you got to the end of it, she was fuming and was close to actually physically hurting you.
She wouldn’t stop bugging you about it, demanding you to at least look Bucky up on Facebook or Instagram. Wanda believed that what you and Bucky shared that night was special, something real and not just a one-time thing.
You woke up that morning, feeling sore but happy. Butterflies fluttered in your stomach when you opened your eyes to the sight of Bucky sleeping peacefully beside you. He seemed to be dreaming, his brows creased and lips pursed.
Reaching out, you did what Bucky kept on doing to you whenever you were worrying. You pressed your thumb against his forehead, soothing out the crease as gentle as you could so as not to wake him up. Bucky stirred in his sleep and unconsciously took your hand in his, pressing a kiss onto your palm before falling back into his slumber.
And that’s when it started; the alarms in your head went off and they were the loudest they’ve ever been. You were almost deafened by it, your logic drowning beneath your panicked thoughts as you got up from bed. You dressed up in a hurry, grabbing your things and phone to book yourself a ride home. Alpine woke up and ran over to your legs, purring as if begging you not to go.
You refused to look back and went straight for the door.
One and a half week later, here you were still feeling like the most terrible person on the entire planet. You had searched for Bucky online, of course. You just didn’t tell Wanda that but it was the first thing that you did upon going home. There were instances when you were tempted to send him a DM, or add him up on Facebook but you never did.
That one night with Bucky changed everything, it changed you. You immediately filed for a resignation, realizing that you were no longer happy working for the bank. It was a spur of the moment decision but you knew it was the right one. You didn’t even know where to apply next or what career to pursue. But you weren’t worried like you had expected to be.
Bucky taught you to take risks, to not fear the unknown because things will eventually fall into place. You felt good though, that you were slowly learning to step out of your comfort zone. But something was amiss and you knew what it was. Or who it was.
You just weren’t ready to admit it yet.
-
It was around nine in the evening when you went to the grocery store for a last minute shopping decision. Wanda was coming over for a movie night and apparently, you didn’t have any snacks left.
Finishing your list, you turned at the corner of an aisle and collided with somebody. Your apology died on your tongue when you looked up to see a familiar face.
Steve.
“Hi.” You softly greeted, wondering if he would even remember you.
He frowned at you and you were surprised that he remembered you and actually knew about that night.
“Why’d you leave Bucky just like that?” He asked right away.
You swallowed and avoided his gaze, “It was...it’s not a big deal. It was a one-time thing anyway.” You lied through your teeth.
Steve scoffed, “It didn’t seem like a one-time thing when Bucky came to our rehearsals the next day feeling bummed out.” He explained and sighed afterwards, shaking his head.
“Look, I’m in no position to interfere. I don’t know you and why you did that so who am I to judge? But I know Bucky. He isn’t what you think he is.” Steve said.
“I know.” You whispered.
“Then why’d you leave?” Steve asked again but didn’t wait for a response.
“Bucky may come off a little too strong, he’s straightforward and passionate. He gives it his all and that night with you...he gave everything. He was really hurt when you left.”
You were unable to speak because fuck, you messed up big time. You didn’t know that Bucky was going to feel that way when you left. You got scared and ran away even when there was nothing to be afraid of. Steve must have noticed your guilt and placed a hand on your shoulder.
“We’re playing tonight at the music bar. You have the chance to make things right.” Steve said and offered you a small smile before leaving.
You stood in the grocery store while in deep thoughts. Again, your mind was all kinds of messed up and your thoughts were fighting for dominance. There were sirens going on and off and fuck, it was all driving you insane. Your heart began to race when you felt an impending sense of doom wash over you. You were panicking and you were fighting so hard to calm your nerves.
And then you remembered Bucky that night and how he was quick to silence your brain with a simple yet comforting gesture.
“What’s going on in that pretty little head of yours?”
A thumb on your forehead to soothe your worries. Those steel blue eyes providing you comfort, and that charming smile that never failed to reassure you.
You quickly called Wanda.
“Movie night is cancelled!”
-
The dimly lit music bar welcomed you with a sense of familiarity. It had been more than a week since your encounter with Bucky and yet it felt like it was only yesterday.
Smiling to yourself, you remembered how tensed you were when Bucky first approached you. You were so defensive, you had your walls built up high but Bucky managed to bring them down. It didn’t even take him the full twelve hours to do so.
The music bar was full with no vacant spot near the stage. The current band just finished their song and was preparing to exit. You squeezed your way to the front, ignoring the complaints of people you slightly pushed away. A familiar voice greeted the crowd a good evening before introducing their band.
Your breath hitched when you spotted Bucky onstage. His hair was down and he was sporting a little bit of scruff. You watched him play his guitar but something was different. He wasn’t as passionate as he used to be, like he wasn’t focused. He almost looked like he didn’t want to be there. And his eyes, they were empty and void of any emotion. No mischievous glint in them, no nothing.
It broke your heart seeing Bucky like this, especially that you knew you were the reason for it.
It took a while for Bucky to look up and scan the crowd and when he finally did, his eyes immediately met yours.
Just like the first time, you felt your face heat up from the eye contact. Bucky was surprised to see you, you saw how his eyes widened at the sight of you. He was quick to recover though, he looked away and focused on playing the guitar instead.
As soon as his band exited the stage, you wasted no time to approach them. Steve greeted you with a nod before calling for Nat and Sam, asking for them accompany him to the bar to give you some privacy. Bucky refused to look at you as he gathered his stuff, preparing to leave.
“Can we talk?” You asked.
“I’m heading home.” Bucky curtly responded and brushed past you.
The tables have turned with you walking ahead of him to block his way.
“The night is young, stay a while and keep me company?” You used his line and Bucky was having none of it.
He scoffed and shook his head, “I’m surprised you remembered what I said. I mean, after you just disappeared I assumed you’d completely forgotten about that night.”
“I didn’t.” You told him. “Can we please talk?” You pleaded.
Bucky ran a hand through his hair, “I don’t know, I really wanna go home.” He said.
Your hands balled into fists at your sides, “Give me twelve minutes.” You offered.
“Just twelve minutes of your time. Please, Bucky.”
-
The two of you stepped outside the bar for some silence. Bucky walked over to his bike, leaning against it as he looked at you coldly. Those eyes used to gaze at you with warmth, but now they were blank and cold.
“Time is ticking.” He said when you kept mum.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to disappear like that.” You said, looking down at your feet.
How else were you going to say your piece? You had practiced your speech on the way to the bar and now that Bucky was in front of you, you couldn’t even look at him from shame.
Bucky scoffed, “You asked me for twelve minutes and that’s all you’re gonna say? You’re sorry? Just that?” He bitterly chuckled, running a hand over his scruff.
“If you didn’t mean it then why did you leave? You left me without any warning. I honestly thought there was something between us. After everything that happened, how could you just walk away like that? You led me on, didn’t you?” Bucky angrily asked.
“I didn’t! I swear, I didn’t but I got scared!” You admitted.
“Scared of what?” He asked. “Scared of me? Because I’m not the kind of guy you usually go for? You really couldn’t get rid of that first impression, huh?” He said and turned around.
“That’s not the reason why. Everything scared me because that night was something else. You were too good to be true, Bucky! That’s what scared me!” You told him.
Bucky turned around, his brows creased, “What?”
When you woke up that morning, everything seemed perfect. The past twelve hours you had spent with Bucky were wonderful and you loved every second of it. You enjoyed too much and the thought of it being a one-time thing really broke your heart.
You had attachment issues and you thought that giving in to Bucky would help you learn to enjoy things as they were. But it didn’t and made it even worse because you got attached, so fucking attached.
“I couldn’t bear the thought of ending those twelve hours with a permanent goodbye so I left. You suddenly talked about next time and tomorrow and it was...it was overwhelming for me. My fear got the best of me because that night was too good. You were too good.”
Bucky’s expression softened after hearing your side. Now you felt stupid for overthinking things. It was selfish on your part to assume that those twelve hours meant nothing to Bucky.
“I’m sorry.” You apologized softly. “That night meant everything to me, Bucky. I just wasn’t ready to find out whether it meant the same to you.” You confessed with a sigh.
Bucky stayed quiet after your confession. You could feel your bile rising, you wanted to throw up. Hell, you wanted to just faint and forget about everything. If Bucky wouldn’t give you a second chance, you’d understand him. You did a pretty shitty thing to him anyway.
“What’s going on in that pretty little head of yours?”
You lifted your gaze upon hearing that line. Bucky’s eyes had their warmth back and his expression was no longer stoic. He pushed himself away from his bike and approached you, reaching out to soothe the crease on your forehead.
“It’s not everyday that I find myself in the company of a stranger who made me feel things. I’ve always been a traditional one, I take things slow and I’ve been very careful. When I felt something during those twelve hours, I was caught off guard. I never felt so strongly for someone I just met and it was all new to me and I panicked.” You confessed.
“You were out of my comfort zone and I didn’t know how to handle it. I didn’t mean to disappear like that, Bucky.”
You were met with pure silence after your admission. When you looked up at Bucky, you couldn’t read his expression. Thinking that he wasn’t buying your explanation, you let out a bitter chuckle and shrugged.
“I guess that’s it. Twelve minutes. No more no less. I just wanted you to know that, Bucky. And I’m really, really sorry.” You said and slowly backed away, ready to leave.
“Hey.” Bucky called out, approaching you.
“If I asked you to spend the next twelve hours with me again, where would you go after?” He asked.
Was this a test? You didn’t know how to respond and Bucky seemed to have caught up on that and let out a breathy chuckle.
“Will you stay until the morning this time?” He asked. “‘Cause I was pretty disappointed when I woke up to an empty bed. I had our brunch planned out, you know?”
The mischievous glint in Bucky’s eyes was back. You bit back a smile when Bucky cradled your head into his palm, thumb circling the skin on your neck.
You timidly nodded, tilting your head up to meet Bucky’s lips in a searing kiss that promised you another twelve hours together. And more.
“No more running off in the morning.”
-
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And every moment precious
“I don’t think I want to be god anymore”
Jack appears in their kitchen with a sigh that seems to come from his shoes.
He doesn’t notice how Cas has Dean crowded against the counter, his fingers threaded through Dean’s hair, neck exposed, Dean’s hands midway through working Cas’ jeans off.
He barely manages to bite off a particularly potent string of words, Cas eyes him and clears his throat, Dean tries not to sigh just as deeply.
Oblivious, their son sits heavily and places his head in his hands.
