#if I have a kid I pray I keep my cool and don’t repeat any of this
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White Teeth Teens
Chapter Two: Favour
Kyle Broflovski x fem reader
I used to think about myself like I was a talented liar.
Premise: You’ve been avoiding Kyle like the plague but when tragedy strikes the track team, you find yourself needing to ask him for a favour, you know what you have to do but you don’t want to do it.
CW: Vulgar language+humour / underage smoking / injury
MASTERLIST
The weather had gone straight back to shit just like you predicted. You prayed that track practice would be cancelled due to the roaring sky overhead but god ignored you, turning a blind eye and offering nothing more than your coach nagging at you.
Rain wasn't any nicer to run in than overbearing and dry heat, it made you feel like a wet dog every time you had to wring your hair out or shake the droplets off your skin. It was no light sprinkle, the rain pounded down on the ground like bullets. It was so heavy that it felt like pebbles, it wasn't often that it rained in Colorado due to high altitudes but when it did, it came down hard and unwavering.
You had thought it to be a little dangerous running on turf in this weather but coach Dawsey blatantly denied any objections, sending you for another loop around the track the second you had a complaint. You were just glad that you didn't have soccer that day and wouldn't be going home covered head-to-toe in mud.
"What?" Tolkien asks you, it had been a little difficult to hear with his own breathing and the sound of rain on turf while the two of you were running cool-down laps around the outside of the track, it’s not like you needed them with the way you were freezing in the run. It was like coach Dawsey wanted the entire team to get sick, what was supposed to be a cool-down lap was working better to keep you warm.
"I said what time is it?" You repeat your question, using the heel of your palm to wipe your eyes. Each breath, huffing in droplets of rain where they rested on your lips.
"I dunno," He shrugs, "I left my watch in my bag," Everyone had either left their bags in their lockers or cars or like you, had been too lazy to do either and took the menacing odds of putting it under the bleachers and praying that whatever was inside wouldn't face water damage.
You let out a groan, at this point, you couldn't even feel your legs, they had gone numb beneath you. The sky above you was grey, it was only 4:30 in June but it looked like angry clouds had swallowed up the sun. "If the purge ever becomes legal, I'm headed straight for Dawsey." At your words, both you and Tolkien glance to where the pot-bellied coach is, timing the unfortunate guys doing hurdles, over and over again. He really had a way of actively pinning teammates against one another.
"Poor Adam," Tolkien says between heavy breaths. His tee shirt and basketball shorts are plastered against his ebony skin, you aren't much better off; your hair had been weighed down so heavily with water that it kept slipping from what you had tied it up in, so you gave up all hope and let it down to stick on your neck, flyaway hairs glued around your face to frame it. You were far from the point of caring about what you looked like, the only thing on your mind was going home and getting dried off.
"I would feel bad for him if he wasn't so whiney," On the other side of the track, Adam, a brunette guy in your grade, was extremely muscular for such a lean guy, the perfect build for track. You could've sworn that his parents had put him on steroids as a kid with how defined his muscles were, you had been on the track team with him and Tolkien for six years now.
Adam wasn't the friendliest but he was fast, so you didn't mind his shortness of conversation as long as he brought another medal to the trophy case. He is clearing the hurdles in comparison to the rest of the guys in the same heat, he made them look like paralyzed turtles.
Tolkien shrugs "Yeah but we need him to win the relay," The two of you ran past the long jump team, each and every one of them is covered in sand without fail. All of them look uncomfortable, sending you knowing glances. It was an understanding that all of you wanted to drown Coach Dawsey in the steeple chase pit.
You had been wearing Tolkien's hoodie since the rain started, it was definitely slowing you down with the extra weight it had while wet but you preferred to be slower than usual as opposed to having your white tee shirt turn translucent under the rainfall. You tended to stick together during track practice since you were on the mixed relay team together, you also liked to think that you were considered friends; not just because you ran at similar paces but because he enjoyed your company.
Disregarding Tolkien's last statement, you push some hair away from your face "I should've skipped with Red." Red was the fourth person on the mixed relay team, making up for a pretty solid roster though you tended to skip practice when she felt like it.
"I was going to but you begged me to not leave you alone."
"Because I'm not a bum who signs up for extracurriculars and skips them, don't tell her I said that," You retort "I'm trying to be a good influence." You were nearing where the hurdles were set up and Dawsey blew his whistle repeatedly, before flailing his arms rapidly and singling out one boy for having a quarter centimetre of his toe over the starting line.
"If you're trying to be a good influence maybe stop smoking your body weight in cigarettes and weed."
You narrow your eyes, giving him a firm chop in the side of his midriff. His eyes go wide and he stops in his tracks to fold over, one hand clutching where you hit him, the other supporting him on his knee to keep him standing up. "Oh my god," You slap a hand over your mouth, trying to smother a laugh “I did not mean to hit you that hard."
"Nah, you're fine, I just need a second to catch my breath," He takes a deep exhale, waving you off. You stop next to him, standing awkwardly, unsure of what to do so you just wait for him to keep moving.
"Hey!" A gruff voice calls out, travelling over the tumping rain "Is he dying?"
"No," You answer for Tolkien "He's good."
"Then get back to running!" The balding man screeched, you were surprised that the adhesive of his toupe hadn't fallen loose under the drizzle.
"Fuck you, porky," You say hooking one arm under Tolkiens to try and get the lanky boy to stand back up straight.
"What was that?" Coach narrows his eyes at you.
"I said 'I'm on it'!" You yell back, lies seeping through the gaps of your teeth. Tolkien shrugs your arm away from him, giving you a quick thumbs up before he carries on with his quick-paced steps, albeit breathing a little heavier. You were sure that Dawsey had to be putting you through some form of child abuse. "What a dickhead," You mutter to Tolkien, eyes still trained on where Dawsey focuses all of his attention on Adam.
"I'm surprised you're not used to him by now," He says "Then again you're not the most tolerant person."
"I'm totally tolerant, I love gay people."
Whatever remark Tolkien was about to say was quickly forgotten when all eyes fell on Adam. The brunette boy's heel had skidded and slipped as he jumped a hurdle, he threw his other leg out to try to catch himself. Instead of landing on the flat of his foot, his heel rolled and he was quickly sent backwards onto another boy, Emmet, Adam's calf bending in unnatural ways against the turf.
Then came the inevitable snap like a plastic ruler, the bone in his calf had broken completely in half. The impact of the stumble caused the ivory to poke through the muscle and fat of his leg. He lay on the wet surface of the track with a sickening cry, Emmet pinned beneath him screaming out in pain. Two up-and-coming track stars down in the span of thirty seconds.
"Adam!" Coach Dawsey sprinted faster than he did to the fridge toward Adam, crumbling to his knees. While the coach was focused on Adam, you were terrified for Emmet. Adam's elbow went straight into his ribs when he tumbled back into him. Emmet was frantically trying to push Adam off of him, which was no easy feat since his entire body was muscle.
"Fuck!" Emmet finally scrambles out from behind him, keeling over and clutching his torso. Everyone gathers around to watch the mortifying scene, both you and Tolkien stand at a loss for words.
"It'll be okay Adam," Dawsey sounds like he's being brought to tears, if there are any, they're washed away by the rain. He peals off his 'South Park Athletics' baseball cap like he's paying respects to a dead person, the front of his toupe comes up when he raises the hat, unknowingly exposing the peak of his shiny bald head. "We're going to get through this."
Coach tries to brush away some of the hair that had fallen onto Adam's face but the boy quickly slaps his hand away "Don't fucking touch me!" He spits "Someone call an ambulance!" Next to you, Tolkien gags at the sight of the mangled leg and split skin.
"You heard him," Coach Dawsey rises to his feet, trying to ignore the fact that his star runner's bone was sticking out of his leg in a mangled mess "Call an ambulance!" He yells, accusatorily at the group of teenagers in a circle surrounding him.
"You're the only one with a phone on you, dumb cunt!" You call out from the back of a crowd to be sure he wouldn't scope out it was you who said it.
He feels around in his pockets and surely, you're right. He made everyone leave their phones in their bags during the duration of practice. He quickly dials 911, while the line rings he looks at the crowd with furrowed eyebrows "Whoever said that, reveal yourself."
Everyone stays silent until an operator picks up on the other end.
After Chrissy drove Emmet to the hospital and Adam was rolled away into the safety of an overpriced ambulance, something else was worrying your mind now that their health was guaranteed- who was going to replace them?
"Tolkien, I have a proposition," You had taken an unnerving b-line away from Heidi and found yourself at Tolkien's table where he sat with the rest of his friends, you were already drowning in axe body spray and aftershave but you needed an impromptu meeting, dragging Red to come with you so you didn't have to face all of that testosterone alone. "Come over here," You swiftly gesture for him to come sit at a vacant table with you and Rebecca.
You spent the entire night wide awake on caffeine pills, trying to figure out who to sub in for Adam. The mixed relay team before he got injured was perfect down to every minute detail, now you were short of your fastest runner, leaving you, Tolkien, and Rebecca to fumble around for a replacement since the coach was mourning the loss of his shooting star, who was indefinitely out for at least six months. It didn't help that Adam had taken Emmet down in the process, now you were missing two great assets.
Tolkien looks back at his friends who watch him with confused and unwavering stares before pushing himself away from the table with a sigh. Leaving his lunch tray behind, he slips into the empty table next to Red and across from you. "Yeah?"
"I need you to ask Kyle to join the track team," You say, though it was difficult enough to humble yourself down into admitting you needed Kyle. He ran faster and more consistently than almost every sprinter on the team, you had plenty of girls to sub in for you and Red though with Adam dragging his sub out with him, you were left with no replacement aside from Spencer Hollis who was the other alternate and opted to go on a road trip with his friends and come back only for exams so he was out of the question with the track meet in two weeks.l
"Kyle?" Red furrows her eyebrows, tone suddenly switching "That's your solution? He's not even on the team."
"He's really fast though," You begin to plead "I've known him forever and trust me, he is one speedy little fucker, I swear on my life."
"Not swearing on much," Red shrugs.
"Why am I asking him?" Tolkien asks.
"Because you're friends with him," You were on the verge of pulling out the list of pros and cons of having Kyle on the team you had spent Thursday night making. "Guys, I begged the coach to let this slide and it was really embarrassing so can you please ask him? He said that he'll let Kyle join if he comes to the next practice and does well."
"You're at his house all the time, just ask him tonight," Red was nowhere near as invested as you were, hence why she skipped track all of the time. She wasn't worried about getting slow or lazy, she counted Coach Jackson's soccer practices towards track and ultimately figured she didn't need both to stay fit. Red always sent you to track practice with excuses for why she couldn't make it.
"Why are you at his house all of the time if you hate him so much?" Tolkien sits still, trying to piece together any sense. When you were frantically texting him the night of Adams's stumble, he suggested putting Scott in his place. In your not-so-humble opinion, Scott was way too slow for the 4x100 relay. You scribbled around in your notebook, trying to work out his run times which you meticulously memorised and came to the conclusion that it wouldn't work no matter where you placed him in the relay.
"Because their parents are swingers," She says this with such ease, made sense with how much she teased you about it. You would've complained if you didn't poke fun at her for worse.
"They are not swingers," You address "They are just good friends that hang out a lot and in turn, I have to hang out with Kyle a lot."
Red and Tolkien cast one another a side glance before Red turns her attention back to you. "Do they 'hang out' a lot without you guys around?" She softens her tone in a somewhat condescending way, the same way you would talk down to a child.
"They're not swingers," You emphasize, choosing to ignore the insinuations of you and Kyle which almost made you gag. "Please, Tolkien, we need this but don't tell him I said that."
"It's not really a proposition if you're just asking me to do something for you," He points out.
"It totally is, it's a plan of action," You say "Action which we need to take so we don't lose or get disqualified," There had been rumours of college scouts attending the track meet and you were in desperate need of getting a scholarship if you didn't want to be in student debt until the day they buried your cold body.
"Just put Scott in," Red suggests and you give her nothing more than a cold glare.
"Next person who says that is getting anonymously cyberbullied for the next year," You say, pointedly at the two of them before running your hands down your face, nearing defeat "Why did it have to rain?"
"Maybe it was divine intervention," Red says, nonchalantly "I think Dawsey wanted to sleep with Adam or something and that was god saving him from getting molested by a divorced PE teacher."
"He's weird but I don't think he's a pedophile or anything."
"You two are as fast as him and he doesn't give a shit about you," Red points out, one eyebrow raising slightly "Really think about it." Your mind began to wander to the way Dawsey always had a hand on Adam's back, how he always put him in the most ideal lane, and how he almost cartoonishly sprinted to his rescue when hit leg split.
"Maybe you're right." From the look on his face, you can tell Tolkien is calling back moments of Dawsey being a little too touchy with Adam.
"Or maybe coach just likes him more because he's a straight white guy and I can safely say the three of us are not," You draw the pair's attention back to you "Point is, he's out, Emmets out, Spencer's out, Scott is not even in question and we need Kyle."
"You need him?" A small smile begins to play on Red's face. In the past couple of years, Red had taken to a more grunge type of style, causing her to look like Kurt Cobain's lost daughter who fell into a vat of bright red hair dye, which was currently growing out, exposing her dark roots.
"Nuh-uh," You say almost instinctively, absentmindedly folding your arms. "I didn't say I need him I said we need him, like collectively because we're totally pwned if we don't coerse Kyle onto the team."
"And we're one hundred percent sure Emmet can't run?" Tolkien asks "I thought he just got hit in the stomach."
"I asked him about it and he told me cracked his ribs and it hurts to breathe or something, I dunno but it's super fucking gay." Your eyes shift to Red "Not in a derogatory way but in a lame-
"Yeah, we know," Tolkien stops you in your tracks.
"What a pussy," Red says, she isn't really tuned in, she's moved on to watching street fights online while partially listening to the conversation "It always hurts you to breathe and you're still running."
"That's what I said," You exasperate.
"It really shouldn't hurt to breathe," Tolkien says "Might be a little on the nose but you really need to stop smoking."
Red disregards this completely, "Ask Kyle next period or Tolkien could just text him." looking up from her phone to you "Or 1 could just text him." You and Kyle had texted each other a total of six times, this was no exaggeration, it was exactly six times.
Oct 11th, 2020
Kyle Broflovski: Is Ike at your house?
You: Ya
July 21st, 2023
You: Do you know where Kenny is?
Kyle Broflovski: No
Kyle Broflovski: I thought he was with you
You: K he's not
"I can't ask him, I can't even breathe around him without gagging," You complain "Because authentic gingers have this really specific and pungent smell, like every single one, without fail."
Tolkien eyebrows are raised, wrinkles forming on his forehead "That might be the stupidest thing I've ever heard."
"What does a ginger smell like?" Red put her phone face down on the table, suddenly intrigued.
"It's stagnant and a little musty, not like body odour musty but more like an old second-hand bookstore that has mildew and black mold-
"I can't help but feel like we got off topic here," Tolkien abruptly cuts you off again for the second time that day "So can we just agree on Kyle so I can eat my lunch?" At this, you and Red nod, with no sense of disagreement "Okay, cool," The very second Tolkien stands up from the table, the bell begins to shriek, signalling the end of lunch hour. He throws his hands up in exasperation, looking woefully at his unfinished tray of food.
You had been entirely too stiff when Biology class rolled around, more aware of Kyle's presence than usual. Fate, or perhaps the whims of the teacher, had decreed that you would be seatmates for the remainder of the semester. However, there was no friendship to be found between you, only a simmering animosity that hung in the air like static before a storm.
As the teacher droned on about cell structures and molecular biology, you and Kyle remained steadfast in their resolve to ignore each other's presence. You exchanged no words, no glances, only the occasional rustle of papers or the tap of a pencil against a desk.
Despite your mutual disdain, there was an unspoken understanding between you – a silent agreement to coexist in the same space without acknowledging each other's existence. And so, you buried yourself in their work, diving into the intricacies of biology as if it were a shield against the discomfort of your shared proximity.
You knew what you were supposed to do, but that didn't make it any easier for you to swallow your pride and ask Kyle for a favour. It was hard enough to admit to yourself that you needed him if you wanted to win the mixed relay which you had spent the entire year anticipating. With a deep breath, you replay how you'll ask him over and over again, being sure that you don't sound desperate.
"Kyle, have you ever thought about joining the track-
"Nope," He answers before you can even finish your sentence. Kyle doesn't even look up from his work as he says this, leaving you to stare at the side of his hooked nose before quickly looking down at your paper.
"Okay," you mutter under your breath, you were so quiet that you weren't sure he even heard you. The minutes ticked by, marked only by the rhythmic scratching of pens and the occasional sigh of frustration, you fell back to silence and didn't press him any further.
"I did everything I could," You greatly over-exaggerate the eleven words you had shared with Kyle in biology like you had gone to war asking him to join the team, in your mind, you had. Now you were picking at a basket of curly fries in a diner where you complained about your excruciating dilemma to your Bebe.
"Everything?" Bebe quirks an eyebrow, taking a sip of her cherry coke, glossed lips pressing around the red and white straw. When she lifts them, there's a sticky residue of glitter on the straw "What does this entail?"
"It entails Kyle being a dickhead."
"Yeah, I'm sure," She says, not an ounce of belief in her voice. She leaned back in the red leather booth. Bebe looks beyond beat (for her standards), she haphazardly tied her curly hair into two twin braids, mismatched elastics. She had been wearing nothing more than sweatpants and a tank top when you left her house, forcing you to surrender your hoodie to keep goosebumps away from her bare arms. "Should we go to Clyde's later?"
"Why would we go to Clyde's? It's almost ten," You furrow your eyebrows "I don't really wanna spend my Friday night third wheeling."
"You won't be third wheeling, it's not like we're dating or anything-
"Yeah, but it's worse to third-wheel two horny people who aren't even dating," You had a gut feeling that any day now Clyde and Bebe would become official, Stan was now taking Wendy's time back up, Nichole and Tolkien seeing each other on the low, and you were suspicious of Red and Heidi, now Bebe was going for her elementary spark. All of your friends were abruptly falling in love and no one gave you the memo, leaving you in the dust.
"So what better things did you have planned?" She steals a fry away from you, dragging it through the ketchup.
You shrug "Get high and look at pictures of Snoopy."
"That's more of a thing you do with Red," Bebe said. Despite the statement itself being true, you could tell she was trying to deviate from you to go see her new fling.
"So you're tyna ditch me now to go hang out with Clyde?" You fall short of the amusement that Bebe's trying to portray.
"What? no," She says this like your statement was incredulous "I'm just saying that you would have more fun smoking with Rebecca."
"And you'd have more fun banging Clyde?" You weren't sure if it had been the nagging feeling that all of your friends were leaving you in the dust and making time for better things or the fact that this wouldn't be the first time Bebe cancelled your plans to hang out with someone else but something about this conversation was irking you.
Her face drops "Why are you being a dick?"
"Why are you trying to get rid of me?"
She wouldn't admit to it but it was true. Not that Bebe necessarily had strife with you, more so she tended to fall on the fickle side of things and being around you so much had put her into a rut. "I'm not," Bebe wrangles her mind to sedate this before it blows up "Sorry, can we please just drop this?”
Silence stretches between the two of you, if it weren't for the chatter of other customers and light buzzing of decrepit ceiling lights, it would've been utter stillness. Her icy blue eyes were peering into your soul, your hoodie hanging limp off her narrow shoulders.
You didn't necessarily want to leave it alone, you weren't one to lie down rather than win an argument but today your internal chemistry had been tweaked; for a moment you thought about letting it go, being rational and not provoking, which was so hard since it was what you were so good at. "No," You answer "I don't think we should drop it."
You can see the look of annoyance creep up on Bebe's face "Why?"
"It's better to talk about it-
"This always happens though," Bebe begins "I say something, you say something, and then we don't talk for a month so I don't think it's better to talk about it."
"Maybe there's a reason we fight all the time," you point out. There were at least one hundred reasons why you and Bebe fought all the time, mainly because the two of you fed into each other's agitation, putting the two of you together was like leaving a lit candle in the woods.
"I'm not here to psychoanalyze this, let's just go and get stoned." She pulls the final trick from her sleeve, pot to put this to sleep.
Bebe was the match to your kindling, the fuel to your fire and that's why you had been so off and on with her since middle school, you were like that annoying couple who kept breaking up and then exhausting everyone by getting back together.
As much as you want to argue until your throat turns dry as sandpaper from yelling, you also want to get high and laugh until your lungs burn. "Sure, okay."
It goes quiet for another minute. Followed by another and another until you both accept that there's nothing more to say, you pay the bill and begin the trek back to your car. While the rain had subsided it was as cold as ever, always an unwelcomed familiarity that came with living in South Park. Even with summer inevitably approaching, the nights were still frigid after rainfall almost to the point where you could see your breath.
Bebe had stolen your hoodie and left you shivering on the walk to your car. The diner parking was something outrageously complicated where you had to download an app and pay online, to which you were lazy and in being lazy, parked far away in a faraway spot. This had taken far more time to find the spot, park, and walk to the diner than it would've been to get an app and pay the three dollars.
You had clutched the pink bottle of pepper spray that was hooked onto your carabiner tightly in your hand, never too sure of who would try to get one on you while you found your way through the dark streets.
Finally, after what seemed like a century of stumbling blindly through darkness, you made it to your car, parked in front of a locksmith. The street lamps were dim, you supposed it was nice that you didn't have light pollution in town but you hadn't even noticed the oddity on your car until Bebe pointed it out.
"What's that?" She squints her eyes before turning on her phone flash to inspect.
There it was, unmistakable in the faint glow of a nearby streetlamp: a bright yellow clamp securing your car's front wheel. "Oh no, no, no!" Your exclamation cut through the eery quiet of the night "Fuck!"
"Oh, shit," Bebe mutters, immediately beginning to rapidly type on her phone, the blue light illuminating her tanned face, you heat the loud ding of a notfication.
Your hands find their way to grip your hair "What the fuck!?" You shout, louder than intended, your voice echoing off the surrounding buildings, the emptiness of the night amplifying your distress. "I don't have any unpaid parking tickets, what the fuck?" You repeat, mind running wild with how your parents would react. Your phone had died a little over a half hour ago so you were choosing to use that as an excuse to delay telling your parents.
"Look, you parked in a bike lane," She gestures out. Surely enough Bebe was right, you had and you were also inexplicably screwed over.
"Why didn't you tell me?" You knew Bebe wasn't to blame for your car being immobilized but a million thoughts were tangling into a jumbled mess inside of your head.
"I didn't see either," She looks up from her phone to where you frantically pace the sidewalk "Not my fault you parked in a fucking bike lane and didn't notice."
Your eye catches a slip of paper wedged into your window shield and immediately you reach for it.
This notice is to inform you that your vehicle has been clamped due to a violation of parking regulations or outstanding fines. The clamp has been securely attached to your vehicle's wheel, rendering it immobile. DO NOT ATTEMPT TO MOVE THE VEHICLE OR REMOVE THE CLAMP.
Reason for Clamping: [illegal parking]
Location of Clamping: [Maplewood Street, v2ah60]
For instructions on release please dial +15392848788
Thank you for your cooperation.
You wave the notice around "Bebe take a picture of this, my phone died and I need the number," To this, she just stares at you blankly "Please!?" You insinuate. Panic is etched clearly across your features.
"Jesus, just relax," The irritation is obvious in her voice as takes a picture with a blinding flash not just of the slip of paper but of you holding the notice, eyes squinting from the sudden bright light and hair messy from nearly ripping it out due to stress. She looks at the picture she took and giggles.
"Fuck off, can you be serious right now?" You're too busy thinking of all the ways your dad will execute you rather than the harsh tone you were using with your friend. He didn't speak to you for a week when he found out you were on birth control, you couldn't imagine what he would do when he found out that you had a fine.
"Sorry?" She sounds like she's actually taken offence to your words. "I'm trying not to be stressed since you're two minutes away from tearing your hair out."
"Because you don't have to worry about your dad turning you into taxidermy," To others, this may have sounded ridiculous but you had no doubt in your mind that your father would take such extremities. "Can you please be mature about this?"
Bebe's eyes widen slightly, eyebrows raising "You want me to be mature when all you do is bitch and moan about Kyle like we're in the fourth grade?"
"Yeah, I wouldn't mind it." You snap. You weren't the most rational person, now desperately grasping for someone or something to shift the blame.
"You can't get all pissed off when this is your fault," Bebe crosses her arms, physically getting defensive, the phone still clutched in one hand "You're the one who parked illegally."
"Because you told me to park in front of the locksmith!" You gesture towards the building you were now arguing in front of. The building itself looked haunted, the run-down locksmith shop stands like a forgotten relic amidst a row of bustling businesses that were kept with the care that this shop was definitely missing. The windows, clouded with grime and dust, offer only glimpses of the dim interior beyond. Some are cracked, their fractured panes held together by strips of weathered tape. The exterior itself was hideous, a bright yellow paint dulled by the passage of time that had orange patterns of keys and locks all over it, a sign above hung that read 'chipper locks' You didn't imagine that they got much business.
