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supremeinlilac · 3 years

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Hurt me once

Pairing: Billie Dean Howard x Fem!Reader

Prompt: Hurt me once- Ben Platt, also there will be a Mina one too :))

Word Count: 3k

Warnings: Cheating, lying, basically Billie is how I imagine some celebrities in reality tv to be like, so soz.

Maybe you were reading into it too much. Since Billie had started dating you, you’d wanted to pull away from working for her and get your own job on the pretence that you could never be equal if you worked as her assistant day in and day out. You supposed you’d brought it upon yourself.

She still needed an assistant. Her job was demanding and stressful so of course she’d rehire. You’d been naïve to think any differently.

“No one can replace you.” She’d purred when you’d admitted to wanting to quit. Assuring that you’d been her best help to date.

She was lying.

You’d tried to remain focus in work but Billie Dean Howard had this addicting aura about her person and you couldn’t help but become distracted. Especially when she’d aim flirty remarks and winks with pinpoint precision at you. Like a lamb to slaughter you were set up to fail.

She’d taken you to watch a drive in movie for your first date. Huddled together under blankets on the plush of her backseat. It had been an action, the name escapes you now; but at the time you’d been far more aware of the way the light from the screen caught against her skin instead of the actual film.

The way she’d catch you staring and the signature cocky grin would form, tongue poking into her cheek as she pulled you closer. Under the stars that night you’d felt her lips for the first time, the moon a perfect witness. Stark and full above you, beaming down in chords of silvery light.

Naturally, it became routine for the moon to bare witness to such moments. For you both to come together under the pale light and either dance or watch another movie. The moon was hers, delicately and wholly and irrevocably hers.

You can’t look at the moon now without feeling the need to howl at it like a wolf does. For the moon had stolen Billie from you. The moon was no longer a thing you shared alone.

Billie took her new assistant to a drive in theatre.

It rained. The sky cried and protested like a petulant child because it should have been you. It should have been you there, huddled together under blankets on the plush of her backseat. Instead of throwing a tantrum, you told yourself that she was just being kind. Billie Dean was kind. Annoyingly so, in this case.

You told yourself that she didn’t realise that doing that was your thing, something that you did together. It was special. A rare pearl lodged in the mouth of a clam, the gem that you were lucky to have had. Had. Had you lost it, was its touch fleeting? Inevitably drawn back after being loaned so cruelly?

You started to notice the little ways Billie was pulling away. At least, you thought she was pulling away. Little landmines that were buried under your feet, growing and ticking dangerously, waiting for you to lose balance and fall. Triggering them. A looming explosion.

Billie would eat with her production team after long scheduled days of filming, she’d message you fleetingly with wordless apologies for her absence, and slip into bed after you slept. She never saw the tears that would stain the skin of your cheeks. At least you hoped she didn’t notice them, because she never mentioned it, and you’d prefer her to be ignorant to it than to ignore your pain.

She’d started to take her phone calls on the porch, leaving the dinner table with only a motion to the ringing to say where she was going. She’d mouth that she’d be back in a minute but you’d always have to reheat her food. Eating alone with the silhouette of your lover in the window had become the regular, leaving an uneasy feeling in your gut which you couldn’t seem to shake.

It seemed like you’d forgotten how to read her face.

No. You’d always been able to sense her mood by the twitch of a lip or the furrow of a brow, could know what she was thinking without even having to try.

It struck you that maybe that was only the case because she was letting you, an open book, the tells of her mood bright against the curves of her face. The book was no longer open, fragile pages torn in an attempt to hide the contents. The library of Billie Dean’s emotions padlocked and closed to you.

At the back of your mind however, you knew that you could still read her like you always had been able to. A feeble attempt to disguise the fact that you could see the words strewn carefully across the page, so clearly in front of you. But you don’t like what you read, instead feigning oblivion rather than face the truth.

It was red to love Billie Dean.

Passionate and fuelled, excitement sparking your muscles involuntarily. It was hot, blushed faces between silken sheets. The feeling one gets as the rollercoaster reaches its peak, and hovers just over the edge, dipping so you can see the fall. Your breath hitches in your throat and for a moment you feel like you might live forever, stay in this moment and this safety with Billie.

But a moment doesn’t last forever.

And then it’s dropping. Falling, falling. You reach out to grasp for something sturdy but fingers only close around the fragments of memories that you’re losing. Moments you won’t experience again. And your breath draws in a way that is painful, burning down to your lungs. Red. Fire. Dangerous.

For it was dangerous to love Billie Dean.

You knew it all too well.

You’d read the suggestive articles about the mysterious, nameless new girl that clung to Billie’s arm, sheltered by the umbrella she’d once used to protect you from the rain.

Now, you’d dance fearlessly under it with closed eyes and a head tilted to the sky. Welcoming the rain from your apologetic moon. For your moon was panoptic, it saw your pain and her infidelity, sending shards of silver regret.

You wanted the looming explosion to be destructive. To be angry and snapping and make her understand that she’d hurt you with inexistent loyalty when yours had been unwavering.

But the explosion wasn’t big. It wasn’t sudden and angry, a dog snarling and baring steak knives for teeth, loud and frothing at the mouth. Looking back you wished it had been, it would have been easier to hate her, to blame her.

Hating Billie Dean Howard was impossible. Even the people with the least humility would sooner blame themselves, sinking and struggling beneath the waves themselves lest have Billie drown.

You found yourself drawing back into yourself, a child curled into itself in the corner, a small animal frantic to take up the least space possible. You shrunk, imploding instead of exploding. Crippling hatred gnawed at your skin, vultures picking your body clean and leaving it to rot in the burning sun.

Doubt crushes your ribs to ash, filling your lungs and mixing with blood to a paste no amount of coughing will clear. It was deep and bruising, and you knew that not even Billie’s empty reassurance wouldn’t settle the ache.

The night you confronted Billie played in your mind like a broken cassette, looping the scene, a single jumping moment on display endlessly.

You’d been crying. Billie hadn’t turned up for the dinner you’d made for your anniversary, well she’d showed, hours later and stumbling through the door. She’d been drinking and the curve of her lips was smudged with a crimson lipstick under the moonlight.

Your moonlight.

You couldn’t remember a time when Billie Dean had worn red lipstick. Hooker lipstick, as she’d once said. The fact only made the tears run anew.

Her intoxication made it easier. Perhaps you’d be able to vent and cry and confess to her and she wouldn’t remember come the morning. The spirits in the walls would remind her though, whispers and taunts in sobriety.

You wanted to be big and angry, pushing back against her when her actions cut you, hurting and scarring her back. But you were kinder than her. Billie was kind but she had nothing on you.

You’d stood, bags packed in a pile by the door, and she’d sat. You’d cried, and she didn’t. She didn’t even speak until you made to leave, didn’t move until it was to cling onto your wrists in a frantic effort to keep you.

“Did you sleep with her?” You found yourself asking without even registering your words. You hadn’t planned on being so direct.

“Y/n, listen to me. I-”

“Did you, sleep with her?” Ignoring her, you spoke. Slower, punctuating and almost spitting your words at her, as if keeping them against your tongue would do more damage.

“Once, yes. But she’s not you.” Billie said, slender fingers reaching to pull at the pearls around her neck, instead of reaching to you.

You found yourself backing away again, struck anew at her final admission. Somehow it hurt more to hear her confirm what you already knew to be true. Like when you know someone to be dying, yet it only really hits you when they’re gone. When it’s too late to change anything.

“I don’t know why I did it, I just-” her voice trailed off, hands hitting out at nothing. Slumping onto the sofa, you mirrored her movement, perching yourself tentatively on the arm of the coach.

Your eyes flitted from her form to the door, the escape should you need it. Should youchoose it.

“You did it because you could, Billie.” You breathed, knuckles pressing at your temple to ease an impending migraine. Fighting with Billie always gave you a headache, it was a headache to get your point across when she’d ceased to listen. “I mean I get it, it’s exciting. Young girls like me, fawning. You feel, I don’t know? Appreciated, flattered?”

You knew that it was commonplace among celebrities like Billie, to chain date young girls who fed into their egos and made them feel young. Billie didn’t speak for a while, head in her hands and knees knocking together while you forced yourself to not watch her, eyes fixing instead on the way the curtains sways slightly with the open window. Even the curtains ached to free themselves.

“Look. I’m sorry, I swear.” Her voice thawed, defensiveness gone and replaced with a vulnerability she rarely let herself show. You wrung your hands in your lap and stared at the way they whitened with pressure. Your lungs felt like that, blood pressed out with the crushing doubt, a band wrapped around your ribs. You almost reached a hand up to your chest to help you breathe.

She stood, reaching into the cabinet drawer and retrieving a packet of cigarettes and flicking one between her fingers. She didn’t light it. What would be the point of creating more of a separating fog between you both? Instead, she just fiddled with it, a nervous tic.

“Can we still be in love?” She pleaded, eyes shining and you screwed yours tight as to not be lost to the depths of them. Her eyes were your weakness, and she knew it. You’d once told her that you thought you’d seen the man on the moon, reflected in them. The man on the moon, dancing on a music box in her eyes.

“I don’t know you. Your voice, it’s different.” The shake of your head and the riddle of your words had the medium narrowing her eyes in confusion. For one who loved to play games, Billie wasn’t playing fair.

“What do you mean? Different how?”

Frustration bit at you, and you wondered if this was the explosion people spoke of. An internal understanding of grief for something you never had.

“I can’t with you Billie! Did you ever even love me? You say you want to be in love but were you ever in love with me? What makes me different from the others?” The chime of the music box, opened and singing in the splash of your tears.

She sighed, tying her hair loosely behind her head to stop her from running her hands through it in anguish. She didn’t like to see you in pain knowing she was the one who’d caused it. Unjustly caused it. Guilt washed smoothly over her only now at the sight of her baby girl, a small ache in the gut. But the realisation hit like a winter wave in a storm. She’d lose you if she didn’t fight to keep you.

She reached out to wipe your tears with a comforting hand.

“Let me in. Please.”

Who were you to seek comfort in the person who’d broken you? Much alike to a shadow seeking solace with the sun, the sun that burned and cut through the shade. Prey looking to please the predator.

But you did. You craved the musk of smoke that would cling to her clothes, the rasp to her voice in the morning. The suggestive lilt to her eyebrow when she’d dress you in her favourite dress, dancing in an empty crowd because she used to only see you.

“I love you.” She begged; voice hoarse from overuse. “You’re a part of me.”

That made you stop. Made you question.

Who were you without her? Billie Dean Howard, medium to the stars. She was a light, cutting through the dangerous darkness a path forged for you. The darkness was exciting and inviting and you wanted to be comfortable in its depths, but without her you are nothing.

You sell your soul for the chance at happiness. For the hope that she may learn to love you properly, how you love, and deserve to be loved back. To walk in the light.

You tell yourself how easy it would be to leave the city and find peace elsewhere. Get a steady job in television production, a steady and reliable wage. Reliability. Billie had made you crave it. Crave it from her, selfishly asking for something that you aren’t even sure if she’s capable to give you.

But you're ensnared in her trap. Her charm and confidence has bound you on a tether, an obedient puppy just looking to please. Young and impressionable.

How could you settle for a simple life when Billie had shown you the city from the highest building. Made you watch as the lights illuminated the world below in perfect technicolour. She’d shown you what could be, what was destined to not to be, but what you’d reach for nonetheless.

You’d known about Billie’s previous proclivities toward girls your age, but you’d believed that you could change her. Naively, you, another wide eyed, hopeful wannabee, believed you could make her settle down. Stupid. She’d lain with dozens of girls like you, before you, and she would lay with dozens more.

This realisation did nothing to stop you from letting her back in, agreeing to her empty promise of change.

Was change even possible?

She was Billie Dean Howard, the stars. The stars could make deals with the people of Earth, but they could not bargain in return. You can’t catch a star and claim it as your own. She held all the cards, all the choices while you remained empty. Without her, you were nothing.