Cas glances at Dean; begins blowing out the candles, sliding the chocolate covered strawberries back into their packaging, looking apologetically at Dean who nods in agreeable resignation.
8 days.
8 of the best days of his whole damn life.
Dean mentally notes that they might have to talk to Sam about customizing some sort of perimeter warning spell.
Especially, since most of their acquaintances and their god-son can just pop in at any moment. Sure, he’s gotten pretty chill about people knowing that he and Cas live together, work together, sleep in the same bed, but he’s not sure how he feels about the possibility of Jack walking into… something else.
It’s not like he can suggest cooling off their current schedule of fucking on every surface in their house (it’s unthinkable really); not to mention Cas would be absolutely against it.
“Uh,” Dean yanks on his jeans and thinks of dead animals, naked Zachariah...
“What’s going on Jack?”
Cas is already standing; moving to brew coffee, fingers brushing the side of Dean’s face as he does. The hunter tilts and kisses his fingers on the way past, surprising a wide smile out of the Angel.
How in the hell could Dean Winchester deserve this?
Cas catches his gaze and points at Jack, who still hasn’t raised his head,
Focus.
“It’s just…very boring.” Jack replies pitifully,
Cas stares nonplussed at Dean across the top of Jack’s head. He mouths something in confusion and Cas points intensely at Jack.
“Uh, wait, what?”
Jack sighs and looks up, “All I do is listen to people talk. All the time. Amara says… so much—“ Jack’s smile is sudden and large. “She is very smart, so much better at this than I am, and Rowena brings snacks sometimes to the meetings, Billie gives amazing advice, almost as good as you Dean—” He shakes his head with surety, “I think they should be god instead, Then, I can come home, and live with you… Now that you and Cas are… married?”
A spoon clatters into the sink, Cas bends to fish it out, Dean’s coughing in surprise and checking out his ass simultaneously.
Priorities.
“Oh uh… buddy— Jack…” He clears his throat nervously, he wasn’t built for this kind of conversation. Cas is suddenly busy watering the succulents in the window. The way he tips his head though, Dean knows he’s listening.
Coward.
“Me and Cas— we are just—“
“Having intercourse?” Jack’s chin drops, eyebrows knit together.
Dean chokes, his face going through every possible emotion in the next few seconds, “No uh— well—“ Cas twists around and shakes his head adamantly, “You see—“
Jack is gleefully two steps ahead and clearly proud that he is leading the conversation, “When two people love each other very much— we talked, the talk. Birds and Bees, Remember?”
“Oh god— No.” Dean puts his hand out firmly, “No— that’s not—we— uh, you and me, we uh, had that conversation one time. No repeat performance, no encores, Jack, Cas and I—We are uh—“
“Living together.” Castiel inserts, taking a seat next to Dean, handing him a cup of decaf with a reassuring smile, palm on Dean’s thigh. “Dean and I are, living together.”
Dean gazes at the man beside him, Cas wrinkles his brow at the attention; Dean’s lips are already quirking into the fondest of smiles, debating making out with him right there in front of Jack. Cas sees the intent and shakes his head imperceptibly.
“In sin.” Jack interrupts brightly, “Living together in sin.”
Their heads rotate in comedic tandem, “Fuckin’ hell—“ Dean sputters, knocking into his coffee mug,
Cas catches the mug with inhuman speed, sighing, “Dean please, don’t swear in front of—“
“I know— I know.” Dean’s pretty sure swearing is the least of their problems right now, he steels himself, “Now listen Jack, me and Cas, we are uh, we’re happy, and we’re in love… and shit.” He mumbles, can’t look at Cas right now, he just feels the intensity of his eyes and the sheer affection cascading through their bond; tries to fight the way his ears turn red every damn time the Angel looks his way.
“Well… I mean, you’re god, so I guess, it’s kinda your call anyway—“ Cas squeezes his thigh tighter, Christ he’s strong, that is so hot… Focus.
“Right, right, right, um, so it’s— No sin. We are…great.”
“Oh.” Jack purses his lips thoughtfully and nods, “But you have always been in love? How is this different from before?”
“Well huh,” Dean chuckles, blows a breath through his lips, casts a quick glance at Cas, “It isn’t, I guess, not really, it looks like I’m… just a little slow on the uptake,” He sips his coffee, if only to stop himself from talking,
“Dumb of ass.” Jack agrees.
Dean nods in agreement and then frowns. “Don’t swear, and that’s sorta… hurtful. But yeah, I guess.”
“So I can come live here?”
Cas leans closer. “Jack, you can always stay here with us, for as long as you wish, of course—and if you truly wish to renounce your godhood, it is your choice.“ He peers suddenly, “Are you lonely?”
“I miss how it was.” He says simply,
Cas nods in serious agreement, understanding immediately in a way that Dean can only observe.
“Nostalgia is powerful," He says gently, "And we did have good times, the best times.” He ponders his words, Dean leans very slightly until his shoulder brushes against Cas’ and watches his angel do what he has always done best: love.
“You are not wrong for finding solace in those memories, I have often found comfort during my hardest battles,” He chooses his words carefully, pausing between each and savoring the power of them, “In remembering good times with the people… I love.” He spares a momentary glance at Dean, “But it is unhealthy to make your future decisions entirely based on memories.”
“So you think I should be god?”
Cas' smile falters, and shakes his head, “I think, that you are a good god. You are kind, fair, and hopeful. No matter your choice you will have a home with me—“ He looks to Dean, who nods, “With us.”
He reaches out and takes Jack’s hand, “I also think, that part of Chuck’s weakness was his loneliness. We saw it manifest itself in ways that hurt the ones he loved: his family. I do not ever wish you to be lonely. I wish for you to choose what you think is best for you, Jack. Life is not about destiny. It is about doing the best you can with the time given.”
Dean clears his throat, noting the Gandalf quote before adding, “Plus, nobody said you can’t be god from our backyard right?”
Cas frowns, processing what Dean is offering. Dean continues, mostly because Cas hasn’t interrupted with an argument, yet.
“You uh, you said you wanted to be more hands off— and that’s cool and all, but if you want to change your mind, and be part of the world too… I don’t think anyone can stop you. At the end of the day, this isn’t a pass/fail decision, okay?”
He stands and pats Jack on the head, kisses Cas on the cheek. “You two keep talkin’, I’m gonna go put sheets on the spare bed.”
New fluff here
If you liked it, be sure to check
Out the rest of the Lil series of domestic one-shots :)
#dean x castiel#dean winchester#destiel#established destiel#we deserve a soft epilogue my love#domestic destiel#castiel#jack kline#supernatural fic#spn fanfiction
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KanSang Week
Day 05 Wang Clan! Liu Sang
Pairing: Kan Jian/Liu Sang (established, past, future)
Genre: Angst, sad boy hours, angst with a hopeful ending
Trope: sad boys in bathrooms, letters from away, things get worse before they get better
Author Notes: in my head as I wrote this there was far more ugly crying going on
Word Count: 2,470 ish
-
Kan Jian and Wang Sang had been kinda-sorta dating for years. They'd met by chance while Wang Sang was in Hangzhou for an interpreter job, translating for a foreigner looking at a business merger or something. (Kan Jian had been listening when Wang Sang explained it, it's just that that level of business doesn't interest him enough to understand it.)
He'd talked about Wang Sang to his Laoban a lot, about how smart and funny and pretty Wang Sang is. It was his Laoban who helped him figure out that he was in love with Wang Sang, because everyone was just so easy to love, it took a more objective eye to realise there was a difference in the way he loved Wang Sang.
Their date tonight was an anniversary, Kan Jian was going to Wang Sang's for dinner. He didn't know if he'd be staying the night, he had clothes in Wang Sang's place but...
Kan Jian was going to ask, he was going to start the discussion, it was time. He was going to ask if Wang Sang wanted to move in together. Either of their apartments or a new one, Kan Jian hadn't really thought that far yet, but he knew Wang Sang was it for him. He was certain of it.
Or maybe it was just that the one year anniversary of defeating the Wang clan was coming up and everyone was feeling pretty pleased and positive.
-
The fact that Kan Jian had to knock on the door meant something was wrong. He didn't know how Wang Sang did it, but he'd always known when Kan Jian was there and opened the door before he could reach it.
“Wang Sang?” he called through the door, trying to hear any sound beyond, “Sang-ge? Are you there?”
Kan Jian was just about to use his own key when the door opened slowly.
Wang Sang didn't look date ready, he actually looked sort of awful. His pretty hair was lank and greasy like it hadn't been washed recently, Wang Sang's face had the shadows of sleep deprivation under his eyes.
Something from deep in the apartment smelt burnt.
“Babe?” Kan Jian reached for his boyfriend, but stopped when Wang Sang flinched. “What's wrong, are you hurt? Sick? Can I help?”
Wang Sang sniffled, and Kan Jian realised Wang Sang's eyes were bloodshot not just from lack of sleep, but because he'd been crying.
“Ca-” Wang Sang's words caught in his throat, he sounded like he was about to cry again. “Can you come in, I need to- I need to talk to you about something.”
Kan Jian nodded, because of course he'd go inside, of course he'd talk with Wang Sang. He followed through the familiar entryway, past the familiar kitchen, an unusual amount of mess on the stove, traces of smoke still wafting from one of the pots.
But Wang Sang didn't stop there, he lead Kan Jian all the way to the bathroom where a small hand-towel was sitting by the sink.
Wang Sang tipped it in over the edge and turned the tap on hot, letting it gush down onto the towel.
In the back of Kan Jian's mind, something started screaming. It was like a ringing in his ears so loud that between it and the running water, he almost couldn't hear Wang Sang.
“There is something about me that I need you to know," Wang Sang spoke with uncharacteristic hesitation, "because you can't not know, and I can't, I can't keep... I don't want to lie to you anymore, because I'm not even sure if it's real or not. If it's just a lie I've been telling myself since-”
The speed of the water was faster than the towel could take and the excess filled the sink, spilling over with a loud splash, startling them both. Wang Sang lunged for the tap and turned it off, and both of them stood there listening to the odd sounds of the water slowly draining through the towel and into the pipes below.
“I don't understand,” Kan Jian said, a hollow widening in his chest.
“Yes you do,” Wang Sang replied, his voice barely above a whisper, he sounded tired. “You aren't stupid Kan Jian.”
“What was the first lie you told me?” It wasn't the thing Kan Jian should have been asking, but it was what came out.
“I wasn't a freelancer when we met,” Wang Sang said as he picked up the towel to squeeze the excess water free.