"You listened!" She deflects the blame like a game of tennis
"No, I said I didn't want to park here because it's sketchy and I was scared a crackhead would hide under my car and slash my Achilles tendon when I got back in but you told me to stop bitching about it!"
"You're the only person on earth that would worry about something so fucking irrational, shouldn't you be stressed about finals instead of having nightmares about serial killers you made up in your head?"
"I didn't make it up in my head," You defend "It's all over like everything." It did quickly become a fear of yours since Nichole sent you a video about traffickers hiding under cars and slashing women's tendons, all she said was 'that's crazy lol' but it instilled terror in you and made you glance under your car before getting in no matter where you had left it parked.
"You're insane," She mutters, so quietly that she hadn't expected you to hear.
Unfortunately for both of you, it didn't fall deaf upon your ears "I'm sorry?"
"It's okay," Bebe waves you off.
"No, I'm not apologizing," You furrow your eyebrows "You just called me insane, what the fuck, Bebe."
"Not in a bad way," Bebe hugs herself to try and fight off the cold. She doesn't seem to grasp the gravity of every word she spat out at you.
"How is there possibly a good way to call someone insane?"
"I meant you're insane in a wild kind of way, like a party animal," She tries to climb out of the grave she was digging for herself. "Like, wow, this girl's insane," Bebe mimics in a deeper voice, trying to portray some frat guy referring to you like you are the life of the party.
You stare at her, mouth slightly agape as you process the situation. "You know what?"
"What?" Bebe tucks a flyaway strand of her blonde hair behind her ear, her messy twin braids swaying slightly in the wind.
"You're a fucking cunt," You spit, pointing a finger at her in an accusatory manner, eyes narrowing. The words fell from your mouth like venom puncturing skin.
Whatever Bebe was expecting you to say it wasn't that. She's genuinely taken aback and it's clear across her face, her eyes widened in disbelief, pupils dilating as if trying to take in the enormity of what she had just heard. The muscles in her jaw slackened, her lips parting slightly in a silent gasp. "Yeah?" She raises her voice "You're a little bitch."
"I don't really care," The two of you had an almost impressive way of taking things from zero to one hundred with little build-up between.
"Do you care about anything?" Bebe's expression shifted subtly, betraying the undercurrent of annoyance coursing through her. Her lips pressed into a thin line, a silent indication of her displeasure, while her eyebrows drew together in a slight furrow, hinting at the frustration simmering just beneath the surface.
"You'd probably know if you weren't too busy trying to get dicked down by Clyde," You retort, the muscles in your jaw tensing up.
"At least I can get laid, you just wallow around in your own loneliness and get all bitter about happy couples for whatever fucking reason."
You completely breeze past the fact that she's right and scramble for something to say "You wanna be an author and you can't even read the ingredients list on a can of Coke," Though you tried to maintain composure, there was a flicker of impatience in your movements, a subtle stiffness in your posture that spoke volumes.
Her brows arched upwards, forming a perfect curve of incredulity. A flush of colour rose to her cheeks, a telltale sign that you had hurt her. "You're such a dick," Bebe says and a hush settles over you "You know your now a good person, right?"
“And you think you are?"
For another time, the conversation fell into a lull. For a long while, you stood there in the cold, breath mingling with the frosty air, until a familiar car rolled to a stop right next to yours. It was Clyde's black Chevrolet.
"You texted Clyde?" This might've been what hurt you the most, more than any other sentence uttered that night.
"Yup, sure did,” Bebe turns away from you to open the passenger door "You have a huge pimple on your face by the way, it's literally the only thing I can focus on when I look at you, it's fucking disgusting."
Your hand reaches for the small bump on your cheekbone on instinct "It's a spider bite, actually," You're correct this fact makes you seem high and mighty "Because I sleep with my window open."
“Oh my god," Bebe mutters, wrinkling her nose.
"Does she need a ride?" Clyde asks eyebrows furrowed as his eyes shoot between where you stand on the pavement and Bebe climbing into the passenger seat.
"No, she's fine," Bebe answers for you, shutting the door. Inside the car, Clyde says something to her that you can't make out, just muffled mutters. In just seconds you hear the ignition start and watch as he glides down the road.
Your fingers curled into fists at your sides as a surge of newfound anger washes over you. As Clyde's car pulled away, disappearing into the darkness with Bebe at the wheel, the cold seeped into your bones, matching the icy chill in your chair as you stood alone on the deserted street.
"You're a fucking asshole, Bebe!" You shout after them though it's futile, you know she can't hear you, but it doesn't stop you from holding up your middle finger and cussing her out. To passersby, it probably looked like you had something in your system "And you're wearing my hoodie!"
You run your hands down your face, nearly scraping the soft skin with your fingernails as you pace around in a small circle. You were left with a car rendered immobile, a dead cellphone, nine dollars on you, and a home forty minutes away in walking distance, better start moving.
Glancing at your car and the long dark road ahead, you quickly unlocked your car, hopping into the driver's seat and rummaging around in your compartment for a little bit of relief. You dig deep into the console box for a box of stale cigarettes you had forgotten in there, still it was better than nothing. You yank one out and let it rest between two fingers while you bring a lime green lighter to the end to ignite it.
The tip glowed bright orange as you brought it to your lips, inhaling deeply and exhaling a plume of smoke into the cool night air. You lock your car, tucking the lighter and pack of Marlboros into your pocket, snatching the notice from your windshield for the phone number and begin the trek home.
While it was only an eight-minute drive, the walk was more strenuous. You wished that you had some heavily padded parka to wrap around yourself though you had nothing more than the heat radiating off the end of your cigarette, in your other hand you grasped to the pink bottle of pepper spray for dear life, the car clamp notice tucked under your arm.
As childish as it was, you found yourself almost fighting back tears, that familiar feeling building in your throat like every awful thing you had ever felt was going to fall through the gaps of your teeth. You were sure that you deserved to be deserted on the damp streets, truthfully you didn't expect Bebe to show you any form of mercy after what you had said to her and you had proved to be correct on the matter.
It was moments like this where you were sure there was nothing worse than making friends.
Maybe you would be a hermit for a bit, head straight home after track and soccer, then lock yourself away for the summer until you've reinvented yourself into someone a little more agreeable.
The rhythmic sound of your breath mingled with the gentle rustle of leaves in the breeze, the chill of the night air nipped at your cheeks, but you pressed on, fueled by the knowledge that there would be a hot shower waiting for you at home. That almost cancelled out the idea of telling your parents you were getting charged for illegal parking and then explaining a fabricated lie to them that you smelled like tobacco because the man beside you at the diner was smoking. What a delinquent you were.
As you walked, your thoughts drifted like smoke on the wind, swirling and shifting with each exhale. Memories and worries danced through your mind, fleeting and ephemeral, like wisps of smoke disappearing into the night sky. You were so close to subbing in Scott for the relay even though you had been so opposed to it since it would guarantee a loss but if Tolkien wouldn't ask Kyle then you would have to accept the fact you were bound to lose since you were cursed with a team that only signed up for track to skip school on the day of the meet and hang around the concession stand.
The quiet peace that you had lost in your own thoughts was quickly broken when you picked up on the navy blue car slowing down as it approached you. Your cigarette burns to the filter and you drop it to the ground, smothering the fizzing embers out with your heel as you watch the car for a brief moment before quickly turning and quickening your pace. Praying to every god you didn't believe in that this wouldn't evolve into something more.
When you speed up, so does the car. You're even more aware of your surroundings now, the mace firm in your grip, you kept one thumb on the top preparing yourself for the worst. "Hey!" A gruff voice from the car yells, he rolls his window down, you can't make out his face and you aren't sure that you want to.
This is all it takes for you to move from your fast walk to a run, ignoring the cold air eating away at the tip of your nose and the sharp burning in your lungs. The man from the car yells something else but your heart is pounding too loud for you to hear anything off in the distance.
Your senses suddenly heightened, a prickling sensation crawling up the back of your neck. You felt a surge of unease wash over you as the sound of an engine revving filled the air, growing louder and closer with each passing moment.
Instinctively, you hastened your pace even further, your heart pounding in your chest as you cast a nervous glance over your shoulder. Its headlights pierced the darkness like beacons of warning.
You knew you had to act fast, figuring that whoever was chasing you was the type to slash tendons and the streets were absurdly empty aside from you and the man in the car. With a desperate glance around you, you spotted an alleyway up ahead, a narrow passage shrouded in darkness. Without hesitation, you veered off the main road and plunged into the shadows, heart pounding in your chest as you raced for safety.
With another glance around, you finally stopped to catch a breather, trying to swallow up all of the air you could and think of what to do next, it felt like wild horses were racing through veins in the form of adrenaline. Your heartbeat pounded in your ears and your shaky breathing seemed to devour every last rational thought you have.
You renavigate your way home, trying to avoid the sketchy road where the man in the car was likely waiting to pull you in. You emerge from the ally on another street, clear of any cars, with a deep sigh, you light another cigarette, leaving you with an empty box that you toss into the nearest garbage. The nicotine had soothed you, the notice was now crumpled up into your pocket wedged next to your dead cell phone and your carabiner hung off one of your fingers, keys and mace clattering against one another.
Still, you were anxious despite the cigarette smoke loosening your tightly wound nerves just a little. You stayed hyper-aware of everything around you, walking as fast as you could before it classified as a run and being sure to remain silent so you could hear everything around you.
"Wait, man!" You hear a voice off in the distance and turn to see that navy blue car once again. You were ready to take off until you noticed something in the dim light of the street lamps. The face of a guy around your age, a straight nose and dark hair, Stan Marsh.
You pause as the car pulls beside you and you see the other faces in the car, in the back sit Cartman and Kenny, in the passenger seat is Stan's right-hand man and your least favourite person, Kyle. "Oh my god, I thought you were a pedophile!" Your voice picks up with agitation.
"Why?"
"Because you fucking trailed me with your car at night and yelled at me on an empty street!” You look past Kyle and directly at Stan where he sits by the wheel. You take one more long drag of your cigarette before snubbing it out on the pavement. Kyle wrinkles his nose at the smell "What the fuck is wrong with you?"
He gives Kyle a little nervous glance before looking at you "Wendy said something happened with Bebe and we saw you and figured-
"That you would make me think I was going to get kidnapped?" You almost want to drag him out of his seat and sucker punch you for scaring you so badly.
"Hey," Kenny chimes in from the back, he's smiling at you, a fresh scrape across his left cheekbone. "I texted you and you didn't answer."
"So-uh, do you want a ride?" Stan asks "Because you'll get kidnapped for real if you keep walking."
"We don't have room," Cartman adds where he sits behind Kyle, stretching his legs out with what little space Kyle had given him.
"Because you're taking all of it up fatass," Kenny points out "Sit in the front."
"I don't want to be in the same car as a junkie, she'll probably stick us with needles and get us all addicted to heroin." Cartman was well bundled up on this chilly night, a grey hoodie and flannel hanging overtop.
Stan ignores this comment "So?"
You think through Stan's offer, even though it was a nightmare situation to be stuck in a vehicle with Cartman and Kyle he was likely right when he said you would get kidnapped for real. South Park wasn't the safest town despite how it was portrayed on travel pamphlets and blogs. While the residential area was good for kids to play in, the main streets were a little crude. "Yeah, sure," You mutter "Please."
Cartman lets out a loud groan as the boys reorganize themselves to accommodate you. Kyle ducks out of the passenger seat and out into the chilly night, to your surprise, he isn't wearing his hat, his red curls hanging loose. Cartman hauls himself into the passenger seat, uttering complaints the entire time.
You wait for Kyle to clamour into the backseat but he doesn't, he just stands by the open door, waiting expectedly for you to get in. When you realize that you're meant to be sitting in the middle you almost want to protest but decide against it, Stan was being nice enough offering you a ride when you barely knew him aside from being Wendy's boyfriend.
The very second you buckle into the backseat, Cartman begins to cough dramatically. He's heaving on nothing, exaggerating the slight smokey smell that lingered on you. He claws at his throat "It's so hard to breathe," He mumbles like he's choking.
This must be what hell feels like.
“Why were you walking?" Kenny breaks up the sound of Eric wheezing. Wordlessly, you reach for the crumpled slip of paper in your pocket and smooth it out as much as possible over one of your thighs before handing it to him. His eyes visibly brighten as he reads it a small smile splitting across his face "Illegal parking," he lets out a low whistle "I love myself a lawbreaker," He hands the notice back to you.
Kyle subtly looks down at the paper, he didn't finish reading it before you fold it up and tuck it back into your pocket. He's interested but he won't admit it, so instead of pressing the matter, he trains his eyes to watch the concrete sidewalk roll by out of the window.
You're crammed between the two, your thighs touching theirs, Kyle tries to make himself as small as possible while Kenny carelessly man-spreads, his leg almost overlapping yours. "How long are you going to be grounded for that one?" Kenny asks.
"I'm trying to get it settled without them finding out," With aptitude you peek at Kyle whose eyes meet yours before deviating. You didn't think he would go snitching on you but it still worried you. He had far more blackmail over you than you had on him, you were still clinging to things he did in freshman year while it seemed that every month you had a new secret to keep from your parents.
"Good luck with that," He says, also staring out the window though he didn't do it to avoid you "You got the money to pay for the fine?"
You find yourself glimpsing back at Kyle, using this question as a scapegoat to clear yourself before he even gets the idea of telling either of your parents "Yes and I will pay the fine as soon as possible, from this point moving forward I am going to be a law-abiding citizen, I vow to never park in a bike lane again and not to steal prozac from my dad," You indirectly address Kyle, he can tell what you're trying to do based on the way you keep shifting your eyes to look at him. Kyle looks at you, he doesn't say anything but you understand him clearly 'What the fuck are you doing?'
"Okay?" Kenny says, sounding confused "That's cool, I guess, good for you."
"Hide your Advil, Stan," Cartman peeps up, watching you from the rearview mirror "Crash is on a crime spree, she might steal your mom's jewelry for drug money too.”
Growing too tired to say something snarky in return, you just lean back in your seat, eyes half-lidded as you listen to Cartman besmirch you. Everyone in the car had accepted this to be a regular occurrence. At first, when everyone in your grade greeted you by calling you Junkie, Crackhead or something along that line you wanted to hug your mom and cry but you quickly grew desensitized to it after two weeks, it just felt like another nickname.
Stan cranks his stereo up to drown out Cartman's incoherent complaints. It's some metal band that you had never heard before playing faintly while Kenny shows you pictures of his roster on his cheap phone that he had spent two paycheques purchasing. "So where were you guys headed before you picked me up?" You ask, purely to try and make polite conversation, feeling immensely out of place with the four of them all together.
"We were going to Stans for game night," Kenny says, still scrolling through his stickers on Snapchat "You wanna come?" Truthfully you hadn't been hanging out with Kenny as much as you used to, you still smoked pot every now and then but it was rare for the two of you to sit down and actually do something together or go out somewhere. You were too preoccupied with track and soccer and all of your friend's drama, their secrets piling on you like fines.
Cartman whips his head around to look at Kenny with fury in his eyes. "Nah," You draw out, scrambling for an excuse "I should probably just go home and repent for my crimes against the state."
"Kinda hot," Kenny nods absentmindedly.
Conversation faltered as you struggled to find common ground, the weight of unspoken words hanging heavy between you. Every attempt at small talk fell flat, each joke met with forced laughter that only served to highlight the awkwardness of the situation. You could've sworn you were more socialized than you were acting. “Man, I love track and field, what an incredible sport to have on a college application,” This time you aren’t as discreet with your subliminal messaging to Kyle, turning your head to look at him completely. He doesn’t say anything.
With each passing mile, the silence grew more suffocating, pressing in on them like a heavy blanket. You fidgeted nervously, your eyes darting from one face to another as you searched for an escape from the uncomfortable tension.
Stan sped over a speed bump, you reached your hands out to grab something on instinct, hand gracing Kyle's leg for the briefest moment, still you retract it and look at him in horror.
Clasping your hands together in your lap you anticipate each passing second as Stan neared your street you felt relief wash over you like a baptism. "Right here," You say and Stan slows the car by your front yard, the lights are on in your home casting a warm glow into the velvety black night.
Before the car even comes to a full stop, Kyle opens the door, wanting this to be over as bad as you do. With haste, he unbuckled his seatbelt and took a step out with his lanky legs. His green eyes watch your every move while you shimmy out of the middle seat, taking in a deep breath of clean air that didn't smell like car freshener and body spray. "Thanks for the ride," You give Stan a tight-lipped smile, ready to walk away until Kyle opens his mouth.
"When's the next track practice?"
"What?" You furrow your eyebrows "You're joining?"
"Yeah, Tolkien asked me to," He says and the space between you fills with silence.
The soft expression on your face quickly morphs into something a little more vicious "So Tolkien asks you to join and you jump at the chance?" You say, snarky.
Kyle seems unphased "I actually like Tolkien."
"Yeah, I know, You probably explore each other's bodies." You brush past him fighting the urge to just walk into your house, maybe it was because someone had replaced your calcium with mercury or you were just tired but today someone had messed with your internal chemistry "Uh, thanks though, it's on Tuesday." Finally, you had gotten that win you were chasing all day.
A/N: oml sorry this took so long, I had no idea where the plot was going but we’re good now so the other chapters won’t take so long.
#kyle broflovski#kyle south park#south park#bebe stevens#eric cartman#kenny mccormick#south park x reader#south park x y/n#stan marsh#wendy testaburger#kyle broflovski angst#kyle broflovski x reader#sp kyle#kyle brovlofski#south park kyle#kyle broflovski fluff#token black#red mcarthur#south park hcs#south park headcanons#south park fanfiction
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max mayfield is 7 years old, like kelly green and annie johnson, who are her best friends. she isn’t their’s, she knows this. like she knows kelly will live in a mansion, become a princess and drive a lamborghini with her twelve kids and husband, tom simon, her seat partner. kelly’s happy, obviously, she cheated, she always cheats at m.a.s.h, but max is happy for kelly anyway, she tells her. max is marrying annie’s dad, the other girls gag at the idea, she makes a joke about marrying rich “like grandma said my mom should’ve!” max laughs too loud, no response from the girls. “i’m glad she didn’t though cuz i love my dad…” she specifies. this embarrassment doesn’t stop her from squealing at her own barf joke later on, she repeats it in case kelly and ann didn’t hear. “she’s so annoying, do we have to keep hanging out with her? your guy’s moms aren’t even friends anymore.” kelly pleads after recess, max knows they know she can hear them.
max mayfield is 9 years old, she and billy hargrove recently became siblings, legally at least, billy would not call them that, max doesn’t care. and not in the way that she’s feigning chillness to seem on top of things, but in the way that she knows if she plays her cards right she can prove herself as someone worth calling a sister. “that jacket makes you look like a dyke.” billy says, he and his friends pool into the backyard. a month ago she’d ask if she could play with them, but she’s smarter now, she’s no longer a pussy, she’s a dyke, its change, it’s progress, she can work with it. “yeah, even more than usual.” one of the friends adds, everybody laughs. max remains focused on tightening the bolts of her skateboard and uses her free hand to flip the boys off. mentally she prays this is what playful sibling fighting looks like and not an action that will get her deck ripped away from her and broken against the concrete. it’s fine, the boys mock and jeer but don’t say anything she hasn’t heard before. another friend asks if she rides her skateboard or just pretends to be it’s mom. this is in reference to the time she convinced herself the boys were interested in knowing her and earnestly spoke about the mechanics of her skateboard, being too passionate, speaking too much, smiling too wide. all things she has since learned the right amount of is none. “i don’t know.” she gets up. “do you have a life or are you such a dweeb the only time you feel the need to get off your ass is to annoy a little girl with real hobbies?” when she walks off she hears the other boys gang up on him, he’s the new fool, all the other boys were just guilty of the same thing, but whatever. she thinks maybe if she maintains this for a little longer they can return back to the sibling conversation. they don’t even have to call it that, they could just do the part where they’re nice to each other sometimes.
max mayfield is 11 years old. jenny chen is a teenager, fifteen, from san francisco, short black hair, dresses like she’s on the cover of thrasher, first girl max has ever seen at the skate park who isn’t just there to watch. max wants to be her friend so bad it makes her stomach turn. until it happens. “i never see other girls who skate! it’s so cool to meet you, i’m jenny!” max knows. she ignores jenny’s invitation to fist bump. “do you really skate? or are you just someone’s girlfriend?” max knows the answer to the question, but she also knows the ending to this story. jenny pulls her hand back like max hit it. “yeah i skate, but i’m sure the boys here wish.” her laugh is refreshing, max didn’t know that was a thing laughs could be, it was so cool and light and confident, like it reset something in her. max wonders how someone can be so cool without any hit of cruelty, when max tells jenny she has to do a trick to prove it she shrugs and agrees like it wasn’t something said with the intention of upsetting her. jenny does an ollie off on the half pipe and asks if she can see any of max’s tricks. it makes max more upset that there’s no malice in this request, the audacity to show genuine interest in her. max is usually too mean but to jenny she cannot be mean enough. and typically she cannot do an ollie off a half pipe. today is no different. she falls and wakes up in the hospital. billy hands her flowers, rolls his eyes, then goes to wait in the car. max’s mom lets jenny apologize. it’s a real genuine apology, even though she has nothing to be sorry for it still feels good and different. max tells jenny to leave and never sees her at the park again.
max mayfield is 13 years old, she wonders if the group of boys yelling over dig dug are too. her initial annoyance with their hogging of her favorite game has melted into an admiration.. that’s too bold, curiosity, maybe. there’s arguments every other minute but between those there’s “oh wait! oh shit! lucas you genius! you genius!” whoever’s praising “lucas” gets so excited his friend progressed in the game the other boys have to pull him away. when the little one says he can’t see, no one mocks his size, instead the group instinctively makes room for their friend. and they’re all being too loud, too passionate, definitely taking the game too seriously. max wonders what it would be like to have something like that. she wonders how long they have all been friends for. do you have one chance for something like their’s as a child and then never again? has she missed her opportunity? could she even exist in an environment like that or would her cruelness be so sharp it’d cut through any moments tenderness? if she just walked up and asked to join what they’d say? answers for another day. maybe never. probably never.
max mayfield is 15 years old and mike wheeler’s basement is her favorite place in the whole wide world. which is why it’s the ideal location for her birthday party. sure billy is dead and el and will are moving next week, but ignore that, because yes will and el are moving away which is sad because they’re two of her best friends, but they’re two of her best friends, and she’s there’s. el is sitting on the floor with max making stupid jokes and max is clutching a pillow to her stomach, laughing like she’s alone, too much, too loud, dustin joins in and is even worse, she loves it. lucas interrupts, nudging her back with his foot. “this is the part you like.” he mouths, big, stupid, earnest, adorable smile on his face, so proud to remember. she’s proud of him too, swooned might be the better word, if she’s being honest. she likes him so much she wants to shrink herself into something small and accessible for him, but the worst part is that isn’t even what he wants from her. as much as max is trained to see the worst in others, lucas is real and warm and never says anything he doesn’t mean and he says he likes her. “thanks.” is all she can get out, trying not unravel from the affection. her last straw is mike and will marching down the basement stairs singing happy birthday. she’s clenching her teeth, mentally “don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry”-ing. she’s crying. it didn’t work, she’s crying. they’re doing this nice thing and she’s going to ruin the moment because she’s crying, they’re the best friends she’s ever had and she’s crying, they’re the only friends she’s ever had and she’s crying and they’re hugging her and laughing and she’s laughing and oh god, it’s good, she’s crying because she’s loved.
#stranger things#max mayfield#lumax#elmax#madwheeler#madcleric#idk any of the other pairing names (the 1s u’d think are platonic r platonic btw)#byler#<- idgaf them bringing that cake down the stairs was romantic#sorry for the longness and the me clearly not being a writerness i need a way to write fanfiction without writing fanfiction#tw d slur#cw d slur
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hello legend.
writing a wholesome mlb fanfic but trying to make it very meticulous in terms of details. do you think it’s appropriate that i ask for small things that i could include to highlight marinette’s connection to chinese culture.
things like certain clothes/phrases/names her parents would authentically call her/little things around her room /small habits/comfort foods/stories her mom told her growing up/thoughts on confucianism, taosim, buddhism/if she includes traditional chinese fashion in her designs/etc
i really hope this doesn’t come off as ignorant/offensive! i’ve been researching chinese culture but there’s a difference between reading about the “text-book” examples and actually being part of a culture where you just wouldn’t understand things unless you were surrounded by it and a part of it and grew up with it. and i don’t want to play into stereotyping, you know? i want these things to be specific to chinese culture AND to marinette & her moms side of the family.
any answer would be helpful because i read that you are chinese yourself and you are so well versed in the creation of marinette’s character that if you think she would do/say/keep/etc certain things i would love to hear your thoughts!
oh sure! note that i’m singaporean chinese, so there might be a little bit of difference in culture. but having been to china (and attended chinese culture heavy schools) before, i’ll do my best!