You let yourself be engulfed by the stars. Opening your arms for her warmth to invade you once again as she pulled you into a hug. Letting yourself be hers again.

But you’d always been hers, ever since she’d strode, cocky and confident, into your life. You didn’t think that she’d ever truly been yours, or ever would.

Billie Dean Howard held the unpredictability of a tornado’s spin, and people got caught up in her exciting whirlwind. You weren’t sure if she really meant for them to, or if she realised the damage she left in her wake. Travelling from place to place, never looking back.

It was a defence mechanism the job forced upon her. But who was defending you?

“No second chances.” You warned her through gritted teeth, chin propped against her shoulder. She couldn’t see the angry tears that pricked at your eyes, anger at her, at yourself. You’d been reminded of the dangers over and over and yet you still allowed yourself to fall victim to her charm.

“I won’t need one, I promise. I swear I won’t,” Billie reassured, palms rubbing up your back and making you shiver involuntarily. You clutched her blouse in trembling fingers, perhaps if you held on strong enough your bones might turn to ash in her grasp and she’d be the one to mourn. You convinced yourself she wouldmourn.

“I can’t do this again.” Truth.

“I won’t do this again.” Lie.

She hummed, accepting your whispers as truth, for who was Billie Dean Howard to question you? Who was she to take your love for granted and render it infinite? Fame did not mean she was entitled to your loyalty if she refused to give hers.

Billie wasn’t stupid, she knew it wasn’t a game she could win without consequences. She couldn’t have it all. Wouldn’t have it all.

“I love you.” A kiss against skin mottled by tears.

You didn’t say it back, she didn’t deserve it yet. Despite wanting to let your lips form the words, your teeth bit down on your tongue and refused for the phrase to drip demurely from it, she had not yet earned the nectar of your spoken love.

Instead; you let Billie believe that you would have actually left. That you would leave next time.

Not that you wouldn’t have eventually, when you finally broke the spell she had over you, being the television star that she is. You loathed that you would forgive her for hurting you so easily, self-respect forgotten in lieu of kissing under the gentle moon once more.

You were ashamed that you were proud of the fact that she could do anything and you’d still be in love with her. You’d chosen her, your colour sealed with the crimson blood that coursed through your veins.

Red was once your favourite colour, wasn’t it?

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#sarah paulson #sarah paulson x reader #billie dean howard #billie dean howard x reader #american horror story #ahs murder house #imagine

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filthficdump · 3 years

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Good Thing This Job Has Benefits.

AN: I wrote this in one day, I’ve developed a hyperfixation on The Walten Files, so you get to enjoy this absolute mess I’ve made.

You can also read it here on AO3. There’s no romance, it’s a gender neutral, nameless reader fict. There’s no death, because I am NOT about to write angst about a happy family :(

When I had you to myself, I didn't want you around. Those pretty faces always made you stand out in a crowd.

The gravel under my tires crunched as I drove through the night, bopping and tapping the steering wheel to the beat of the song, singing along. It was late, most likely near or after nine PM, but I wasn’t about to take my eyes off the road to check. That’s just asking for trouble.

But someone picked you from the bunch, one glance was all it took. Now it's much too late for me to take a second look.

New job, it’s been going great! I wouldn’t have thought I’d get to use my programming degree so soon, but I’m so happy I got this job. Sure, it’s for a kid’s burger joint, but there’s animatronics and other stuff, plus that finance minor rocketed me straight to an assistant manager position!

Oh, baby, give me one more chance, to show you that I love you. Won't you please let me, Back in your heart.

In the distance I could see a pair of headlights and slowed my car a bit and moved a bit to the side to provide them more room. These roads were narrow and I really didn’t think I wanted to get into a car crash and have to deal with that with what’s left of my savings and likely my first check.

Oh, darlin', I was blind to let you go (Let you go, baby) But now since I see you in his arms (I want you back)

The thought ‘That car looks like it’s moving really fast- too fast’ is the last thought in my head as the car got close, too close to stop the car or move away, there’s a ditch and trees on my side of the road. My hand hit the horn hard, blaring, but they served and-

CRASH!!!

Yes, I do now, I want you back. Ooh, ooh, baby, I want you back.

Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, I want you back. Na, na, na, na.

When I come back to, I’m upside down, held up by my seat belt. Ho-ly-shit. I got into a fucking car crash.

Oh shit! I got into a car crash- The other car! I struggle to turn to look out the window and I see the other car against the guard rail. It’s hard to get a good look at the other car, seeing how I’m upside down and in the goddamn ditch, but I need to get out of the car.

I instinctually went for the pocket at the door, looking for my seatbelt cutter, but it had fallen out. Thanks, gravity. Thankfully, it’s on the roof of the car and I grabbed it before grabbing the handle of the door, pushing it open before I pressed my free arm against the roof of the car and-

“ FUCK! ” I yell, feeling the pain shooting up my arm and shoulder. Holy fuck, why did it hurt so bad?! We’re in the middle of the woods and I can’t remember the last home I passed and my car is upside down.

Either someone comes or I’ve got a long walk. I grit my teeth and cut the seat belt, falling head first into the ceiling and then out the door, tumbling until my butt hit grass. I flung the seatbelt cutter to the side and struggled up, using my door as support before I had to climb up the slippery slope of the ditch and onto the road.

My more useful arm held the other to my chest as I limped. Just about everything hurts. My chest, my shoulder, my leg, my face. Why did this have to happen? I was having such a good night, and now I’m in a wreck and about to give this jackass a piece of my mind. If he’s not dead.

I got closer to the car and looked inside. The man was unconscious, leaning against the steering wheel. I looked to the back instinctually, not expecting to see two terrified children! Oh god, wait- No, they’re alive. They’re looking at me.

I pulled open the driver door, still looking back at the kids, “Uh… Hey. Are you kids okay?” I asked, leaning down to look at them better. A boy and a girl, clearly siblings. They were sniffling and crying, but nodded, “Is this your dad?” I asked, pointing at the unconscious man. The car reeks of booze.

“N-No…” The boy sniffled, “He’s our uncle!”

“Okay, okay… Well, I’m gonna get us to help.” I said and went over to the passenger side, opening it up. The paint was scratched and the panels dented, but the car was still running. It would be shorter to keep going the way I came from, the city and a hospital is that way.

I reached over and wrapped my arm around the unconscious man’s chest, dragging him over into the passenger seat where there were beer bottles on the floor. Not even a seatbelt? He’s lucky he didn’t die.

I buckled him in and shut the door, walking back around to the driver’s seat before getting in and shutting the door. I tested my foot on the gas and hand on the wheel, my other arm resting in my lap.

Thank god the car still worked! I just started driving, the car feeling quite literally fucked as it went over the road, but it’s a working car!

It was perhaps ten or fifteen minutes down the road, “Um… So, what’s your guys’ names?” I asked, looking back at them through the crooked rear view mirror. They must have been so terrified. They were just in a car crash, and now their jackass drunk uncle was unconscious and a stranger was in the car with them.

“I’m Edd… She’s Molly…” Edd said, his sister was holding a grey bunny toy. Looked like one of those prize stuffed animals we keep at Bon’s Burgers prize counter, but it wasn’t blue or purple, and the restaurant hasn’t been opened yet.

I introduced myself and really focused on the road, “That’s a really cool bunny. It’s like the ones we have at my work.” I said, smiling, “Ever heard of Bon’s Burgers?”

The girl looked confused, “Y-Yes? Our dad works there.” She said. Oh no, were they my co-worker’s kids? Which co-worker?

“O-Oh? What’s your dad’s name?” I asked, glancing over at the man in the passenger seat. I couldn’t see him very well in the dark car, but I could hear his deep breathing and slight snoring.

“His name is Jack Walten. Our mom is Rosie!” Edd said, and for a moment I thought I was going to get into another accident. Jack… Walten…?

My boss's kids?!

“Ha-Ha, oh wow… Small work. I started working there. Today was my first day, actually…” I said, muttering a few swears under my breath, “I met Jack! Um… Do either of you know his phone number…? We’re gonna need it when we get to the hospital.”

The boy nods and I sighed- Wait, if these are Jack’s kids, then the man...

Another glance. We’re getting to the part of the road with street lights. I recognize those glasses. This was my other boss, wasn’t it? Please don’t say it is, I just crashed into my bosses’ car. Wait, no, he crashed into me! This wasn’t my fault!

The bastard is too drunk and irresponsible. He could have killed himself, the two kids, or even myself! For god sakes my car is in a ditch!

“Let’s just… Listen to some music, okay?” I offered and put on the radio, driving with my knee for the moment since my injured arm was starting to go numb. It better not be broken, I swear to god.

Once we got into the city I went straight to the hospital, parking in the emergency parking lot. “Okay, can you guys walk?” I asked, unbuckling my belt to look at both of them. They opened their doors and the girl winced.

“My ankle hurts!” She cried. Edd thankfully didn’t seem too injured, but he had a burn from the seat belt.

“Okay, okay. Hold on, I’ll carry you.” I said and got out. My leg felt like it was covered with biting fire ants, but I wasn’t about to leave her alone for them to just get a wheelchair.

I bent down and she reached up, one hand clutching the stuffed bunny as she wrapped her arm around my neck and I held her up on my hip, my only good arm holding her up, “Okay, okay, okay.” I mumbled softly and the boy was by my side, “Okay, grab my hand.” I said, offering my injured hand. I didn’t care that it hurt, I knew he was putting on a brave face.

He took my hand and I walked them both in. The tired nurse at the desk looked up at us and looked terrified before she quickly called for help, “We have another in the car. The black one out front.” I said, “We were just in a car crash.”

“Oh my god!” She said as more nurses came, one that had a gurney and I put the girl up on top and the boy got to sit in a wheelchair, “Are you their mother?” The nurse asked as one of the other nurses tried to sit me down in a wheelchair as well.

“No… I’m the one their uncle crashed into.” I said and reluctantly sat down. I didn’t realize how fast my heart was beating, it must explain all of the wandering thoughts that clouded my mind.

I was brought to the same room that they were, but curtains separated me from them. Doctors and nurses came shortly and my vision grew quite spotty. Information was exchanged, my nearest relative was an hour away and it was late, so it’s a toss up if they got the call.

One of the children gave a nurse the phone number to their home, and already my head was coming up with the worst thoughts of what would happen. Will I be fired? Is he going to sue me? I’m probably just as guilty as Felix in his eyes.

Speaking of Felix, if Jack doesn’t fire me he will! If he doesn’t get arrested.

“Pardon me…” One of the nurses said, drawing my attention, “We need to cut off your shirt. Your arm is likely dislocated and we don’t want to move it.”

Oh god, if they cut off this shirt I’ll have to pay 25 dollars to get another. “Um… No, it’s my only uniform.” I said and with my one good arm undid the buttons before another nurse pulled from my uninjured side and I pulled it the rest of the way off, letting the nurse take it.

Unfortunately, pants and shoes too, but I got a nifty gown and now they could resume looking me over. What I didn’t appreciate was them having to pop my arm back into place, that was awful.

They had to bandage up my cuts and test me for brain damage (just a mild concussion) and put my arm in a sling, my ribs were also likely fractured. Molly's ankle had to be splinted as it was strained and Edd had a slight concussion.

At least I got to change back into a spare set of plain clothes that they happened to have, but that required a nurse's help with the newly relocated arm that ached and hurt when I moved it.

Felix hadn’t been brought to our same room, and an officer came to question us. I told the whole story, and just to be sure they breathalyzed me. Unlike a certain driver I blew a 0.0 BAC.

Our stories matched up and they pulled back the curtains to allow us to see each other and talk. They were still shaken up, but they were told their mom and dad were on their way a while ago. Great. I’m just glad their parents were still awake and were on their way, even though I knew there was going to be so much to talk about and I was going to have to justify myself to both of the worried and likely angry parents.