'That made sense,' Kan Jian thought, because of course Wang Sang wouldn't have been a freelancer, but that was a lie he would have told anybody.
“Why me?” Kan Jian regretted asking, because he didn't want to know.
“Because we'd met,” Wang Sang flattened the towel and began taking off his shirt.
“What?”
“The first three times we met, I had no idea who you were in the grand scheme of things,” Wang Sang set his shirt down on the driest patch of sink he could find and picked up the towel, turning to Kan Jian. “I just thought you were cute and that I could get away with pretending my cover story was my real life for a few drinks. Then my handler saw you, and they figured, I already had an in, so you became a mission.”
Wang Sang's voice turned bitter towards then end, and he held out the towel with a shaking hand.
Kan Jian didn't want to take it, he wanted to pretend this was all just a joke gone horribly wrong. He took the towel, it was so hot it almost burned, and he pulled Wang Sang into a hug as he reached around to press the towel to Wang Sang's right shoulder.
He didn't know what to ask, what to say, but Kan Jian opened his mouth anyway and hoped something coherent came out.
“How much of you is real?”
“I don't know.”
If he waited until the towel turned cool, if he didn't see the tattoo, then it wasn't real. Kan Jian didn't want this to be real.
He couldn't let the lie linger, and peeled back the still warm cloth.
The Phoenix tattoo is a brilliant mark across Wang Sang's shoulder.
The world was gone from beneath his feet, Kan Jian didn't know how to breathe.
“Did you ever love me?” He didn't mean to ask it.
“It would have been easier if I hadn't, it would have been so easy to stay if it was just a role to play.”
Kan Jian's ears were ringing again as the implications seeped into his brain. He held Wang Sang tighter.
-
Wu Xie felt like an asshole. Something was wrong with Kan Jian and he hadn't noticed until he'd stuck his foot in it.
He'd been so happy to have Xiaoge back, that he hadn't even realised Kan Jian and his boyfriend had broken up.
“Everyone's coming to the 'we beat the Wang's' anniversary party,” Wu Xie had wrapped an arm around Kan Jian, full of jubilation, “even Li Cu and his friends are coming, this would be a great time to invite your mysterious Wang Sang, finally let everyone else meet him.”
Kan Jian had gone from fine to crying in the space of a breath.
Wu Xie learned, through ragged breaths and sobbing tears, that Kan Jian and Wang Sang had broken up. Kan Jian wouldn't say why, insisted that Wang Sang wasn't at fault. He got angry when Wu Xie offered to track Wang Sang down. Kan Jian had never been angry at Wu Xie before.
Wu Xie apologised and pulled Kan Jian in for a hug. Kan Jian continued to cry, his sobs and words muffled by Wu Xie's shoulder.
It was like a bucket of ice pouring down his spine when Wu Xie picked out the words “I don't care who he was, I just want him back.”
Wang Sang.
It was a coincidence. Surely. There'd never been an information leak that could be traced back to Kan Jian, Wang was an entirely common name.
Just to be safe, Wu Xie sent out a few enquiries looking for this Wang Sang, but who ever he'd been before, he was a ghost now.
-
The first letter came while Kan Jian was on a job. He'd been a little more vicious than normal, his heart was still hurting and he'd let that leak out. It always surprised people when he was violent, like they had no idea it was in him. Way down deep and sleeping, sure, but it was still there.
They forgot because he used a slingshot, but Kan Jian was still a sniper.
He almost did what the letter's opening line advised, heart-sore anger making him want to abide “you can burn these letters if you want.”
But he didn't, because he still missed Wang Sang.
Kan Jian had made his way through the emotional fall out, moved from anger to worry over whether it had been hard on Wang Sang to play the part of boyfriend. Had he secretly been repulsed every time Kan Jian had touched him? Kissed him? Kan Jian had moved back to anger, then to aggravation at the idea that nobody could have scripted all their interactions, had torn himself up trying to figure out what had been training and what had been real reactions.
Real feelings.
In the end it was mostly hollowness and aching that left him grumpy and sharper when his edges showed.
But he wanted to know, so he read the letters instead of burning them.
-
Wang Sang had always spelled his name as 王桑, with the Sang for mulberry.
The letters weren't signed at first, though Kan Jian knew who they were from. He learned a lot about the letters' author, because the author was learning a lot about himself as well. Kan Jian had no way to reply, but he kept every letter in the hope that one day, he could talk to the other man about his journey to figure out who he was when he wasn't being told who to be.
Kan Jian had known that Wang Sang had a brother, but it's not until the third letter, when Wang Can is mentioned, that Kan Jian understands what that means.
He wonders which of the dead had been Wang Can.
He wonders if he'd killed him.
-
The eighth letter is signed.
刘丧
Liu Sang.
Sang, for bereavement.
But the letter says it's the name he'd been born to, the one he'd chosen to take back, so Kan Jian is less worried about Wang... about Liu Sang's mental state, and more about the parents who'd named their son like an omen.
-
Kan Jian almost burned a letter.
“I kissed a boy.”
He shouldn't feel betrayed, but he does.
Until he managed to calm himself and read the following lines, because Liu Sang hadn't been able to do anything but compare this stranger to Kan Jian and find him lacking.
-
There's an excitement in Liu Sang's next letter, somehow contained in every character. Kan Jian doesn't understand exactly, but he feels excited too as he reads about the new teacher Liu Sang has found, how he's training his hearing.
Kan Jian remembers hours later, as he's lying in bed, the hearing servants of the Xin Yue hotel, and suddenly a whole lot of things start making sense.
-
Kan Jian's life didn't stop, didn't become nothing but heartache and waiting for each letter. They made it easier to crawl out of the empty place in his life where Wang Sang had been, they reminded him that he had things to figure out too.
He made new friends, he moved on.
(He kissed a stranger or two as well, but they don't make his soul fizz with excitement like Wang Sang had. Like Liu Sang's letters do.)
-
Years slipped by.
There was jobs and friends and parties, and the occasional hospital visit of varying degrees of seriousness because of jobs and friends and parties.
And then there was the Sea King tomb, and Kan Jian was sent to pick up some sonar mapping expert from the airport. He and two others waited on the hood of the truck, and Kan Jian was beginning to wonder if the master they were picking up had missed the plane when:
“Hey, look at that guy,” his friend said, and Kan Jian looked over.
His first thought was: “what kind of excavation master dresses like a real estate agent?”
His second thought was: “how the hell did I forget how attractive he is in person?” Because walking towards them with a rolling suit case in a well fitted suit, hair radiant in the sunlight, was Wang Liu Sang.
The suitcase was shoved towards one of Kan Jian's companions and Liu Sang's gaze is directed at him.
“Wu Erbai sent you to pick me up?”
Kan Jian managed to nod, and not say out loud 'your voice is amazing.' But then Liu Sang was frowning, and turning away and leaving. Kan Jian followed after him because he couldn't lose him again.
-
Kan Jian felt a little bad about stomping on an innocent man, but as they watched the car drive away, Kan Jian was more concerned about Liu Sang, who looked like he was dying inside.
And Kan Jian knew, from whispered words years ago in the dark, and from ink in letters more recent, he knew why Liu Sang had reacted that way.
“'It's better to be wrong like this,'” Kan Jian said, one hand reaching for Liu Sang but not making contact, “'than ignoring it and being wrong the other way.'”
Liu Sang looked at Kan Jian, scared and bare as he recognised his own words, “you could have burned them.”
Kan Jian shrugged, “well, I didn't. I kept every one I got.”
Liu Sang flushed, somehow even more embarrassed than he'd been a moment before. He was anxious, Kan Jian could see it, so Kan Jian took a gamble.
“We don't really know each other very well,” Kan Jian said, and Liu Sang looked startled, his eyebrows scrunching in confusion. “Since we'll be working together for a while, let me introduce myself. I'm Kan Jian, I like slingshots, and my laoban, and your hair and I'll be your driver today.”
Liu Sang pushed his glasses up his nose, but Kan Jian could see the smile he was clearly trying to hide.
“It's nice to meet you, I'm Liu Sang, I specialise in sonar cartography, I like meerkats, and your smile, and my ouxiang Zhang Qiling. I look forward to working with you.”
Kan Jian grinned... and lasted all of twenty seconds before he asked “wait, did you really get the tattoo?”
#dmbj#lost tomb reboot#reunion: the sound of the providence#tltr#liu sang#kan jian#kansang#kansang week#long post
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would things be easier if there was a right way? (honey there is no right way) (Ao3 link)
@thehuntersmoondiscord Masquerade Exchange for @valinphatombeliver (Hope you like it!)
Ships: Magnus Bane/Alec Lightwood (Alternate universe: This World Inverted)
Summary: After that fateful party at the Institute, Magnus's magic is not the only thing that comes back. His soulmark feels alive again, and this time, Magnus is not alone.
Alec feels like an idiot, betting his heart like that, especially after the sting of an almost rejected soulmark pains him worse than a broken heart. So he does the only thing he knows the best, he throws himself into work.
Little do they know that the universe doesn't make mistakes, and will keep pulling them together till they both truly see the truth for themselves.
Alec feels sick.
He’s planned exactly one hundred seventy events in his career, big or small. He’s got a stellar reputation, his own party planner business, his schedule is booked for the next five months in advance, and he’s put the full deposit down for his own apartment in the middle of the city, all at the mere age of twenty seven.
And yet, every time, those words are like a punch to the gut he would never admit out loud to anyone. It’s his own fault, he supposes. That he has to hear it so many times in just a week. And that every time, it’s a false alarm.
Well, all but one.
This one seemed different. This one felt different. At least for Alec.
But then, at the end, another one bit the dust.
Isabelle had warned him, when he showed her the words the day after his eleventh birthday. She’d looked so sad when he first told her about the career he’s chosen. Alec never understood why, until he heard those words for the first time at the first ever event he planned, a small, intimate birthday party for a Manhattan socialite.
Check it again, I’m on the list.
It had felt like he’d been electrocuted, and Alec had dashed outside to the door as fast as he could, pulling down a tablecloth with him as he went, the groans and yells of the restaurant staff unheeded by his heart. But it had been the grandfather of the birthday girl, and a voice in Alec’s heart told him to wait a little bit longer for his soulmate.
That voice had died down entirely after his eighteenth event.
Until this evening at the party at the Institute. Until he felt compelled to let that man in. Until Magnus.