- nicknames: baobao/ bao bei, meaning “precious”. first one is babyish, second one usually used by couples but parents also use it to call their kids. also, easy and common nickname is just repeating their name. for example, if marinette’s mandarin name was “ma li” (though i don’t think any parent would want to name their child that), the nickname used by family, relatives and friends would be “lili”
- small things around her room: chinese literature books on shelves, maybe a blue-white porcelain vase to put flowers in? and maybe a maobi (calligraphy brush) sticking out of her pencil holder.
- small habits: switching to chinese when surprised/ stressed. oh and def using chopsticks eating (only use for asian dishes tho). make sure she doesn’t stick it upright into the food though, cause of some superstition, and general etiquette. she could get slightly stressed when she sees people use chopsticks incorrectly, i know i do lol.
- comfort foods: congee and you tiao (fried dough). she could eat it when she feels under the weather. also, an alternative to the classic dumplings is pan fried pork dumplings (sheng jian bao) which i personally love to death. oml. its also a cuisine pretty unique to shanghai iirc. here’s how it looks
- bonus: one nostalgic food could be tanghulu, or candied hawthorns. munching on a self made version using strawberries and other small fruits with hardened candy syrup while working. although it’s more of a northern snack rather than a southern snack… (shanghai is south)
- stories mom told: as in… children’s stories? or mom’s personal stories? for children stories, or common folk tales, chang e, the legend of nian, the cowherd and the weaver girl, the twelve zodiac animals, etc. personal mom stories not sure lol.
- thoughts on religious stuff: hmmm…. tough cause i’m personally not much of a religious person myself, though i’m familiar with taoism and buddhism. it’s not necessary to include those inside. oh yea just random thing i was reminded of, one small detail you can add is burning incense. for example, use of joss sticks to pray is common in taoist and buddhist religion. there’s also incense burning as an art form. personally my mom does that whenever i have major exams coming lmao.
- design: i think it’s cool if marinette learnt the art of embroidery, like shown below. it’s pretty commonly seen on qipaos, with different patterns but most commonly flowers. it’s a dying art form. having marinette use embroidery to make images on her outfits rather than have them printed on will be a neat detail.
hope this helps! good luck on the fic too, if there’s any more questions feel free to dm
(oh and though i find the movie mid, turning red has accurate representation so you can check it out)
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We Could Have Been Anywhere
A fic centered around the entire chain, detailing different worlds and different pov. Other chapters and AO3 link are in the reblog (I still don’t know how much tumblr eats posts with outside links)
Nine moments of peace and rest in a journey that appears to be endless. Moments separated by weeks, even months, as strangers become friends, friends become brothers.
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A Few Months
Time has his opinions on the goddess Hylia. Their relationship is rocky at best; and thankfully the devout Sky seems to respect it (though he doesn’t always understand). Even before his journey, he never prayed to her. No need, not when he had the Great Deku Tree there as an ever-present guide.
Until he wasn’t there.
And until he was seven years in the future, trapped in a body that was his but wasn’t.
And until he was a child again, in body only but mind partially, stuck in a hopeless cycle of repeating days.
Even then, he never prayed. He cursed, cried out, and spoke calmly at whatever statue he assumed would get his message to the Goddess, but never prayed.
Time is close to praying now. Now that everyone is exhausted. Mentally and physically.
He could never say he hated, or even disliked, another Link’s Hyrule. They rarely had any kind of a say in what their world looked like, mostly only able to not make it worse. But he had no qualms saying that Sky’s Eldin Volcano could be a huge pain in the ass. (He had some qualms saying it out loud, he's not a hypocrite. But he's certainly thinking it.)
An unending, oppressive heat (only to be matched by the inside of his own Death Mountain, or the all-encompassing swelter of Wild’s entire Eldin mountain range) had been bearing down on them for days. He’s never liked the heat; preferring even the coldest mountaintops to the way sweat clings to his body, a constant no potion or clothing could fully hide him from. A product of growing up with the sun shaded by leaves and trickling streams bitterly refreshing just a step away.
Time is ready to say he would kill for a portal somewhere cool. A respite of some kind.
He almost chuckles at the thought of Hylia giving them some vacation time, but decides to send the thought upwards anyways. Couldn’t hurt anymore than what she has already done to them all.
The rest of the chain appear to be at their limit as well, probably making their own pleas, if their endless stream of cursing and complaints were anything.
“Sky, I get that your Hyrule is the basis for my entire existence and stuff, but I fucking hate it here.” Legends voice drawls out, repeating the same sentiment he’d been griping about almost as soon as they were teleported there. “Why are there so many hot fucking mountains everywhere. They’re everywhere- not just in Hyrule-” He continues on, muttering to Warriors, who is currently bearing the weight of Legend’s complaints.
Sky lets out a heavy sigh. His sailcloth is no longer draped across his shoulders, instead tied around his waist to get a layer of heat off his shoulders. Time is debating removing his armor; the heat is causing it to burn when it brushes against his bare skin, but the distant chittering of Pyrups and other volcanic monsters convinces him to keep it on. It’s not unbearable, or even damaging. Just very, very annoying.
“If we have to fight something like Ghoma here I’m quitting. That thing gave me nightmares for weeks. Did you have to fight a Ghoma, Time?” Wind asks, trudging along beside him. For a second, he envies the kid’s youthful energy until the feeling of being too big and too small and too not-right in his own skin makes him shudder, so he answers instead.
“Yes, it was a giant spider that-” It’s been years since the Deku Tree passed but thinking about it still makes the guilt run through him. No matter how often Malon talks him through it, he still wishes he could have done more, done better. The idea that Wind had to fight something like that made something bitter curl up in his stomach. “It was in my first temple.”
“Oh, weird. Mine wasn’t a spider, it was like a centipede or something.”
Hyrule, who moved closer to the front of the marching order as the path got a bit narrower, entered their conversation. “I fought something called Ghoma, too. Mine was a spider.”
Wind turns to look at him, and Time has to hold himself back from putting a hand on his shoulder. The kid can take care of himself, even if his shouting could attract monsters that none of them really have the energy to deal with in the heat.
“What! That’s not right at all!”
“To be fair, mine was much more monster than spider.”
Wind turns to Hyrule, trying to grill him for more details of what exactly his Ghoma looked like, before making his way through their group to ask everyone if they had a Ghoma and what theirs looked like. Time makes no move to stop him in this, because he knows as soon as he reaches where Warrior’s is near the back the captain will keep an eye on him.
Hyrule speaks up once Wind’s focus is off of them, “I think the heat is starting to drag everyone down, Sky was walking slower than normal when I passed him. I think he was starting to wheeze too.”
Time nods but doesn’t answer vocally. He scans the surroundings and is about to ask Sky if he knows of a safe area to set up camp--it’s barely past midday, but with heat like this and no clear goal it’s safer to rest up while they can and continue on at night--when the familiar thrum of a portal fills the air.
If he’s allowed to be thankful for anything, it’s that it didn’t form right underneath them. His body isn’t old by any means, but he isn’t sure if his heart could take the resulting panic of thinking the ground fell out beneath them all on a volcano mountain range.
Black and purple spirals swirl in the light of the portal, ominous as always despite how the heat makes the mystery of where they end up preferable.
At the front of the team, Time steps forwards, calling back a quick “is everyone ready?” and stepping into it as soon as he hears the affirmative from the others.
Instead of solid ground, gravity catches up to him once he’s fully through. He barely braces enough to catch himself on hands and knees, immediately spluttering in the water he was dropped into. It’s only instincts born of age that tell him to move out of the way as the others come tumbling through behind him, with varying states of successful landings.
Fully soaked after rolling away from the others and the ensuing splashing, he takes a moment to check his companions, but is quickly distracted by the wave of familiar magic that washes over him.
Catching sight of the enclosed cave and copious leaves scaling the walls around them, Time allows himself to relax fully. He breathes in the smell; nature and fairy magic wrapped together into something that feels too much like childhood. The feeling settles heavy on his tongue. A cloyingly sweet taste just on the side of pleasant to not be nausea inducing. They will be safe here, for as long as the fairies in this fountain allow them to stay.
He notices Hyrule remove his hat, wringing it out as he glances around. The young hero’s face pinches, “we’re in my Hyrule, but we’ll be safe in here.”
“Are you sure?” Warriors speaks up as he gets out of the water, wringing his scarf out as he looks around. Time takes special note of the pinched look on his face.
Hyrule makes his own way out of the fountain, lending a hand to Wind over the high edge. “Don’t worry about offending a Great Fairy, this one is normally just filled with the smaller ones, as a little resting place for them when they travel between the larger fountains. I’ve rested for a few days before.”
“If you’re positive.” Looking only halfway convinced, Warriors gives a tense nod.
“You know,” Wind says as the rest of the team steps out of the fountain. Their loud entrance probably scared the fairies away for the moment, but they'll return soon enough. Wind continues, “this is the exact type of place Ghoma would show up-”
Warriors pushes Wind back into the fountain. He comes up spluttering, and with only a warning glare he leaps onto Warriors, yanking him down with him.
“Be respectful, this is a place of healing.” Time’s voice cuts through the noise that erupted from the others, stopping Wild and Four from where they were about to join in.
Twilight sets his things down next to Time and sits, patting the damp ground with a smile. Time obliges, hoping that the others would follow their example. Twilight grins, “it’s been a good while since I’ve been in a fairy fountain. It’ll be nice to refresh our stock.”
“So these are the fairy fountains you all have been mentioning?” Sky joins them, without his sailcloth. Time glances around to see it draped out on a rock, where Warriors is adding his scarf to the pile. It sounds like he’s trying to ask Legend to use his fire rod to speed up the drying process. He dutifully ignored them. That problem will sort itself out.
Time turns pointedly back to Sky, “I thought you’ve caught fairies before?”
He shrugs at him, face pinching into what Time is beginning to recognize as embarrassment for his adventure being so different from the others (as if Time’s adventures were in any way “normal” or desirable). “I’ve never seen more than one in a place. I’m a little excited.”
Wind joins them, tailing behind Wild as he begins handing out some food from his slate. It seems they will be resting here a while, especially if Legend and Warriors setting up their bedrolls has anything to say about it.
He’s barely able to hide a fond smile as Wind sits right next to him, “my Great Fairies were a little creepy.” His eyes go wide after he says this, turning towards the water and calling out, “not in a bad way! They were awesome and very helpful and-”
Wild laughs and covers Wind’s mouth. “They aren’t that easily offended. I think Cortera would actually be delighted- she seemed happy enough to scare the pants off me when I first stumbled upon her.”
As Hyrule approaches, the group easily makes room for him to join them, though he keeps himself angled towards the water. “Mine are very kind. I’m worried no one has shown up, though.”
Time unlatches his pauldron, rolling his shoulder as the weight is lifted. “Nine people just came falling through the ceiling, I’m sure anyone would be a little wary to investigate, even if those nine people have familiar souls to them.”
“I suppose.” He still looks concerned, his fingers worrying a tear in his tunic. They’ll need to find a town soon to stock up on more basic supplies. Being in the Eldin mountain range was awful on their clothes. Malon would have a fit if she knew Time was letting everyone walk around with scorch marks all over.
Time, however, knows he will be no match for when Legend gets a second away from his bickering with Warriors to fully take stock of everyone's appearance.
The conversation is easy for the next few minutes. Time lets it wash over him, gazing over his team as he waits for the fairies to return.
Hyrule feels their return first. Time has been watching him, so he knows the moment they return by the way he perks up. Legend is the next to notice, pulling a few bottles out of his bag. Time also reaches for his bag, but instead of bottles, he grabs a flask and small glass jar.
Ignoring the questioning look Twilight sends him as he stands, he approaches the water’s edge, where Hyrule is speaking softly to the fairies.
The group had learned the man could speak to fairies pretty quickly, when he first saw Four pull a bottle out to heal someone after a fight. It wasn’t until everyone realized he was talking to the fairies themselves that things made sense; Hyrule had never bottled fairies, but was okay with the others doing so because apparently, in their times, it was like a game to the magical creatures. If you could catch them, they owe you a favor. The bottles never hurt them, though everyone was a little hesitant to catch the fairies the next few times they came across one after that conversation, to be safe.
Everyone except Time, of course. He couldn’t speak to every fairy, just the few that had accompanied him on his journey, but growing up around them meant he could read their body language quite well.
He also knew how to say thank you in a way they would really appreciate.
As such, he sets out a small curved plate at the water’s edge. He pours the flask’s contents on it, before opening the jar and dolloping a bit of the honey inside along the edge.
“What are you doing?” Hyrule asks. He’s quite the sight; one fairy in his cupped hands while a few others play with his hair and tug on his dirty clothes.
“Sugar water and honey,” Time sits back, away from the plate. “Fairies adore the stuff. I’m surprised they haven’t asked you for any, considering you can talk to them.” He wishes he had a spare bell to tie up on one of the branches. They adore flying through them so they clink around.
“Oh. Well, sugar is really expensive and honey is really rare, they’re probably not used to it.” He grows silent as the fairies float away from him and swarm the dish. “I wish I could do more to help them, considering how much they’ve helped me.”
Time barely holds back a sigh. It was so hard to know what to say, especially when he saw so much of his own attitudes in the others. Malon was so much better at this. She wasn’t here, though, thank Hylia for that at the least, so he had to be the one to help the others with things like this.
At the very least, seeing how easily Hyrule is speaking around them all shows that their whole group isn’t messing things up too badly. When he first joined, Hyrule only signed occasionally, speaking only when necessary. Wild gets like that as well, when he comes out of what are apparently memories of his past. Their time spent non-verbal shrinks more and more each time it comes up, something Time recognizes as similar to hisearly time around Malon on Lon Lon Ranch. That, in itself, prods him to open up a little. “I grew up around fairies,” and, okay, it was a little funny to see how Hyrule’s head (and the others, who were so clearly trying to look like they weren’t snooping now) perked up at the chance for him to finally talk about his past in some regard. “They like helping, and letting them do so is probably the best way to thank them. If anything, me doing this for them,” he gestures at the offering, “is just going to make them beg you for it any time you see them. I suppose I should be apologizing to you.”
The soft laugh Hyrule lets out is more than enough to let him know he must have said something right. The younger man is saved from figuring out a response as Wind rushes over (barely startling the fairies, who were too engrossed by the offering to care) and gapes at Time, “you grew up around what.”
That’s the end of his chance for peace and quiet for the day. Perhaps the next week, even.
As he begins to tune out Wind’s pestering for more information he glances over his team.
Relaxed, small wounds being quickly healed by the fairies around them, laughing, and sharing some of the bread Wild handed out before joining the group by the water. The hero mindlessly hands Time and Hyrule their own share of bread, and Time passes Hyrule the honey to put on his bread (he isn’t oblivious, of course, but he will let the hero keep his secrets a while longer).
They could stand to stay here longer than a night, as long as the fairies are okay with it.
Or, at least, so long as he doesn’t run out of sugar water.
#linked universe#lu time#lu hyrule#lu wind#everyone else is there but not big enough to tag in this chapter ig#my fics#enjoy :)
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Fake Fic Titles:
You Look So Different When You're Sleeping
Under The Moonlight
Please Don't Leave Me
There's A Monster in the Sky, in the Wood, in the Fields
These prompts are all so good!! Again, I kind of wrote a LOT for this lol. I hope you enjoy!
CW: some fear and panic, sacrifice.
Nothing too dark this time.
You look so different when you're sleeping
A borrower is rarely active during the day. It is much safer to borrow when the humans are asleep, less likely to see you. Ranboo has no desire to borrow during the day. The very few times he's been awake while the humans were have been terrifying. He's never even had a close call; there's just something frightening about watching humans move and interact with the world, even from a hidden position. They're too fast for something so large; too attentive, too intelligent. They are loud and smart and utterly petrifying, and Ranboo will stick to borrowing at night, thank you very much.
But... In the darkness, in the peace and quiet of the night, the humans aren't quite as frightening. They're still and calm while they sleep, expressions lax and breathing deep and slow. It's almost... Peaceful seeing the giant beings so still and gentle.
He probably shouldn't be here, shouldn't be watching the human sleep with such fascination. But he's done everything thing he needs to do... And everything he doesn't need to do. He has no chores to keep him occupied, has enough food stored to last for weeks if it keeps that long. He has nothing to do, and finds himself drifting to the human's room. He climbs the nightstand, only a little nervous at how close he is to the dangerous being, and watches.
It's relaxing somehow, and the human looks much less like a dangerous threat like this. He looks more like a person. Which he is, humans are people, but it's hard to remember that when they walk past and all he can think of is how easily a single step could crush him.
He feels calmer than he has in a while, and watching someone sleep makes him sleepy. He's tempted to blink his eyes shut, but he can't while still in a dangerous place. But he's tired enough he should probably head home.
Ranboo stands up, and is about to start the climb back down the nightstand when the human shifts.
Instantly he's alert, adrenalin flooding his body. He doesn't know whether to run, try to make it to the floor before the human wakes up or to hide on the nightstand and pray he isn't seen.
He's too slow to decide, to frozen with indecision, and the humans eyes snap open. A second later, an eye half his size filled with a terrifying amount of intelligence rests on him.
There's a blink as the human registers his presence, then the human is sitting up, laser focused on him.
Ranboo trembled under the gaze, wishing he could just teleport away to safety. The human had looked much less terrifying when he was sleeping.
Under the Moonlight
Please don't leave me
Ok I'm just gonna bullet point this one lol.
Phil is an immortal with a strange curse
When he's beneath the moonlight, he can move. But when he's no longer touched by the light from the moon, he freezes into a solid statue.
This causes a lot of problems, and he's found out the hard way that's he can't die. If he's smashed to pieces, he'll just wake up beneath the next moon, completely fine.
One night when the moon is not out, a strange man finds him and takes him home.
The man, Technoblade, restores damaged statues, sculpture, and similar art in his free time, and Phil is apparently damaged enough to need restoration.
Eventually Phil is placed by a window. The problem is, the moon only shines through for less than an hour each night.
Phil needs to figure out how to escape outside in that short time frame... Without alerting the human, who seems far too perceptive.
Wilbur should've known better. Really, falling asleep while outside of the fae realm? That was just asking for trouble. Any human, or just a wild animal for that matter could stumble across him and that would be that.
At least he'd had the sense to stay in his insect form. To any passing humans, he just looked like a butterfly. Perhaps his brilliant blue wings were a little unusual, but not enough to draw suspicion.
Unfortunately, his butterfly appearance did not seem to help him any this time. Because when Wilbur woke up, he was in a jar.
He'd been caught, by a human child no less. And according to the natural laws of the world, his magic wouldn't work once he'd been trapped, not until his captor decided to release him.
Wilbur was in quite the conundrum. There was no way the kid was going to release a cool butterfly he caught. But if Wilbur revealed himself, there was no guarantee he'd want to release the even cooler fairy. Still, being in his normal form would at least give him a chance of talking his way out, and he didn't want to spend the rest of his life in a jar.
With a sigh, he shed his insect disguise. As expected the kid gasped, and gazed down at him with wide eyes.
"Woah!!!" the young human gasped, raising the jar higher and staring at Wilbur. He couldn't lie, having someone so much larger than him looking so closely at him was a little unnerving. But Wilbur put on a charming smile to talk to them.
"Hello!" He said, and the human kid grinned.
"Hi!" He replied excitedly. "You're a fairy? I've never met a fairy before! What's your name?"
Did... Did the child not know anything about fairies? Did he not know the power names held? Well if not, Wilbur certainly wasn't going to tell him. He also wasn't going to give him his full name, whether or not the kid could use it or not.
"You can call me Wilby," he said, unable to tell a complete lie. It was a little bit embarrassing to give the kid his childhood nickname, but it would do.
"Wilby," the kid repeated and despite his awkward situation, Wilbur had to fight the urge to coo. The kid didn't say his own name, however, so he decided to push slightly.
"What's yours?" He asked, not an ounce of deception in his voice.
"I'm T- uhhh I mean I can't tell you. The adults say we can't give our names to strangers."
Damn. At least he didn't know why, which meant Wilbur still might be able to get out of this.
"That's ok," he says, showing none of his disappointment. "We'll just have to become friends first."
He's a little startled when tears spring up in the kid's eyes and he sniffles. Oh dear.
"Really?" The kid asks. "You'll really be my friend, Wilby?"
That should have no right to make his heart melt. He was trapped in a jar for fuck sake! He needed the kid to free him, not make him feel soft.
"Of course," Wilbur said. "Could you let me out of the jar first?"
The kid hesitates and he fights the urge to curse. It's worth a try, but he gets the feeling it won't be that easy.
"But... if I let you out, you'll go away," the human says sadly. It's true, but Wilbur refuses to feel guilty for that fact. "And then I won't have any friends at all."
"I can't be your friend if I'm in a jar," Wilbur tries. "Then I'm just a prisoner." The kid hesitates even more.
"How about this," Wilbur hedges. If you promise to let me out, I'll be your friend."
The human lights up.
"You promise?" He asks. Wilbur words his promise very carefully, knowing he'll be held to it by his own nature.
"I promise that if you let me out, I'll be your friend," he says, and the human cheers.
"Now we're friends forever!" He says excitedly. "And I'll let you out when we get home and you can live with me and, and-"
Wilbur tunes him out. He can feel the promise taking hold, which means the kid really does intend on letting him out. Luckily being friends with someone doesn't influence his mind, but he's still in the jar.
"Hey, do you want to play a game?" He asks. The kid brightens.
"Yes! What game?" He nearly shouts.
"We'll play Simon Says," Wilbur says with a grin. The name had become commonplace, but few humans knew the origin of the game.
"Can I go first?" The kid asked. If Wilbur interpreted the question as the kid playing first rather than giving the commands then...
"Yes," he said truthfully, as all fairies must. "But we're going to play a more fun version. You use your own name instead."
"Oh," The human said, disappointed. "But I'm not supposed to tell my name to strangers."
Wilbur feels victory, tantalizingly close.
"Well we aren't strangers anymore, are we?" He asks reasonably. The child's face brightens, and he gasps in delight.
"You're right," he says. "we're friends now! My name is Tommy!"
And just like that, Wilbur has his ticket to freedom.
"Tommy," he croons, testing the power behind the name. Tommy instantly sways in place, eyes glazing over.
"Saemonsae, Tommy," Wilbur says, speaking the true name of the spell that gives him power over anyone who gives up their name. It's the easiest spell to perform; he never met another fairy who couldn't use this spell. Even while trapped, the spell was child's play.
"Open the jar, Tommy," he commands sweetly. Instantly, the child is moving, unscrewing the lid. Wilbur flutters free, heart soaring. He circles the dazed human's head a few times before landing on the lid of the jar.
If he were a crueler being, he could pay back the imprisonment a hundredfold. If he wished, he could make Tommy do anything he wanted. A dark part of him, the part that was the most instinctual part of being a fairy, wanted to. It wanted to trap the silly boy and show him that fairies weren't toys, weren't creatures to be trifled with.
The rest of him knew that Tommy was just a kid. He would make Tommy take back the deal, the one that still bound him to be the child's friend.
But... Tommy was crying. He froze, watching the kid, still under his power sniffle. Maybe he was scared? It was very likely. He didn't have control of himself anymore, and that would scare most adults.
"Wilby," Tommy sniffled. Wilbur was morbidly curious. What would the child say while scared? Would he ask to be spared? To be freed? Wilbur wouldn't hurt him regardless, but he wanted to know. He let Tommy keep talking.
"Wilby, are you leaving?" He asked, and suddenly another part of Wilbur rose up at the desperation in the child's voice. He felt his face soften, and then Tommy spoke the final words that pierced Wilbur's heart.
"Please don't leave me alone," the little human child begged. Not worried at all about Wilbur abusing the power he had and hurting him; just wanting Wilbur to stay. How lonely was this young human, that he became so attached to the first friendly person he met? (And how soft was Wilbur, that he was already attached as well?)
"I won't leave you," Wilbur decided on a whim.
Fairies could be many things. Cruel and kind, gentle and vicious, completely truthful while being manipulative. They were also be selfish.
Wilbur liked Tommy. He was his friend because of the promise he'd made, the one that he could make the child release at any moment. But the human was also lonely and sad, and the fairy decided he was Wilbur's.
"Saemonsae, Tommy," he repeated, and the human would do as he asked. "You're going to live with me."
There's a Monster in the Sky, in the Woods, in the Fields.
It has been centuries since humanity was safe on the surface. When the Endless War of the the gods broke out, at the end of it all, the earth went to the victors. It was only by the grace and mercy of the dual gods of the Underground and Wealth that humanity was not subjugated by the powerful gods above.
The cave Tommy's village lives in is close; far too close to the territories of several very powerful gods. Their village gives sacrifices every year; the best cow in the village, the most bountiful portion of their crops. Yet still, the gods seek unsatisfied. Each year the twisting trees from the woods grow closer, and the wild crops from the field creep towards the entrance of their cave, and the sky peeks more and more through the slowly crumbling ceiling of the cave.