I talked to them about school and what they liked to do, how they just came from a school party. Molly was excited to have her friends sign her ‘cast’ and Edd thought he would be the coolest kid in school for surviving a car crash.

I remembered being their age and smiled and nodded along as I was put on a low grade painkiller and we were given water to drink. After about 20 minutes I could hear a commotion and a man and two women calling out for the two children. They called back and moments later a frazzled looking man, my boss Jack Walten and his wife Rosemary, along with his worried looking teen daughter Sophie rounded the corner of the doorway and in that moment I had never seen anyone look so relieved.

The reunion was toothrottingly sweet, all five hugging and just overjoyed to see their children okay and alive. I couldn’t help but smile, even though it felt like I was intruding on something that should have been private.

Edd brought me up and Molly joined in, the both of them talking at once and practically over each other as they tried to explain everything that happened. I’m not sure if their parents or sister fully understood, but what was grasped was that Felix crashed into me, and I drove them to the hospital.

Both Jack and Rosemary looked at me and I awkwardly waved. He looked confused, like he recognized me but unsure from where, “Hi, boss…” I said, introducing myself for the second time that day.

We only met for ten minutes earlier today, but his eyes widened in surprise. “You… Felix crashed into you?” He asked, “And you got my children to safety?”

I timidly nodded. Please, please don’t be angry.

The officer presented himself and cleared his throat, “Your employee here was driving home when Mr. Kraken, who was intoxicated, who was driving the other way crashed into them and knocked them from the road into the ditch while Mr. Kraken’s car hit the guardrail.” The officer explained.

“I um… I was upside down but cut myself free and climbed out to check on the other car, and I saw that he had Molly and Edd in the back and my car wasn’t about to get out of the ditch any time soon so I just… drove them here.” I finished, punctuating the end by nervously drinking the rest of my water.

“He was drunk?!” Rosemary said, stunned and clearly angry. The officer nodded while Jack’s fist clenched, clearly enraged. I would be just as shocked and angry if I had children and they were put in danger by someone who’s supposed to be their friend.

I should probably be just as angry that some drunk asshole- who is my boss no less- nearly killed me, but I was just glad that we were all still alive. Sure, my car is fucked, and so is about 50% of my body (exaggerating), but my bones will heal and I’ll repair my car or get a new one. I mean, that’s what insurance is for, right?

What I didn’t expect out of all of this was to be hugged by Rosemary. Oh yeah, it fucking hurt but I just kept that to myself. She sniffled and I awkwardly patted her back with my one good arm, “Thank you for keeping them safe…” She said quietly.

“I-It was nothing, really.” I said timidly, “I wasn’t about to leave them alone.”

“Nothing? You saved them!” Jack said and shook my hand when his wife pulled away to dry her eyes and hug all of her children once more, “I can’t ever thank you enough for what you did for my family. I… I couldn’t stomach the thought if…”

I gave him a reassuring squeeze of his hand and he clasped my good shoulder, “It sucks that this happened in the first place but… I’m just glad everyone is alive…” I said, giving a nervous smile.

“Is he alive?” Jack asked, looking at the officer as he let go of my hand and shoulder.

“Yes, he is. We will be pressing charges, he blew above a 0.3.” The officer responded and Jack nodded, seemingly ‘pleased’ with that.

After exchanging contact information and addresses with both Jack and myself he departed, leaving the family to resume their reunion. I smiled awkwardly and looked away awkwardly, scratching my neck.

I haven’t heard anything about my relative having called or if they were coming, so I could only assume I wouldn’t be getting a ride from them. Or a ride tonight at all.

For a moment I was lost in my head, feeling a bit too sorry for myself. I moved all the way out here because there were jobs and rent was cheap, but I was so far from my family and friends, and even though I helped their children would I even still have a job?

I refilled my paper cup and sipped on the cold water before a nurse came to let us all know that after a final check over, we would be set to go home in an hour or so. Great, I better start making calls or something.

For a moment I didn’t realize that Rosemary was talking to me. I looked up as she repeated my name, “U-Uh yeah?” I said, looking a little confused.

“Do you have a ride home…?” She asked. Ah, oh no. I’m not about to ask these clearly exhausted parents for a ride home, I could only imagine they just wanted to get home and be with their children.

“No… But I can get one, don’t worry.” I said, but Jack shook his head.

“Nonsense, it’s the least we could do. You look like you need some sleep.” He said, making me chuckle.

“So do you two.” I laugh, “Really, you don’t need to. I’ll get a hold of someone eventually. Really!”

Rosemary shook her head, “No way, sincerely it wouldn’t be a bother. Where do you live?” She asked, and I reluctantly gave my street address, “Oh, you live just a bit down the way from us!” She said. Looks like it’s out of the question.

The doctor came and checked us all over one last time before giving me a prescription slip for painkillers for the next week and a half and we were permitted to leave. Jack carried his daughter while Rosemary held her son’s hand and I followed behind them.

I won’t lie, I’m pretty damn nervous. Checking out of the hospital took a little while as well, but soon we were free to go. That will be a fun bill to pay.

Rosemary sat in the back with the children, not giving me any chance to protest as I had to sit in the passenger seat next to Jack. Edd and Molly were clearly tired, cuddling up to their mother as Jack turned on the car and carefully pulled out.

It was incredibly clear that Jack was very, very focused on the road, not wanting to get his family into a car accident as well. I couldn’t imagine what he was thinking, but I was just so glad that this didn’t end in tears.

The car ride to their home was mostly quiet, only some light conversation made. Jack was interested to know how I enjoyed my first day on the job.

“It’s been exciting…” I chuckled and he laughed softly, but I wasn’t all that comfortable or any less nervous. I did just want to get home and rest, because tomorrow morning I likely had to call my insurance and figure out how I’ll be getting to and from work.

If there even was a job anymore. With one half of the business owners likely going to jail I didn’t know if Jack would take on the massive workload, or if he would even want me to work there anymore.

“We’re here.” Jack let them know.

We pulled into their driveway and Sophie was the first to get out to help her mother take her siblings into the house with Jack telling them that he would be right back after he dropped me off.

“Have a good night, everyone…” I smiled and waved at them. Edd and Molly sleepily waved back before they went inside and shut the door.

It was surreal, everything that had happened. And now I was alone with my boss as he started to drive towards my home.

“I can’t believe he happened to crash into you…” Jack said and I nodded silently, “I could never thank you enough… You… I just can’t believe…” His voice cracked and he brought his hand up to wipe his cheeks.

“I’m sorry this happened… I’m just glad your children are safe…” I said, fidgeting with a stray string on my pants, unsure if I should pat his back or would that be too far? “You have a beautiful family, Jack, I’m sorry that you’re having to drive me home…”

“Don’t be sorry, you drove them to the hospital with a dislocated arm! I couldn’t imagine what it was like, being run off the road and into a ditch, upside down!” He said and I couldn’t help but laugh.

“To be honest, it was like a dream. One moment he’s coming towards me and I move aside since the road is pretty narrow, the next I see that he’s a bit too close over to my side and then finally I’m upside down in the ditch.”

“And- It was you! Who would have thought that my new employee would be the one to get hit.” He said, smiling softly, “Oh and don’t you worry about rushing back into work! I will be paying you your wages, you helped my family out, I’m going to help you too.”

“You-You really don’t have to do that. I’ll be okay!” I insisted, but he shook his head. He wasn’t having it.

“I want to, you don’t understand how stressed and worried we were…” He said, “I called Felix over 20 times, I thought the worst had happened and I… I started to lose hope I would ever see them again.”

“He’s going to jail for this, no doubt…” I said, “Will you be taking over the business…?”

“Yeah… It’ll be a lot but I think I have someone who I can rely on to help.” He said, smiling.

“Oh, good! I’ll try my best to pull my own weight.” I said, smiling, “I know you guys took a big risk hiring me fresh out of college but-”

“I- It’s you!” He said, “I know you just started, but your finance and programming degree is going to be a massive help!”

“Wha…?” I gaped at him. Me? Did I get a promotion? “I would be honored to help!” I smiled. I think I just became a manager or something, I’ll figure that out when I go back to work.

I pointed out my house and he pulled up in front, “I won’t let you down, I promise.” I gleamed and he smiled, holding his hand out for me to shake.

I did, not expecting him to pull me in for a hug. Looks like this was a really huggy family, it was pretty similar to my own family. “I know you won’t. Would you mind if you gave me your number so we can speak tomorrow? I imagine Edward and Molly would like to hear that you’re okay.” He asked.

I nodded and waited until he got a pen and a small black book to put my number in it before I opened the door, “I’ll speak to you soon, then… Have a good night, boss.” I smiled and he laughed.

“Just call me Jack. Really.” He said, “Have a good night.” I nodded and got out before shutting the door, walking to the front door. I grabbed the spare key from the mail box and gave one last wave after I unlocked the door. He flicked his high beams at me before he started to back up and I opened the door, shutting and locking it behind me.

It’s been a really strange night.

#the walten files #twf #jack walten #Rosemary Walten #Edward walten #Molly Walten #Sophie Walten #Reader #gender neutral y/n #No romance #No smut #Gen #Alcoholism

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jawritter · 3 years

Text

Twelve Days Of Christmas

Chapter 10

Summary: Dean never realized that Y/N missed Christmas until he turned off an annoying Christmas song on the radio on the way home from a hunt, now he will make it his personal mission to give her the Christmas he misses so much, and if he plays his cards right, maybe he will give her what he has wanted to give her for so many years, himself.

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Written For: @spnchristmasbingo

Square Field: Cas

Word Count: 1750

Warnings: Series finale spoilers here!! Mentions of canon character death, Mentions of grief, some fluff, probably language in there too. This is the heaviest chapter of this series honestly. Mentions of past smut. I think that’s it.

A/N: This is to help me catch up on my SPN Christmas Bingo card lol Chapter 11 will post tomorrow! I knew chapter will post every day until Christmas! I know I’m insane lol. This is a real time fic collection and all mistakes will be my own! Please do not copy my work! Hope you all enjoy these!!

**SERIES MASTERLIST** **MASTERLIST** **BECOME A

Dean’s sock-covered feet dragged as he made his way down the stairs, and into the kitchen in search of his morning coffee. You were still wrapped up warmly in bed, sound asleep when he’d forced himself up, and made himself get out of bed.

God knows he didn’t want to get up. He would have rather stayed right there, wrapped up against your warm body, but that would have led to something he wasn’t sure you were ready for yet, and he didn’t want you to feel like just because you were a couple now that you had to sleep with him.

Sex was something that had been somewhat polluted for Dean over the years. It was just a mechanical function he used to blow off steam or to just scratch that itch. It never meant anything, just another nameless face he’d forget in the morning. With Lisa, it was mostly just something to do to stave off the mind-numbing boredom, but still, even though he did care about Lisa to an extent, it meant nothing.

When the time finally did come, and they decided to take that step, he wanted it to be different, to actually mean something for him. He wanted that connection he’d always craved, but never been able to achieve. He didn’t want to just go through the familiar physical motions. He wanted more this time.

He was standing at the kitchen window, looking out over the snow-covered lawn with a cup of coffee in his hand, and his mind swirling in the stress-induced storm that had become his norm over the years when you slipped up behind him, and wrapped your arms around his waist, resting your head against his broad back. He seemed to relax a little as soon as your arms were around him, and you would have given your left arm to know what was going on inside that head of his, but you knew Dean, and it was best to let him work himself through it, and if he wanted to talk he would.

“What’s got you up so early?” Dean asked, sitting the coffee cup down on the counter in front of him and turning to wrap his arms around you, pulling you tighter to him. “You were sound asleep when I got up.”

You shrugged against him, you didn’t want to admit you weren’t asleep when he got up, but rather was just laying there enjoying the warmth his body was providing until he decided to randomly sneak away.

“Just woke up I guess. What’s got you out of bed so early?” you asked him.

Dean sighed deeply, resting his chin on the top of your head. “Couldn’t sleep, didn’t want to wake you up. You looked so peaceful laying there.”