And now, standing here, helping his crew clean up after the party, Alec feels his guts twist in a flurry of emotions he is too tired to process.
Fuck this . He’s just put on the most unique and successful party the business world of New York has ever seen. He deserves a break.
Alec grabs a bottle of whiskey on his way out.
-------------------
The first time the words appeared into his hands, Magnus didn’t understand them.
It had been in a strange script, the letters so different from the ones he’d only started to get acquainted with. But by then he’d been part of something stranger, and started to live with a green-skinned man with horns and white hair who called himself a ‘warlock’, and had told Magnus that he was one too. So knowing his soulmate might be from a strange distant land didn’t seem as jarring as it would have been.
Then he’d lived through times that would have seemed as dreams in his childhood. He’d lived through his travels in the wonderful country of Peru, then had fallen in love with Imasu knowing he wasn’t the one, and had gotten his heart broken. Axel hadn’t even given him a chance, and from what Magnus saw peeking out of the cuffs of his shirt, he’d already found his soulmate in the French court.
The words didn’t lose their effect through the centuries however. Every time he heard someone say ‘ what seems to be the problem? ’, Magnus could feel his pulse racing, his heart swelling, his mind going berserk at the possibility of being united with the one he’d been destined to be with.
It wasn’t the case any of the times. Often it was a Shadowhunter, trying to maintain their precious Law so that no so-called troublemaker Downworlders wouldn't disrupt the precious ‘peace’ they insisted on withholding. Sometimes it was a particularly demanding client, and Magnus delayed more just to piss them off.
One time though, it was a Mundane who came to his rescue to smooth things over when the guard at a bar took offense at Magnus’s general existence. Etta had been a beauty both inside and out, and Magnus had been genuinely happy for her when she left once she found her actual soulmate.
It didn’t make him sad to lose her. She was a friend more than anything else, and her story gave him hope to hold on longer.
After that there was Camille. A force to be reckoned with. Camille, with her sharp edges and sharper fangs. Camille, who made him believe in a love through the ages, only to be betrayed brutally. Camille, who he was ready to beg to so she’d come back to him. Camille, who never told him that her soulmate died the day she was turned, which Magnus found out on his own the day after she cheated on him. Magnus had felt hollow, and empty, and felt like a fool for holding on to hope.
The day he finally closed hell off permanently, he’d lost more than just his magic. Magnus had given up on hope entirely.
Then there was that one boy at a party Magnus wasn’t even invited to. Alec had said those words, looking at Magnus with eyes devouring every single aspect of him. Magnus had half expected himself to turn around and leave. But then Alec had surprised him, and made him come inside.
But then there was a demon attacking Clarissa and the blond boy, the first demon in almost a century. And Magnus had almost forgotten about the boy with those hazel eyes by the time he rushed home, magic singeing the inside of his coat pocket.
It must’ve not been meant to be, Magnus thinks as he nurses the same glass of Rosé for almost an hour, the once warm bathwater now running cold. He pauses for a moment, thinking carefully about what he’s about to do.
Magnus waves a finger, the movement graceless, halted. But the sparks come out anyway, the bathwater warming, turning light pink as Magnus focuses on summoning a bath bomb from his collection in the cabinet near the sink.
Magnus smiles. His soulmate doesn’t want to find him. But that’s okay. He’s got his magic.
Everything’s going to be just fine.
--------------
Alec is, most definitely, not doing fine.
“I need this banner yesterday.” Alec rubs his temple letting out a tired sigh, “I literally needed that last night so my team can finish setting up, and now you’re telling me it’s still not ready?”
“I’m sorry, I don’t know what else to tell you. Our primary printer caught on fire and we had to unplug all of them to manage the fire before it went out of hand, and all our orders were cancelled from the queue.”
Alec scrubs his face with the back of his hand, and groans, “My assistant put in the request almost two weeks ago. This is for a dinner party at a multinational company, Andrew. And as we both know, the one of the only things those people spend ridiculous amounts of money on is the banner. I can’t throw a party without one.”
“I’m sorry, Mr Lightwood.” Andrew’s smile is genuinely apologetic. “There’s really not much we can do. If it helps, there’s another customer in booth number three whose banner we were printing when it caught on fire, and he’s been on the list for almost over a month.”
“Eesh, poor guy.” Alec winces.
“Tell me about it.” Andrew tsks. “And he’s a really sweet guy too. Some customers throw a hissy fit if we’re ten minutes late in delivering a order they’ve put in maybe an hour ago, and he’s really understanding and patient. But it’s for his psychic shop and he’s checking in maybe the tenth time now. Kaelie was just telling me that we might lose that account for good. I wouldn’t be surprised.”
Alec nods, then looks down as his phone pings with notifications from his team about going over swatch cards. “Andrew, is there nothing you can do? Is there no back alley super shady banner maker somewhere?”
“They make something vastly different than banners, Mr Lightwood.” Andrew chuckles good-naturedly, used to the antics of his long time customer. “Well, I could run to the place near 34th and Wilshire. My cousin works as a temp there. The price is way higher, but they can do a quick job.” Andrew taps away on his phone for a second. “Oh good, Artie says they’re open for another five hours at least.”
“Money’s not an issue.” Alec lets out a relieved sigh, and brings out his credit card. “You’re a lifesaver.”
“I know.” Andrew offers him a bright smile. “I’ll inform you as soon as it’s done.”
“Thank you.” Alec nods, before a thought flashes. “Oh, and, Andrew?”
“Yes, anything else, Mr Lightwood?”
“Yeah. I was thinking you could take the other guy’s order there too?” Alec jerks his head in the direction of the other booths in the shop, the silhouette of another customer visible through the blurry divider between the counters.
“That’s a good idea. I’ll ask him.” Andrew gets up to approach the man, but Alec stops him.
“Don’t tell him anything, just put the extra fee on my card.”
“But-”
“It’s okay,” Alec smiles.
Andrew shakes his head, his golden curls shaking with the motion. “You’re a good egg, Mr Lightwood.”
“Just paying it forward.”
---------------
The fire alarm goes off after the second time. Magnus groans as the noise threatens to invoke a migraine. At least he can use his magic to soothe it this time.
The same magic that caused the fire he’s been scrambling to put out for the past thirty seconds. For a small cauldron fire, the sparks are notoriously hard to douse. Being dormant for almost a century, and then suddenly trying to make a magical banner for his kinda-sorta psychic business would do that to a warlock’s magic, he supposes.
Maybe he should consult a spellbook or something. Only there’s no precedent for a banner making spell because graphic designed banners didn’t exist by the time magic was last used.
Well, first time for everything.
The doorbell rings, and Magnus sighs, trying his best to smooth down the no doubt wild hair he’s got from running his hand over and over through it. Pardon him, it’s been a very stressful day.
“Mr Bane? This is Sananda from the Banner Emporium. I have a delivery for you.”
The girl with a neon green streak in her braid hands him a large roll of paper, which Magnus holds up with more than a little difficulty.
“Sign here please.” The girl says, chewing gum disinterestedly. Magnus puts the banner down before taking the signing sheet.
“I thought the shop printer broke.” Magnus returns the sheet. “Did you guys fix it already?”
“No clue, I just work as delivery.” The girl shrugs. “My boss told me to make two deliveries only today, one to you and another to some party planner office. Guess they did some fixing, huh?”
Magnus smiles, tipping the girl a twenty. The girl offers a mock salute, and walks away humming the tune of a pop song. Magnus closes the door behind her, a smile slowly spreading on his face as he uncoils the banner.
Bane: Psychic and tarot card readings
It looks perfect. But Magnus doesn’t get long to marvel at it, because the phone rings. His old landline, which means only one person could be calling.
“Hello Ragnor.” Magnus answers, happy to talk to one of his oldest and closest friends after such a long time.
“Magnus, why didn’t you call me? I had to hear from Catarina that you might have met your soulmate?” Ragnor goes right to the point, tone accusatory.
Magnus takes comfort in the fact that while the whole world might change, Ragnor Fell, ever the a wonderful friend, never will. “I’m not even sure myself, how was I supposed to tell you? I’ve heard a thousand of those Ragnor, you know that better than anyone.”
“Still, Magnus.” Ragnor’s voice comes out tinny, “You don’t have to have the perfect relationship, because there is nothing like that in the world. All we can do is take a leap of faith, and hope that it’s not an abyss. But you have to keep taking that leap.”
“Why are you giving me relationship advice at what is supposed to be early morning at yours?” Magnus asks, eager to change the subject.
“Because I never needed mine, and I’m happy that way, yet I know how much you’ve waited for yours. One of these days, you’re going to have to seize the opportunity no matter what, and take a chance upon love.”
By the time Magnus hangs up, it’s been almost hours. Ragnor’s phones are a rare commodity, the warlock ever so averse of technology, and they do have almost three years worth of conversations to catch up on. Magnus is exhausted, and even though he hates admitting it, Ragnor is right. He could’ve stayed at that party, checked up on Clarissa and her boyfriend, made sure their memories didn’t resurface.
He could have stayed and danced with Alec too.
But he’s been so freaked out, he tells himself. He’s been out of his mind with worry for the demon attack and his magic and different worlds and his probably shoddy memory spellwork.
And maybe he’s also been afraid. Afraid that if he went after Alec, he’d risk everything, his life, his secrets, his meticulously prepared facade that he’s totally fine, especially with the explicit probability that he might not be Alec’s soulmate, even if Alec is his.
Ugh. Magnus scrubs his face with the back of his hand. What a mess this is.
Chairman struts his way into the drawing room, fresh up from a nap, and rubs his face into Magnus’s calf demanding pets. Magnus picks him up, scratching him under his chin. The cat purrs happily, and Magnus makes a decision.
---------------
“One honey macchiato with extra whipped cream please.”
Jace turns to see the man on the other side of the counter, a small frown on his face as he tries to place the face somewhere in his memory. Magnus shuffles from toe to toe, lips pinched together tensely. Jace regards him closely, and doubt rises in the back of Magnus’s mind.
Did he do a sloppy job?
It’s not an exact science, to be frank. Memory magic hardly ever is. It’s not quantifiable like potions, and definitely not by the book like a summoning. Memory magic is, at its root, intuitive. Blindly stumbling about in another person’s mind and hoping as hell that you didn’t erase some developmental memories.
And if anyone knows anything about Magnus, it is that he really isn’t a coffee man. Not anymore anyway. He used to be, once upon a bygone era, when waking up after a night of partying and starting the day with another bout of partying had to be connected with the help of a magically summoned cup of coffee. But those days are far gone, and Magnus mostly prefers his jasmine tea with a touch of honey. Which is why he came to Java Jace to check up on the blond. He’s no more his old self than his magic is controllable.