For centuries, the village has increased their sacrifices, giving all they can without starving their own people. Each household gives until it hurts, leaving behind everything they can spare, sometimes parting with sentimental items. It's never enough. Finally, there is only one more way to escalate the sacrifices.
They must give the gods a life to be free.
With great reluctance, the elders choose a child to be sent out. He is innocent, and he is alone. His sacrifice will be tragic, but better a poor waif with no family to miss him then one of the children of the families around. It must be a child; innocence is essential to a good sacrifice and they cannot afford to slight the gods.
The boy's name is Tommy, and he's terrified as he's tied up and dragged go the entrance of the cave. The priests are covered head to toe, so they tread as little on sacred ground as possible. Tommy is barefoot, dressed only in loose robes that fall past his knees.
He shakes as he's placed perfectly between the wild fields and dark woods, open and seen by the sky above.
The priests tie the ropes to the ground and return to the village, muttering prayers as they go. No matter how he tries, Tommy cannot free himself from the bindings. He struggles until he hears a snap of a foot on a branch.
From the woods, he comes. He is the first to arrive, and the sight of him makes Tommy's heart tremble in his chest from the sheer terror.
He is a giant, as the gods tend to be. Towering easily above the trees of his domain, and looking down at where Tommy lays bound with a curious gleam in his eyes. His eyes are a warm brown like sunwarmed soil. Brown eyes should not be able to glow, but rules don't apply to gods. His curling brown hair looks a bit like branches, and he has a crown of leaves braided around his head like a circlet. It distracts him for a moment from the pointed ears that could never be mistaken as human and the razor sharp fangs from a mouth big enough Tommy felt faint with fear.
"What have we here?" The god asks, voice melodic and resonating through Tommy's entire being. There's something almost sad in his voice, and Tommy feels the emotion despite his fear. "A little gift from the humans, I suppose."
"Are you sure this gift is for you?" a deep voice calls from behind Tommy. He freezes, a fresh wave of terror washing over him. He turns to find a second god, standing tall and proud in the fields.
He is meant to be a god of harvest, but the scent of blood fills Tommy's nose. The god looks far more like a king than a farmer, with an intricate crown of gold resting on his head. His hair is a vibrant pink, and Tommy had never found the color so intimidating as when this powerful looking god wore it. His ears and mouth were the same as the other gods, but his eyes were a terrible red, looking like blood might spill from them at any moment.
"After all," he continued, and the powerful sound made Tommy feel like his bones were vibrating in his body, "he seems to be in my field."
"Perhaps," the god of the forest says, and although there is no anger in his voice, Tommy tenses at what must be a growing argument between gods.
"You cannot deny," the Woods continues, "That he is also in my forest. He is partially bound to the roots of a tree."
"And partially bound to the soil of my fields," the harvest god finishes.
Tommy squeezes his eyes shut, breathing shakily. It is said gods rarely share. Especially when it comes to matters of power, such as sacrifices, they will not accept others taking what is theirs. Will they fight to have all of him? Or will they tear him perfectly in half, split him and call it even? No matter the outcome, Tommy doesn't see himself surviving, and he whimpers quietly.
The sound of wings fluttering startles him, and he opens his eyes. The two gods must have heard it as well, because they fall silent.
Tommy's eyes catch a single feather, floating down from the sky. Despite the third shadow that is now falling over him, all he can do is watch the falling feather as is slowly drifts down, landing right next to him. It is as black as the night, looks soft as silk... And is twice as long as he is tall. He shudders uncontrollably, finally gazing up at the third god; the god of the sky.
He catches sight of him and his breath catches in his throat. That is not a mere god of the sky.
Wings as dark as death stretch behind him. He is cloaked in dark green robes that cover his hands. Soft blonde hair falls around his face, and an unmistakeable hat covers his eyes and his pointed ears. Tommy has seen his likeness carved into countless statues, painted onto the walls of the cavern, etched into books.
This was one of the Two; this was the Angel of Death, the god over all endings.
"Don't tell me you have a claim on him as well," the forest god says lightly, and Tommy shudders at the idea. The Angel of Death laughs.
"He's been placed equally between Woods, Fields and Sky; I believe we are meant to share him."
The gaze of three gods, one of them one of the two most powerful beings in the universe fall on him, and Tommy's terror becomes too much to handle. His vision goes dark, and he knows no more.
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"Weird Secret Friends" *Chapter 11*
Chapter 10
Chapter 12
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Alright this one is kinda short but I needed a cliffhanger, and I need to get to fifteen now. Also, I had to write the ending of this in the car and it's difficult so I ended it where I did. Plus I love watching y'all squirm. SUFFER.
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Rafael hadn’t texted you back since you told him you didn’t care whether he believed you or not, maybe he had gotten the hint and decided to leave you alone. Why didn’t that make you feel any better? You knew what you had told Sonny was true; you couldn’t be in any kind of relationship with anyone but alcohol.
You’d never admit it to Sonny since he was so proud of you lately, but the monster inside you may be present more than you let on. It wasn’t big things that set you off sometimes, sometimes it was just one bad grade on a test, or being lonely.
You knew you needed to reach out to someone, anyone other than Sonny. Get some friends of your own, people you could talk to. But you were too ashamed of your problems and your life to ever approach anyone. Even when students in your class would ask you to go out with them after school, you’d always decline in fear of what you might do while you were out. You could keep yourself from having more than one drink on your own, but the social pressure of being around other people drinking made you just want to keep going. And you knew where that led. Where it always led.
You had kept the monster at bay for so long, it was exhausting most days. And now that you had fed it and let it loose, you were too tired to even try and reign it back in. So here you were, practically unable to move from being so sick from drinking fucking mouthwash rather than ride out your cravings.
You looked up at the sky and began to pray for God to just take you right there and then, just so you would have to stop feeling like this. Not just physically ill, but completely devastated and heartbroken that the one time you had ever opened yourself to someone, opened yourself to love, the monster inside you killed it. Just like it killed everything. Now you just wanted it to kill you. You were just about to grab some pure rubbing alcohol from under your bathroom sink to drink, you knew it was lethal if you drank about a capful. You had it up to your lips when you heard a banging on your front door.
“Y/N! Y/N open this door!”
Were you still that fucked up or was that actually Rafael banging on your door? No, it couldn’t be. Could it? You decided it was worth at least checking, if you had hallucinated it you could always come back to the bathroom. You forced yourself to stand up and hobbled towards your front door, still afraid to open it. If it really was him, you didn’t want him to see you like this. Your t-shirt was covered in bright green vomit stains, your hair was messy from puking, your hadn’t checked but you figured your face was probably disgusting.
“...I’m not home!” The words came out before your sense kicked in to tell you that was literally the most idiotic thing you could say. Clearly he’d know you were fucked up now.
“I’m not kidding! I’ll break down this door, I swear to God,” His voice was angrier than you’d ever heard him. Well, that wasn’t saying much considering you hadn’t known him that long but still.
“Uh...okay, just a second!” You called nervously, doing your best to quickly change your shirt and fix your hair.
You grabbed a semi clean t-shirt laying on your couch and threw your hair up in a messy ponytail, wiping the dried vomit and drool from your face. You glanced in the mirror, you looked messy but just messy enough you were pretty sure you could pull off “I’m emotionally destroyed because of you” not “I’m totally trashed and fucked in the head because of you,” You tried walking as straight as you could to the door and softly opened it a bit, not letting him inside.
“Hey…” You gave him a sheepish smile. Wait, weren’t you supposed to be mad at him? Don’t act nice now just because you’re trying to act sober.
“I mean...that’s a pretty lively looking corpse there, counselor,” You smirked.
“...What?” He raised an eyebrow.
“Weren’t you the one who said you’d never be caught dead in Jersey?” You smirked harder. Damn, even when you were on the verge of dying you were smooth.
“Let me in,” Rafael said flatly.
“Uh, no,” You said mockingly.
“Let me in,” He repeated more sternly.
“Do you have a warrant?” You asked with an amused smile.
“Dammit Y/N don’t make me shove this door open,”
“Oh okay so now you’re threatening to break into my apartment? Why don’t you yell that a little louder, maybe my neighbor will call the cops,” You yelled at him while gesturing down the hall.
“...Please let me in?” His voice lowered, his eyes softened. You were a sucker for those eyes, no matter how mad or worried about appearances you were.
“...Fine,” You sighed and released your hold on the door and walked away quickly to sit on the couch. You didn’t want him to realize you couldn’t stand without holding onto something.
“Fuck, I knew it…” He muttered as he glanced around your apartment, then focused on you.
“Knew what?” You crossed your arms, playing it cool.
“You’re drunk right now, aren’t you?” He looked at you pitifully, not livid like he was a minute ago.
“What?” You kept your composure. “Uh, I’m sorry Rafael, do you see any empty bottles here? Any FULL bottles for that matter?” You gestured around your apartment while acting offended he would even think that.
“My dad was an alcoholic, Y/N,” He said softly which made you angrier, why was he doing this?
“Um okay, so that has to do with me why--?”
“Tell me right now if I smelled your breath that it wouldn’t be overwhelmingly ‘clean’,” He talked over you.
“....What?” You blinked, trying desperately to act oblivious.
Fuck, why did he know that was a thing? Well, obviously he just said it. If you weren’t so angry or out of your mind right now, you’d feel absolutely terrible for being like this around him now that you knew he’d been through this before.
“So it’s a crime to have dental hygiene now?” You smarmed.
“Dammit Y/N I know what you’re doing!” Now he was getting angry again, he couldn’t stand that you weren’t taking this seriously. He couldn’t stand watching another person he cared about completely shit faced in front of him, acting as if he was the one in the wrong.
“And what am I doing, Rafael?”
“Sonny might be naïve, but I know what it looks like when an alcoholic is hiding their drinking!” He accused you.
“God dammit…” you muttered.
So many things were buzzing in your head at that moment. One you now felt ashamed that he was seeing you like this, two you were upset that he knew all your tricks, and finally you were somewhat happy and hopeful that he cared enough to come for you.
“Did you have an actual reason for coming over here, or did Sonny just send you to lecture me because he’s tired of doing it?”
“...Can you drink some coffee or something?”
“What?” You furrowed your eyebrows. “Why?”
“I can’t talk to you when you’re like this,”
“What? Oh suddenly I must be out of my mind trashed because I’m mad at you? Guess what Barba, this is 100% snarky sober me,” You lied.
“Mad at me?” He laughed. “Why in God’s name are you mad at me?!”
“After the way you treated me--”
“The way I treated you?!” He cut you off angrily. “I treated you with nothing but caring and respect, Y/N. Even after you sat there in my apartment throwing a temper tantrum like a petulant drunken toddler!”
“You--” You were livid at him calling you a toddler.
“Just because Sonny told you what I usually act like towards-- lovers, doesn’t make it true with you. Did I ever, ever act like you were some ‘conquest’?” He asked you.
“...No,” You bit your lip nervously.
“Did I ever make you feel cheap, or unwanted?”
“No…” You looked at the floor.
“Didn’t I tell you that you were different, that you meant something to me?” He gave you a sad look, as if he was crushed that you didn't believe in him.
“But how do I know that wasn’t just a line?!” You protested.
“Because I’m here!” He gestured around your apartment.
“And why are you here?” You pressed him.
“I don’t know!” He put his hands over his head.
“...That’s not an answer,” You crossed your arms.
“It’s the only answer I can give you, Y/N,” He finally sat down next to you on the couch.
You curled up your knees to your chest instinctively, still trying to hide your inebriation and the smell of your breath; even though you knew it was futile at this point.
“So, you come all the way here to bang on my door and yell at me, but you have no idea why?” You continued to be defensive, trying to keep him off your scent.
“What do you want me to say, Y/N? Huh?” He threw up his hands.
“Do you want me to say it’s because I’m in love with you? Because for the first time in my life I found someone that I want to be with all the time, because you make me the happiest I’ve been in a long time, maybe ever?”
“Uh no,” You rolled your eyes. “I didn’t ask you to lie,”
“...I’m not lying,” He looked at you very seriously, trying to take your hand.
“Yes, you are,” You shook your head and pulled away from him. “In fact I know exactly why you’re here,”
“....What is happening right now?” Rafael asked himself softly. He had just sat there and poured out his heart to you, and you were dismissing him completely. This is exactly why he should have just let you be.
“What’s happening, is that you-- you feel bad that you couldn’t... I don’t know, ‘deal’ with your Daddy issues," You air quoted Daddy, making him shift uncomfortably.
"That is so--" He tried denying it.
"True?" You gave him a look. "Let me guess, you couldn't 'save' him as a kid, right?"
"...That wasn't on me," He muttered, looking at the floor.
"You don't believe that," you scoffed. "I know you don't."
"And how do you know that?" He looked at you skeptically.
"Because I feel like I failed my parents, and they were the shittiest people on earth!" You exclaimed.
"How did you fail them? You weren't even--"
"By being born, Raff," You clarified.
"Carino, don't--"
"Look, my point is you've got this 'white knight syndrome', but you know what I learned? You can't save everyone, so you shouldn't even try,"
"That's a great philosophy," he scoffed. "So you don't even try?'
"Oh fuck off," You rolled your eyes. "I can't even save myself, let alone anyone else,"
"That's not true," he protested. "You saved me,"
"Oh my god," you made a fake gagging noise. "You're just saying that so it'll appease some kind of guilt,"
"I have zero to feel guilty about," he shook his head. For some reason that made you even angrier.
"Alright well good! So you can leave," You pointed towards the door.
"No I'm not leaving, not until you acknowledge what I said," He crossed his arms.
"What? About you being in love with me?" You scoffed. "I told you that's a load of shit."
"And why do you say that?" He asked.
"For one, because you don't fall in love with someone just because they're good in bed," you gave him a look.
"That's not why--"
"And for two, nobody can be in love with a monster," You finished over him.
"You're not a monster--" he tried pulling you towards him but you stood up.
"Yes I am!" You screamed.
Well that was a bad idea. All of a sudden it was as if the chemicals from the mouthwash were sizzling around your insides. You doubled over in pain, the room was going dark.
"Y/N? Oh my god, baby hold on--" he grabbed you and pulled you into his lap while he dialed 911.
"It's okay, you're okay...just...just hold on, please…" he pleaded with you while stoking your hair and kissing the top of your head, gripping you as if you were going to disappear if he let up.
That was the last thing you heard before everything went black.
#rafael barba#rafael barba imagine#rafael barba x reader#rafael barba x you#law and order svu#law and order svu fanfiction#weird secret friends
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After All This Time || Chapter Two
Aaron Hotchner x Reader
Word Count: 1457
Summary:
You being a new recruit pissed SSA Aaron Hotchner off. You being smart enough to give Spencer Reid a run for his money pissed him off even more. Really, he just despised your presence. Hated your every move.
Until one day, he just… didn’t.
CHAPTER WARNINGS: general canon level violence, they talk about a new case, more angry Hotch, more angry reader
A/N: I'm excited that so many people want me to tag them! It's technically only like eight haha, but it's still so cool to me that people want to be told when I'm posting.
TAGLIST:
@kingofthetwats @wanniiieeee @uwu-sebastianstan @piggyinthesea @yoshigguk @thatisthemagic @errorcosplay67 @ivebeenthinkingboutu @big-galaxy-chaos @rynfoxsleeps
* * * * *
Chapter Two
Five months later, and you were still sitting at your desk in the late hours of the night. 12:34 AM. Too late. You had been staying at the bureau after hours to make it look like you were already taking this job as seriously as you could. To be fair, you were taking it seriously, but you figured the late hours being noticed would be a benefit.
So when your phone rang, you answered it immediately.
"L/N."
"Hey, Y/N, it's JJ. Can you come in for a case? Hotch just called and woke me up. I know it's pretty late, but it's a pretty bad one, we're going to Michigan."
"Yeah, not a problem. I wasn't asleep yet." You don't lie necessarily, but it's a half-truth for sure. JJ doesn't need to know that you were already at the BAU building, less than fifty feet away from the briefing room where you would all be meeting.
"Great, thanks Y/N. See you soon."
She clicks off the phone and you sigh before pushing yourself off of the desk.
"L/N." You almost drop the coffee you had been about to sip as you spun around in your swivel chair.
"Yes, sir?" You ask casually, deciding it was better to play dumb.
"Stand."
Obeying your order, you narrow your eyes and stand up, squaring your shoulders and trying to look bigger than you are.
"Now, explain." Hotchner stands in front of you, arms crossed.
"Explain what? That I'm here and we have a case?" You shake your head as you turn away from him.
"Did I say you could turn, Agent?" His voice sends a shiver through your core and you mentally slap yourself. Now is not the time.
Spinning back around, you catch a glimpse of Derek and Garcia walking in to the briefing room. "We have a case, Hotchner. Let's ignore the fact that I was just doing my paperwork and get in there please." It takes everything in you to turn away a second time. You bend down and grab your shoes, sliding them onto your feet before walking away from him and into the room.
You can feel his gaze on your back, but you ignore it, slipping through the conference room door and letting it fall shut behind you.
"Hey guys." You greet as you sit down.
"Hot mama-"
"Hey, beautiful-"
Derek and Penelope greet you at the same time, causing you two girls to giggle and Derek to stifle his laugh because, 'men don't giggle'.
The three of you exchange small talk until the others walk in, most of them looking like they had been in the deep clutches of sleep.
Spencer's already messy hair looked ten times worse, and Emily wasn't wearing a bra, which she was subtly trying to hide by hunching her shoulders forward.
She sits beside you and you send her the 'you good?' look.
"Don't even mention it, Y/N." She threatens lightly with a laugh before Rossi, JJ, and Hotchner walked in.
You kept your gaze down, but you knew his eyes were on you.
"Garcia, you have the slideshow pulled up?" JJ asks gently, knowing that the other blonde woman absolutely despised cases like this. Really the whole team did.
"Yeah... It's a doosy, team. Not pretty at all." She shakes her head and starts the slideshow before handing the tablet to JJ.
"Okay. Ariel Stanton, Franklin Lewis, and Ella Craft. Three kids, all mutilated with their heads severed and preserved. Their bodies were found in the same area of the Raisin River in Petersburg, MI. The heads-"
Penelope got up then and mumbled a string of 'I'm sorries' before all but running out the door.
Your fingers clutched at the dress pants you were wearing as JJ asked, "Does anyone else need to leave before I keep going?"
A collective shake of the team's heads is enough to convince JJ that she can keep going.
"Their heads were all found beside the river bank, fully intact. Two of the bodies came with a note to the precinct, it read: "Fear me, for I have God on my side. God will help me cleanse the Earth of its sinners. These children had to go, for they were not with God.""
You start speaking when the profile is complete, "Okay, so the references to God and doing His work suggests that this unsub sees himself as holier than thou. Most likely a man, age 30-40 and probably grew up in a family that was very religious; they would have prayed before meals and there would be records of this family donating very generously to the church that they attended."
"No. That profile is wrong, L/N. If you had paid any attention, you'd know that the use of the word 'cleanse' means that he thinks these "sinners" are dirty, he's not thinking that he is necessarily better. I don't need your input again."
"Hotch come-"
"You do not have the right to call me that. My team calls me that. To you, I am Agent Hotchner." His gaze was cold, but there was something there.
"Fine. I'll be on the jet." You stand up and as you bend to pick your purse off the ground, Emily whispers in your ear.
"I agreed with you. I'll brief you on the jet."
You nod once and swiftly walk out of the room, "accidentally" bumping Hotchner on your way out. Luckily, he doesn't say anything about it.
Later on the jet, you have your headphones in and are listening the your favorite song of the week. Your taste in music changes frequently, but right now, you were into the old rock and were listening to Journey.
Your lips press into a hard line when you see Hotchner walking up to you. Taking your headphones out and sit up straighter.
"What do you want?" Your voice is bratty and you sigh, quirking an eyebrow up at him.
"I uh, am here to apologize. Rossi thinks it's necessary that I say 'I'm sorry'. So here I am."
You just stare at him.
"What, Y/N?"
"You had something to say?" You cross your arms and lean back in the seat.
His eyebrows furrow when he thinks about what you said and gets a bit confused. "What do you mean? I just said it."
"Oh, did you?" You turn to Spencer, who was sitting across from you, and said, "Did you hear what Hotchner just said?"
"Uh, yeah. I did, why?" He looks up from the book he was reading.
You smirk slightly at Hotch before saying, "Can you use that amazing brain of yours to tell me what he said?"
""I uh, am here to apologize. Rossi thinks it's necessary that I say 'I'm sorry'. So here I am." Why did you need that?" He says after repeating the sentences word for word.
Hotch glares at you a bit as you shrug your shoulders.
"I don't know... I just didn't hear an apology in that." You bat your eyelashes up at the older man and add, "You said that Rossi told you to apologize, but you never said that you were sorry."
"Really, L/N? You want me to get on my knees and beg you?" He asks, spitting the words out like incredulous knives.
You keep the snide tone as you reply, "If you'd like to get on your knees, I may be more inclined to accept the imminent apology."
"Don't be a brat, L/N. I get that some of your past lovers may have liked that, but it has no place in this team. I am still your superior and I recommend you treat me like one."
He walks away without having ever apologizing, and you're left there with your jaw on the floor from his parting message.
"-Yeah! And then he was like, 'Don't be a brat. Your ex probably liked it but I'm your superior-"
"O-M-G, O-M-G. What did you say back to him?!" A very excitable Emily asks from you shared hotel room in Michigan.
"Nothing. I couldn't say anything to him because he just spun and WALKED. AWAY." You nod your head at her, your eyebrows raising as you conveyed your own disbelief at the story. "Yeah, it was horrible. I was so mad."
Emily wiggles her eyebrows, causing you to shake your head.
"Whaaat? No. No!"
"Yeah, Y/N. There's some MAD sexual tension between you two."
"Oh, get out!"
As you laugh at her statement, you pick up the pillow behind you and hit her in the side of the head with it.
"You're gonna get it now."
Faking a gasp, you stand and say, "Is that a threat, Emily?"
"Yes. Now run, bitch."
Yu both giggle and spend the night acting like teenagers again. You didn't have time to think about Aaron if you wanted to which you... no.
You didn't want to.
#aaron hotchner#hotch#aaron x reader#aaron hotchner x reader#hotch x reader#criminal minds x reader#criminal minds#angst#enemies to lovers#bau#fluff#smut eventually
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Prompt 14 “I don’t want to hurt you” and prompt 18 “youve never had a cookie?” With tiny kid Virgil and human Patton
Cookies
words: 1455
tw: fear
(Wrote this all in one go and it is not edited so…yeah. Enjoy and feel free to send a prompt)
————————————————
Virgil snuck through the walls. A strong, very sweet smell had woken him up and he just had to know what it was.
He followed the smell to the hole that led to the kitchen counter. His tired mind almost had him walk right out into the open but before he took the first step a loud beeping startled his mind awake.
It seemed like it was coming from the big black box in the kitchen. An….oven? He thinks the human called it. He hadn’t known the human for long. The man caught him the other day, when his body had gotten tangled up in some string by the human’s desk.
——————*flashback*——————
He had just been trying to get some of the medal clips from a basket the human had labeled “crafts”. The young borrower wasn’t entirely sure why the human had it, all he knew was it held the supplies he needed for his home.
Virgil remembered balancing on the edge of the basket, reaching for the part he needed, when his foot slipped and he tumbled into a pile of some sort of thick string. The boy knew the human took things in and out of this basket frequently, and that the human could come in for the basket at any moment, spotting him in the process.
Virgil panicked, trying to climb out, but it seemed the more he tried to untangle the string, the more it wrapped around him.
He heard (and felt) booming footsteps draw closer to the human’s bedroom, and renewed his struggles.
The human stepped into the room, and Virgil froze. The human was flipping through some kind of book, humming a cheery tune to himself. It reminded Virgil of the songs his brother would hum to him when he was little…well, littler.
Patton propped open the book on his desk and knelt down next to the basket, freezing in surprise at what he saw.
Virgil’s whole body went rigid as his eyes met the human’s. He felt tears of fear making their way to the surface but did his best to force them down.
The human was the first to speak up.
“…hello there…” he said in a soft voice. “What are you?” He slowly reached into the basket.
As soon as Virgil saw that hand move he panicked, struggling to get as far away from the human as he could.
Patton froze again for a moment as he saw the little one’s distress. Then he noticed the yarn wrapping it’s way around the tiny boy’s body.
“K-kiddo wait! You’re gonna get it wrapped around your neck.” His parental instincts took over, his fingers gently pinning the boy in place as he unraveled the string around his head and arms.
Virgil wanted to scream. He kicked and pushed at the hand he had no chance of defeating. The tears building behind his eyes finally fell in his fear. He wanted to scream, but only soft sobs came out.
Patton finished getting the yarn off from around the little legs, and cupped the boy in his hands, lifting him up to see him better.
The boy had curled into the fetal position, crying his little eyes out and mumbling soft pleas Patton could just barely hear, but couldn’t make out. His eyes softened. The poor kid was so scared.