The two of you stood there in comfortable silence for a long time, even though neither of you said anything you could almost feel the wheels turning inside Dean’s head. Dean was a strange, complicated person on a lot of levels. You knew he wasn’t going to completely open up to you overnight, but on days like this, when he seemed stuck in his own head, you wished more than anything he’d let you in.

Suddenly, Dean stood up straighter, letting go of you and stalking towards the little tree in the living room. The stance of his body had yours suddenly on high alert. It was a predatory prowl that Dean only reserved for hunts or immediate danger, and it had your own hunter scenes on edge.

Reaching behind you to the knife draw you pull out a butcher knife, never taking your eyes off of Dean as he stalks his way into the living room, seemingly headed for the Christmas tree, but looking around him as if something were going to jump out of the corner of the room and attack at any moment.

Finally, he reached his goal and stooped down to retrieve what looked to be a deep blue something, warped with a red bow, and a card you hadn’t noticed until he retrieved it.

Slowly you made your way towards the center of the room where Dean was standing with the little package in hand, your curiosity getting the best of you.

“What is it Dean?” you ask him quietly, and you were surprised when he jumped a little. Dean didn’t startle easily.

Dean turned, showing you the little bundle of what looked like silk material, and the folded card, confusion etched deep in his perfect face.

“You didn’t put this there?” he asked, nodding in the direction of the tree.

“No, I’ve been with you all night,” you reply, looking closely at the little bundle in Dean’s hand, an uneasy feeling still deep in your bones.

Dean turned the card over in his hand, reaching it in silence. You watched his features change from something hard and calculating, to soft and almost vulnerable. In fact, you could have sworn he was about to cry.

He swallowed thickly, handing the card over to you for you to read. It was written in an unkept, child-like scrawl you never thought you’d see again, it was obviously Jack’s handwriting.

Dean,

Merry Christmas. Here’s a little something from some of those you have waiting on you in Heaven. Even though we can’t be with you in person this year, we’re here in spirit. So here's a little something to remember them by.

With love,

Cas, Mary, and Jack.

Dean’s hands shook as his thick fingers pulled the little silk ribbon, undoing the little bow on the bundle and opening it slowly, revealing Cas’s blue tie, wrapped around Mary’s charm bracelet he’d only ever seen once in his life when he’d traveled back in time to try and stop his mom from making that fatal deal; as well as the mixed tape he’d made Cas so long ago.

Dean sat down slowly, the little trinkets in his hands that shocked ever so slightly, one single tear sliding down his face as he held the reminders of those he loved and lost.

You sat down quietly next to him, your hand resting comfortably on his thigh. You wanted to give him his space, but you wanted to also let him know you were there for him.

“I thought this was lost in the fire,” Dean said finally, shifting the little charm bracelet in his hand. “I looked for it once I returned back to my time period. Looked all through Dad’s stuff, but I never could find it. I just wanted something to hold onto that was hers.”

His eyes shifted to the mixed tape he’d made Cas as he laid the other items down on the coffee table in front of him. “I didn’t even know Cas had kept this.”

From what little bit you all knew, once Cas had been taken to the empty Jack had rescued him, and they were rebuilding Heaven. You knew that the loss of Cas had affected Dean greatly, you were there sitting outside his door on the nights he thought everyone else was finally asleep, listening to him pray to his friend, begging him to come back just one more time while he thought no one was listening.

Dean closed his eyes and leaned into you. You didn’t hesitate in wrapping your arms around him, grounding him, letting him quietly work through his emotions.

“Tell you what,” you say, running your fingers through his sleep tossed hair. “We’ve done enough for me. What do you say we have a Dean day. Sit around here, bake a pie, watch slasher movies or some old westerns, and not even get out of our PJ’s.”

Dean sat up slowly, placing a sweet kiss on your lips. “Let’s save that for tomorrow, today I thought we might head downtown so that you can have a look at those shops that sell that old stuff you love so much, and they’re also having a Whiskey tasting on the main street today. One of the local breweries is throwing it for Christmas.”

Dean sat up, looking at you with a hint of excitement that was hiding behind those shining green orbs of his, the ghost of those memories from the past still lingered there, but he seemed to be handling it well. If you knew Dean, he didn’t want to pass up a whiskey tasting, and you did want to go through those old shops. You loved antique things, and those places were usually littered with them.

“Okay fine, only if we can go get some more of those waffles from that waffle house first, I’m starving,” you tell him, and watch as his face lights up like you had told him he’d won the lottery.

“That’s my girl,” he said, pecking you on the lips before gathering up his gifts, carrying them off upstairs to hide them away until he can take them home and add them to that little wooden box he keeps for his most precious possession.

“Get dressed woman! I’m starving,” he yells down over his shoulder as he disappears from sight, and you smile as you stand from your place on the couch.

“Thanks, Jack, thanks for giving him something to hold onto,” you whisper to the wind.

Dean never really got any closure from Cas’s death, and Mary was taken so suddenly away from him again, you could think of no better gift from them this holiday season. This was his first Christmas without Cas, nowhere near the first without his mom, but it was a nice little reminder that even though they weren’t physically here with him, they still were watching out for him.

Dean wrapped up his gifts back in Cas’s Tie, and placed them safely in his duffle, a soft smile on his face in spite of himself. Sure, it had caught him completely off guard, and at first, the reminder hurt, but the peace he now had in knowing that his mom and Cas were in Heaven waiting on him was an unsuspected gift he wanted, but never thought he’d be able to get.

It also gave him hope that maybe, for the first time in a long time, he was moving in the right direction and not just in circles of more pain and torment. Hopefully, this was a sign that what he had started with you was the beginning of the peace he’d always wanted, but was never allowed to obtain.

Forever Tags:

@deandreamernp

@forgetthisbull

@miraclesoflove

@deanwanddamons

@rvgrsbrns

@chevyharvelle

@onethirstyunicorn

@i-love-superhero

@lyss-dw79

@magssteenkamp

@lemondropirwin

@squirrelnotsam

@hobby27

@spnbaby-67

@mrsjenniferwinchester

@defenderrosetyler

@screechingartisancashbailiff

@thecreatiivecorner

@vicmc624

@busy-bee-angel-misska

@justanotherwinchester

@brilovesdeanwinchester

@idksupernatural

@lyarr24

@amandamdiehl

@miraclesoflove

@emoryhemsworth

@dean-winchesters-gardian-angel

@softsebastian

@tatted-trina6

@anaelsbrunette

@hayleeharling

@flamencodiva

@coldmuffinbanditshoe

@dirty-pan-goblin

@itmejado

@supernatural3002

@teresa-67

@thoughts-and-funnies

@hearteyes-j2

@miss-nerd95

@writers-whirlwind

@peaches007

@bobbie3939

@lunarmoon8

Jensen and Dean’s Babes

@akshi8278

@love-jackles-37-blog

@supernatural-bellawinchester

@bobbie3939

Series Tags:

@440mxs-wife

#dean winchester #spnchristmasbingo #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x you #dean winchester fanfiction #dean winchester fanfic #dean winchester series #spn fanfiction #spn fanfic #spn series #x reader inserts #jensen ackles #jawritter #twelve days of christmas

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alpacaparkaseok · 4 years

Text

7 Secrets Drabbles

The one where Taehyung can’t stop

I recommend “Wonder” by Shawn Mendes while you’re reading this. :)

Genre: Soulmate au

Warnings: none

Word Count: 1.1k

M.list

Taehyung has often been told that he has a boxy smile.

He’s seen it plenty of times; in the mirror, on camera, even in drawings. It’s never been something he’s thought a lot about, but when he first sees his soulmate on screen he suddenly thinks of his own boxy smile that appears the instant she appears.

If Taehyung has a boxy smile, he only understands when he first sees Ichika that it may indeed be a box. When she fights a yawn as she helps the American girl with her luggage Taehyung realizes that inside his smile is the box that holds his heart. He’s given it to many people all across the world. Anytime an ARMY has been the recipient of that smile they are also the recipient of a piece of Kim Taehyung’s heart.

The first words that Ichika mumbles with the lilt of her accent are, “What time is your flight again?” Taehyung doesn’t notice what the American girl answers because his soulmate has the sweetest voice he’s ever heard. His smile has grown more boxy and his heart is in the process of being delivered in its entirety to the unknowing girl stretching and half-asleep on the screen in front of him.

She’s kind. That much is evident in her lopsided smile as she chuckles at something one of the other girls said. Jimin is laughing, too. He’s seated beside Taehyung and is laughing as he watches from behind his hands as though he can hide from the battle for his heart when Taehyung knows that this isn’t even a battle.

While his best friend may suppose this is a war and his soulmate has just immobilized his entire military, Taehyung has been waving a white flag ever since Jungkook called him a couple of hours ago. He’s become more of a romantic over the years and has come to the conclusion that while Jimin may find glory in fighting for love, Taehyung is the kind to surrender to its gentle whisperings and ask for little in return.

He was waving that white flag frantically up until fourteen minutes ago, when his soulmate first appeared in the episode titled, “Airport blues”. The second she first showed up in the opening credits, wearing a jumper that was splattered with flour as she laughed and struggled to wipe the powdery mixture from her cheeks with the back of her wrists, Taehyung lowered his flag.

He took some scissors to it until he had a neat white ribbon which he promptly tied around his heart in a bow. He gave it to a girl named Ichika with a boxy smile and no doubt in his mind that this was it for him.

Now he’s here being jostled as Jimin falls into him, no longer able to contain himself. Taehyung hardly notices, his boxy smile never faltering. The fact that his heart is no longer his own fails to bother him; he’s not sure it was ever truly his in the first place. It’s spent so much time being split among different continents and nameless faces in crowds that suddenly he feels more whole and complete knowing that the responsibility of his heart is no longer his.

There will be no need to lay awake late into the night wondering why he’s missing half of his heart. No longer will Taehyung search his mind as he recalls all the places he’s possibly left it.

One night he was up until sunrise until he finally found a missing corner of his heart. It was clinging to the far west edge of the stage in Chicago, dancing in the rain. It took some coaxing, but he was finally able to convince that piece of himself to return to his chest while he left a mental bookmark in the experience.

While there will always be a part of him that yearns for his corner of the stage, Taehyung can’t help but let out a sigh of relief. Ichika seems organized, but above all else she seems kind. So she’ll keep track of it, won’t she?

Ichika is at the airport now, wrapping up the American girl - probably Namjoon’s soulmate, now that he thinks about it - in a tight hug before shuffling away to make room for the others.

“Ok, I’ve got to go now. See you soon!” It’s the American girl speaking, her little accent tugging at the corners of Taehyung’s already upturned lips. She’s definitely Namjoon’s soulmate. Everything about her practically screams it.

It’s a little upsetting when Ichika isn’t in frame, but Taehyung can almost feel the little pang of sadness she must be feeling at watching her friend walk away. Taehyung is in the middle of thinking up ways to make it up to her even though it isn’t his fault when the American girl turns around and waves to the camera.

A few of the boys wave back, Taehyung included. She’s just disappeared when Taehyung is being instructed to scoot over to make room for Namjoon who just appeared.

“You look happy,” Namjoon points out a little breathlessly.

This draws the attention (however split, seeing as the documentary is still going but it’s just showing the skyline at the moment) of the other members.

Jimin laughs again, still clutching his chest where his heart aches and flies at the same time. “You’re still smiling! Yah, they’re not even on screen!” His best friend teases him, all the while sporting a large grin himself.

Taehyung can feel the burn in his cheeks from the minutes of smiling. “I - I can’t stop.”

The room bursts out into giddy laughter, each one of them empathizing with the befuddled Taehyung who tries and fails to wipe the smile on his face.

“Who is your soulmate?” Namjoon asks once they reappear on screen.

Taehyung points the second Ichika shows up. She’s with Hobi’s soulmate, geared up and ready to go somewhere judging from the books she’s carrying. Later on he finds out that she tutors Japanese. She’s very good at it, too. Her kindness makes her a valuable teacher, while Hobi’s soulmate’s determination pushes them along.