Still, he’d hoped that it would’ve come back like riding a bicycle.
That hope seems pretty bleak now, as Jace crosses his arms, narrowing his eyes at the man in a white cardigan in front of him. “Is this his way of apologizing to me after he criticized my barista skill yesterday?”
“Uh….what?” Magnus asks confusedly.
“I told him that honey macchiato is my least ordered item and literally he’s the only one who orders it and that’s why I have to keep an entire thing on the menu, and get honey from the supermarket too.”
“Sorry, I have no clue what you’re talking about.” Magnus winces.
“Wait, you don’t know the Lightwoods, do you?” Jace nods gravely, “And I just accused a customer for no reason at all, what a dumbass I am.”
“Don’t worry about it.” Magnus waves it off.
“No, no, seriously. Sorry man.” Jace goes to make the drink with a practiced hand. “But I have to say, you seem awfully familiar. Did I see you somewhere before? Maybe in college?”
“Uhh….” Magnus chuckles nervously, panic rising steadily in his heart, “I don’t think so. Unless you went to school in Indonesia.”
“That’s a no. Born in London but grew up here.” Jace nods. “Sorry, I can just really picture you and Clary inside a basement, I was there too.”
“Um-”
“Oh god that sounded so creepy. I swear it wasn’t something weird or anything, I can just remember feeling really scared all of a sudden. Maybe I should stop drinking from my own shop, huh?”
Jace’s casual grin does nothing to soothe Magnus’s nerves, and he smiles along politely, and sends wisps of magic through the minute contact between them as the barista hands over his order. Jace jolts immediately, looks down, curling and uncurling his fingers over and over.
“Everything okay?” Magnus asks tentatively. Jace throws an unsure smile his way.
“Yeah, just, almost burnt my fingers I guess. Hazards of working in the food industry, right?” Magnus doesn’t answer, instead brings out his card to pay, till Jace claps his hands loudly. “I knew it! I knew I remembered you from somewhere.”
Magnus’s heart sinks faster than lead in water, and he racks his brain for any spell that could come in handy for a quick memory erasure. Except it’s been over two centuries, and his memory is definitely not what it used to be when he used magic regularly.
“You’re that psychic right? The one Luke went to? You know, Luke Greymark? He owns a bookshop on the crossing of 22nd and Richardson.”
A breath of relief punches its way out of Magnus, shoulders sagging visibly. “Yes, I remember him. He’s a very good man.”
“He is.” Jace nods. “He’s my girlfriend’s godfather, actually.”
“Oh.” That’s all Magnus says, afraid to shake the still brittle effects of his spell. “Thanks for the coffee.”
“You’re welcome.”
---------------
“Dude, I almost lost a customer because of you today.”
“What?” Alec asks, half of his attention on his phone where his assistant’s been sending him swatches for their latest event. “No no no, pink’s all wrong.” Alec mumbles as he types, “Go for lilac, much more elegant.”
“Here you go, one honey macchiato with chocolate drizzle.” Alec reaches for the cup bindly, but is met with blank space. He looks up finally, only to meet with Jace’s unimpressed glare. “What? I’m arranging a gala for a very, very, very moody client. I mean ‘changes the guest list every three minutes’ kind of moody.”
“Ugh, whatever.” Jace hands him his coffee finally, wincing as Alec takes a sip of the still hot drink. “Seriously, how does that not burn your throat?”
“I’ve had a lot of practice.” Alec throws a lewd wink his way, making Jace throw a bunch of stirrers at him. Alec finally puts the phone down after a bout of rigorous texting, and looks up at Jace. “Now, what is this customer you were telling me about?”
“Just some psychic dude, came in and ordered that godforsaken drink you make me make you every morning. I half thought he was joking and you sent him.”
“I didn’t.” Alec shakes his head.
“Yeah, he told me. It’s all cool,” Jace shrugs. “Funny thing too, he seemed really sweet, and with a sweet tooth like yours. You would’ve liked him.”
“Uh huh.” Alec says off-handedly, already busy texting back to his team.
-----------------
The last gala Magnus went to was in 1903.
It’s been a hell of a time. Quite literally too, since a hellmouth opened in the middle of the dance floor. It had taken all the warlocks present to close it, and even then they couldn’t have done it without the Shadowhunters pouring in with weapons drawn.
It had also been the last time Magnus ever used magic in battle.
It seems that way now, bringing out the outfits that found their way in the back of Magnus’s closet, unused and unneeded for decades after decades. Magnus had lost touch with his magic, all warlocks did, but for someone like Magnus, someone breathing and living in magic day after day, needing it like air in his lungs, it had been drastic.
Magnus had cut ties with almost all of his old friends. It hadn’t been intentional, for most of the cases. Just seeing those warlocks ready and accepting eternity without magic made him despair far more than the actual reckoning of it. Catarina still comes around every few weeks, more often if she’s exhausted after an especially gruelling day at the ER. Ragnor still sends letters every few years aside from his phonecalls, his horned friend adamant on keeping the beautiful traditions of penpals alive by his sheer force of will.
But somewhere down the road, Magnus had stopped being the man he once was.
The clothes of an era bygone stare him in the eyes as he brings them out one by one- shirts, pants, breeches, boots, accessories that museums would give a limb and a half for.
The reason for all this, lies heavy at his desk in this other room.
Malcolm Fade was a wild man while he had magic. After losing his soulmate to the whims of the Nephilim, he’d grown almost mad it had seemed, until he lost his magic as well. Magnus had visited him a few times in the past, while everyone was still reeling from the loss of the Shadow World. Malcolm had seemed like his older self, more cheerful, more present in general. Magnus had been glad to see his old friend coming back to himself, and hoped this change will continue to be good for him.
It seems that his love for extravagant parties has not changed however.
The pale lavender envelope was hand delivered almost two days ago, making Magnus lose enough sleep over it already. What does it mean to have been invited to a gala, while his magic is back and in such a precarious way?
Magnus had stayed up staring at the invitation for hours, until he had decided to go at precisely 3:47 am, and to conceal the return of his magic until absolutely necessary.
Malcolm may be a friend, but he's a friend who suffered the loss of a soulmate, who Magnus last remembers having the Black Volume necessary for necromancy, and who isn’t above violence to get his Annabel back, if history is witness.
It’s better to bide his time. Learn to control it better.
And there's still a tiny part of him that thinks this is all temporary, and that this too will pass like a phase of the moon.
Magnus doesn’t pay any attention to that part, instead gathers up some clothes to take to the tailor nearby for a quick fitting.
---------------
“Holy fuck.” Alec gapes at the fabric lying on the fitting table at David’s tailor shop. It’s practically Manhattan’s worst kept secret at this point, that while a big name company may provide you a great designer dress or suit, you always come to David and his wife Genya for fitting. He’s seen them work wonders with his most nitpicky of clients, and for all the business the Lightwood name brings, he practically has an open access to the place.
The fabric’s unlike anything he’s seen before, the threadwork in gold and the artistically arranged deep brown buckles might seem too much, but yet it all ties perfectly together somehow.
“Is it the fabric you’re making my waistcoat in? Please say yes!” Alec tries to make a pleading face, but Genya hits his slouching back with the back of her measurement board.
“Stand still. Or I can’t work on you, and you can go wherever you’re going in this weird bulging state.” If it had been anyone else, Alec would’ve had a comeback, but Genya is a force to be reckoned with, and that eyebrow quirk is sure to leave his gambit backfiring. So Alec keeps his mouth shut, and the ginger hums appreciatively.
“This isn’t ours, sorry Alec.” David answers him with an apologetic smile.
“All good.” Alec offers, standing as still as possible, so as to not anger the seamstress currently working on the seam of his cuffs.
“That’s actually from one of our oldest clients.” Genya says, her voice muffled as she turns to work on Alec’s pants. “He came in and said his great grandfather had this made from us in the early 1900s. Said he’s going to a themed party and needed a refit.”
“Funny, the party I’m arranging is also themed around the early twentieth century.” Alec nods, before rolling his eyes. “Though honestly my client has made it into an hodgepodge if you ask me.”
“I’m sure you’re gonna do a wonderful job either way.” Genya offers, David nodding along with his wife.
They always seem such an odd couple, Genya with her fiery heart and strong smile and eager to talk to everyone, and David with his quiet sketches and always busy doing something . Alec has never seen two people so opposite, yet so in love.
His soulmark itches in the corner of his ribs, and Alec moves involuntarily, making Genya tut loudly. He doesn’t have time to think about wherever his soulmate is, whatever he’s doing.
He can’t.
That’s why he took this gig, after so many of his friends gave up trying to coordinate with Malcolm Fade’s- ahem, eccentric- choices. They all warned him about it, about the insufferability of it all, but he needed something, anything , after that day. Because no matter what he did, those kind brown eyes would come back to haunt him in his sleep, the smile in them so cruel, so mocking.
Genya taps on his shoulder, shattering his thoughts for the time being, and Alec’s grateful for the little intervention before his thoughts could turn dark like they’ve been for a few days now. Alec understands it, has heard of it. It’s the lack of the bond while coming so close to his soulmate. The bond is snapping forward, trying to find its twin, only to meet with emptiness.
Alec wants to rip it out of himself.
“Everything’s going to be okay, Alec. You’re going to be okay.” Genya says, not unkindly. She’s always had the uncanny ability to understand exactly what goes on inside someone’s head, and no matter how much Alec tries, it works on him nonetheless. It used to unnerve him, now it just feels familiar.
“I’m going to be more than okay,” Alec jokes, trying to lighten the mood, “I’m going to be fabulous in this suit. You’ve truly outdone yourself, David.”
The man in question only smiles a little, while Genya looks over her husband proudly, love shining in her blue eyes. Alec looks away from them, the bond screaming all alone in his chest. It’s too painful to look at people so clearly in love.
“When they come back to pick it up, tell them I said they have excellent taste.” Alec spares one last glance at the cloth lying on the table, before walking out to the counter.
---------------------
Magnus is late to his first proper gala in over a century.
It’s really the Chairman's fault, he sighs to himself. If the cat hadn’t decided to be an absolute arse today, he would’ve been out the door to get his waistcoat at least an hour earlier. It’s a miracle he’s not missing the party entirely.
Well, a miracle and maybe a little bit of magic.
Okay, maybe more than a little.