“Oh….oh kiddo… it’s ok sweetheart, I don’t want to hurt you, you’re ok…”
At the gentle voice, Virgil peeked through his hands, trying to steady his breathing.
“Pl-please…” he begged softly, “please let me go…”
“Oh…” Patton cooed. He wasn’t sure what this boy was, or where he came from, but all he wanted to do was help the poor thing.
But, Patton thought, he’s so terrified. And so young. He was all alone right now, but what if he had little parents looking for him? Did they live near? They had to, Patton couldn’t imagine how the little one would get into his house from outside. Did he live in the walls? Were there more of him?
Patton wanted to help the kiddo with all his heart, but if the boy had a place in the walls, who was Patton to take him away from his home?
So, with a heavy heart, Patton gently set the boy down onto the floor next to the basket.
The little boy sat up once Patton moved his hands away, eyeing him with confusion, and looking as if he was ready to bolt at a moment's notice.
“Don’t worry kiddo…I’m not gonna hurt you. I’m guessing you live near here, yeah? Just…get home safe…ok?”
Patton stood up, slowly backing away from the boy and towards his bedroom door.
With one last little wave, he closed the door and walked away.
As soon as the human was out of sight, Virgil shot up, bolting to his entrance into the walls.
“What just happened?” He wondered.
——-*end of flashback*——
Virgil snapped out of his thoughts when a loud, joking voice exclaimed.
“Yeah yeah, I’m coming, hold on!”
The human.
Virgil watched, hidden behind a cup next to his wall exit, as the human walked into the kitchen wearing…something…on his hand. He pressed a button on the oven, shutting off the beeping sound. He opened the metal door, and the sweet smell that Virgil had been drawn to became ten times as strong. It made his mouth water, and he leaned out a little bit more just to get a peek.
The human then grabbed a big metal tray holding some kind of food out of the oven and set it on top.
Just the sight of the mystery food made Virgil’s stomach growl. Virgil jumped at the sound, putting his hands over his stomach and praying the human hadn’t heard that.
A little sound and a quick moment caught Patton’s attention as he was taking the oven mitt off his hand. He looked over, and locked eyes with the tiny boy he had seen days before. He gasped softly as his eyes widened.
Virgil froze. Oh not again, he thought, c’mon legs, run! But the sight of something so huge staring at him kept him frozen in place.
“It’s you!” Patton exclaimed, surprised to see the boy again.
The loud, sudden noise made Virgil jump, and fall on his butt. He quickly crawled back until his back hit the wall. His exit was right there, inches away from him, but he couldn’t get his body to move towards it.
Patton winced at how bad his shout had started the poor thing.
“Oh…sorry kiddo.” He apologized. “It’s ok, I’m not gonna hurt you. I’m just happy to see you again.”
Virgil tried to calm down his breathing. This human’s voice sounded so sweet and kind, but he was still a human. Virgil’s brother had told him again and again how mean and cruel humans were to borrowers. Why would this one be any different?
Patton sighed when the kiddo didn’t respond. Maybe he couldn’t understand him? That couldn’t be it, the boy had spoken to him the other day, what few, soft words he said. He was probably just scared.
“It’s ok kiddo, I’m not gonna hurt you,” Patton repeated, “or try to keep you here, but I made some cookies. I thought I heard your stomach growling, are you hungry?”
At the mention of food, Virgil’s stomach growled again. He blushed, wrapping his arms around his stomach and nodding.
“Alright then.” Patton nodded. He reached over to the cooling cookies and grabbed one, breaking off a small piece and handing it to the kiddo.
Virgil hesitantly took the piece of…cookie?…and took a bite. His eyes widened. It was so good. It was soft and gooey and sweeter than anything else Virgil had ever eaten. He quickly took another bite, and another, and another, happily chewing through the delicious treat.
Patton smiled at the look of joy in the tiny boy's face, then had a thought.
“Kiddo…you’ve never had a cookie before, have you?” He asked.
Virgil looked up at the human, then looked down when his nerves wouldn’t let him keep eye contact. He shook his head.
Patton made a little sound of acknowledgment. With how skinny the little sweetheart looked, Patton couldn’t help but wonder how long it had been since he’d eaten at all. Maybe he was wrong, and the boy didn’t have anyone else to go to. The thought saddened him.
Patton sighed. “Well, have as much as you want kiddo,” he said, setting another little piece near the boy.
“By the way, my name is Patton. What’s yours?” He asked.
Virgil looked surprised. He swallowed the last bite of cookie and grabbed the other piece. Pausing for a bit before answering.
“…I’m Virgil.”
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reminiscence (? x f!reader) pt2
thank you so much for all of the positive feedback on the last chapter!! i’m super happy you guys enjoyed it :) just for some clarification, the reason i made who the reader will end up with a mystery is bc since she has amnesia, i thought it would be fun if we all found out together hehe :) enjoy this next chapter!!
pt1
pt3
“Thank you,” The woman said, hunched over as she caught her breath. When she stood, Bolin got a good look at her face. She wasn’t a woman at all: she was a girl, probably the same age as him. “I thought I had an agreement with the Triads to leave me alone, but that guy must not have gotten the memo.”
Bolin let out a laugh. “You have an agreement with the Triads?” The girl furrowed her brows and pouted.
“Gotta keep myself safe somehow.”
“Who was that?” (Y/N) asked as Kya and Korra rifled through dressers and chests to find Air Nomad clothes that would fit her. Kya gave Korra a sharp look before the girl could answer.
“That was Bolin,” Korra replied cautiously. “He’s Mako’s brother.”
“Oh,” (Y/N) said. “He looked really nice. Did he know me too?”
“Um, yeah, I think so,” Korra said and Kya glared at her. “What? Am I just supposed to lie to her if she asks?”
“I appreciate the honesty,” (Y/N) admitted. “I would really rather no one tiptoe around the past.”
“If you receive too much information at once, or someone tells you something too painful, it could harm your chances of ever getting your memory back,” Kya said as she handed (Y/N) an Air Nomad dress.
“So everyone is just supposed to pretend that they’re fine with me? That hardly seems fair.” (Y/N) gave Korra a pointed look. “I know you know something that I don’t and that’s why you’re a little stand-offish toward me.”
“You’re not wrong.”
“Tell me, please? I’ll be okay. I need to know what kind of person I was.”
“Not today,” Kya interrupted. “You need rest. Lots of it. You’ve been going since you woke up.”
Now that she mentioned it, (Y/N) did feel rather exhausted. She stifled a yawn. “I’ll lead you to your room,” Kya said. “Since Korra can’t be trusted to not tell you everything.”
(Y/N) stood as Kya grabbed her by the arm again. “It was nice meeting you, Korra, even if it wasn’t nice meeting me.” Korra didn’t reply. She just watched as the girl padded down the hall.
The room (Y/N) was given was bare. It held a desk, a dresser, and a bed. The window looked out onto the courtyard below. She could see the people down there, undoubtedly talking about her, and she reached her fingers up to open the window. She paused, thinking on Kya’s words. If she found out too much about herself too soon, she would risk the chance of losing her memories forever. She let her hand fall to her side.
Everyone down there knew who she was. Maybe they knew her likes, her dislikes, or even her birthday. She wondered if at one point they had been friends.
Her experience with Mako had definitely put a sour taste in her mouth. He had said she wasn’t a good person. Was she mean? Evil, even? What made her that way? What did she do to him that was so awful?
And then there was Bolin. Mako had mentioned his name earlier, when she had arrived on his doorstep. “Bolin’s not here,” He had said. Why would it matter whether or not Bolin was there? She sighed as she looked down at the boy dressed in green. What did he know about her?
(Y/N) felt the familiar stinging at the backs of her eyes that alerted her to tears. Since she was alone, she let them fall freely. She moved away from the window and to the bed, her body shaking as she cried. She felt so alone. How was she supposed to cope with something like this? She was completely lost on the inside and it seemed like the only people who knew her didn’t want her around.
She didn’t bother wiping her tears away. They fell too quickly for her to catch them all. She wondered if she had ever had someone that would wipe her tears away. She got under the covers and prayed that sleep would come to her soon.
---
Two years ago, Bolin had been walking down the streets of Republic City. It was a warm night, signaling the start of summer, so he wore his jacket slung over his shoulder. The streetlights shone against the puddles on the asphalt. It had rained earlier that day.
He and Mako had gotten in a fight over money again. It was stupid, really, but sometimes Bolin was just so sick of Mako treating him like he was incapable. He had slammed the door as he left their shared apartment and marched into the street, walking with no destination. He was far away from home now. He could tell he had been walking for a while because the neon lights of the shops had already shut off. Republic City was beginning to quiet.
He made a right onto a dimly lit street and noticed a female figure walking ahead of him. Bolin decided to stop. He knew sometimes it freaked women out if men walked behind them, even if there was no ill-intent behind it, so he leaned his back against the cool brick of the building and waited until she had rounded the corner to start walking again. That was when he heard the scream.
Out of pure instinct, Bolin started running toward the sound, his jacket billowing behind him. He skidded around the corner, watching as the woman he had seen struggled against a member of the Triple Threat Triad. He and Mako had done some work for them in the past, but he didn’t recognize the man. He was large, towering over the woman and probably Bolin too. He had his hands around the woman’s wrists and was trying to lead her into the dark alley beside them. “Hey!” Bolin called out. “Let her go!”
The man stopped, a sinister smile creeping its way onto his features. “This doesn’t concern you, kid.”
Bolin wracked his brain for a clever reply, but when he couldn’t find one, he resorted to his next best option. He stomped against the ground, causing small boulders to pummel the man. He let go of the woman’s wrists and she ran over to Bolin.
The man let out a roar, jumping into the air and sending a slice of firebending at the two of them. They screamed and Bolin grabbed her hand, running back down the street and taking the back alley ways he knew so well.
“My place is the other way!” She shouted at him.
“I don’t think you wanna take him to where you live!” Bolin shouted back. They made a sharp right turn onto one of the busier streets in Republic City. Bolin stopped, using his head start to earthbend the ground up, completely blocking the man from following them. They dashed into the crowd then, Bolin’s grip still tight on the woman’s hand, until he was sure they were safe to stop.
“Thank you,” The woman said, hunched over as she caught her breath. When she stood, Bolin got a good look at her face. She wasn’t a woman at all: she was a girl, probably the same age as him. “I thought I had an agreement with the Triads to leave me alone, but that guy must not have gotten the memo.”
Bolin let out a laugh. “You have an agreement with the Triads?” The girl furrowed her brows and pouted.
“Gotta keep myself safe somehow,” She said. She looked down at her hands and sighed sadly. “When he grabbed me, he made me drop my dinner.”
“Oh no!” Bolin exclaimed. “Come with me, I know a place!”
“Thanks,” She said, “But I don’t have any money on me.”
“Let me buy you dinner!” The words came out before he could stop them, and he knew Mako would be so mad if he found out, but he couldn’t help himself. The girl raised an eyebrow.
“I don’t think it’s fair to make you pay for my dinner after you just saved my life,” She said with a laugh. Bolin smiled at the sound.
“How about this: you can repay me for saving your life by accompanying me to dinner. And if I—hypothetically—ordered too much food and couldn’t possibly let it go to waste so you’d have to eat it…then I think that’s fair!”
The girl smiled up at him. “Then I guess, hypothetically, I’d have to say yes.”
Bolin grinned and began walking in the direction of the restaurant, then paused. “Just to be clear, you are coming to dinner with me, right?” The girl laughed again and nodded.
They slid into the booth of Bolin’s favorite twenty-four-hour noodle shop. “They’ve got everything,” Bolin explained as they poured over the menu together. “Ramen, pho, pad thai…you name it, they have it.”
The girl hummed. “Think they have sea prunes?” Bolin’s face contorted into disgust. “I’m kidding! I hate sea prunes.” She picked up her menu, biting her lip as she looked at its contents. “Do you like soup dumplings?”
“Like soup dumplings?” Bolin asked. “I love them! They’re my favorite!”
“Mine too!”
“We’ll get a double order then,” Bolin decided. He went up to the counter and ordered their food. When he returned, he leaned his elbows onto the table. “So, what should I call you?”
“You mean besides the girl you just rescued? (Y/N) will do.”
“(Y/N),” Bolin repeated. He liked how it felt in his mouth. “Nice to meet you, (Y/N). I’m Bolin.”
---
“Bolin.” The boy snapped out of his thoughts, looking up at his older brother. They had returned home only a few hours ago and the sun was starting to come up. He could feel its warm rays cascading through his windows and onto his skin. “You need to go to bed,” Mako ordered.
“How can I possibly go to bed?” Bolin groaned, flopping sideways onto the couch. Pabu hopped up and curled himself into Bolin’s side.
“Easy,” Mako said. “You close your eyes and then you’re asleep.”
“Every time I try to close my eyes, I think of how (Y/N’s) on Air Temple Island and she has no idea who she is or who we are.”
“Try not to care about it, alright?” Mako poured himself a cup of tea. He had work in just a few hours. His under eyes were dark with exhaustion but as long as Bolin was awake, he’d remain awake. “We’ll figure it out and get her memories back and then she’ll go back to whatever she was doing when she left Republic City.”
Bolin chewed on his bottom lip. He had a feeling there was more to the story. The cogs in his head were turning tirelessly. He sat up, disturbing Pabu, and turned to Mako. “What if-“
“No, Bolin, you’re not gonna do that.”
“Do what?”
“Try to make excuses for everything that happened because she has amnesia.”
“But what if there’s something bigger?” Bolin asked. “She’s been gone for months and says she woke up a week ago without her memory. What happened in that time?”
“We’ll find out soon enough. They’re gonna have her do some meditating tomorrow to try to bring some of her memories back.” Mako sat beside Bolin on the couch.
“I should go back,” Bolin started to stand up. “I need to talk to her.”
“Bolin, no.” His brother pulled him back down. “You heard Kya. She can’t find out too much or she risks losing everything. While she’s focusing on getting her memories back, you need to focus on what you know: she broke your heart, little bro. She definitely didn’t have amnesia then.”
Bolin’s eager appearance deflated completely. He knew his brother was right but there was still a part of him that wanted to go see her. Maybe if Bolin told her about her past, then it would be okay. They’d had the strongest connection out of all of them.
---
That morning, (Y/N) sat between Korra and Tenzin in a gazebo. Her legs were crossed, her arms were loose in her lap, and she inhaled deep breaths to try to connect to any of her lost memories. All that she got was a whole lot of nothing. She peeked her eye open to look at Korra, who was blatantly staring at her.
“Keep your eyes closed!” Korra snapped.
“Your eyes were open!” (Y/N) argued.
“No one’s eyes should be open!” Tenzin grumbled decisively. The two girls sighed and returned to their previous states. (Y/N) inhaled another deep breath and tried to do what Tenzin had told her. She recounted the first memory she had: waking up and gasping for air, the night sky high above her. She could feel the grass that surrounded her. Once she had gained her bearings, she took in her surroundings. A small fishing village sat at the bottom of the mountain she had laid on. She got to her feet, legs wobbling, and looked at herself. Her coat was covered in spots of dirt. She reached into its pockets and pulled out a crumpled piece of paper. The writing on it was scribbled and quick, written with haste, and was obviously an address.
(Y/N’s) eyes popped back open. She didn’t notice anything different this time around. There hadn’t been anyone at her side. The first people she had interacted with had been the people in the village. They had asked her name and (Y/N) had started panicking when she couldn’t remember it. She didn’t want to delve too deep into that memory. She could still feel the pain and anxiety in it.
She buried her face in her hands. “I can’t remember anything! I’ve been trying for the past two hours and all I can see is the same memory I’ve been going over for the past week.” She felt the stinging behind her ears again, but took a breath to halt it. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to get so frustrated. I just don’t know anything and I know you guys do and trust me, I understand why you don’t want to tell me, but it stinks not knowing anything other than my name and that I’m a bad person.”
Korra frowned sadly at the girl. She knew what it was like, to be judged before she got the chance to redeem herself. While she had heard some pretty bad stories about (Y/N) from Mako, she also recognized that he was biased. Especially when it came to Bolin.
“How about we go into the city and get some lunch?” Korra asked. (Y/N) looked up at her gratefully.
“I don’t know if that’s the wisest idea,” Tenzin’s deep voice rumbled.
“Relax, Tenzin. We won’t talk about her life. She needs something normal right now.” Reluctantly, the man conceded.
Korra helped (Y/N) to her feet and whistled for Naga. The polar bear dog bounded toward them, her tail wagging excitedly. “(Y/N),” Korra said. “Meet Naga.”
The polar bear dog gave (Y/N) a huge lick on the side of her face. She giggled, rubbing behind Naga’s ears. “It’s so nice to meet you!” (Y/N) squealed. “I wish I had a pet just like you!”
“She’s kind of the best,” Korra admitted as she hopped onto Naga’s back. She pulled (Y/N) up to sit behind her.
“I don’t doubt it!” With a whip of her reigns, they burst into a run toward Republic City. (Y/N) couldn’t contain her laughter as they sped toward the water. She didn’t realize that they’d be traveling by sea until Naga dove headfirst into the icy water. (Y/N) closed her eyes tightly, gripping onto Korra’s back. The Avatar laughed.
“You can open your eyes now,” She called back to her. Slowly, (Y/N) relaxed and looked around. They traveled under the water in a giant bubble. Korra’s arms moved in flowing movements in front of her.
“You’re waterbending!” (Y/N) exclaimed.
“The Avatar is the master of the four elements,” Korra explained. “I’ve been training my whole life.”
“All four?” (Y/N) let out a gasp. “That’s so cool! I wonder if I was ever a bender.” Korra looked back at (Y/N) for a moment.
“You weren’t,” She said, her eyes kind as she stared at (Y/N). Although a little disappointed that she couldn’t bend, (Y/N) was grateful for Korra’s honesty.
“Thank you,” She said, a soft smile on her lips.
---
Tag List!
@beifongsss , @realimbo , @lavendercrystals , @tomshollandz , @zukosvice , @itsivyberry , @awesomelupe , @musicalkeys , @aroyaldarknessblr , @ilovespideyyy , @zukostan221 , @nataliahaslosthershit , @dailytrashypanda , @marvel-ing-at-it-all , @astralsaf , @ryleyrooroo , @yuhaino , @hotgirlazula , @thefandomimagines ,
#lok#legend of korra#korra x reader#asami x reader#mako x reader#bolin x reader#bolin#korra#mako#asami#writing#fanfiction
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Very proud today - I finished the headcanon-turned-fanfiction where Mel meets Alex’s father, loses him, and then connects with Bennett in the aftermath. (previous instalment here).
We start with some words from Wilford and then transition to Ben, 1st person narrative. I love Ben in this fiction. He’s brave in the mundane, everyday ways that good people are brave. Also, he tells Mel she’s “amazing in every dimension” and he calls Wilford an asshole. What’s not to love?
Below the cut:
That wasn't love, Melanie. Nobody who loved you would have let you go back in that building. Nobody who loved you would have risked his life, his future with you, for strangers. He left you alone. Look at me. He left you by yourself, so he could be some big, hulking hero. And it worked. Got his name in the papers, didn't it?
You're so brilliant. Sometimes I forget how naïve and vulnerable you can be.
It was vanity. Not love. Once you accept that, you can leave it all behind. Every bit of it. Understand? This… situation is a burden you were never meant to bear.
.
It's days later when I find Melanie alone. Actually, find is the wrong word - I'm not looking for her, I’m not so heroic. It happens by accident. I’m on my way to the server room to complete the harmonic upgrades, passing through the engine chamber on the way, and there she is, sitting in the ring of fire.
It’s a cool fire - deep, oceanic blue. Even at threshold, that’s 100,000 kilowatts of electricity, and she’s right in the cradle, her face turned towards the coils, her one good hand pressed against the inlet.
It's like she's praying. Not wanting to disturb, I try to sneak away, but it doesn't work and she notices me. I catch my breath. Now I can see, she's been crying.
“Hey.”
“Hey.”
“Sorry.”
“No.”
“I was just on my way-”
“It’s fine.” Melanie gets up, wincing as she moves, putting on a tight-lipped smile. “Your stochastic backup,” she says, looking at my computer bag.
“Yeah. Just finishing up.”
“That was a good idea.”
“Thank you.”
This is normally when I’d leave. Run, actually, from a coworker I’d just caught crying. It’s a common enough occurrence at Wilford Industries, though never with Melanie. To my knowledge, this is a first.
“How are you?” I ask.
“I’m okay. The hand is killing me.”
“If you need help with anything-”
“I know. Thank you. I’m actually getting pretty good with the left. And my toes.” After a pause, “That was a joke.”
“Very good.”
Melanie smiles, but she looks like she might cry again. I don’t know what to do. No, that's wrong. I do know what to do, but it terrifies me. I don’t talk about personal things. I don’t talk about feelings. That’s not how I was raised, and as for my friends… well, engineers aren’t most emotionally communicative bunch.
Melanie is a prime example. That’s why this could be the worst idea I’ve had in my life. Still, I press on.
It’s what Cee would do.
“Can I tell you something?” I ask, my heart in my throat. I’m sweating. God, this is pathetic.
“What’s happened?”
“It’s nothing to do with work. It’s personal.”
“Oh. Are you okay?”
“It’s not me,” I say. I can’t help but grin at the awkwardness. “It’s you.”
“Oh. Yeah, that makes more sense.” Melanie leans on the edge of the reactor. I’ve never seen her so resigned. The fact that she hasn’t told me she’s fine and I should go back to work is stunning in itself.
I sit across from her. I wipe my palms on my trousers and take a breath. After a final glance to make sure we’re alone, I tell her.
I tell her about the car accident, and I tell her about Ian. I tell her about the darkness that followed, and how Cee saved me by getting me some help. I suggest, maybe, she might consider seeing someone, too, if she isn’t already.
“I don’t know what happened to you,” I go on. “But I know what it's like to feel empty. And to be dead certain that it's never gonna change. You can get lost in that, yaknow?"
The whole thing takes only a minute to get out, maybe two. But it feels like an hour. Even longer, when Melanie doesn’t say anything afterwards. I wait as long as I can.
“Well, that's it. That’s what I wanted to say.”
“Okay.”
“So, you’ll let me know if you want to talk, or-”
“Sure.”
“Alright.” I stand up, feeling ridiculous. I might have to quit now. Change my name. Move to Morocco. “I’ll go back to work, then.”
I’m nearly out the door when she calls to me, “Ben?”
“Yeah.”
“I’m sorry about your brother. I didn’t know.”
“It was a long time ago.”
“Still.”
“He was a good kid. Just… happy all the time.” I smile ruefully. “He was better than me.”
Her brow furrows. She nods in understanding. I look at the door to the server room. Then, I walk back to the reactor. I rest my hand on the smooth, concave surface, like she does. I figure, if there’s any way to connect to Melanie, it’s through the engine.
“I met someone,” she says, after some silence. She meets my eyes. “In Beirut. We were together when the earthquake hit, and he didn’t make it.”
“Mel, I’m s-“
“Now I’m pregnant,” she interrupts. For a moment, I don’t think I heard her right. But then she repeats, in a way that seems more for herself than for me.
“I’m pregnant.”
.
I open my mouth but no sounds comes out. I don’t know what to say.
Melanie lets out laugh. “Yeah,” she says. “That was my reaction, too, when they told me. It’s been two weeks, and I just keep coming in to work, trying not to think about it. Pretending it isn’t happening. Which, I realize, is not a long term solution...”
Again, I try to find the words. Again, I come up with nothing.
She takes a breath, “Concurrently, I’ve come to the realization that I have no actual friends to talk to about this. I tried telling Snowpiercer, but she’s got her own problems right now, so-“
“I’m your friend,” I say. Strangely, it feels true. “We’re friends, Mel. If you want.”
“I do. I mean, I’d like that.”
“Okay. So. Good.”
“Good.”
“But I gotta warn you, I’m probably the most useless friend you could have in this situation. I can’t think of a single piece of advice, or-”
“It's alright. I don’t want advice. I just… I think I just had to say it out loud to someone. Hear the words. Make it real, so I can move on to problem solving.”
“You’re good at problem solving.”
“I am. When it comes to machines. Not… this.” Melanie gestures in the general direction of herself. “I don’t know anything about this.”
“There are books.”
“Books?”
“Sure. You walk into a bookstore and there’s a whole wall, a whole section of books dedicated to… that.” I gesture in the general direction of herself.
“Well, I am good at research.”
“You’re amazing at research.”
“But there’s a whole other dimension to this thing.”
“You’re amazing in every dimension.”
“It’s just…” She looks down at her hands. When she looks back up, tears spill down her cheeks. She tries to brush them away but they keep coming.
“Mel.”
“I don’t feel anything. I don’t feel happy. I don’t feel… anything at all. I know that’s wrong. I know it’s not normal.”
“Given what you’ve been through, I think it is normal.”
“But what if that has nothing to do with it? What if it’s just how I am?"
"I don't understand."
"What if I can’t do this? I mean, nobody's good at everything, right? There has to be something I can't do. Maybe this is that one thing."