“That’s her,” Taehyung whispers with a reverent tone. His smile is back to its full force, but Taehyung knows what that really means.

When Ichika is on screen, he will always be smiling.

His heart is on screen. For the first time in years, all of his heart is in one place. And for the first time in his life, Taehyung realizes that his heart has had a name this entire time.

Namjoon isn’t really listening anymore, but Taehyung thinks he’s saying more for himself than his hyung.

“Her name is Ichika.”

taglist: @mae-musicbitch @heartblackerthancoffee @agustneeds @eusticenatalie @taylorroe3

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elecman108 · 3 years

Photo

Man, I forgot to post 90% of my art here for the past while. I’m gonna do an art dump in this post under the cut. Enjoy the bonk emoji if you don’t click the read more, and man am I dumb and forgetful lmao.

Includes: OCs getting names, a Sonic impression, a D&D map, homosexual energies, a sheep floating in the astral sea, a birthday drawing I already posted, Hex Maniac Ender, D&D Characters, D&D Characters as Miis in Miitopia, Little Hater Axel, local Demon in the consciousness of my D&D character yelling at him, illegal plants, a necromancer being cute, an actual event that happened in a D&D game two days ago, and Mermay drawing.

That’s everything in here as a TL;DR, I guess. Enjoy your day!

I’m gonna try and sort of have them in chronological order, oldest first, but I may end up putting them in the wrong order. If I do... Whoops, I guess?

[04/14/21] - This isn’t really new art, but I started to work on giving the four OCs of mine without a full name full names... I have not finished this bit, though. So Hunter and Akira have full names, and Warlock and Assassin only have temporary names. This may end up like Seven where I put in their names as a temporary name (7th OC I’d made at that time) and it just kind of... sticks. Lmao.

[04/20/21] - Alone on a Friday Night? God, you’re pathetic. I didn’t colour this one because it was a half-attempt at a meme image I still like it, though, so I might end up colouring it. It’s gonna appear again whenever I do my “unfinished drawings art dump” at some point probably in... June? I know I said I’d post them last month but forget it, lmao, it’ll happen eventually.

[04/20/21] - A D&D Map! This was to help me visualize the layout of my D&D character’s ship he used to be on. Also for my DM if they ever put us aboard the ship. The little fella in the corner is just there to vibe. This map is made of free to use assets from This Website, so while I’m gonna say DONT USE MY MAP WITHOUT PERMISSION, feel free to make your own!

[04/26/21] - Lesbian Day of Visibility drawing of yours truly, the disapointment! That’s... really all I have to say about this, honestly. It was just for that one day and that was it, lmao. I mean, I accidentally lined it in dark pink, so.. .That’s different, I guess?

[04/30/21] - Do Astral Seas dream of Ensorcled Sheep? Does the City know what Sheepleb is going to do? What crimes he may commit? Who knows! This was fan art of Critical Role ep. 134 if I remember correctly, right at the end when they jumped into the portal into the astral sea and Caleb was a sheep. Using my knowledge of the German language, I knew the word for “shit”, and had to use it.

[05/07/21] - This was already posted, but it’s going in here to dilinuate that it was drawn at this point. Also, aside from playing Miitopia, this is all I have to show for myself until the 12th.

[05/12/21] - Hex Maniac Ender challenges you to a Pokemon Battle! WIll you win against my team? My sis, who loves fairy types, pointed out to me that there’s a fairy girl and hex maniac duo, so I’d be the hex maniac. I spent... Over a week drawing this, because I basically had to redraw the Hex Maniac art from scratch in a higher quality size, and then draw myself over it. So... You can excuse the low-effort background for once. It was basically this, and then my birthday doodle from May 1st to May 12th, and then I took a break to draw up several D&D characters quickly for fullbody references.

[05/12/21] - Remember this art I made several months ago? I finally added my other two completed characters! I have three more named but without character sheet D&D characters, so for now this is just Kara, Axel, Golden Shadow, Kau, Cecillia, and Miri. Kress, Tempest, and Melia will have to wait until I make character sheets for them to be posted, and... For when I probably make more D&D characters. I have at least 9 additional, incomplete character ideas floating around, so... I’m never gonna be done this art, huh?

[05/12/21] - Speaking of D&D characters, did you know I’ve been making them as Miis in Miitopia? So here is their finished full body art next to their Miitopia self! Some of them look a little off (Golden Shadow, Cecillia) because of limitations of the editor and shading issues, some of them look a little off (Kau, Kress) because this is a human face canvas that I’m using to make a non-human face, and some of them (Melia, Axel) look REALLY GOOD. Common traits among my D&D characters include green eyes and tall. You wanna know why? Because I am tall and... despite having red eyes, I do have green eyes under the coloured contacts.

[05/15/21] - More D&D stuff! This is based around my D&D group’s current Rime of the Frostmaiden campaign where our Goliath Fighter, Nioh, ends up getting a little bit of hate for being cocky, and our little (well over 6′) hater, Axel, is just a man full of irritation. These are the tallest two characters of the group at the moment. Someone send help. Nioh belongs to one of the other D&D players, Axel (and his stupid additude) belongs to me.

[05/15/21] - This is what me playing D&D feels like. Me, the demon entity trapped inside the head of my D&D character, yelling at them to do things while the dice decide that they’re gonna get bopped a hundred times by a yeti and somehow still survive. This is also a reference to our first or second game where I just ran off like sixty feet to one side of the battle map to fight a Crag Cat and was just in Gay Baby Jail until like two turns later when I could run back to the others. I also drew him not in his winter gear even though this is a bit from when we were atop Kelvin’s Carin in an icy cave, so maybe that’s why he’s at low HP.

[05/15/21] - Melia has good gardening tips, such as Use A Mars Mii Trap To Hide A Body Because They Are Endangered And It Is Illegal To Dig Them Up. I love her a lot, because she’s the youngest of four, all four sisters based around the different seasons. She’s based around Autumn, so she’s all orange and yellow and brown and is so cute. Also she’s Chaotic Neutral, as if she didn’t need to be mildly more threatening.

[05/15/21] - Cecillia is my Tiefling gal who lived in a very northern town plagued by cold weather and snow, and Axel is my Pirate guy who spent most of his time further south on the high seas and warmer weather. So, naturally... I’ll use the guy more acclimatized to the hotter weather in the campaign where we spend 99% of it in the snow. She uses Tarot Cards as her spell focus, and I decided to sneak my other D&D characters onto her Tarot cards so naturally, Axel is The Hanged Man, given his backstory and personality. She’s a very cheerful and friendly Tiefling Necromancer of the Hexblade, so she’d for sure take care of those around her to ensure their success. Especially if they’re on her Tarot Cards, and their spirit comes to her aid when she asks for them.

[05/16/21] - Content Warning; Ryma thinks too much into local stupid moron’s lack of knowing how to answer a question and thinks too much into the reputation of Pirates. Poor Axel, man doesn’t know how to socialize with people who aren’t pirates and is used to being hostile towards everyone, so when he’s asked a question that his answer to is “uhh... no?”, he panics and ends up making a mistake that leads him to think that Ryma can read his mind. Ryma belongs to another of the D&D players. I guess me drawing all those spicy Cow Costumed OCs earlier just brought me to drawing Axel being a bottom in this, huh?

[05/16/21] - It’s Mermay, which means more OC drawings! Here’s Theo after drinking some potion that turned him into a mermaid, and Seven, tiredly, collecting his stupid boyfriend so that Lailah can fix the fact he’s turned into a mermaid. Mer!Theo is based around his sword’s colours of indigo-purple with red accents, which looks a little weird since Theo is the Blue one of the group, but... it looks cool, I guess. Seven’s just the same outfit as always, just no gloves this time.

And that’s it for the art dump! This was, frankly, MASSIVE. I’ll try and remember to upload both on Twitter and Tumblr at the same time, but... Ah... I have been drawing a fair bit. Just mostly sketches and linework that I haven’t finished and may not actually finish. If they’re not completed, I’ll dump them all into something at the end of the month or whatever. Maybe you’ll get the old sketch of the Axel face in panel 3 because in the sketch phase it was an Ahegao face, in the clean sketch it was a lip bite, and in the linework and final it’s just horny face. lmao.

Top ten things I have to remember for drawing: AXEL HAS A SCAR AND GREEN EYES. I remember his eye colour now, but if you look at his fullbody ref, he’s got brown eyes. And, naturally, I keep forgetting to put in his scar. He has more, but most of them are located in areas covered by his clothes. So if I ever draw him shirtless I guess I’ll have to place them somewhere.

Also maybe finish the reference sheets I have left to finish so I can post more of them, since I have two “Pets” completed (Roko and Mona’s nameless pet), but I have to do up Hunter, Warlock, Assassin, Akira, Myuut, and Stella. I’m betting when I do complete two more, it’ll be Hunter and Akira. Those two are the most fun to draw, at least.

#the disappointment speaks #drawings by me #OCs #D&D #art dump #Miitopia #of all of these drawings I gotta say the most cursed is censored bottom!Axel and the most blessed is Cecillia's lap nap #I drew a lot of D&D stuff lately! Most of my OC stuff has stayed in the sketch stage so #I guess that says something about what I've been prioritizing in my drawings?#Also that drawing a twunk as a twink is incredibly funny and cursed. love my pirate boy

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sweeethinny · 4 years

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You’re The Right One - Chapter 1

There are people we would walk through the fire for, people we never imagined we could meet, and for James S. Potter, that person is Mira Hazel. The temperamental madwoman who was in the compartment next to him in Hogwarts' first year, and who has been by his side ever since. In the fifth year, however, Mira begins to gain another angle through James' eyes, however much he doesn't want it. You shouldn't look at your best friend that way, let alone want to kiss her every time they're close. He definitely shouldn't be jealous of her. She is just your friend, best friend, and James should put his head in place and forget about all this crazy stuff to avoid problems ... But he never went after problems, anyway, they always find a way to find him.

AO3

first of all, I would like to thank @theroomofreq who is beta of this fic, thank you very much for helping me to put this story in the world <3 this is a story that is almost finished in the original version, so my days of creative block will not hinder her progress

that’s it, thank u if you’re read till here, i hope you like my characters and my vision of the next gen <3

Walking excitedly among all the people, carrying his owl and bags in the cart, and rushing his parents every moment they were less than two steps behind him. James grinned from ear to ear on a lively September morning, the one where he would mark his first school year at Hogwarts.

''Let's go!’’ He pulled his father by the hand, who had stopped to show Lily, the youngest of the family, the huge dog that was walking illustriously beside the owner.

Both Harry and Ginny walked slowly to enjoy what would be the last time they would see their eldest son until Christmas, when they would force him to return to spend the festivities at home. For the father, it was a joy to see that little kid who barely reached his chest, saying what a great Quidditch player he would be and that Gryffindor would be, certainly, his house.

'' What if it happens to be Hufflepuff? Albus asked, a little frightened by his brother's enthusiasm that morning

'' It won't happen '' He rolled his eyes when none of the parents looked at him '' I'm too brave '' And the two laughed among themselves, thinking that the son was a copy, much more genius should be said, of the mother and the uncles Fred and George. And Harry was not ashamed to admit, that he saw himself much more in Albus, frightened by that determination, than by the flames of excitement that prowled James eyes. At least not at that age.

'' Come on, you and me first '' James barely waited for his father to hold the stroller bar, safely crossed the 9 3/4 barrier, reaching the spot where his eyes twinkled, and his whole body shook from nervousness and anxiety. Soon the mother with Albus and Teddy appeared, as always, the calm face of the woman making the boy brake and answer the silent request of '' wait! ''

'' How do you feel? '' Wizards were everywhere now, there were owls hooting, cats purring on their owners' legs, and frogs in the clothes of some, showing only their big eyes.