It’s dangerous to try out portalling at such an early stage of his magic’s comeback, Magnus knows. The theory has also been proven multiple times as he stumbled across a petting zoo in France and an abandoned ruins of a church in Rome for the past hour. It took him three tries to finally get the location right. At least, knowing New York traffic, he’s still earlier than it would’ve taken him in a taxi.
Maybe he shouldn’t have uninstalled uber so soon.
The doorman regards him closely, and Magnus feels himself stiffen under the strict scrutiny. He feels like an actor playing pretense, his clothes and makeup all done in the hands of a man he no longer is. But, it’s still fun to see so many familiar faces under the same roof.
Whoever planned this party did a wonderful job of it, Magnus thinks. The chandelier is reflecting all the disco lights currently hanging from the ballroom, a swath of artifacts and activities from several different decades all in the same place, as is Malcolm’s taste, Magnus remembers.
But there’s still order in this chaos, a type of organized mess of a beauty, and Magnus can appreciate it. His thoughts flow, unbridled, as he takes a glass of soda on the rocks from the bartender, about a similar party he went to not too long ago, and how everything changed since then.
His moment of tranquil appreciation is soon interrupted by a pink-skinned phouka slamming into him. Magnus loses balance at the collision, and the world flips the centre of gravity in a blink of an eye, his drink spilling everywhere.
“Shit.” Magnus swears low in his throat.
“Can’ye see w’er y’er goin’?” The phouka yells in a deep accent, startling Magnus.
“I’m sorry.” Magnus apologizes, knowing full well it was not, in fact, his fault. It’s not in his nature to cause conflict. Even if he’s the one drenched in soda.
Even if his magic is crackling at his fingertips for a retaliation.
“What seems to be the problem?”
Magnus feels his magic going into overdrive, his skin feels too tight- too hot- too everything . He’s feeling like he’s seeing the whole party from a different perspective, the colours feel more vibrant, the chandelier a little sparklier, the sweet stench of the spilled drink a little stronger.
He feels drunk without having a single sip of anything.
“This nothin’ nobody’s tryna ge’ in the par’y for a quick sip, I reckon. I doubt he’s even in the list Mr Fade gave’em.” The phouka gives him a dirty glance. Magnus considers baring his eyes- his true eyes- for him to see exactly who this ‘nothing nobody’ is.
He decides against it at the last moment, instead pulls himself to his full height, towering over the barely four feet tall fae. Magnus juts his chin out the way he’s seen his best friend do every time he asks Raphael for a movie night, puts his mask away, and buttons the open jacket, regardless of its now drenched state. “My name is Magnus Bane. Check your damn list again.”
“Magnus.”
----------------
Alec feels like he’s dreaming.
This party is a dream in itself, the setting is done deliberately to emulate a sort of dream like chaos. He’s chosen his own outfit accordingly, a white a black ensemble, with an elaborate angel mask that covers his cheekbones in what looks like wings.
He looks divine and he knows it.
He was ready to be a professional tonight, making sure everything goes off without a hitch, half because Mr Fade is late to his own party, and half because he had to be, because staying cooped up in his apartment with netflix and pizza sounds a lot less appealing than whatever happens here.
Even though his mind is swimming with pain from the almost rejected bond.
Even though the pain of it seems imprinted on his very soul.
But then there’s a disturbance, one of Malcolm’s tiny bouncers yelling at a man who smells like the kind of expensive soda Isabelle likes. A man wearing the same jacket Alec saw on David’s table only a few hours ago.
Alec had been delighted, ready to make conversation with the man wearing the jacket he’s been so fond of- the same man in that simple yet elegant black and white handheld domino mask, until he’d noticed his eyes.
Until he’d said those words.
Alec feels the floor tilt from under him, every inch of his body screaming to go up to him, to introduce himself, to dance with him until they can’t anymore. It seems like a different sort of madness, and Alec’s not sure he’s objecting.
“Magnus?” He asks, hope blossoming like ivy under his skin.
“Alec.”
His name on those lips is what leaves Alec undone. All his professionalism, all his suaveness, everything Alec Lightwood ever is or ever will be, concentrated on those two syllables from the man Alec has waited a long- maybe too long- to meet.
Alec starts forward, a step taken almost unconsciously, his words warm against his ribs. Magnus has put his mask down minutes ago, and as he looks at his face, Alec feels like he’s falling into a never ending tunnel of love.
Those simple strokes of metallic eyeliner, like starlight bathed in gold. And in between them, the kindest, most beautiful eyes he has ever seen.
“Magnus.” Alec chokes out again, unable to say anything else. Magnus stretches a hand out for him to hold, and Alec takes it like a drowning man being offered a raft.
It takes him a moment to realize that the words have stopped hurting, as if a simple touch from Magnus have doused the burning flame into cool waves of calm.
---------------
Magnus takes a leap of faith.
Alec’s voice feels choked, like it hurts him to breathe anymore, and Magnus feels his whole life flash in front of him, all eight hundred years of it. It’s been too long, far too long, since he’s taken a chance on love. He’s gone cozy in his little comfort zone, happy to stay unrejected.
But he doesn’t want to do that anymore. So he offers a hand, a simple gesture masking a thousand words.
I’m sorry it took me so long.
I’m sorry I ran away.
I’m sorry I didn’t look for you.
I’m here, and I’m not going anywhere else.
Alec catches his hand, holding him close like the only hope in his whole world, and Magnus feels like he’s weightless, floating on clouds.
“Dance with me?” Alec asks, the question more of a request than anything else.
Magnus doesn’t find it in himself to say no, and quite frankly, he doesn’t want to either. So he smiles, eyes crinkling with hope and happiness and possibility. “I thought you’d never ask.”
------------
The fast pop music changes into a slow waltz as the two of them go down to the dancefloor, a round ballroom stretching almost fifty meters every which way. Alec pulls Magnus right underneath the enormous chandelier, the reflected golden light painting them both in halos. They sway together, happy to just be close for the moment, and Alec is grateful. He doesn’t have it in him to talk right now, not when everything feels too perfect and too much like everything he’s ever wanted.
Finally, the music ends, and Magnus looks at him for a long moment right in the middle of the dance floor. Alec feels uncharacteristically nervous, everything he is laid bare in front of his soulmate. But he doesn’t shy away, instead he meets his gaze head on, before Magnus grabs his hand. Alec lets himself be led out of the ballroom, away from the crowd, finally stopping at the adjoined balcony, away from prying eyes.
“I’m sorry about the other day.”
“I thought I’d never see you again.”
Both men speak at the same time, before pausing to comprehend what just happened. A small smile graces Magnus’s face, and Alec wants to live in it, revel in it, spend his forever in it.
“I’ll go first,” Magnus says, “I’m sorry I walked out on you abruptly that day. There was an emergency and I had to leave.”
“Emergency?” Alec asks, concerned, “Is everything okay?”
“Yes, of course. Everything is fine.” Magnus assures him. “Just- I told myself I left for that reason only, but the truth is, I was scared. I’ve heard those words a million times before, and every time they scarred me like a blade. I was so scared- scared of everything that I would be taking a chance on- afraid what I would be risking. I’m sorry. Really really sorry.”
“You don’t have to apologize,” Alec stops Magnus, clasping both his hands with his own, “I could have looked for you, tried to understand why you left, why you didn’t talk to me. I’ve heard my words too, over and over and over again. Until they hurt like a million paper cuts at the same time. And- and after you, I was so caught up in my own hurt, I didn’t stop to think there could be a second explanation.”
“I’m so sorry.” Magnus lowers his eyes, guilt overflowing his heart.
“Don’t be. Please don’t be.” Alec brings up Magnus’s hands, kissing them both, “You came back to me, that’s all that matters. I’m so so so happy to see you again.”
“This whole time I’ve been running up and down the whole city, trying to forget you somehow , but it’s like the more I tried to forget everything, the more the world just pulled me towards you.” Alec lets out a surprised chuckle. “I tried to plan a corporate party, but the banner place fucked up, and I had to get it done from somewhere else, and they told me about this other guy who’d been the same kind of bindup like me, and that he’s sweet and polite and that he’s been trying to get his banner for weeks, and all I could picture was you, and I just- I just couldn’t not help him.”
Magnus feels recognition hit him full force. “You’re the one who told Andrew to get my banner done in time?”
Alec stares at him for a full minute before speaking. “Oh god. Please don’t tell me it was you who went to Jace’s to get the same order as me.”
“You know Jace?”
“Our parents are high school friends, we practically grew up together.” Alec explains. “Honey macchiato?”
“Honey macchiato.” Magnus smiles, the two sharing a secret between just them under the night sky while the party rages on inside.
“And you were at David and Genya’s,” Alec says half to himself, before smiling mirthfully, “I told them to tell the owner of the jacket that they have great taste.”
“And?” Magnus goads him on.
“And I’ve decided that the owner has amazing taste, especially in soulmates.” Alec winks. “Though their taste is not enough to rival my own, because my soulmate is better, prettier, more amazing, than everyone else in the world. Brighter than all the stars in the sky.”
Magnus sputters for a second at the compliment, splotchy blush blooming on his golden cheeks as he ducks his head. Alec can’t stop grinning.
“Can we get out of here?” Magnus says in a stroke of sudden confidence, the surety in his voice evaporating as soon as the words leave his lips.
Alec makes an exaggerated gesture of being surprised, and Magnus can’t be annoyed with him even if he wanted to. “Mr Bane. Oh my. So forward.”
“You don’t have to.” Magnus adds quickly. “I get it, this is your event, and we can leave once it’s over. It’s okay.”
“I didn’t say that, Magnus.” Alec practically bounces the way to the reception, and signs off on a few papers, before explaining some things to his assistants. All the while holding Magnus’s hand in his own, like it’s his second nature by now.
Magnus feels like he’s walking on sunshine.
-------------------
Later, Magnus and Alec stumble into his shop-in-apartment in Brooklyn, tangled together with limbs and mouths and hearts and bonds, losing touch with the reality of where one begins and another ends, words of love and promises whispered into every kiss.
I love you.
I’m not going to leave.
We’re together.
Everything’s going to be alright.