“I think… honestly, Mel. I think you can do anything. Especially this. And if you asked anyone who's met you, they'd tell you the same.”
Melanie smiles ironically and shakes her head. Somehow, I know she's thinking about Wilford. Neither of us says his name, but he's in the room with us. Disapproving. Of course he would. He's an asshole.
“You won’t tell anyone about this?” she asks.
“Of course I won’t.”
“It’s just, I know people talk, and I’m not ready for congratulations just yet."
"I promise. It’s in the bear vault.”
“Oh, the bear vault. I forgot about that.”
“Only you would forget about something like that. I mean, do you face off with grizzlies on the regular, when the rest of us aren't looking?”
Melanie flashes me a look that says, you have no idea, and we share a smile as she spins down the engine. She squeezes my arm as she brushes past, and I step in to assist with the shutdown sequence. She doesn't fight me, and when it's over, she offers help with the harmonic upgrade, which I accept.
On our way out, I pause at the threshold of the server room. "Mel."
“Yeah.”
“I’m sorry. About your friend.”
"Oh. He was… it was only a month."
“Still.”
She could leave it at that, but she lingers. "His name was Alexander," she says. "He was… better than me."
We exchange a look of understanding. I feel the loss of Ian all over again, just for a moment, a jolt to my heart. Oddly, the pain isn't entirely unpleasant. It’s now that I realize, don't think about Ian enough. When someone like that dies, they should be remembered.
"Maybe you'll tell me about him one day."
"Yeah," Melanie replies. "Maybe, one day."
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Yours
“Summary: Loki struggles to tell the reader ‘I love you’.
Loki x M!Reader
Word Count: 3005
Inspired by the song I Wanna Be Yours by the Arctic Monkeys
Romanic love was never in the cards when it came to the God of Mischief, Loki. He knew that, and so did everyone else. He never dwelled on the thought much since he had other priorities with taking over Earth, losing his mother, and dealing with his idiotic brother. However, now in the Avenger’s Tower, he had all the time in the world. Time that he spent thinking about you.
You were Stark’s assistant when it came to helping out around the Tower rather within Stark Industries. Tony was always messing with Loki if he ever stared at you for too long or if the two of you got lost within conversation to even notice how much time has even passed. Loki never let those comments get to him, in the beginning, at least. Now, it felt like he used his own dagger and stabbed the god through his icy heart that slowly started to thaw thanks to you.
Thor was the first one to notice, and sadly, the only one. Loki hoped no one would catch on, but for once he wished someone other than his brother noticed his change since he wasn’t someone Loki wanted to take advice from givin’ his failed relationship with Jane Foster.
“Just confess to him, brother!” Thor whispered under his breath in the kitchen, making sure to notice if anyone was about to enter. “It’s easy to tell that the Midgardian adores you.”
Loki tried his best to keep the wanting smile from popping onto his lips. “I’m not sure. Perhaps you’re reading him wrong.”
Thor laughed. “If anyone was easier to read, brother, it would be [Name].”
Loki’s head tilted in confusion. He wasn’t to sure if Thor was trying to sooth his doubts or mock him for not noticing your signals sooner. Still, was there even any signals to begin with?
Just as Loki was about to let his words slip past his lips, Thor immediately noticed a body turning the corner and when he knew who it was a coy smirk inched on his lips as he greeted the person with a joyous, “Good afternoon, [Name]! Stark isn’t working you too hard, I hope.”
Loki bit his tongue, his body quickly turning around to stare into your eyes. He noticed how tired you looked right away, after all, the dark circles under them were a dead giveaway. You haven’t been sleeping much, if any at all thanks to your job and more so who you work for. However, it was as if that look of tiredness that shield your gaze was replaced with fondness as soon as your eyes landed on him.
“Afternoon to the both of you as well,” you hummed out in a groggy voice as if you just woke up. Thor didn’t seem to mind, but when Loki heard the deepened voice he felt as if his feet were suddenly nailed to ground as he was forced to feel the jolt run up and down his spine. “I just wanted to get coffee, sorry if I’m interrupting.”
“You aren’t.” Loki coughed out, his voice subtle and low under his breath.
You nodded, walking your body over to the fridge. However, as you passed Loki you placed your hand on his shoulder and slowly let it trail as your fingers ghosted his body.
Thor saw the entire thing and couldn’t help but elbow his brother in the side, the force enough to make a human groan but to Loki, it was normal. The God of Mischief knew exactly what his brother was signaling him to do, and sadly while he hoped to do this action in private, he supposed this time was better than any other. Besides, right now you were tired enough not to overreact if things went south.
So, Loki took a deep breath in, his lungs filling up with pure, cool oxygen before releasing it whole when you turned back to him with a drink at your lips.
“Let me be your coffee pot.”
The room froze for a moment, and Loki couldn’t help but feel his heart race with anticipation and embarrassment. That was wrong. He said the wrong thing. He prayed for a second that maybe you didn’t hear him, or ask him to repeat that. But once he saw one of your brows tilt up in confusion, he knew you heard him. Loud and clear. There was no getting out of this one.
“My.. coffee pot?” You hummed. “What about it?”
Thor could quickly see this entire thing was going south, so, as the brother he was, he came to save Loki from his idiotic act. He swiftly threw his arm around his brother’s shoulders, the action causing Loki to gaze over at his brother in confusion. However, that wasn’t the thing on Thor’s mind. Saving his brother from losing his chance to truly confess to you.
“Your coffee pot, yes, uh, well, you see,” Thor tried to say, thinking about whatever excuse he could. Thankfully for him, a certain millionaire playboy soon walked in. However, it wasn’t so good for Tony. “Ah, yes! Stark, he broke your coffee pot.”
“Huh?” Tony asked at the entrance, everyone now having their eyes on him. “What the hell are you talking about, point break?”
Luckily for Thor, you were too tired to even consider that he was lying or try to even believe your boss. Your eyes were cold and distant as you looked at Tony, a look Loki hoped to never receive from you. “When were you going to tell me?”
“Tell you what? I didn’t touch your stuff.” Tony tried to defend. It was useless against this side of you.
Your hand placed down the glass of water that cleared your throat and slowly began to walk up to the famous Tony Stark. While he may be your boss and you his assistant, the two of you had a close relationship to the point where you didn’t even act professional around him unless it was at a gathering or with SHIELD officials around.
“You owe me coffee, now, Stark.” You growled. It was as if some other demon took over your body when everyone heard that.
On that day, Tony Stark had no plans to die. So, in an attempt to live, he immediately put on his suit and went to the nearest coffee shop. He was gracefully spared that day.
Loki’s next attempt was three days later. The two of you were comfortably sitting next to one another on the couch. He had a book that he was slowly finishing while you snacked on some cookies and flipped through the many tv stations before finding something that was up to your standard. Although, that didn’t last very long.
Loki wasn’t paying much attention to you until he heard the deafening quietness that surrounded the two of you. Finally, he lifted his head up to notice you had turned off the tv, your eyes gazing up at the ceiling as you seemed to ponder something.
“Something wrong?” He asked, his eyes watching your connect with his own.
“I’m bored, and frankly, I don’t see anything good on tv.” You admitted. Loki was about to suggest something you could do until you suddenly blurted out, “what are you reading?”
Loki paused. His eyes moving from you to the book and then back to you. “Something that Banner lent me. It’s nothing tricky, just a Midgardin fantasy.”
Your head leaned over to see the cover, a small smile inching on your lips before asking with an amused tone, “Alice in Wonderland?”
“Don’t mock it, it’s very entertaining.” Loki defended. While it was true he enjoyed the book so far, he wasn’t expecting the weight in the couch to shift. Forget about feeling your shoulder brush his own as you leaned in to get a look at the inside of his book.
“I’m not. I enjoyed it a lot as a kid.” You hummed out before slowly easing your head onto Loki’s shoulder. “Read to me.”
The God’s eyes trailed down to your face, the way you so effortlessly moved into him without fear was something that caused Loki to have to clear his throat before reading where he left off. His words came out smoother the more he read since his mind focused on relaxing thanks to your easy breathing. Though, anytime you moved closer into him or just to get more comfortable, he mumbled his words so you didn’t hear his stuttering.
“Loki.” His name coming from your lips was enchanting on its own, but when it come from a more sleepy tone he flew to cloud nine.
“Yes?” He questioned.
“I have a free day at noon tomorrow,” you explained. “Let’s hang out.”
Loki nodded, his mind wishing that perhaps something more could come out of tomorrow. Secrets were Loki’s trait. Yet, the secrets he’s been hiding in his heart have been harder to hide than he originally thought.
“Alright then, tomorrow.”
The next day, Loki waited in his room anxiously. You told him that you’d get him around noon, 12pm, now it closing to 1pm. As the clock ticked ever closer to later in the day, Loki took matters into his own hands made his way towards the lab Stark had stuck you in. He didn’t plan to be rude when he got there, but just give you a friendly reminder of the plans you both set up yesterday. When he turned the corner, his lips parted to speak. However, just as he was about to get some words out, he swallowed them back down.
His eyes watched as you. You were so close to Tony’s body that it psychically hurt, though, what made it worse was the way your fingers were undoing each of Tony’s buttons on his shirt slowly. The one thing that Loki couldn’t seem to pull away from was the look in Stark’s eyes though. It was almost the same exact way Loki caught himself staring at you. Stark’s eyes just happened to hold more lust in them in the moment.
“You can do this on your own, yanno,” you huffed out. “I have other things to do today than babysit you.”
“Now what could be more important than me?” Tony asked, his head leaning to the side a bit.
“If you must know, I have plans with Loki.” You confessed. “I was supposed to meet him an hour ago, but you just had to get hurt.”
“I’m sure he’ll get over it.”
You didn’t respond to that. Instead, you opened his shirt all the way to see all the small cuts and forming black and blue bruises about his upper body. He went out with the suit on his own to fix up some structures for the people of New York City, however, one thing led to another and a piece of equipment ended up crushing the top half of his suit.
“Just be gentle with me.” Tony said with a forming smirk when you began to fix him up. You could hear some hissing from your boss when you used rubbing alcohol to clean his cuts. Other than that, he was quiet. The most quiet he’s been in years.
“What? No witty or dirty remarks for me?” You asked in an amused tone. You were joking, of course, but it seems that didn’t register with the man.
When you raised your head, Tony’s eyes were already locked with yours. You froze for a moment at the look directed at you. It was familiar and yet uncomfortable all at once. It took all of your attention to the point where you didn’t notice Tony’s hand lace in your hair until you felt him carefully push it forward. He was asking, begging for your permission.
You paused for a moment and hoped your eyes were playing a trick on you. After all, to you, Tony Stark was a close friend of yours, and that’s how you’d like it to stay.
You eased your hands onto Tony’s chest before giving him a gentle push. You didn’t need to say anything. Tony was many things, but an idiot wasn’t one of them, so, he slowly began to untangle his fingers from your locks.
“I’m sorry,” you uttered as you brought your hands back at your sides. “I just, uh, like someone else.”
Tony let out an awkward, forced cough to clear this throat. His words coming out low, “Right, well, let’s just forget about this then, okay?”
You started at him as a soft smile tugged at the edges of your lips. “Sure.”
When you finished up helping Tony, you made your way over towards Loki’s chambers. You knew you were late and hoped he’d forgive you with an offering of a sleepover in his room. You were supposed to go out into the city today, but thought this would be better and more of his style. Besides, most of the people here are still not welcoming of the God thanks to the attack he led in 2012.
As you approached the door and tried to turn it, you noticed it was locked. Confusion printed on your face before banging your knuckles against the wood lightly. “Loki? It’s me.”
Nothing. It was quiet, silent.
Your brows furrowed as you asked, “I know you’re in there, why won’t you answer the door?”
It was a moment before a voice came through, and thank god you kept quiet. Otherwise, you don’t believe you would have heard him say, “Just go back to Stark, I’m sure he would rather your company.”
The tone in his voice was obvious. You were no fool. His voice was seething with jealousy, envy, and rage. He saw.
“You were there, weren’t you?” Your words may have come off as a question, but both of you knew regardless if he lied. You knew the truth.
It was a second or two longer before the door swung open suddenly. Now, face to face with Loki, you could see the hurt he was trying to cover up. His long, black hair was a messy and his clothes were all wrinkled.
“Hey,” you stated lowly as you inched closer to him. His eyes never coming off of you for a second. “Let’s talk about this.”
Loki paused, the look in his eyes uneasy to you. “I disagree.”
The God of Mischief turned swiftly and walked back towards his bed, sitting on the edge of it as you carefully entered his room and shut the door behind you so the both of you could finally get some privacy.
“Open communication was never my family’s forte.” Loki admitted with a smug tone of voice as he locked his hands together while his elbows rested on his thighs.
You leaned your head as you slowly approached the god. It was dangerous, you know, but you had to prove to Loki that you and Tony was never going to happen. Words are meaningless without action to back them up, after all.
“Fine,” you stated. “Then I’ll start.”
With that, all of Loki’s attention was drawn to you as you inched ever so closer to the God of Mischief before stopping in front of him. You were so close that if he just extended his hand and pulled you, you’d be sitting on his lap. However, he didn’t need to do a thing because you did it all on your own.
You carefully moved his hands up and untangled them before holding them on your waist, your legs bending to bring you square on Loki’s lap. Your hands slowly released his own as the both of you kept silent eye contact, watching each other as you made every single action slower than it needed to be. Your hands slowly began to ride up his chest, a sensation that you noticed caused some color to form on Loki’s cheeks. Your touch only ended when your hands locked with each other behind Loki’s neck.
Loki’s eyes examined every inch of your frame. “What are you doing?”
You leaned your head to the side as if you didn’t understand the question. “Tony and I are just friends.”
For some reason, those words angered the god further. The only show of it, truly, was the sudden and harsher grip he took on your waist. You moved your body instantly at his action, though, it was easily his biggest mistake when you notice him take a hard and large gulp.
Your body slowly began to heat up as the situation started to slowly become clear in your clouded mind. It wasn’t like you did this for just anyone, nor did you have to justify what happened with Tony since you weren’t spoken for. However, for him, you’d do anything. It was like this spell that overtook your most basic senses and made you reckless to the point where you’d do something like this so casually.
“Don’t lie to me.” Loki growled. “I know what I saw.”
“He was being an idiot and ended up getting hurt.” You began to explain. “I was just cleaning him up, I am his assistant after all.”
Loki stared deep into your eyes as you felt one of his hands slowly began to ride up your back. “I don’t like it.”
“What? Me being his assistant?” You asked.
Loki nodded.
“You’re going to have to get over it. I’ve had this job before I met you, plus, it’s the only reason why I even know you all in the first place.” You hummed as you leaned down, slowly closing the distance that almost felt suffocating with all this heat swirling around your body.
“Are you telling me to be grateful to Stark after he touched you like this?” Loki questioned as you felt his hand start to play with the back of your hair, lightly taking a fist full from time to time.
“You don’t own me, Loki.” You reminded him. “I don’t have any obligations to anyone.”
He paused as you noticed the God now focusing solely on your lips. “Shall I change that?”
A small smile couldn’t help but slowly inch across your face. It was one thing to be throwing hints at someone constantly, but it was another for that someone to be so direct and yet teasing that it made your stomach do backflips.
“Yes.”
#Loki Laufeyson#loki odinson#loki#loki x male reader#loki x reader#marvel#marvel x reader#marvel x male reader#gay male#x male reader#male reader
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romtober day 6: adopted by love interest’s family
Rating: T
Ship: Geraskier
Word Count: 1675
Summary: Jaskier wasn't quite expecting to have such a warm welcome at his first visit to Kaer Morhen, but he certainly isn't complaining. Especially not when he accidentally overhears conversations he wasn't meant to hear.
read on ao3
“I do not kiss and tell,” Jaskier insisted haughtily, though he winked at Eskel and Lambert as he did so.
Lambert snorted into his drink--something far stronger than Jaskier would find at any old tavern in the Continent. Jaskier had taken one sip, gagged, and made some crack about it curling his chesthair that had Eskel and Lambert howling as they offered him something more suitable. More suitable, apparently, meant probably the strongest wine Jaskier had ever taken. It was meant to be sipped, absolutely, but at least Jaskier could stomach this one. He had never considered himself to have a weak constitution, but Witchers just so loved proving him wrong.
“That’s a lie and we all know it, bard,” Lambert accused, a finger pointed at Jaskier as he narrowed his eyes. Jaskier smiled pleasantly back. “If you had actually managed to kiss that princess, you would be bragging about it until your dying breath. I bet she rejected you.”
Jaskier feigned affront. “Rejected? Me? I’m offended you would even suggest such a thing. But I will forgive you, simply because you do not know of what you speak; you have not seen me in action.”
Now was Eskel’s turn to snort. “We haven’t seen you in action,” he repeated, an eyebrow raised pointedly and a teasing lilt to his voice.
“Have you seen him in action, Geralt?” Lambert asked, with all the faux innocence a shithead like him could muster. “Is it truly a sight to behold? Knicker dropping, would you say?”
Jaskier’s face flushed and he resolutely did not turn his attention toward Geralt, lest Geralt read a bit too much on his face. Geralt, however, didn’t seem to notice the teasing, which was less surprising and more disappointing than Jaskier would have thought. Instead, he hummed and tapped the table as if he was actually considering his answer. Bastard.
“It’s a sight, I’ll say that much,” he answered, ever the diplomat.
“Inspirational, truly. I think your roles should be switched. Geralt should sing of Jaskier’s triumphs,” Eskel said, rolling his eyes.
Jaskier waved a hand. “Save us all that misfortune, Eskel. Geralt would have to say a nice thing or two about me on occasion. I don’t think his poor, delicate heart could take it.” Jaskier grinned at Geralt and nudged him with his shoulder, only to receive an eyeroll and a push back--Geralt likely thought it was just a nudge, but it sent Jaskier tumbling over on the long bench. “See? Brute.”
When Jaskier had first come to Kaer Morhen, he had expected a far cooler reception than the one he received. He had been traveling with Geralt for years, and though he knew Geralt was fond of Jaskier, in his own ways, Jaskier could never quite call him warm. It was a safe assumption that a winter in Kaer Morhen would be much the same, but from three new witchers.
Vesemir did have a bit more of his progeny’s cool and collected demeanor, but he had clapped Jaskier on the back in a way Jaskier could almost call fatherly on multiple different occasions. When he had met Lambert and Eskel, Lambert had loudly started singing Toss A Coin at them and Eskel had pulled Jaskier in for the most thorough hug of his life.
Since that welcome reception, they had been outrageously chatty compared to their brother in arms, and nearly every night was spent talking well into the evening. Jaskier had no monster stories to regale them with, but the others did not make him feel as if he was the odd man out. Instead, they looked forward to his stories of skirt chasing and court drama just as much as he looked forward to their tales of heroics against monstrous monsters.
Monstrous monsters. Maybe he’d had a bit too much of the wine.
“It seems my meager human constitution pales in comparison to what your sturdier frames can put away. I fear I must retire before I say something to embarrass myself,” Jaskier said, pushing himself back from the table and standing.
“That’s the longest way to say ‘I’m pissed, gonna go sleep it off,’ I’ve ever heard,” Lambert snorted. “Do you ever say things straight?”
“No,” Geralt answered. “He once ranted through an entire meal, but the only thing he managed to say was that I was a troll.”
“And you are, darling. And a miserable hag to boot.” Jaskier waved a hand dismissively. “A true wordsmith such as I knows how to weave even the most simple of statements into works of art. Try not to miss me and my eloquence too much, and pray that you do not drink yourselves into an early grave. Is it still an early grave if you’re well over a hundred?”
The witcher’s laughed and bid him goodnight, and Jaskier made his way out of the hall.
The problem with the witcher’s keep was that it was not the most intuitive place to navigate. Jaskier prided himself on his sense of direction, having been in many a castle before, and all castles started to look alike with their long, windy hallways and doors upon doors, many of which led to nowhere. The keep was much the same, and the combination of its inherent confusion, the darkness, and Jaskier’s slight inebriation had Jaskier lost. Quite quickly.
It took him about ten minutes and four different doors he was certain had contained stairs earlier that day to finally admit defeat and shuffle back to the dining hall. He didn’t mean to overhear, he really didn’t. Jaskier wasn’t even trying to be sneaky--why bother, when you’re in a keep full of men pumped with so many mutagens they could tell the color of a rabbit from the way it shuffled its feet? Only, apparently the ale had dampened their attention enough that Jaskier’s quiet steps had gone unheard, and he was able to approach the door to the dining hall without so much as a stutter in their conversation.
“--like him, Geralt,” Eskel said.
“Aye. If you manage to fuck things up in the next year and don’t bring him back, I’m not sure if we can let you pass through the gate,” Lamber agreed, though his voice was unusually pleasant. Like he was teasing Geralt.
“So glad to know my own brothers have turned on me so quickly,” Geralt scoffed.
“Well, we’d probably let you in, but only because if your froze your balls off we’d be hearing about it for the next century or so. Seriously, though. He’s nice to have around. You have certainly been less moody this winter,” Eskel said.
“Yeah, you were a right prick last year. And the year before that.” Lambert paused, as if he was considering something. “You have been a right prick this year, too, now that I think of it. Maybe the bard just distracts from your overall unpleasantness.”
There was a quick scuffle and a grunt from Lambert, followed by a long laugh from all of them, though Lambert’s took a moment to move from begrudging to warm. Sometimes, Jaskier wondered if they truly were brothers since infancy; they certainly acted like it. Though, he supposed experiences like they’d had bound people together far more securely than mere blood.
“I’ll ask him, but there’s no guarantees. He makes his own decisions. Goes where he wants. I have no claim to him,” Geralt said, and Jaskier was sure he was not drunk enough to be imagining the sadness etched in his voice.
“Well that’s bull--” Lambert started, only to be drowned out by Eskel.
“Geralt, are you kidding?” Eskel asked, incredulous. “That bard would go wherever you went, if only you’d ask. Even over a fucking cliff.”
“Seriously. He makes eyes at you so frequently, I don’t think he’s even aware he’s doing it at this point.”
Lambert laughed, as if it was a joke, but Jaskier’s face grew hot with embarrassment. Ah. So they had noticed. Jaskier was half afraid they would, and now he had mounting concern over the fact that they were telling Geralt. Jaskier was quite certain this winter was about to get a hell of a lot longer, lonelier, and colder. Either Geralt would realize Jaskier’s affections were just as his brothers said and be disgusted, or he would just let them stay there, as if nothing had happened. Jaskier wasn’t sure which option was worse.
“I’m going to bed,” Geralt said, his voice gruff, and Jaskier heard the scraping of his chair against the wood.
Jaskier stumbled back a few steps, silently cursed himself, then tried to tiptoe away without attracting too much attention. This was not something he wanted to explain. Except, he still didn’t know how to get back to his own room. Fuck.
“If you’re smart, you’ll go to your bard’s bed!” Lambert called as the door opened. Fuck.
Jaskier scrambled behind a nearby door, trying to hide as quietly as he possibly could. It was a fool’s errand, he knew. After all, even drunk, Geralt would be able to notice him, surely. But he had gotten lucky once tonight when it was him against witchery senses; Jaskier could only hope he’d be lucky again. Otherwise he would have a fair bit of explaining to do.
Geralt walked by the door, and Jaskier only narrowly avoiding expelling a breath of relief. Until he heard Geralt stop, then push the door closed.
“Next time, you should make sure you close the door after you hide behind it,” Geralt said, a smile in his voice, then continued on his merry way, as if he hadn’t left Jaskier frozen to the spot in shame.
It took a long time for Jaskier to build up the courage to leave whatever room he had been hiding in. By the time he did so, Geralt was gone. Apparently, that was that. Apparently, Geralt was content to allow Jaskier to at least sort of live this down.
Maybe this winter wouldn’t turn out to be horrible after all.
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For a while, after everything with Jack, it’s quiet. Sam gets up at the same time every morning out of habit but there’s no real need. It feels like there’s something—untethered, in him. A flying line that used to be caught on concrete, and now that the anchor’s gone he doesn’t know what to lash it to. Dean seems to be doing better but Sam knows it’s the same for him. They stay apart a little, in those first days, but they keep running into each other in the library—Sam looking at the bookshelves and Dean coming in from the garage with grease on his hands, and they look at each other and kind of shrug, kind of smile, but it’s—strange. Like there’s been some weight, counterbalancing the world, and now that it’s gone—
Sam goes for runs. Dean works on the car. They watch movies they meant to see when they were in theaters, and which can be watched now in the den Dean built for them, a six pack of beer between them and Dean hogging the popcorn. They drive through Lebanon together, pick up mail and groceries, and they argue over whether they’re having that tater tot hotdish recipe Donna sent again or whether they’re going to eat something that has a single vegetable in it, at all. They go out onto the empty abandoned farmland behind the bunker, and Dean’s found some battered lawnchairs from somewhere, and they sit with their feet kicked out into the long grass and pass a bottle of whiskey back and forth, and they watch the day slowly sliding into sunset, and then into night, and when there’s stars overhead Dean says, “Damn,” softly, and Sam laughs, just as quiet. Yeah. Yeah, that—about sums it up.