'' Anxious '' He spoke the truth for the first time, still smiling, but now a little more slowly. '' Do you think I'll be able to fly? '' This time he addressed his mother, speaking quietly so that only she could hear, watching Albus and Lily listening to his father's story about his first day there, while Teddy made some joke about how old he was. Ginny smiled kindly, warming the boy's heart, arranged the hair that fell in his eyes and rubbed his young face

'' Of course James, but if you have difficulties, which I doubt, we can train at Christmas '' He nodded, more hopeful this time. If her mother, a famous Quidditch player, had told him he could do it, then it would become true. Right?

'' Let's go just before the train leaves '' This time it was Harry who stirred, pushing the way while James saw the faces that would soon become known to him. Whether they are friends, colleagues, or enemies. (Even though his father made him swear that he would not start unnecessary fights)

Smoke spread in the air, a lot of students - young and old - boarded the train and packed their bags in the cabins, then returned to hug their parents, be scolded, or just talk. Heads floated in the window, students laughing excitedly with the anxiety of finally leaving, and James couldn't help feeling different.

'' I'm going to miss you, brat '' Teddy ruffled his brother's at heart hair '' First year is an important year .. write me if you need anything '' James nodded, slightly nervous as he watched the man change his hair for go dark like his, smiling a little too watery for his opinion

'' Me too. And ok, I will '' James hugged him, and then turned to his parents, almost feeling like he was about to scream in excitement and fear.

'' Be careful '' The father looked at his son, a little laughing and a little serious, raising his eyebrows '' I'm watching you ''

'' Ok '' He nodded excitedly '' And I know you will ''

"Take care, okay?" It was Albus' embrace, two years younger, tight and full of anticipation that made James smile without grace, his cheeks warm with that affection. As annoying as he could be, he would miss having someone smaller than himself to win the blame.

'' Yes, I’ll miss you too '' And then everyone got together for the squeeze, almost breaking his ribs, and making him blush with embarrassment '' No ... I can’t ... breathe ''

The little sister gave his cheek a wet kiss - which James automatically wanted to wipe but did not do when he saw his father's gaze - his mother had passed on some instructions about the houses and how he should be calm regardless of the choice.

'' The house that Hat draws will be the right one for you, and we will be happy regardless of the result. Write to us as soon as you can, preferably today '' He nodded laughing, thinking of the red and gold lion.

'' Now, listen '' The father had crouched down, keeping close eye contact, his green eyes almost bursting into orbit '' I don't want you to be around getting in trouble, understood? '' For the fiftieth time he nodded '' Don't worry if you are alone, people always arrive in the compartment , you can meet great friends inside '' Once again he moved his head

'' Stop being so melodramatic, man. '' Teddy laughed, winking at James, who seemed to have read the mind of the boy who was thinking about the whole castle to explore.

'' I'm going to send you news '' he assured, entering in the train

'' Every day. '' James frowned, eliciting laughter from his parents '' Answer us always, and if you need to ... ''

'' I know, Dad, I know ... Professor Longbottom can help me. '' The train started to leave, they exchanged a few more words, he waved at them as they got smaller, and then that was it.

James was finally on his way to the Witch School.

Anxious, he ran to the single empty compartment he found and began to contemplate the path they were taking. It seemed that magic was already taking place there, it was like the sensation of climbing up a gigantic peak, analyzing the view from the top , the fall that he would soon make. It was scary, but impressively, it also seemed to cause a huge euphoria that would make him jump.

"Can I come in or is it full already?" The female voice woke him from his daydream. He had heard many love stories that began in train compartments , his godfather for example, swore he was one of those who unknowingly knew the love of his life. Grandpa, whose name he honored, met Grandma in one of those too. But if James knew anything, it was the girl, a few inches shorter than him, with long blond hair braided, wearing a funny black cap and school robes, would not be his love.

She wasn't ugly, but she looked ... clumsy. Her eyes were large pits of the darkest pitch, the pupil barely visible, her cheeks pink and large, eyebrows as clear as lashes (little more colored than the fair skin), and her teeth a little apart, in addition to a pink lip fatty. Her legs looked long compared to her body, even under her robes, and her arms were thin, as if she had started to stretch-but only on some limbs.

'' Uh ... no. '' But you couldn't deny friends, of course. "You can sit down."

'' So ... '' She packed her bags '' It was full up front '' Justified herself by picking up a 'Quidditch History' book and sitting in front of him '' And I thought .... Hey, I think I know you from somewhere '' James blushed, even though he straightened up and tried to look more secure than he really was. Being recognized was never fun. '' You are Ginny Potter's son, I saw you on the Prophet's cover! My God, your mother is awesome '' She spoke in a way that her eyes almost popped, such excitement, gesturing and bulging her eyes.

'' I know '' James bragged, even if uncomfortable '' She's the best '' He spoke as if it were the most normal thing in the world. His mother had retired as a chaser after Lily was born, however, he had gone to a few games and could remember it being amazing. In addition, every time they played in the vegetable garden, the father had to sweat so that they would not lose by more than 100 points - even if someone on his team caught the snitch.

'' I want to be like her , you know .. '' The girl straightened up on the bench, pulling her legs up, leaning her back against the cold window, the book resting on her knees '' I want to play like that. '' James thought she was funny, but he didn't comment, a little scared by how intimidating she looked. '' My parents hate flying, but I like it. I mean, I’ve only flown a few times, but it's soooo fun. '' He wanted to laugh, staring at her curiously. Her hair resembled Aunt Fleur's hair, long and light, but it was much less styled than the hair of the older woman '' I really like to imagine myself playing. ''

''To imagine? Have you never played? '' The nameless girl denied, making a face

'' My parents are not the biggest Quidditch fans, so to go to a game, it was like Mass '' "Mass?" He frowned.

The blonde looked at him, this time curious, '' Yes, it's a muggle thing, you know, about religion, some are too long ... so the saying... '' James nodded

"Are you Muggle-born?" She shook her head, fiddling with the worn book unpretentiously, and then shrugged.

'' My parents are wizards, but my grandparents are muggles and I spent a lot of time with my maternal grandmother, so '' she shrugged '' That's why I never played, I had no one, but I know how to play volleyball and maybe it will help me. And Tennis '' the girl shrugged again '' Anyway, your mom is a big inspiration to me, I wish I could have seen her play. ''

'' So ... you didn't say your name '' And again she moved, sitting forward and holding out her hand to him, which was full of different rings. James wondered if that girl could be weirder than Dominique. Or Aunt Luna.

'' Sorry, I was so excited ... I'm Mira Hazel. '' He smiled kindly

'' James '' Even though he didn't need to, he was happy to say '' What house do you think will be in? '' She straightened up again on the bench, without opening the book this time, looking at him with full attention.

'' I hope Ravenclaw. What about you? '' Mira Hazel said, as James grimaced.

'' Gryffindor, obviously. Why do you want that one? It's so full of ... idiots '' The girl raised her clear eyebrows, her body moving into an attack position as if she might pounce on him, much like a cat. James was concerned that she was carrying a cat beside her, but there was no sign.

'' My parents are from there .. You know. Gryffindor is not the only good house at school, if it were, it wouldn't make sense to have others, would it? '' James swallowed the words, arranging his back on the bench and thinking what he would say Next. Of course, his father had warned about this, but how could he not want to go to the house that housed his whole family?

Before he could give a bullshit answer that would make coal eyes explode, the cabin door was opened again, this time a boy with black hair and frightened eyes appeared, his cheeks flushed and what appeared to be a frog in his front pocket. "Sorry, wrong cabin."

When the door closed again, silence radiated over them, James too affected to admit that maybe, for a few seconds, she was right. Only the pages broke the silence,, as she leafed through the book almost aggressively,.Mira seemed to have read it many times judging by the yellowish color that marked the edges, in addition to the lower spine looking punished with use. He thought of asking what Quidditch position she wanted - for he had imagined that if they both wanted to be keppers, they would fall off their brooms before the snitch was even released - but he kept the words to himself.

The food cart was not long in arriving, much to his delight, and the two bought what looked like food for five more, still without speaking a word, which was driving him crazy.

"Aha! I finally found you. '' The female voice broke through the air. Mira smiled at the chocolate frog, taking the card in her hands

'' Who did you find? '' James smiled when he saw Merlin smiling on his own card.

'' Hermione Weasley '' And as if it were pure gold, she carefully tucked it inside the Quidditch book. '' My mother met her ... they made Runes together '' Mira nodded, seeming to talk to herself more than to him '' A very smart witch ... I should want to be like her too, don't you think? ''

'' Are you always this weird? '' He joked, happy that she had talked to him again. Her silence was claustrophobic, which was very strange, since Albus used to give him a cold shoulder whenever they fought, and it was never this bad.

'' Ah ... no, I’m just nervous. '' It seemed like a lie, but he didn't say anything

'' But tell me, what is it like? Having these people in your family '' Mira asked.

James grimaced when he swallowed a Bertie Botts every flavor bean, '' Ear wax, ew, I don't know how I was wrong. I thought it might be popcorn ''

''Normal '' He moved his shoulders, precisely choosing a bean, loving the taste of strawberry when he threw one in his mouth '' They are normal people most of the time ''

'' It can't be normal '' She rolled her eyes '' There must be something extraordinary about being the son of Harry and Ginny Potter ''

James tried to shake the thought from his mind, remembering all the years living in his family and all the stories that he had heard (even if in half).

Sometimes it was quite difficult, people used to be so intrusive at partie, s it was almost impossible for them not to be stopped by some journalist wanting to know the latest gossip that involved their name.

James thought it all sucked. It was very tiring.

He had thought that now as he was going to Hogwarts he could finally be James. Simply, James, and no longer,live in the shadow of his parents great deeds. Even if no one asked him to follow in their footsteps, stressing the irrecoverable losses they had made along the arduous path, he felt as if nothing he did was really interesting.

Going to Gryffindor, being a good keeper and a good student, was not just to ensure that his track record was brilliant, but to guarantee a place in the genius tree. He hadn't fought like his mother and father, but he had done something good while he was at school, proving his worth. Proving to be brave and fearless.

'' Except I can get a lot of cards from chocolate frogs more easily '' He smiled at the girl who laughed in denial, her cheeks turning pink again, and her eyes no longer seemed to carry the fury she had earlier presented.

She wasn't all bad, after all.

[...]

‘’James Potter .. what an honor!’’ Hagrid, a half-giant who always showed up at his house telling stories about strange and dangerous animals, smiled at him, hitting him on the back with a force that made him walk two steps forward.

‘’Hi Hagrid.’’ He returned the smile, looking excitedly behind him and seeing the boats positioned.

After the rookies were summoned and put on boats, crossed the river below the night sky with few stars, Mira was beside him, her eyes looking like a part of the sky, shining with the magnificent view of Hogwarts. The castle looked bigger and more splendid than any photograph, description, or drawing he had ever seen and heard. It was real, grand, and now it was his new home.

As they left the boats and were led into the castle, the children's voices seemed to triple- the excitement of standing in that hall, waiting to be called up for the sorting. A tall, strong, well-groomed professor, showing a scar that cut his eyebrow and a little bit of his left eyelid, appeared. ,He explained the houses, the hat and introduced himself, Frank Johaan, Defense Against the Dark Art teacher . When they entered the Great Hall, which his father had spoken so much of, James thought he might fall over right there, looking at the tables, the teachers, the decoration above him, the walls laden with flags of the houses, the ghosts walking around. .. It was almost like daydreaming. No photograph lived up to what James was seeing

And just as his father had informed him, when the time came, the Sorting Hat on a stool, looking old and worn, began to sing.

When Headmaster McGonagall gave a slight smile after welcoming the students - and James thought he saw her smile bigger when she saw him - Professor Johaan stood erect beside the stool, a scroll in his left hand and the right on top of the hat

‘’When I call your name, come here and sit down.’’

The names began, applause whenever the house was shouted at by the patched hat.With each person, the boy felt more apprehensive, looking around anxiously and seeing Mira from a short distance, looking confident, hardly even blinking during the wait.