----------------
#alec lightwood#magnus bane#hmdiscord#malec#malec fanfic#jay.fic#mine#writing#my writing#this world inverted#twi!alec#twi!magnus#alternate alec#alternate magnus
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champagne problems / ron weasley
angst 👹👹👹 anyway hey crew part two to the evermore series!! thanks for the love on willow you guys are wonderful <3 i hope the characterisation is ok this is my first time writing for ron on his own 💀 i hope you like it anyway, feedback is very appreciated <3
evermore x hp masterlist
all fics masterlist
summary: on a cold night in november, your boyfriend, ron, gets sentimental thinking about a future that you’re not sure you deserved
word count: 1k
warnings: insecure reader :(, just pretty angsty 😭, sorta goes from 🥰 to 😰 real quick
taglist: @padsfirewhisky
“you had a speech, you’re speechless
love slipped beyond your reaches
and i couldn’t give a reason
champagne problems”
You couldn’t explain it; the way you felt when he held you. It was comforting, it filled you with relief that he was still yours and that you were still his, often, you truly believed that he deserved more than what you had to offer, but when he’d wrap his long arms around you, stuff his face into your neck and fall asleep; those self-destructive thoughts melted away like ice in the summer heat.
Usually, Ron was silent when he held you- save for the snores he’d let out if he fell asleep on you, tonight though, your boyfriend appeared to have much on his mind.
He held you close to his body, your back against his chest, his arms wrapped securely around your waist and his chin propped gently against your shoulder. The room held a distinct winter chill, however, between Ron’s higher than average body heat and the thick quilts of the bed, the bitter cold didn’t reach you.
“I love you, you know,” he spoke into the air, thoughtfully.
“I love you too,” you responded, turning your head slightly to press a soft kiss to the skin of his jaw.
A wistful sigh left his lips before he connected them to your cheek, “I reckon I’ll want to be with you even when we’re both old, cranky gits,” you could feel his cheeky grin against the skin of your neck as he spoke.
At his words, you turned in his arms to face him, the pair of you nose to nose as you let out a whisper, “It’ll be hard work,” you stated solemnly, fingers fidgeting with the drawstrings on his hoodie while your eyes avoided his concerned stare.
“What will?” He asked, his eyebrows coming to a furrow. Something akin to anxiety developing in the pit of his stomach when you shrugged weakly. Ron, as oblivious as he could be at times, never failed to notice when you’d fall into phases of insecurity. He’d been your friend for years before he plucked up the courage to ask you to be his, he’d watched you fall victim to your own mind time after time throughout the years. He decided the minute you agreed to go out with him that he wouldn’t lose you to yourself.
“Loving me for such a long time,” you told him, voice still a mere whisper.
Ron scoffed, “Hard work, my arse. Loving you is one of the few things I can do easily,” his hand moved to push a strand of hair out of your face, regarding you ever so carefully knowing that you could be almost as brash as him when you felt particularly delicate. He never blamed you for it, though. You didn’t run as an act of self defence, you ran for the sake of protecting others from, what you believed to be, your hurricane of confusing and fear driven emotions.
“Don’t you think you’ll get tired of it? Dealing with all of the crap that comes with me?” You wondered, meeting his eyes again, kicking yourself when you noticed the sadness they held.
The ginger shook his head, “There’s no way I’ll ever get tired of you, merlin y/n, you mean the world to me,” his arms tightened around your body and he brought his lips to your forehead, pressing against the skin firmly in an attempt to translate how truly he believed the words he’d just spoken.
“You mean the world to me too. You deserve the world,” your voice met his ears but they left your lips distantly. “You should be with someone who makes you feel special, who isn’t a complete flight risk, someone who isn’t defined by every little inconvenience… someone who isn’t me.”
A bitter cold settled in Ron’s bones as he tried to grasp your words, while your body seemed to pull further away from his grip. Ice encompassing his form, he sat frozen, speechless as you stood from his bed.
“What are you saying?” He managed to squeak out, the question barely squeezing through the tightness of his throat. The pit in his stomach deepened, feeling almost bottomless when you met him with a teary, yet unfortunately for him, resolute expression.
You wrung your hands together and took a deep breath, in through your mouth and out through your nose, “I’m saying that one day you’ll meet someone and it’ll be like we never happened. You’ll be so indescribably happy and content and you’ll never have to worry about me tearing you up.”
Springing to life again, Ron jumped from the bed, “I never worry about you tearing me up!” He shouted, growing frustrated.
Tears ran steadily down your cheeks and you let out a desperate shout, “But I do, Ron!”
Before he could argue, you made your way over to him and gently held his face in your hands. You shook your head softly as he beat you to the chase, whispering softly, “Please, Y/n, I know what you’re thinking but- bloody hell, please, just tell me how I can fix this…”
Teeth dug into the inside of your cheek at the appearance of the man you loved nothing short of crestfallen, “I love you,” you said softly, your thumbs running gently over his pale cheekbones before hastily dropping from his reach. “But I need to go,” you rasped.
Before he could comprehend what was happening you were halfway out the door. Ron watched you nod your head sadly, biting your bottom lip harshly then offering him a terribly troubled, albeit still beautiful, smile.
“You’ll be okay.”
With that you’d left the room, heart feeling like it was a glass ornament that had just been shattered across a hardwood floor, no doubt Ron felt the same but you were unwavering in your decision. Ron Weasley would love again, he’d be okay.
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Hey this is for our Redhead's bday. Its like a fluff and angst with a happy ending. Is it possible to make a Renruki based on Hanahaki disease? Do you know about this fanfic trope? Its like a person who doesn't know or think their love is requited, will cough up petals. They can only be saved with a confession or accept that they cannot be together with their love interest. I don't want it to sound too morbid. Let me know if its possible.
Wikipedia description for better understanding:
Hanahaki Disease is a fictional disease where the victim of unrequited or one-sided love begins to vomit or cough up the petals and flowers of a flowering plant growing in their lungs, which will eventually grow large enough to render breathing impossible if left untreated. There is no set time for how long this disease lasts but it may last from 2 weeks to 3 months, in rare cases up to 18 months, until the victim dies unless the feelings are returned or the plants are surgically removed. There is also no set flower that blossoms in the lungs but it may be the enamoured’s favourite flower or favourite colour. Hanahaki can be cured through surgical removal of the plants' roots, but this excision also has the effect of removing the patient's capacity for romantic love. It may also erase the patient’s feelings for and memories of the enamoured. It can also be cured by the reciprocation of the victim's feelings. These feelings cannot be feelings of friendship but must be feelings of genuine love. The victim may also develop Hanahaki Disease if they believe the love to be one-sided but once the enamoured returns the feelings, they will be cured. In some literature, other symptoms can be fever, uncontrollable shaking, loss of appetite, low body temperature, and hallucinations. Even after curing, with or without surgery, there can be irreversible damage to the lungs and, although very rare, in some cases the disease cannot be cured.
Ha ha ha, of course I have heard of Hanahaki disease, my brain is 100% rotted by fanfic.
I. hate. Hanahaki disease. It is probably my #1 most hated trope, up there with every single soulmate thing that treats love like some sort of inescapable destiny and strips the characters of any agency. To me, falling in love may be more or less involuntary, but the choice of whether or not to pursue it is the very crux of romance.
In any case, I was just going to... not do this one, except that I walked around mad for half a day and then wrote this up in, like, two hours. This sounds terrible, but this is actually an ideal day for a writer! I am really happy with how it came out! Thanks for the prompt!! I mean this with absolute sincerity!
Warning: Bad language, because Renruki aren’t any happier about any of this than I am.
Read on ao3 or ff.net
🌺 🌺 🌺
“How the fuck,” asked Rukia, “did you get that into my house?”
Sitting on Byakuya’s good tea table was a heavy green glass bottle of Rukongai’s worst rotgut. And two saucers.
Sitting cross legged and cross on the other side of the table was Abarai Renji.
“I told the captain it was necessary. Sit down.”
Usually, Rukia would take being ordered around like that as an invitation to call him names, but there was something angry and serious in Renji’s tone, so she sat instead, and let Renji pour each of them a saucer of something that smelled like lamp oil. Silently, they tossed back their drinks.
“You want to tell me what this is about?” Rukia asked as Renji refilled.
Without speaking, Renji pulled a carefully folded handkerchief out of his kosode and slid it across the table.
Rukia’s hands clenched into fists.
“Go ahead,” Renji said offhandedly, sipping his sake.
She didn’t want to. She knew what it would be. But she did it anyway, reached over and flipped open the handkerchief to reveal a handful of mangled, half-rotted flower petals. Hot rage ran through her veins. “Are you going through my trash now?” she demanded.
“No, I asked the captain to,” Renji replied coolly. “I assume he had someone do it for him, but he didn’t say.”
“Fuck you,” Rukia snapped.
Renji stared at her, his eyes cold and angry. “That night we camped in Hueco Mundo. Before we caught up with Ichigo and the others. You coughed up half a camellia and a good inch of stem in your sleep. I… figured we had more pressing concerns at the time, but I asked your brother to keep an eye on you after we got home.”
Rukia took a gulp of her drink. “Well, congratulations, Detective Abarai, you cracked the case. You’re so smart that I’m sure you know how these things end, so we don’t need to discuss it.”
Renji squeezed his eyes shut for a moment and then opened them again. “It doesn’t… it doesn’t have to be a death sentence, you know?”
“It’s complicated,” Rukia grumbled. “I’m not explaining it to you, but it’s not… solvable, and I can’t… I won’t give up. Not this time.”
“I didn’t mean that,” Renji continued, his voice quieter. “There are ways to… manage it. Live with it.”
Rukia’s brows furrowed. “What are you talking about?”
“It’s a disease of the soul, y’know, not the body, which is why humans don’t get it. With a strong enough will, you can keep it in check. The key, the thing that really lets it get ahold of your lungs, is when you start to lose hope.”
“You want me to live in denial, then?”
“No, not quite. But there’s some… techniques. We live a really long time, Rukia. Things may seem one way now, but… but who’s to say how they’ll be in sixty or seventy years, right? I mean, it’s not easy, but if you can imagine sort of… jarring up your feelings and packing them away for later.”
“Like pickles.”
“Yeah, like pickles.”
Rukia finished her saucer and reached for the bottle.
“Another thing that works sometimes is to try to…” Renji gestured helplessly. “Reframe it. I’m sure you’ve read poems about courtly love.”
Rukia made a face. “I fail to see how reading old-timey thirst poetry about wasting away from wanting to sleep with someone else’s wife is going to help anything.”
Renji’s face took on a pained cast. “Yeah, I guess some of them are like that. But being in love with someone who doesn’t love you back doesn’t mean your life is...meaningless. There can be something really beautiful and noble and sorta romantic in and of itself about loving with no hope of reciprocation. That you can still be of… of service to a person, even if they never notice you.”