There’s a hunt, finally. Sam wasn’t even really looking, but he’s got the Google alerts set up and the hunt finds them, instead. He’s sitting in the kitchen with the remains of breakfast around, staring at his laptop. Missing women. Strange details, from the police reports. A mystery, that the locals can’t solve, and he’s got his teeth in his lip and he’s half-considering whether to just close the laptop lid and go—another run, another chore, just to not see it, even though it’s not like he doesn’t want to go—when there’s a scuff, and Dean says, “Hey,” easy, and then he’s caught, sitting, and Dean pauses and then comes up behind him, and leans in with one hand on the table and the other on Sam’s back, reading over his shoulder. Sam takes a deep breath. It’s like a thousand times before. A piece that had been missing starts to slide into place.
“Huh,” Dean says. His breath smells like coffee and Sam wrinkles his nose. Dean reaches around his arm and scrolls down on the webpage, reading. “Shapeshifter?”
Sam lifts a shoulder. “Could be,” he says, and he tries not to put any inflection in it. He doesn’t even know how he feels—he doesn’t want to affect what Dean might feel, either way.
There’s a look, aimed at the side of his face. Dean’s fingertips on his back dig in, just a little, warm and heavy. “Only a five hour drive,” Dean says, slowly. He stands up straight, but his hand doesn’t move. “Three women?”
Sam closes his eyes. “So far,” he says, and Dean’s fingertips slip away, and when he looks again Dean’s standing there in his robe with wet hair, healthy and burden-free and giving Sam this—Sam doesn’t even know how to read that face. Steady eyes, soft curve to his mouth. He shrugs one shoulder, too, hands in his robe pockets, and Sam huffs, smiles and doesn’t know why. That it can be a shrug, maybe. That it doesn’t feel like the end of the world. Just a job.
“I could get packed up in fifteen,” Sam says, offering, and Dean’s eyes crinkle, but he nods, and turns on his heel, and that means—a decision. Sam takes a deep breath and feels that dangling tether latch onto solid ground again. It’s been a month, free, but that’s the thing. They’re free either way.
*
Sam breaks his ring finger. Dean gets hit so hard on his shin, the bruise sinking so deep and painful, that they both think there’s been a hairline fracture, but the x-ray is clean and he’s just told to keep his weight off it for a few days. Sam drives home, Dean snoozing solidly in the passenger seat, and Sam keeps the radio down low but listens to the albums he picks (Zeppelin II and then Presence and then Zep III, both sides repeated twice), and he keeps smiling, off and on, the whole way home through the dark, because—they saved two women and stopped a fourth from being hurt, and they got the shifter, and it turns out—there’s still a reason, here. Still something.
He gets a crutch from the infirmary so Dean can stump down the stairs, bitching the whole way. It’s two in the morning but Sam’s not tired. Dean says something about a shower and disappears into the halls, grumbling about asshole shifters who get in lucky shots, and Sam’s left standing in the library with their bags, and he—god. God.
He pours a drink, from the good stuff Dean keeps in the crystal decanter. He sips at the glass and then presses it to his forehead, and smiles at nothing, thinking back. What an annoying goddamn week that case was. And yet, and yet. It was…
He sits, at the table. He sets his glass on a spare bit of scratch paper and runs his fingers over the carved-in marks. His and Dean’s initials are already worn smooth, nearly, from nights just like this. When he couldn’t sleep, and he couldn’t bear it. He can bear it, now. What a—gift.
Sam licks his lips. He sets his hand flat on the table, his splinted finger sticking out awkwardly. “Jack,” he says, to the empty air. The carved letters are rough, under his palm. “I guess—you can hear me. I haven’t—I haven’t been praying. I don’t know. It felt stupid. Weird. If you’re really a god now, then you know everything I might say. But maybe it…” He shakes his head and closes his eyes. The wood’s getting warm, from his palm sitting there. He takes a deep breath. “We went hunting, this week. I didn’t know if we’d—but it was exactly what we needed. We saved people, and we fixed something that was bad. Dean’s leg is gonna be okay. My hand hurts. But it’s—good. We did good. And it’s because of you, that we could do that, so I just wanted to say thank you.”
That’s what he’s been feeling, he realizes. All through the drive home. Just—thanks. That this is their life. That they can live it, now.
“Sam,” he hears, in Dean’s voice, and he opens his eyes, and—
Jack’s standing there, quiet, in the library. Dean’s leaned against the archway leading down to the map room with his crutch clutched in the other hand, and he glances at Sam but his eyes go right back to Jack.
He looks the same. Jeans, and that white jacket Sam picked out for him at the thrift store, and his hair falling softly over his forehead, and his face, set in gentle lines.
“Are you—” Sam cuts himself off. He doesn’t—what to say? What to ask?
“I heard you,” Jack says. He looks at Dean, frozen on the top stair. “Both of you.”
Sam’s attention snaps to Dean, who’s starting to flood up red in his ears. Jack smiles, small.
“I guess it’s…” Sam chews the inside of his lip. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to distract you or anything.”
“You didn’t,” Jack says, and of course not, because he’s—god.
“Why did you come?” Sam says.
Jack’s smile gets a little smaller, but doesn’t disappear. He doesn’t answer, either. Dean hitches his weight, puts a hand on the wall.
Sam licks his lips. There’s so much. “I guess—you already know anything I’d say, right?” Because he’s god. It keeps flooding up in Sam. That this kid, this sweet innocent kid that they’d done their best for, who Sam had taught to hold a gun and who Dean had taught to tie his shoes, he’s—everything. The alpha and omega, the spark of life in every cell. But that means he’s gone from them, too. Sam looks down at the table, trying not to show it. Knowing that Jack knows, either way.
“I know,” Jack says, like an echo. “But it’s good to say it, either way.”
Heat rises, at the back of Sam’s eyes. He smiles, even if it feels a little shaky, and when he looks up Jack’s just—himself. Exactly like Sam is going to remember him.
“Miss you, kiddo,” Dean says. His voice is thick. “And no one’s eating those dumb Sugar Smacks you made me get, either.”
“Yes, you are,” Jack says, giving Dean a look, and Sam laughs out loud, tears smarting at his eyes. “And you don’t have to miss me. I’m right here.”
“Yeah,” Sam says, and Jack smiles at him a little sidelong and then is—gone, without a rustle of feathers or a thunderclap or anything.
The library’s quiet. Amber lamplight, and the slight papery-dust smell of the air, and the wood under Sam’s hand. He pulls his hand back a little and looks. Dean’s knifework—angular but legible, and the edges still rough. He runs his thumb over the lines of the J. It’ll get smooth, eventually.
A flinching step, and Dean’s there, at his side. A hand, on his shoulder. “I’m no good at it,” Dean says, low, “but say thanks from me, too, okay.”
Sam knuckles away the wet from his eye. “Yeah,” he says, and has to clear his throat. “Yeah, I will.” Dean squeezes his shoulder. “And keep buying the Sugar Smacks, okay?”
Dean snorts. “I was gonna do that anyway,” he says, and Sam smiles, and gets a splinter from the table in his thumb. Dean helps pick it out with tweezers, under the lamplight. They get some sleep. They wake up again, to a cool and sunny morning, and get to live the life they choose.
#spn#15.19 spoilers#jack kline#sam winchester#feeling that coda feel#it's been so long <3#my writing#this is gen#and i cried like one tear while writing but it's not sad#(i think it's not sad anyway)
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And here’s my second Sambucky fic. You can read it here or on AO3.
Pet Psychopath
“Him? Really?”
Sam and Sarah were both glancing towards where Bucky was grinding the boat’s side with sandpaper with the single-minded focus of the Winter Soldier on a mission.
“I know I have a problem,” Sam said before Sarah could start to berate him for falling for yet another sad white soldier.
“You sure do.” Sarah shook her head, still eyeing Bucky warily. “At least Steve was pretty.”
True. Although Steve used to have terrible fashion sense, he was easy on the eyes and Sam suspected that half of the Avengers and at least half of America had had a crush on Cap at one time, so there was no reason to judge him for that. Bucky however, with his scruffy face and that murderous glare, was another matter. Sam judged himself for whatever feelings were creeping up on him.
“You should have seen him before he got a haircut,” he told Sarah.
“I did. Because his mugshot was all over the news. Jesus, Sam.”
Sam shrugged. The fact that Bucky was (or rather had been) a criminal was not what bothered him. After having been imprisoned in the Raft, he did not give a shit about what the government declared legal or illegal. He trusted in his common sense. Right now, his common sense told him that it was a fundamentally bad idea to develop feelings for Bucky Barnes. He had no idea how this catastrophe had happened, could not pinpoint the exact moment when Bucky had turned from a threat into a pity case into a nuisance into a reluctant co-worker and finally into someone Sam brought into his sister’s house and entrusted with his late parents’ boat.
“Right. I don’t know if I should hope for him to return your feelings or pray that he doesn’t.”
Truth be told, Sam hadn’t figured that out yet either. Bucky was thoughtless at best, often outright ignorant, petty and self-centred, not to mention reckless, irresponsible, a bad co-worker, and he did not like Redwing. And there wasn’t exactly a charming personality to make up for all these failures. It did not make sense for Sam to fall for him, and yet it perfectly did. Yes, Sam was fully aware he had a problem, had first come to suspect it when his parents had told him with constipated looks on their faces that, “No, Sam, we can’t bring every injured seagull to the vet.” It had been confirmed over the years when the teachers had asked him to look after the new kid in class or try to include the outsider and he had been unable to say no. Sam knew enough about psychology to know that pity was not a good basis for a relationship. He knew that and it didn’t change anything. Sharon calling Bucky a ‘pet psychopath’ seemed frighteningly accurate. (However, he heavily resented the implication that Zemo somehow shared ownership rights. Because it was Sam who constantly looked after Bucky, not Zemo. It was Sam Bucky followed around, not Zemo).
“Whatever.” Sam took the saw and jumped into the boat. “He’s useful for repair work.” Then he got to work helping his pet psychopath. He sawed planks of wood into smaller pieces to replace the dilapidated pieces on the boat.
After one hour, his shirt was drenched in sweat. Bucky was still grinding with the sandpaper, his movements like a machine. There was only the barest sheen of sweat on his forehead.
After another hour, Sam’s right hand cramped up. He dropped the saw and leaned against the side of the boat.
“How do you feel about a break? That something you do?”
“If you insist.”
Sam snorted. He could not believe he had to put up with this bullshit again. Damn supersoldiers. And yet he tried to engage Bucky in small talk.
“What do you think, how long until we’re finished?” He grabbed a bottle of water and threw Bucky a second one.
“Depends on how many breaks you need.” Bucky opened his bottle and kept staring at Sam while drinking it, never once blinking. Unbelievable.
“You keep this up, I might just throw you overboard.”
Bucky put the bottle down. He was still staring at Sam. “You can try.”
“Oh, so this is what we’re doing?” Sam’s heart was suddenly racing. There was no chance in hell that he could beat Bucky. But backing down from a challenge? Never.
“You talk big, Wilson, but I don’t see you acting on it,” Bucky taunted him.
There was no going back now. Sam was not entirely sure what Bucky was suggesting here but throwing his water bottle away and grabbing Bucky in a headlock seemed the appropriate choice of action.
Not that he succeeded for long. Bucky easily freed himself and proceeded to try to wrestle Sam down. Sam could tell that Bucky was pulling his punches because if he had used his full super strength, Sam would be on the floor by now. On the one hand, he was touched that Bucky was considerate enough at least in this situation and seemed to want to have fun with Sam, on the other, he wouldn’t have minded being on the floor. With Bucky on top of him. God, he was such a mess.
“That all you got?” Bucky said, grinning evilly.
Sam couldn’t help but snort in amusement. He was always glad to see Bucky happy, even though a grin made him look even more like a psychopath.
“You ain’t seen-aaaaaaaaaaaaa-”
It happened too fast to do anything and yet Sam experienced everything in slow-motion. A huge wave rocked the boat to one side. Sam, who was just about to back away from one of Bucky’s attacks, lost his footing and stepped on the water bottle. While falling, he caught sight of the stern of the fast ferry, and his mother’s words echoed in his mind, Always pay attention to the fast ferry. Then he was finally on the floor and shit, that hurt! He exclaimed a string of curses and then he finally saw what had caused the pain: he had landed on the saw which was now stuck in the back of his right thigh. He gritted his teeth, closed his eyes, ignored Bucky’s “Don’t!” and quickly tore it out with another string of curse words.
Suddenly there was blood. A lot of blood. Blood streaming out of his thigh, drenching his pant leg. Not good. Not good at all. Too much blood. Over the loud rushing and pounding in his ears, he heard Bucky call him an idiot and then he passed out.
When he came back, he felt pleasantly woozy, warm and well-rested. The next thing he noticed was the smell of leather, paint and sweat under his nose. He blinked his eyes open. His head was cushioned on a leather jacket and he was lying on his left, still on the boat, which gently rocked from side to side. Going back to sleep seemed like a good idea.
“Are you back?” came Bucky’s voice from behind him.
“Mm.” Then he noticed that he wasn’t wearing any pants. Huh. “Are you staring at my ass?”
“I’m stitching you back up.”
“You what?” Suddenly the pleasant wooziness was gone.The searing pain came back and so did the awareness of what had just happened – of what was happening right now. He tried to sit up but Bucky’s vibranium arm grabbed his shoulder and pushed him back down.
“Don’t move. I’m almost done.”
“What are you doing?” Sam really hoped he had misheard, but no –
“Stitching you back up,” Bucky repeated stoically, sounding somewhat distracted.
“Why?”
“It’s a big wound. You lost a lot of blood.”
“How -? Stop that!”
“It’s fine, I’ve done this before.”
“What, like in the 40s?!”
“…yes.”
“You know we have surgeons for this, right?”
“I’m faster.”
“I swear to you, if you’ve used dirty needles on me or fishbones or whatever…!”
“Didn’t you get your tetanus shot?”
“Oh my God, you did, didn’t you?”
“No. I found a first aid kit. It looked a bit old but seems to be good.”
“Seems to be?! You should have at least asked me before you decided to operate on me!”
“You were unconscious and bleeding,” Bucky said matter-of-factly. “There, done. Not bleeding anymore.” Bucky appeared in his line of vision. There was blood on both hands, his shirt and even his pants. There was also a lot of blood on the floor around Sam.
“I want to go to the hospital and have someone competent check if you’ve butchered my leg.”
“Fine. But let me dress the wound first.”
“Okay.” Sam turned back around and let Bucky do whatever he thought needed to be done. Sam wasn’t usually squeamish, he had been in the army and seen much worse. But waking up to someone stitching you up with probably outdated surgical tools? Not cool.
“When I’m back from the hospital, you and I are going to have a long talk about bodily autonomy.”
“You can schedule it right after the talk about workplace safety. Because letting a saw lie around like that? Just no.”
Sam had to concede that was a fair point, so he kept his mouth shut. When Bucky had finished wrapping a thick bandage around Sam’s thigh, he helped Sam up. He was wobbly on his legs, still feeling lightheaded from the blood loss, and his right leg was doing weird things.
“Does it hurt?” Bucky asked the most superfluous question ever.
“Take a wild guess.” Sam clung to Bucky and somehow they manoeuvred him out of the boat and he hobbled back to Sarah’s house.
Sarah screamed when she saw them.
“It’s not what it looks like,” Sam said quickly. What it looked like was: Sam in just his boxer shorts with a thick bandage around his right leg, leaning heavily on Bucky, and both of them covered in blood from head to toe. “It was an accident.”
“Don’t let the boys see you like this!” Sarah ushered them into the bathroom. “Get yourselves cleaned up. I’ll bring you new clothes.”
Sam sank down onto the toilet lid. Damn it, even sitting hurt like hell. Changing and cleaning up in the tiny bathroom was awkward. Without asking Sam if he needed the help, Bucky had obviously decided that he did need help and had started wiping the blood from Sam’s arms and legs with a wet cloth. They really needed to have that talk about boundaries. Not that Sam was complaining, though. The problem was, he liked it. (Not in a sexual way, he was not that messed up and in too much pain and in his sister’s bathroom – just no.) For some reason, Bucky taking care of him was what did it for him. And Bucky wasn’t even particularly gentle, just efficient and matter-of-fact about it. But it was apparently enough that there was someone who had decided to take care of Sam a little bit more than was strictly necessary.
“This is not exactly flattering,” Sam said when Bucky had helped him into a pair of too-short sweatpants.
“Pretty sure you’ve seen me in worse states.”
Sam chuckled but then winced in pain when he tried to stand up. He was too exhausted to even pretend to protest when Bucky put an arm around him and supported him into the kitchen where Sarah was making dinner.
“Better?” Sarah asked Sam. “Need anything from the pharmacy? I can send Cass. They’ve already played long enough.”
It didn’t sound much like playing anymore. From the living room, the boys could be heard arguing loudly over the explosions and the music of their video games.
“I need to go to the ER,” Sam said, “and have someone check this.”
Sarah grimaced. “That bad, huh? Okay, let me just finish--” She was interrupted by the telephone ringing. “Sorry, have to get this, it’s probably Regina about that delivery tomorrow…” She hurried off into the living room to get the phone. Then there was a loud smashing sound followed by both boys screaming insults at the top of their lungs. Sam hurried over – as fast as he could with his injured leg – to make sure they didn’t need to bring more people to the hospital.
It did not look like anyone was injured. Just the coffee table had been thrown over, smashing a vase and two glasses. The boys were at each other’s throats, apparently fighting over the controller.
“Stop it!” Sam bellowed. At the same time, Sarah shouted, “No, no, everything’s fine!” into the phone that was squeezed under her chin, while she was trying to separate the boys.
“Do something,” Sam told Bucky. Staring did not seem to help to subdue kids fighting over video games.
Bucky grabbed each boy with one arm and separated them easily.
“Let go of my kids!” Sarah shouted immediately and then, “No, really, it’s fine!” into the phone.
Bucky let go of them as if burned and took a step back.
“I’ll call you back,” Sarah said and then proceeded to give the boys a thorough dressing down that ended in the threat to sell their game console if something like this ever happened again, “and I don’t care who started it!”
In the ringing silence that followed, they finally could hear the bubbling and sizzling from the kitchen. Bucky was the fastest and yanked the saucepan from the burner but the damage had already been done, the tomato sauce had boiled over onto the whole stovetop.
Sarah sank down on a kitchen chair. “Can you drive a car?” she asked Bucky.
“Of course.”
*
“Do you have a driver’s licence?” Sam asked Bucky once they were in the car on their way to the hospital.
“No.”
“God help me.” Sam tried to find a position that did not put pressure on his injured leg. Hopeless. It hurt any way.
“Couldn’t exactly take driving lessons as the Winter Soldier.”
Sam chuckled despite himself but then he stopped when he remembered the situation in the living room. “Look, Sarah knows you’re not the Winter Soldier anymore. But parents are wildly protective of their kids and wouldn’t take any chances.”
“I know, I get it.”
“It’s nothing personal. Maybe, once she knows you better, she’ll trust you with the boys, too.” Implying that Sam would bring Bucky to Sarah’s house more often in the future, often enough that she would come to eventually trust Bucky.
“Sam, it’s fine.” Bucky stretched the fingers of his vibranium arm and examined them with a frown. “I need to get your blood out of my hand. It’s not moving smoothly anymore.”
“Jesus, Buck.” Sam let his head fall back against the seat. “Please don’t make any comments like that in the hospital.”
*
Sam felt kind of sorry for the other people in the waiting room. They were injured or sick and now, on top of it, had to deal with the ominous presence and murderous glare of the Winter Soldier.
“Look, this is going to take some time,” Sam finally said to him. “Why don’t you go and…get a coffee or something?”
Bucky nodded and left the waiting room. The air eased immediately. Suddenly there was movement again. A mother let her kid down to run around, a young woman stood up to grab a magazine from the table, a man with his arm in a makeshift sling cleared his throat and attempted smalltalk.
“He’s harmless,” Sam tried to assure everyone. “Guy’s just got a staring problem.”
But then said staring problem was already back and stood in the door to the waiting room – with a cup of coffee in his hand. Well, that had not worked according to Sam’s plan.
“I’m not the Winter Soldier anymore,” Bucky said. “I’m James Bucky Barnes.” Then he smiled an awful smile that did nothing to help his case. He sat down next to Sam and handed him the coffee and a chocolate bar. Pet psychopath, Sharon’s words echoed in Sam’s mind.
Sam had very strong opinions about coffee from hospitals’ vending machines but just now realised that he had not eaten for hours and gratefully took both the coffee and the chocolate bar.
They had to wait for over an hour until it was finally Sam’s turn. The doctor was surprisingly okay with Bucky’s stitches, and just cleaned up the wound, gave him another tetanus shot for good measure (because they weren’t exactly sure yet how the Blip had effected vaccinations), dressed the wound, prescribed some strong painkillers and told Sam to keep the leg still for the next few days.
So that was what Sam did. He spent several days just lying on the couch in the living room, getting progressively competitive at video games. In turn, he tried to teach his nephews board games and helped with their homework to unburden Sarah at least a little bit. He also did a number of phone calls to try to get that damn loan (unsuccessfully). How Sarah had not killed anyone yet was a mystery to him.
Bucky spent the days on the boat. Every evening he came to report to Sam about his progress, never failing to mention how he wasn’t slowed down by Sam’s need for breaks anymore.
“I hate him,” Sam told Sarah, who was happily showing him photos of the boat while Bucky was in the kitchen preparing dinner.
Sarah shrugged. “He is kind of useful. If he continues to work on the boat at that tempo, it’ll be ready to sail much earlier and I can minimise my losses.”
“I’m glad at least someone will profit from this mess.”
“He also knows how to gut and fillet fish.”
Sam chuckled. “Gutting fish and repairing boats – do you think those count as good character traits? Enough to justify falling in love with him?”
“I could introduce you to someone, you know. There’s this new guy in town, he’s an art teacher and he seems like a really sweet guy, very cultured of course and elegant – he is an art teacher after all – and he has those beautiful eyes... I’m pretty sure he’s interested in men.”
Sam frowned. There was nothing wrong with Bucky’s eyes. “Doesn’t sound like my type.”
Sarah sighed. “No, he certainly isn’t. You know, Sam, you do deserve a healthy and loving relationship like everyone else. Maybe give this guy a chance instead of always…” She trailed off. She didn’t have to say more.
“I’ll get back to you if I’m ever over the brainwashed serial killer.”
“It’s just that Daniel might already be seeing someone else by then. Like I said, he’s an attractive guy.”
“Wouldn’t be fair to Daniel if I tried to date him while, well.”
“You know what, Sam? What you’re doing is not fair to yourself. Look, I’ll send you his number, you can text him and meet up for a coffee, no commitment. Just give it a chance.” She opened the contacts app on her phone.
“Dinner is ready.”
Both Sam and Sarah whipped around in shock to see Bucky standing stock-still in the door, holding a plate with fish in each hand. Of course the first thought in Sam’s mind was, How much did he hear? Although it was hard to read Bucky, Sam prided himself in being able to interpret some of his stares. This one was somewhere between confused and irritated. Great.
“Great. Let’s hope you removed the bones properly and no one dies tonight.”
A deep crease appeared between Bucky’s eyebrows. Rightfully so, because that had been a stupid comment. But Sam could not think of anything funny or normal to say right now.
“Great,” Sarah said, then helped Sam up. They followed Bucky to the dining table.
Dinner was torture. The fish wasn’t half bad (no bones) but it was almost cold, which could only mean that Bucky had listened to too much of that conversation before he had announced his presence. And now he was staring again. By now, Sam had grown used to it, but this staring was on a whole new level, as if Bucky wanted to burn a hole through Sam’s forehead with his eyes.
“Staring,” he mouthed at Bucky while the boys thankfully babbled on about a football game a friend of Cass was organising.
Bucky jerked slightly but then finally tore his gaze from Sam and proceeded to glare daggers at the fish on his plate instead.
“Well, that was lovely,” Sarah said at last. “Thanks for cooking.” She stood up to do the dishes but Bucky got in her way with his superspeed.
“I’ll do it.”
Sarah shrugged and threw Sam a pitying glance.
“I’m going to bed,” he announced, explaining to his confused nephews, who did not understand why anyone would voluntarily go to bed so early, that he was really tired.
Back in his room, he flopped down on his bed and groaned loudly. How was this his life? Having a crush was one thing, Sam could easily suppress that. But his co-worker knowing about it… From now on everything was going to be so awkward. What had that stare meant? Would Bucky be fine with Sam’s misplaced affections? Should Sam start dating Daniel just to make it less awkward between Bucky and him? He buried his face in his pillow. Yeah, way to make it all worse and pull another, unsuspecting party into this mess.
There was a knock on his door.
He took a deep breath and sat up, dreading the worst. “Come in.”