‘’Potter, James Sirius’’ He could have sworn he saw the Headmistress getting ready in the chair to watch, making him feel even more nervous; And with weak legs, but without showing it, he started the long walk to the stool, everyone's eyes following him, and the teachers looking at him with curiosity. He took a deep breath before sitting on the stool and left his mind free, listening even to his heartbeat.

‘’Ah a Potter ... I know them so well. A brave heart ... ‘’ Said the hat, and he thought it was magnificent ‘’I can't help but notice, too big even for a giant's body’’. Without thinking, he looked sideways at Hagrid, who was smiling anxiously while sitting in one of the chairs set for the teachers. ‘’But would that only help you? .. A vast intelligence, certainly, but I cannot deny the truth ... Gryffindor!’’

The Gryffindor table rose to a fuss, eagerly applauding and welcoming him, with huge smiles and nods when he sat down, everyone congratulating him and talking about how amazing it was that they had a Potter there.

‘’Hazel, Mira’’ She walked confidently, not even blushing. Her braided hair trailing behind her and her black eyes looking like two black holes in her pale face. She sat on the stool, waiting for the call, the sorting hat was put on, and stayed there for some time.

James’ godmother had told him about this, about students sometimes sitting up to five minutes waiting, they were students who confused the hat, they had many attributes that stood out and could easily fit in more than one house, as had happened with her.

The blonde was waiting in the same way as when she sat down, calm and seeming to assess with the hat, after what seemed like three or more minutes - he hadn't been there so long, and if he had, he would have died of anxiety - the hat screamed;

-Gryffindor!

His house table began to clap again, the blonde descending cheerfully and full of smiles, greeting those at the end and sitting next to James, her eyebrows half-arched and in an almost balmy way, showing in her eyes

‘’It looks like we'll be colleagues, Potter.’’ Mira said as she raised her chin and exuding confidence , drawing a laugh from James.

‘’So it seems.’’ And for some reason, he was happy with that.

#hp next gen #hp fanfic #next gen harry potter #James Sirius Potter #Harry Potter #ginnyPOTTER #Albus Severus Potter #harry potter next generation #my fic

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kashimos-hajime · 5 years

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soldier | amaranthine (1/6) | b.b.

summary: a boy and a girl went off to war. they fell in love and the devil laughed.

WARNINGS: swearing, MAJOR angst, more fluff than usual wow, heckie doo dah they kiss, blood and vomit mentions, a lot of pain, guns, needles, trains pairing: bucky barnes x fem!reader word count: 7.5k

a/n: written for @the-omni-princess and their writing challenge! i really couldn’t help it, i loved bucky and this reader so much i turned it into a series. my prompt was soldier by fleurie. gif not mine. this series will have a happy ending ON GOD

amaranthine masterlist

Head in the dust, feet in the fire Labour on that midnight wire Listening for that angel choir You got nowhere to run

Sunlight filters through dust and Bucky Barnes thinks it’s too fucking sunny for a day in the trenches. His feet blister as he shifts against the wet mud wall. His stomach is hollow and he closes his eyes. Chains wrap around his bones, tying him to his mud post. Mud caked beneath his nails and a strange crackling feeling festering between his legs and his gut, Bucky Barnes tries to sleep for the first time in three days. All he can feel is the mud through his soaked uniform. Yesterday, it rained like Hell’s flames had reached earth, and beneath molding wood, Bucky had tried to keep his soldiers as warm as he could.

He can’t remember the last time he was dry.

“Sarge, it’s your turn,” a soldier calls and his eyes open as he raises his head from the mud wall. Dried mud crumbles from his head and he grabs his helmet, wedges it beneath his arm and lets his muscles scream. His stomach wails and his head spins when he stands but he blinks the dust away and instead sends a nod to the soldier who begins to lead him through the maze. Hand dragging along the crumbling trench wall, he heads through the pits he knows too well to where the rest of the 107th are waiting. They mumble him greetings as he walks between their legs and bodies, some of them groaning when he steps on mud that leaks out dirt water. They’ve yet to see them yet, then.

Every soldier that’s gone in has come out remarkably brighter, and these men look more ashen than death.

He doesn’t know what to expect. Suddenly this medical corp was doing a standard health check while not in combat, and safe to say, it raised Bucky’s suspicions. He continues walking and walking, his blisters bleeding and he’s sure he has some trench foot or some other shit. His feet have been swimming in water and mud for days.

His eyes scan the back of the soldier’s head. Clean helmet, new uniform and boots. Lucky him.

“They’ll take good care of you, Sarge,” the soldier announces all sudden-like and Bucky’s head rings. “Get you into right fighting shape.”

From then, it’s a blur. Hands take him and pass him on to other hands. They take off his clothes, pour warm water over his head and clean him inch by inch. The water turns dark with red and brown when they’re done and he’s sure he can feel the lice in his hair jumping ship before they show him to another tent and then another, each one doing something different.

The last tent is when his mind finally plays catch up.

“Sergeant Barnes?” a voice calls as his blue eyes drift warily around him. Beside him are other soldiers, countless rows of them. Some of them are bleeding through their bandages, there are three crowded around one bed playing cards, and he’s alone in his bed. He glances down at his hands, tough with calluses and scrubbed clean of dirt before raising his head.

“That’s me.”

“Perfect.”

The voice. His eyes find the voice and then he sees her. Her mouth moves and he hears her say her name, but all he can think of is one thing: angel. She isn’t wearing white, and she doesn’t have wings or a halo. Instead, she has dark half-moons imprinted on her face and messy hair and a fixed smile, and she’s anything but an angel, but it’s the only word Bucky can use to describe her.

She has the inexplicable draw, and when he blinks, a little too stunned for words, her fixed smile softens.

He sits up a little straighter, and his heart beats a little louder, and for the first time in days, weeks, months, Bucky Barnes doesn’t feel the cold or the wet or the pain.

“Ma’am.” He clears his throat and she laughs as she sets down a tray of food in his lap. His hands instinctively reach to grab and when her fingers brush his, a jolt sends shivers up his spine. She’s the warmest thing he’s touched in days. The woman wears a uniform similar to his with tough stains along her front and in the creases of her jacket and when she bends over to pull the blanket away from his feet, he can spot the dirty rags stuffed into her pockets. A trained nurse, doctor maybe. “Ma’am, you don’t need to worry—”

“You were written down as potentially suffering from trench foot, Sergeant. I’m just going to take a look, treat it, and then I’ll be on my way,” she says, her voice lilting and soft, different than the sound of screams that seem to echo from tents away, the sound of soldiers cheering whenever they win a game of cards.

Bucky looks down at the tray of food. A bowl of hot soup, dry bread with cheese and a steaming cup of coffee has never looked so delicious. As he picks up the spoon to dip into the soup, he glances at the nurse who takes hold of his ankle. Quickly grabbing a hold of his tray, he steadies it and she sends him an apologetic look down the way. “Sorry.”

“No problem.” He smiles and his face stretches strangely.

It occurs to Bucky he hasn’t smiled in ages, and the woman’s tiny smile in return is enough for him to keep his own grin going.

“Where are you from?” he asks even though it’s painfully obvious. He only speaks because it’s almost humiliating to eat and watch her inspect his feet, especially when he can occasionally catch the glances she sends his way; it’s almost as if she hates the silence as much as he does.

“South London,” she says, slowly setting one foot down. “They soaked your feet, correct?”

“They did. Never been so dry.” She chuckles and the sound is music to Bucky’s ears as she sets down the other foot. “I’m alright to leave, ma’am?”

“You need to be treated first,” she cuts him off, shooting him a narrowed glare. “Talcum powder is extremely helpful. It’ll keep your feet dry for longer and reduce the chafing between your socks and your feet.”

“A miracle.”

“Hardly.” She sends him a quick glance to see if he’s eating before beginning to pat the powder down over his skin. “You need to keep your feet as dry as possible, and expose them to the air, or you’ll be losing more than skin.”

“Hard to do in the mud, ma’am,” he says with a shrug, chugging down his coffee and she catches her bottom lip between her teeth as she pats white dust over his other foot. He wiggles his toe against her palm and she shakes her head with half a smile, gently nudging his foot with a stern rub. “The rain gets everywhere.”

“I know. It’s advice I still have to give, though.” She claps her hands, white dust springing into the air in a cloud. Waving it away, she bends over to grab pillows and shoves them beneath his legs, exposing his blistering feet to the other soldiers who care to look his way. Wiping her palms along her pants, white streaks down the dark green before she pulls out clean socks and sets them by his bedside. “Put these on when you’re discharged. I hope I don’t have to see you again, Sergeant Barnes.” A sort of yawning ache splits Bucky down the middle as she brushes hair out of her face and turns to pick up a second tray of medical supplies.

“Any siblings?” he asks suddenly just to keep her around. She blinks, turns to check if anyone needs her, and then perches on the edge of his cot like a pretty little bird. Her tray balances in her lap, tools glimmering against the stark-white of a roll of bandages. He brings a spoonful of soup to his lips and it warms him all the way down to the belly. A bit of it dribbles down his chin and she reaches over with a thumb to wipe it off.

“Three brothers,” she says, withdrawing her hand. Bucky’s lips part and he sucks in a soft breath as she smiles again, this time wide enough to dig into her cheeks. It changes her—makes her younger and softer. Against the grey of everything, she is enchanting. “Twin older brothers and one baby brother.”

“That must’ve been the worst.” He smirks, eyebrows raising and she hides a laugh unsuccessfully. Bucky’s been told he has an infectious smile and he’s glad war hasn’t taken that away from him. She scoots closer to the head of the bed as he eats and as she nears, he can almost count the stars in her eyes.

“My brothers never stopped getting into trouble and I always got caught in the middle of it. They taught me how to fight and we fought all the time…” Her voice fades away and Bucky frowns, eyebrows furrowing together. “Until the war happened.” Her smile slips away and her eyes no longer bare the bravery to meet his. A muscle in her jaw ticks and Bucky almost reaches for her hand. Almost. He cocks his head, letting his drying hair fall into his eyes and she looks at him again, this time not as warmly, this time with emptiness.

“My brothers fled to America a few months after they declared war,” she says. Some nameless, faceless men in Bucky’s head appear and he tilts his head, lips pressing together in a firm line. He could try to imagine a selfish man with her features, or maybe a man hiding under a hood as he boarded a ship with the same eyes, but he can’t. Not when his sister sits right before him. “Because in England, they can’t conscript the last son of a family.”

His thoughts crumble to ash.

“But you’re here,” he whispers and she looks down at his tray, unseeing.

“I am,” she agrees, wistful, regretful. When their eyes meet again, Bucky wonders if she feels the heat, too. “And you? Any siblings?”

“Three.”

“And you’ve left them behind, too.”

“You’ve been at war much longer than I have,” Bucky points out and she tilts her chin up. The grey sun that streams through the tent flaps hits her face and she’s almost blindingly radiant in a way that breaks a man’s heart. Shifting in his seat, he blinks and tries to keep that image of her, an angel in grey light before it’s gone. She ducks her head to tuck away hair from her face and he twists to set down his tray of food beside him. “You know, I used to braid my sister’s hair before school,” he says and she looks at him, eyebrows shadowing her eyes. “Can’t be rusty when I get back.”

She laughs, almost incredulous, and very, very tired, and Bucky can see the minute the weight seems to lift off her shoulders. She sets down her tray and leans back on her hands, lip caught between teeth as she tries to bite her smile down. It only makes Bucky smile wider.

“Sergeant Barnes, would you please braid a girl’s hair?” she asks, dewy sweet, and Bucky nearly melts in his bed. Mouth dry, he clears his throat and pulls at his blanket.

“What would I get in return?” He plays for keeps, and the angel grins, leaning towards him. His eyes fall to her lips as she brushes hair out of his face. Bucky can barely breath at the featherlight sweep of her fingers.