“Renji, that’s fucking nonsense,” Rukia informed him, topping up his drink as well. “Where do you get these ideas?”
“Or you can just really absorb yourself in some goal. Be so busy you don’t have time to worry about love. Time passes quickly when--”
“Renji, just stop. I know you’re trying to help, but I’m… I’m sick and no amount of made-up wishful thinking is going to make me better.”
Renji’s face rapidly cycled through a number of emotions, like he kept coming up with things to say and then biting his tongue instead. “It’s not fucking made up, okay? People have lived with it for years, you know. Decades. Fuck, Rukia do you know selfish this is?”
“‘Selfish’?” Rukia echoed incredulously. The alcohol was starting to hit, and it made her feel unmoored, a raft floating in a sea of her own grief and anger. What did he know anyway? He was married to his job and his duty. The truest companion, the most generous soul, so free with his heart to everyone he called friend, but he didn’t know jack shit about being in love. Renji was the most transparent person in Soul Society. If he had ever fallen in love, it would have been public knowledge. Maybe his heart didn’t even work that way. What the Hell did he know?
“Yeah,” Renji spat back. “Selfish and cruel. How can you love someone-- even if they don’t love you back-- and-- and-- let yourself die from it? What kind of a monster would do that? You can hold on, Rukia. You’re so strong, I know you can. Just… just listen to me, for once. I can help you.”
Rukia felt her eyes burning, so she grabbed the bottle and took a long drink from it until her whole face burned. “Fuck. Off,” she replied, slamming it down on the table.
“I won’t,” Renji growled. “Ichigo cares a lot for you and it would kill him, Rukia, you hear me? You can’t do this to him, or-- or the rest of us, either.”
Rukia stared at Renji uncomprehendingly. The room was starting to swim. “What the fuck does any of this have to do with Ichigo?” She suddenly felt very tired, so she folded her arms and put her head down on them. “You fucking dumbass.”
#renji's birthday 2k21#my writing#why isn't there a camellia emoji?? i used hibiscuses because they kinda look like camellias but imagine they are camellias#i think the primary driver behind me writing this was just an excuse to get back on my camellia bullshit
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By the Roots
Scout & Soldier, 2k
Part of the DontNeedADiscord Pride Week, Day 2: Family
Of all the people, all the people on the damn planet, it really shouldn’t have been Soldier that figured it.
“You there! I saw that, pipsqueak!” he demanded not two days after the team was first assembled, storming at me across the training yard like I’d already done something wrong. “Regulation warm-up is fifty pushups, not ten and then exclaiming very loudly ‘FIFTY’ as you do that last one! Do not think because you are a woman I will go easy on you. In fact! I will be riding your ass twice as hard so you will be encouraged to measure up to your clearly more dedicated male counterparts!”
There were a lot of things I could object to in that, a lot of things I was planning to object to, but one thing in particular surprised me so much it practically hit me upside the head. “Whoa, hey dude! I ain’t a chick!”
Soldier lifted his helmet with a thumb and peered down at me. “You are not?”
“No a’course I’m not!” I said, flabbergasted. “Would a chick have sick muscles like this? Or like this?” I should off each of my amazing and impressive biceps in turn, a little shocked that he wasn’t falling over in awe due to their sheer awesomeness. “I am peak dude, pally. Why would you even think that?”
“Your small stature, your chicken legs, your feminine jaw, your general weakness, the unending gab from your motor mouth-” Soldier ticked them off on his fingers.
I swatted down his hands. “Dude, jeez, I get it.”
He considered me again. “…You are sure you are not a very petite yet tomboyish girl?”
“Uh, yeah pally,” I scoffed. “I think I’d know.”
Twenty-two months later, my hard earned ponytail fitting snugly through my hat, I wondered if Soldier knew, somehow. That was stupid obviously—Soldier was completely bonkers even by the team’s standards, and if every weirdly nonsensical thing he’d ever said was true then I’d also be a spy from ten different countries and partially made of ranch dressing. But. I guess some small part of me liked the idea that it was apparent to someone. That there was some hard truth out there, and somehow Soldier was in tune with the weird songs of the universe enough to prophesize me even before I’d divined myself.
I was pretty far from the team’s campfire, the rush of the last hour still coursing through my system. It’d gone as well as I could have hoped, with everyone kind of knowing or at least suspecting by this point anyway, but I’d still been nice to get it all out in the open. A little family meeting of sorts. I smiled, watching them laugh and carry on with their drinking.
“Is something the matter, Scout?”
Spy’s voice startled me, but I totally didn’t jump or nothing, just turned my head as the creepy bastard slinked out of the dark.
“Nah,” I told him. “Was just a lot of adrenaline doing all that. Needed a moment to cool off. Not like I’m nervous or nothin’! Could’a talked about shit all day if those knuckleheads didn’t get it through their bozo craniums, but it’s just like after a run you take a breather to make sure you don’t get heat stroke or something-”
Spy held up a hand. “I understand. No need to elaborate.”
“Great. Cool. Just so you know that I’m not freakin’ out.”
He took a spot next to me, the rocks cool where the desert night came on fast and hit hard. We stayed like that for a while, him smoking, me staring with my chin in my arms.
“You come out here to say you’re surprised or something?” I asked, after the moon had ticked a little lower.
He blew a strand of smoke. “It wasn’t my primary goal, no.” He paused. “Though I was, to be sure.”
“Hah! Yeah you were! You should’ve seen your face.” I grinned, kicking a rock. “I can’t believe you were the last person to find out.”
“…I certainly couldn’t have been the last person to-” Spy stopped when he saw the shit-eating grin I was giving him. “Hm. Fine, I suppose I will take this as a loss to my professional pride.”
“Heh. Nice,” I snorted. “So if that isn’t what you wanted to talk about, what was?”
He hesitated a moment. “Scout if I have ever said something, to you or merely in passing that was…greatly insensitive, then I am sorry. I cannot hide the fact that this is not something I have experience with, and if my past ignorance has ever caused you distress then I apologize fully.”
I blinked. Was he serious? “Eh, don’t worry ‘bout it.”
“Ah, so I have made some faux pas. Again I’m sorry-”
“No,” I interrupted him. “I mean seriously, don’t worry about it. ‘Cause I don’t.”
Spy looked genuinely confused, already the second time that night when I’d barely seen him make that face in two years of working together. “Pardon?”
“I don’t really care about what you say,” I shrugged. “When it comes to things that bother me, crap my Ma’s shitty boyfriend says about how I look barely makes the list. After however many years of the way you’ve treated me, I’ve just kinda tuned you out.” I shrugged again. “How it is.”
“…Ah.”
I kinda missed when he was surprised, since that was at least easy to read. Now I didn’t know what to make of the mix of emotions crossing Spy’s face, only that I was sorta bored of the conversation.
“If that’s all you wanted to talk about, I’m heading back to the fire,” I said, smacking my legs as I stood. “Cold out here.”
I left Spy, not checking to see if he was still doing that thing with his face.
I honestly was planning on heading over to the fire, but I saw Soldier sitting on the bed of Engie’s truck, not doing anything but staring into space as he sipped his beer. It wasn’t even conscious really, I just suddenly found my feet moving in his direction, abandoning warmth for the lunatic with the bazooka. The weird things we do on instinct sometimes.
“Yo, Major General,” I greeted. “Feel like the smartest guy in the room yet?”
“I have never claimed to be!” Soldier said. “I settle for being the most tactically sound.”
“I meant about me, dumbass,” I rolled my eyes, then hopped on the bed next to him. I scooped up a beer while I was at it.
“You?” He might have been blinking at me under the helmet.
“One of the first times we ever met, you asked me if I was a chick.”
Soldier rubbed his chin, trying to recall. “…You said you weren’t.”
“Well I didn’t know at the time, dumbass.” I cracked my beer. “But now we all know, so congrats to you, pally.” I toasted in his general direction and drank.
“…How is it?”
“The beer or the chick thing?”
“Being a girl.”
“It’s alright,” I admitted, playing it cool. “The ponytail’s great though. Look! I can do this now.” I bobbled my head, showing that my hat stayed on no matter how hard I shook it. I kept bobbling until I almost fell off the truck, Soldier steadying me at the last moment.
“Careful, missy. You’re going to need to cut that soon if you don’t want it smacking you in the middle of battle,” Soldier pointed out. “That or braid it.”
My hand clamped defensively over the back of my head. “Nah, no way man.” Hearing how whiny that sounded, I tried to pass off my sudden movement as a stretch. “It’s fine. Plus I don’t even know how to braid.”
“…I could do it for you.”
Of all the batshit things Soldier had said to me over the years, this took the cake. “You? Know how to braid?”
I wanted to ask if he was pulling my leg right now, but his expression was just as dead serious as ever. He pointed downward and made a circular motion.
Hesitantly, I turned around, and felt him lift off my cap. The ponytail threaded out of it, and he tugged at the elastic until my hair fell free around my shoulders. I’d seen myself with it down in the mirror every morning before pulling it up, but it still felt odd to have it hanging free here in the same place we killed BLUs and got our guts blasted full of lead. Soldiers fingers carded through the loose strands, dividing them into chunks, but despite that it wasn’t nearly as weird as I thought it would be. It was actually…nice almost.
He wasn’t gentle—this was still Soldier after all—but the tugging at my roots was more pull than yank, a careful suggestion to go one way or the other. Nudging me towards something.
“How’d you learn to do this, anyway?” I asked.
“Used to do my sister’s,” he said gruffly. “Little sisters can’t do anything by themselves. They always try to follow you around, and then they get in trouble or fall in a creek or something.”
His fingers brushed against my neck every now and again. “As a professional little sister, that sounds about right.”
“You are not a professional little sister. You are a professional Scout. What sister-ing you do, you do on your own time missy.”
“Yeah, whatever.”
Soldier slipped the elastic around the braid’s end. I swung it around a few times, trying to see if Soldier had messed it up somehow, but only managed to almost fall off the truck bed again. Maybe that beer was really hitting me.
“…Thanks Solly,” I said, gently touching the braid’s end.
“Any time, private. If you need me to teach you, I will happily train you in the art of braids,” he declared. “And knot tying! But only if you meet my standards on the braid portion of the exam.”
I grinned at him. I’d done a lot of weeding, taking out the people and things I didn’t want in my life, but it was nice to know there were things I wouldn’t have to get rid of entirely. “Sure Soldier. I’ll think about it.”
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