Bucky came into his room, closed the door behind him and then – did absolutely nothing. He just stood there and looked at Sam.
“Okay, this is getting weird,” Sam said after about a minute of ominous silence. “Are you going to say something?”
Bucky opened his mouth, closed it again.
Right, one of them needed to do the talking, and obviously it was up to Sam to be the mature one. Nothing new there. “So I’m assuming you eavesdropped on that conversation between Sarah and me.”
“The door was open.”
Oh, finally he was speaking. That was progress. “Anyway. I get that this may be awkward for you.” Sam’s throat was tightening up at the thought of Bucky not only turning him down but maybe even avoiding him in the future because he was…no. He soldiered on. “Just know that siblings often talk trash.”
“I know. I have a sister.”
“Good.” Sam tried to unclench his hands, which were gripping his thighs too tightly. “Then, what is your problem? Is there a problem?”
Bucky shook his head. He stepped closer and sat down next to Sam on the bed, never once taking his eyes off Sam’s face. Sam had no idea what to do. The words were stuck in his throat but it turned out he didn’t have to do anything because Bucky took his left hand, placed it on his lap and cradled it in both hands. So, this was his answer.
Sam exhaled, slowly, shudderingly. He finally met Bucky’s eyes that were still fixed, unblinking, on Sam’s. He liked it. God help him, he liked being the single focus of that stare, he liked the irritated and confused stares, the hard and sometimes worried ones but most of all the challenging ones. Sam was veering towards a highly dysfunctional and co-dependent relationship (if a relationship was something Bucky wanted – they really needed to talk about this!) and he was not willing to change the course.
They stayed like that for too long, eight minutes and thirty-two seconds too long, as the display on Sam’s alarm clock showed him, and each second that ticked by in silence made it more difficult to just speak up and say something non-monumental.
But Sam finally did it because he knew that someone needed to say something and, well, that someone usually tended to be him. “We should probably talk about this.”
“I can schedule a session with my therapist.”
Sam snorted with laughter. “She’d have a field day.”
But Bucky was not laughing, not even grinning psychopathically. He was still staring at Sam, waiting for an answer.
“Wait. You’re taking this seriously. You really want us to do this?”
Bucky gave a curt nod.
Wow. This was monumental. Not meeting up to get a coffee but couples therapy. “Right.” Sam’s heart was beating loudly in his chest. This was like putting the wings back on after many years and flying again. Frightening, yes, but also exhilarating. “Yeah. Let’s do this.”
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Batter Up
@dukexietyweek Day 5 - School
Word Count: 2680 (Ao3)
Pairing: Dukexiety
Characters: Remus, Virgil, Patton
Rating: T
Warnings: mild innuendo
Virgil used to play softball before coming out and moving in with his brother. In this new school he doesn't touch sports, except for gym class and watching the baseball team practice, for artistic reasons, and because he has a crush on one of the players, Remus. But one day after accidentally breaking a bat and Remus' windshield in gym, Virgil gets a surprising offer from Remus, to show him a thing or two about the sport. Virgil tries to play dumb about the game and breaking the windshield just to get this kind of time with Remus, but who's to say Remus isn't trying the exact same thing to get closer to the shy emo?
---
No one seemed to think he would be capable of any great physical feat, but he didn't like to put himself out there so he couldn't blame them. Virgil was just glad that no one he particularly cared about was in his gym class.
"Oh shit," he grumbled under his breath, holding the dented metal bat in both hands. Everyone else was staring off in the distance, watching the arc of the baseball he gutted fall in the distance.
"Virgil, have you ever played on a team before?" Coach Patton asked from the mound. Virgil shook his head and shied away from the fresh-out-of-college teacher. It was a lie but he was not about to admit he played softball before he moved to this town with his brother.
"Well you have a knack for it! If you want to join the team, let me know!" Patton chuckled and pulled another ball from his pocket, "But I need you to go back inside to switch out that bat."
Virgil had never been happier to get away from class than in that moment. The ball landed in the parking lot and set off a car alarm. His classmates were starting to stare. He carried his shame across the lawn and into the gym, grateful he didn't get drafted or scolded. He didn't need that attention from anyone, ever.
Almost anyone.
Virgil could admit he liked watching the school team practicing, judging their stances and strategies from behind the bleachers. He had no problem with sketching the players in action, it was great practice, but one always stood out. Remigio Alesini, or Remus as he preferred. He wanted to catch Remus' attention.
Virgil couldn't help but notice him—he was loud, proud, and had a unique way of moving. That and he was weirdly charming, sweet and vile, a chaotic blend of energy in a handsome meat suit. He was smart, strong, kind, and he had a lot of friends. Virgil hated having a crush on him of all people.
Rather than dwell on the guy who had to repeat kindergarten and wasn’t in his gym class, Virgil flicked on the lights in the supply room and sought out a new bat, hoping that his unofficial home run wasn't the hot topic still. He would be surprised at how long it would haunt him.
---
It was after hours and Virgil was behind the bleachers, sketch pad out and pencil ready. He was working on a more detailed sketch of Remus and wanted another look at those bright features. But as the team finished running laps, Virgil caught sight of Remus' concerned expression.
"Hey Ree, what's doin'?" one of his teammates asked as they gathered their equipment.
"My windshield has a wad of ball guts jammed into it, it's not a big deal but whichever one of you chuckle fucks did it is gonna pay!" Remus laughed, and laughed harder and at the teammate's expression—sheer terror. Virgil was twice as terrified.
"Can't get your crush with a busted windshield?" a different teammate, Remy, jeered.
"You still have the hots for his brother, you have no room to talk!" Remus grinned, "Especially when you're dating my brother!"
"Alright boys and non-binary sluggers," Coach Patton said as he approached the dugout, "Save the chatter for later, we have to be ready for the game on Friday! Get in the field and have a catch while I set up the bags!"
"But we were talking about Ree's busted windshield!" Dave, the shortstop with a wild mop of hair and glasses, countered.
"So that's the car that got hit!" Patton mused. Virgil froze and prayed Patton would keep his mouth shut. He did not want Remus to be pissed off at him, or the rest of the team, but unlike them, Remus mattered to him.
"Who did it? When did it happen?"
"It was during one of my gym classes today, and I was stunned! I don't think I ever saw anyone do that in real time! He was just as shocked, I think!"
"Who was he?" Remy pressed.
"That's not important right now, it's baseball time!" Patton said, "Now go partner up!"
Virgil sighed in relief as the team split up to practice. Patton could keep quiet so he could get back to drawing.
About an hour and a half later, he was adding detail to a sketch of Remus when he was batting. Each curve had to be precise, all the proportions correct, the energy in the pose perfect before he could add those eyes and that smirk. He didn't even realize that the majority of the team was gone.
"Hey there!" Remus greeted him from behind, making Virgil jolt and clutch his sketchbook to his chest.
"Easy! Sorry for spooking you!" Remus chuckled, "Thought you might want to get out of here since all the models are gone—except me, but I don't mind modeling for you in a more private setting!" He winked, getting Virgil to turn red.
"I don't draw nudes, if that's what you're thinking," Virgil grumbled, wishing he could disintegrate on the spot. Remus beamed, his cheeks taking on a pink hue.
"Now I'm thinking about it! But I get the impression you're looking for some dynamic poses that require clothes—or you really like baseball!"
"I mean, yeah, both, but it's not a big deal. Shouldn't you be with your team?"
"Nope! They trust the gym showers and I don't! Besides, I've been meaning to talk to you since you're always here!"
"I can go if it's a proble—"
"No! It's cool!" Remus cut him off quickly, "I'd like to see what you're drawing if that's cool, and if not maybe I could show you some stuff like using a glove or batting since they're doing baseball in gym and stuff!" He was grinning like crazy and Virgil was sure his heart was going to explode. This was the perfect opportunity to get close without too much risk. He just had to play dumb to get the most out of this one-time chance.
"If you want to, you can show me some stuff, but you don't have to," Virgil shrugged and rubbed his neck shyly.
"I want to show you a lot of stuff, Virge, but let's stick with baseball!" Remus giggled and took Virgil's hand, internally screaming when the emo decided to hold it and get up.
"You can show me other stuff another time," Virgil grumbled and prayed he wouldn't make a fool of himself.
"Only with permission!" Remus laughed, a genuinely amused kind of laugh, and dragged Virgil onto the field towards the dugouts.
"So, uh, what are you showing me?" Virgil stammered, kicking himself for being so timid. Remus didn't seem to notice it, or at least he didn't acknowledge it.
"Well I was thinking about showing you how to throw, maybe pitch, and then how to hold a bat! But if there's anything you want me to show you, I can! As long as it's not too illegal—I'm not about to expose a minor to—"
"I'm eighteen. Try again," Virgil cut him off and scowled. He was baby-faced, sure, but that didn't mean he was that young. He frowned at Remus, who was digging through a storage box by the home team dugout.
"There's still other kids on school grounds! You're not stuck here alone with me!" Remus jeered and pulled out a mitt. He tossed it to Virgil and grabbed a ball.
"You know how to put that on, right?" Remus teased as Virgil stared at the mitt. He knew that he was not holding a standard glove, it was a catcher's mitt, but if he said anything, Remus might catch on that he knew far too much to need this.
"No, it's not like I have to use one in gym class," Virgil retorted wryly—he was not about to play that dumb. Remus giggled and moseyed to the dugout bench and grabbed his own glove.
"Did they teach you how to catch a ball without getting hurt?"
"Yeah, use the mit like a scoop and try to catch with the webbing between the thumb and fingers. Unless that's wrong," Virgil answered. Remus smiled at him and nodded.
"I guess Patton taught you guys how to throw too. Good. Those are the most important parts of the game!"
"I guess they are," Virgil mumbled. He hadn't really thought about it. He was too preoccupied with keeping his eyes away from Remus and not staring too long. He heard Remus jog a short distance and glanced up to see him standing on the pitcher’s mound, his glove at the ready.
“Toss it here!” Remus called, bouncing on his heels, ready to dive if Virgil’s aim was off. Virgil relaxed his shoulders and planted his feet before rearing his arm back and snapping it forward, flinging the ball into Remus’ glove without much struggle. He paled when Remus cheered and ran to him.
“Okay! Pat taught you well! And my god you have a great arm! Since I don’t have to show you the basics, wanna learn to pitch? I’m usually third base, but I can cover the mound in a pinch so I’m not talking out my ass!”
“Shit spews from both ends?” Virgil scoffed, immediately regretting it. Remus just laughed, like a hyena.
“Now that’s the kind of spunk Remy wishes he had! C’mon, I’ll show you the technique and you can show me what you got!” Remus said and dragged Virgil to the mound leaving no room for argument.
“Alright so the first thing is your stance, you gotta stand with your side kinda pointed at the plate, whichever side you have the glove on,” Remus explained and stood on the mound, mimicking his own instructions, “Keep your feet shoulder width apart and your body straight, putting your weight on your back foot. Then you bring both your arms in front of you and in one motion and lift your front leg so it’s parallel to the ground, like this. And then you’ll bring that leg down in a wide step with your toes pointed at the plate, keeping your body facing either first or third base, and your arms up about shoulder height with the back one bent upward by the time your foot meets the ground. And you’re gonna push off with your back leg to get some real power as you throw, and you want to follow through, leaning over your front leg to really drive that ball home.” He repeated all the steps in one swift motion and hurled the ball over home plate, and into the fence behind it.
Virgil was stunned, and he wasn’t going to tell Remus it was because his form was so bad but the throw was decent. Remus could live thinking he just impressed Virgil, he looked like he just won the biggest prize at a rigged carnival game, happy and flushed as he fetched the ball.
Virgil was less stunned and more startled when that ball came straight for him. He caught it without getting hurt but he would have liked some warning!
“Nice catch!” Remus beamed and ran over to him, dragging him to the pitcher’s mound, “Now you try!” He stepped back to give Virgil room and watched with interest as the emo took a deep breath and glared at the plate.
It was like second nature, he rocked his foot back and turned his other foot into the rubber pivot to keep from sliding. He reared his leg up and snapped forward, shifting his weight and moving his hips before his shoulders, lobbing the ball into the same fence, with more force behind his throw than Remus expected.
“Holy shit! That was awesome Virge! Do you always wear the hoodie to hide those arms? They’re probably so distracting!” Remus said and wrapped his arm around Virgil’s shoulders, “Oh yeah, you’re hiding some serious muscle under that hoodie! Lemme get you set to use them on the offensive!”
“You mean—?” Virgil muttered, willing away his blush and any latent feelings bubbling in his stomach. Remus was touching him and praising him, how was he supposed to keep his mind from racing?
“Batting! I won’t throw anything at you, but a good stance is important too! Hold that thought!” Remus giggled and took his glove. He skipped to the dugout box and swapped the glove for a bat. The same bat Virgil had to bring out earlier during gym class. He should have been more disturbed by it, but he was still a little put off enough to remember that he was the reason Remus would have to get a new windshield.
Remus dragged him to the plate and thrust the bat into his hands with a cheeky grin.
Virgil was weak in the knees, resting the bat on his shoulder as he tried not to think about Remus complimenting him over and over or that he accidentally cost Remus a trip to the mechanic. He wanted to believe there was something more there, like he wanted to pass out and not wake up.
"Alright, first," Remus said and placed his hands on Virgil's shoulders, "your footing is important," he nudged Virgil's feet into position with his own, pressing against his back, "they should be parallel like this."
"Oh—okay, um," Virgil winced. He couldn't have been that nervous! But when Remus slid his hands down his arms to his hands, Virgil wondered why he wasn't more nervous. That touch was far too gentle, almost reverent.
"You want to choke up on the bat more, like this—" he guided Virgil's hands on the bat, and didn't let go, "—and lift it off your shoulder." His breath was tickling Virgil's neck and Virgil could feel how close he was.
"Now bend your knees a bit and stick out your ass, and you'll be able to break my windshield again."
Virgil's breath caught in his throat and he dropped the bat. He was dead meat and his heart was racing.
"I—I–I'm sorry," he stammered, on the verge of tears. Remus hugged him and rested his chin on his shoulder.
"It was an accident. I'm not mad. I'm impressed! Coach told me all about it! And I thought you couldn't get any hotter!"
"What?"
"You're hot as hell and you gave me an excuse to talk to you, see how much skill you have, and ask you out!"
"Remus?"
"I've had a crush on you since freshman year! My god you have no idea how much of a spaz I was whenever I thought about you! Roman lost his shit I was so sappy and annoying! And that's saying something! I got over the craziness sorta but yeah I like you a lot!"
"Even if I—" Virgil winced and tried to keep from touching his binder.
"Even if you're not cis! You're you and I like that! So now you know what you're getting into if you agree to go to the movies with me since you busted up my car!"
"Can we get water ice and hang out instead?" Virgil asked and turned around in Remus' loose hold.
"I mean I wouldn't have the same chance to make out with you in the dark, but I like that idea!" he giggled.
"I could still kiss you if you want."
"Even if I want it right now?"
"Yeah," Virgil said and pressed a chaste kiss to his lips, “but if you have time after the water ice, we can watch Zombieland at my place with the lights out.”
“That’s a dangerous compromise,” Remus giggled, his face a lovely cherry shade.
“If you try anything too crazy, I’ll show you how I really use a bat,” Virgil countered, only to have Remus pull him close and hug him while he bounced on his heels. It was hard to tell who was happier when Virgil hugged back. It was probably the coach watching the pair from a safe distance away. It was nice to see those kiddos finally getting together!
#dukexietyweek2021#remus sanders#virgil sanders#sanders sides#dukexiety#trans!virgil#ftm!virgil#patton sanders#sex mention tw#sandyscribed
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Apartment 307-8 (Grabbed by the hair)
Hi guys!! I'm so sorry it took me so long to update. School and work have been crazy but luckily I'm out of school next week so I'll have much more time and be posting more frequently! Apologies for the short chapter, I have no idea why but it just kicked my butt lol. I tried doing some cool multimedia stuff, I hope you enjoy! This is @sableflynn's BTHB request, grabbed by the hair.
TWs: Creepy, possessive whumper, mention of branding, also this chapter made me sad bc I love my mom and Elora's mom is sad so warning for that lmao
Elora was still lying there crying hours later. The tears had slowed from her initial keening sobs, but they still fell steadily down her face, accumulating in a small puddle on the tile by her head. She could see a bit of her reflection in the salty water; just her eyes, mostly. She saw green eyes that had once been so full of hope and life that were fading, the slow abandonment of hope almost making them gray out. She wanted to lie there forever, staring into her own eyes, until oblivion took her. If she cleared her head enough, she could pretend she was elsewhere, somewhere warm and loving; the blanket draped over her body did help with the fantasy, though she always knew somewhere in the back of her head that it was just that: a fantasy. She was still here. With him.
Clyde tried to give her time to recover, but his patience wore eventually. He began to get antsy after a few hours of watching her lie there, doing nothing but cry. Admittedly, he did enjoy it at first-seeing her so weak, so docile, because of him-but it eventually grew tiresome. Watching each tear drip down into the puddle became like watching paint dry.
He stood up abruptly. Elora was startled by the motion, flinching before stilling and watching him very carefully. What was he going to do?
“Get up,” he said simply.
Elora froze. She still felt sick, dizzy with pain and the lingering scent of her burning flesh in the bathroom. But why would he care about that? Why should she disobey him, when she knew what would happen?
Yet pride and pain got the better of her again.
“I can’t,” she whimpered. She felt weak. “I hurt. You hurt me.”
The piercing sound of a loud, sudden laugh began to echo through the bathroom. It reminded Elora of the laugh of a hyena. She winced.
“Darling, did you not think that was the point?”
Her expression hardened and her heart thumped in her chest. That was the point. She wanted to say something, but her mouth suddenly got dry.
The man simply grinned. “Get up,” he repeated, but she didn’t. She just laid there, dumbfounded.
He groaned angrily, rolling his eyes. “Fine,” he grumbled. “Be that way.”
He gathered up her hair in his hand, locked his fingers in a tight fist, and pulled up. Elora yelped and scrambled to get to her feet to relieve the pain, but he didn’t give her the chance; he carelessly dragged her off, out of the bathroom, through the hallway, and into the living room. She screamed and thrashed wildly, her hands desperately trying to push him away as her scalp burned like fire. Again and again, her feet scraped the ground to no avail, kicking and kicking but never able to gain enough traction to stand as she was mercilessly dragged. The man finally dropped her on the floor at the foot of a worn leather couch, releasing his death grip on her hair. Her hands immediately flew up to her head, applying gentle pressure to her scalp to try to ease the burning pain as she looked around the new room.
The living room was barren, like the man had half moved into it then given up. There was a dusty box in the corner, the couch, a worn coffee table, a small stand, and an old TV. Other than that, it was empty, in an eerie way. The aged carpet spanned the floor like an ocean.
The pressure didn’t do much and Elora dropped her hands, still wincing as the man plopped himself on the couch behind her, the leather making a loud crackling noise as he sat. She whipped her head around as her shoulders raised up to her ears instinctively. The man made a sour face, his features twisting into an ugly frown.
“Relax,” he commanded, forcefully pushing her shoulders down. At first, she tried to wiggle away, but that idea was abandoned when he tightened his grip, clearly as a warning. He grabbed the TV remote from the arm of the couch and turned it on. It started on some history channel documentary about cars, but Clyde quickly flipped through channels until he found the local news station.
A grin spread across his face as he read the blue banner spanning across the bottom of the screen. They were just in time.
UP NEXT: CAPE COD GIRL GOES MISSING; DESPERATE MOTHER PLEADS FOR HER RETURN
His hands wandered to Elora’s scalp and began to gently card through her hair. She inhaled sharply, and it took everything she had in her not to immediately shove him off. Somehow the gentleness felt worse than the pain; the false sense of care disgusted her. He was a maniac. He hurt her, he branded her, and now he was sitting on the couch petting her hair, pretending like none of it happened. It didn’t escape her attention how he set her on the floor instead of the couch, below him, like a dog.
The banner was bad enough, but she felt sick to her stomach when the station cut to a reporter sitting at a desk with a picture of her on half of the screen. It was the picture her mom took of her at the orchard last fall. It was candid; she remembered it. She was intently focused on a butterfly off on a tree, ignoring her mom as she snapped the photo. It was one of her favorite pictures of herself. And now, it was plastered all over the news.
The reporter on the TV began to speak. “Tonight, a desperate mother pleads for her missing daughter’s safe return. Elora Larkin, nineteen, of Barnstable county, Massachusetts has been missing since Friday night. She was last seen walking home from her job at Agathangelou’s bakery, wearing khakis, a black t-shirt, and black sneakers. The police have opened a tip line and are offering an unspecified reward for any information that leads to Miss Larkin.”
Elora felt a lurching sensation in her stomach, so visceral she wanted to throw up. That was her. On the news. Gone. Missing.
Behind her, the man chuckled.
“Look at that, baby. You’re all over New England.”
“I’m not your baby,” she snapped, turning around. But her head was spinning. All over New England? It wasn’t the Cape Cod news station on the TV. It wasn’t even a state news channel. It was entirely unfamiliar, the reporter’s face one she’d never seen.. So he’d taken her across state lines, making her chances of being found lower yet.
The man shushed her and put a finger up to her lips. “Watch.” She almost bit him, but decided it wasn’t worth the inevitable punishment that would follow. Besides, they might say something useful, something that could help her. She needed to pay attention.
The screen changed, and a missing persons poster popped up. Hers.
It was up for a minute before it faded away as the reporter came back on the screen.
“Such a sad story. Everyone in the studio is hoping and praying for her safe return. Unfortunately, vigilance is so important in this day and age. Up next, we have a recording of a press conference with the girl’s mother.
The girl’s mother. Her mother. Elora felt her heartbeat thumping in her chest.
And there she was. Jodie was standing at a podium in a building that had to be a police station. Demetrios was standing by her side, offering support by merely being present. While Elora hadn’t seen him cry even once in all the years she’d known him, he now looked like he was on the verge of tears.
Her mom started to speak. She looked so sad. Withered, like the life had been sucked out of her, from fear and overthinking and sleepless nights.
“My daughter-My daughter Elora has been missing since Friday night. She’s got-she’s got blonde hair, and green eyes, and she’s real tall. I’m sure pictures have gone around by now. She was walking home from work and-and then she disappeared. We were supposed to have dinner Sunday and she never came. It was supposed to be her weekend off. I- If someone has her, please, I’m begging you, let her go. Bring her home safe. She’s a good kid, she works hard, she rescues cats in her spare time...she doesn’t deserve this. And Elora, if you’re seeing this, I love you. I love you so much, honey. If you chose to leave, please just tell us you’re okay. It’s okay. You can go see the world, just tell us you’re okay. And if something-something bad happened, we’re gonna find you. I promise, baby, I love you and we’re gonna bring you home. Promise.”
At that point, she set the microphone down and began to cry, tears streaming down her face as she hurried off to an exit, the cameras following her for a few moments. Elora’s heart twisted in knots. Seeing her mom’s face brought her so much joy, yet knowing how worried she had to be made her feel sick with guilt.
But she promised. She promised she’d find her.
“That your mom?”
Elora stilled. He already knew the answer.
"She’s kinda pathetic. Could barely keep it together long enough to tell them about you.”
She went cold. “Stop,” she seethed. Her voice was eerily calm, given her anger.
"Or what?” he replied, twisting her hair up in his hand and giving it another tug.
Elora was silent. There was no or what. She knew that.
The reporter came back on the screen.
“Well, folks, that’s all we have on the case for tonight. Remember to be safe and vigilant. This has been Hannah Brown with News12.”
The man released her hair, picked up the remote, and turned off the T.V.
“Notice how they only talked about you, not me?”
Elora turned her head around. She was crying.
“What?”
He scoffed. “I said, notice how they only ran their mouths about you the whole time. Never said a word about me. You know what that means? They don’t know jack shit about me. They don’t know who you’re with or where you are. I probably shouldn’t tell you this, but we’re in Connecticut. We crossed state lines twice. They’re never going to find you, you know that?
She tried to hide it, but he could see her expression falling with every word he said, hope beginning to seep out of her. She shook her head vigorously, her bottom lip trembling.
“N-no! No, they will, you’re just crazy! You’re just fucking crazy!”
A scowl formed on his lips. “No, they won’t.”
She opened her mouth to protest, but in a split second, his hand was gripping tightly around her throat, cutting off her air. Her eyes went wide.
“No one is coming to save you.”
Elora swallowed, fear bright in her eyes. She tried to rip herself away, but the man raked his fingers across the fresh brand on her collarbone, sending her to the ground, keeling in pain.
“We could’ve had a nice evening if you behaved. Listened,” he grumbled, standing and once again grabbing her hair tightly before dragging her off towards the bathroom.
Tags: @exploringspaceinpyjamas @all-whumped-out @badthingshappenbingo
#bad things happen bingo#whump#whump fic#whump writing#my writing#whumper#human whumpee#possessive whumper#creepy whumper#Elora#elora larkin#lady whump#whump blog#psychological whump#physical whump#apartment 307
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