“Would my everlasting affection suffice?” She cocks her head and waits for his answer, fingers stilling on his cheek as his eyes flicker from her lips to her eyes. He wonders what it would taste like, to kiss her. Maybe it’d taste like coffee and cough syrup, or gunpowder and ash. Whatever it is, Bucky wants to know. So he nods

“I s’pose it would.”

The cell reeks of dead rat and rank shit. With the wet drip-drip-drip of water leaking from a crack in the ceiling, Bucky digs his shiv into the cement. Scratching the tally mark, he lets the ugly grating of metal against the wall ring in his ears. A mind-numbing pain rests in his veins and just the mere effort of dragging his arm up the wall to run the point through the mark again is nearly too much. His mind swirls in a twisted knot, one that only tightens with every waking moment.

Whatever they did to him—lacing fire and ice into his blood, carving him from the inside out and sharpening his every sense until he can hear the roaches crawling on the walls—has changed him. Somewhere inside him knows he’s different, disfigured on a level he cannot understand.

He lets his hand fall to the cot as the sound of rusted metal echoes down the hall.

“Let go of me! Bastards!”

Blinding candlelight streams into his cage and Bucky raises his head wearily, twisting onto his side to watch as German soldiers haul a furiously struggling figure between them. Muffled grunts and the sound of fabric rustling catches his ear as he blinks away the stars in his eyes and drops his shiv, hiding it beneath his ratty blanket.

“Herr Schmidt promised you your life for your compliance.”

“Let him choke on my compliance!” The voice rings in his ears as he pushes himself to a sitting position and his metal cell opens before the sound of a body colliding with the floor fills the silence. Bucky blinks hard, trying to get used to the golden light before it shuts him in the darkness once again, but the guards are already closing his gate. The person splayed on his floor gets up, rushing to the metal bars and slamming their first against the shaking thing as the soldiers laugh.

“What the hell?” he mutters, rubbing his eye and one of the soldiers look to him.

“You have company, Sergeant Barnes. Enjoy.” The sneer that seeps into the parting word causes an unwanted shiver to crawl up Bucky’s spine as the body crawls into the middle of his cell and collapses, letting out a sob. Propping himself on his hands, Bucky tries to remember where he’s heard this voice before.

His brain feels burned, and the harder he thinks, the more it seems to whine.

“Barnes?”

His name, whispered harshly and echoing in his four walls of prison, is the answer to his prayers, the answer he least desires.

“Angel,” he utters, breathless as he slides to the floor. The rough cement crates against his weak, bony knees and hands take hold of him as a wet face presses against his cheek.

“Sergeant Barnes.” She all but melts into his embrace, and she burns with the heat of ten million stars, all too hot for his own feverish fingers yet still he digs his nails into her back hard enough that his bones ache. “What did they do to me?” she whispers, shaking, and Bucky pulls her back by the shoulder, one hand cupping her head gently.

“How long have you been here?” he asks carefully and she searches his gaze. “Where were you?” Her breaths shudder against his palm as he wipes away the tears from her face and in the grim, fading light, he can see blood leaking from her ear, dripping warmly onto his knuckles.

“After Azzano, they attacked the hospital.” Her breath, hot as summer rain, chills him to the bone. “They managed to evacuate all but the last few tents and they caught me.” A disgusted twist in her lip, her eyes unfocus. Bucky cups her face, feels something thrum in her pulse and she looks up, looks through him. “They said I was to be put under tests, and I’d be lucky to survive.”

Bucky’s hand on her shoulder trails to the collar of her shirt, gently hooking a finger and tugging. Colourful smudges of purple, blue, yellow, and green smear her skin. The effects of needles, huge and plunging and painful. If he looks close enough in the dark, he can spot the entry points, stabs that haven’t healed.

A flicker of fire burns brighter in his belly than the one that already soaks him in its heat.

“I don’t feel very lucky, Sergeant Barnes,” she whimpers. Bucky’s eyes flash back to hers, and when she blinks, fresh tears run over his skin. “It hurts everywhere.”

“You’ll be okay.” He brings her into his embrace, a hand on her head and the other wrapped around her back as he closes his eyes. Her arms slither around his waist and he presses his cheek against her temple. “You’re going to be okay, angel.”

She is silent. Two weeks and they’ve already beaten hope out of this place. Perhaps she isn’t quite used to the freezing agony set in her bones yet or the ache of ligaments tearing and building again as every fiber of her turns to steel. Bucky wants to tell her it’ll get better, but he doesn’t know himself.

“You’ll have the bed,” Bucky promises and she pulls back immediately to protest but he shakes his head. “My ma would smack me if I didn’t insist.” He half-smiles and his muscles stretch pleasantly in his cheeks as her arms draw away slightly. Her hands rest on his hips and he nods to her.

“You’re my patient,” she protests and he chuckles quietly. It’s a raspy kind of sound and it sounds hollow the more it echoes, but he means it. “I’m supposed to take care of you.”

“Angel, you took care of soldiers for years before I came around,” he starts, and something in her eyes flickers. He cups her cheek, the dim light barely lighting her features. The swollen bags beneath her eyes have only grown worse since he’s last seen her, and she’s lost what little healthy glow she had that coloured her face. “I think it’s time someone took care of you.”

“Sergeant Barnes, I—”

“Bucky,” he says, brushing limp hair away from her face. He can hear her thunderous heart, or perhaps it is his beating between his ears, louder than the ocean. “My name’s Bucky.”

“Where are the rest of the 107th?” she asks that night as they feed on cold soup. Bucky’s fingers tremble but the pain has receded into a tiny knot at the base of his skull. His arm feels like it’s about to drop off his body and with every move of his neck, heat and bruising pain spreads into his chest. She drops her spoon too loudly and they both flinch.

“They separated me from them after they began the tests,” he mutters, letting the cold broth slither down his gut. “No one came back from the isolation ward so I thought for sure I’d be dead.”

“Well, neither of us are.” She’s leaning against the metal frame of the bed, her knees tucked to her chest. Her scrappy uniform is scuffed with dirt and wet from the mold growing beneath their feet but Bucky merely smiles softly. His back against the wall, his feet are outstretched before him. He’s quite sure if she stretches her legs too, their boots would touch. “How many doses have they given you?”

“Two.” He sets down his bowl in his lap. She looks into her own, stirring, the metal cup perched on her knees. “You?”

“One.” Something in Bucky’s arm begins to tingle, as if the injection sites open wide at the sound of her voice. He lets his head tilt back until he knocks into the stone. “They kept me in another part of the factory to treat workers before they decided to use me like some lab rat.” Fabric rustles and a presence looms near him as he closes his eyes. Something warm is set in his lap and he lifts his head wearily as she settles in beside him. “You should eat.”

“What?” He picks up the one fresh ingredient to their meal, a slice of warm bread, and shakes his head. Picking it up, he tries to hand it back to her. “No, you need to eat—”

“You’ve been here longer, Sergeant.”

“Angel—”

“I get the bed, and you get the warm bread.” She seems to sag into her shoulders and he frowns slightly. “It seems only fair.” Her hair is slick with dirt, sweat and oil as she rests her head on his shoulder and he tilts his head until his cheek presses against her scalp. Her boot knocks into his as he rips the bread apart.

“Fine. Can’t deny you a thing,” he whispers and she shakes with a silent chuckle, weak and tired. “How’re you feeling?”

“I don’t want to move away from you,” she murmurs blearily, her eyes closed as she turns her head to him. Her nose brushes his jaw as he swallows. “Tell me a story.”

“About what, sweetheart?” he asks, and the warmth of her is so comforting he could cry. Human touch that isn’t sharp and painful and terrible has caused his body to soften. Her body has twisted towards him, her knees bent and her legs hooked over one of his. “I can tell you ‘bout Brooklyn, I guess.”

“Would you?” she asks, exhausted, small, fading. She loops her arm through his, curls herself around it as he bites into the cooling crust. He swallows quickly, feeling it lump together on its way down to his stomach.

“Yeah, and I can tell you ‘bout Steve. He’s my best friend and I made him ride the Cyclone once on Coney Island. I gotta bring you there, the lights at night on a warm summer day… it’s the prettiest sight…”

He can tell the instant she slips away from him, the subtle change in her breathing and her heart rate, the peace that overtakes her face, the tender warmth that seeps into his own bones. He gently brings the slice of bread to his mouth, devouring it in two or three bites before picking up his bowl of soup again. Sipping quietly, he is careful not to disturb her as she squirms against him, seeking something warmer than what he can provide. He carefully sets down the bowl and wraps his free arm around her, squeezing gently in hopes that it’ll give life to her frigid skin.

His own heart thuds in his throat when she lets out a soft sigh and melts into his body. He tilts his head, nose in her hair as her breath puffs against his neck, soft as snow. He closes his own eyes and his mind wanders as her arms, wrapped around his arm, hold him even tighter to her own chest.

A small bomb explodes in his chest and he smiles even though no one’s looking.

Bucky Barnes has never really loved a girl before, but in this moment, as her body fits into his like it is meant to be and he sits, rots, in an Austrian prison with poison running through his veins, he is sure he will gladly die for one.

It’s by the third dose for her do they understand best how to take care of one another. Bucky can usually tell when they’ll take one of them away by the meal they present. It’ll be warm, almost hot, and rich with nutrients their bodies crave, and in the mornings, fresh towels and ice will be shoved into their cell like they swelter from the heat.

They toss her into the cell with a rattling slam with a promise to return for him soon but Bucky doesn’t say a word in return. An agonizing mess, his angel lets out a soft moan as he scoops her into his arms. The smell of clean soap and sweat clings to her skin, her hair slightly damp from the shower they always force upon them before the doses. Dark, reddening marks imprinted into her temples, her eyes stare sightlessly ahead as he lays her down on the cot. He dips a towel into the bowl of freezing water.

The soft clack of ice against the metal bowl echoes in his head as he numbly wipes away the sweat, gently cleaning her tears and soothing an ache he knows festers between her temples.

“Doctor…. Prisoner… 56899…” The words slip between her lips, soft and jumbled as she turns her head away and the pit inside of Bucky widens as he tries to catch her eye.

“Angel,” he whispers, running his hand over her cheek. “Come back to me.” Turning her face towards him, he lets out a sharp breath as her eyes stare through him. “Hey, hey, hey.”

“Bucky?” It’s like magic the way a soul seems to fill her body in a moment’s notice. Life pours into her eyes, and a hand grips at his sleeve.

“Hey, angel.” He dips the towel in ice once again and she raises a hand gently to touch his face. Her fingers tremble, clammy with sweat, as he blinks. A strange smile stretches her face and he thinks she’s laughing at him as he wipes away the blood from her ear once again. “What’s so funny?”

“You’re crying, Sergeant Barnes,” she whispers fondly and Bucky blinks again, just realizing the heat that floods his face is not from the factory that works around them. Her cold fingers swipe away the wetness from his cheeks, spread it over his face and he resists the urge to press a kiss to her palm. Instead, he uses his free hand to hold her palm to his cheek. A shiver runs down his spine. “Who’s gone and broken your heart?”

“I think you know the answer to that,” he says. She laughs again, painful and quiet, and this time her eyes flutter shut as she slips away from him. Despite how much stronger she appears with muscles that flex and wane beneath his arms, he sees the cracks they split into her soul. He hopes the love he harbours for his angel is enough to seal every single one.

He knows it is not.

Bucky Barnes doesn’t tell her he loves her.

He doesn’t think he can bear the thought of telling her and disappearing the very next day, but perhaps it’s the little things that count.

“There’s enough room on the bed, Sergeant Barnes,” she had said, and they started to sleep together on the small little cot barely fit for one, Bucky slightly hunched over her as they fell asleep in each other’s arms. Their legs entangled and more often than not, it ended with one of them squished against the wall and the other flush against them, but it was always worth the morning blush.

“Have my blanket,” he had insisted as autumn swept over their prison cell and warm food was more and more of a necessity. Even though they didn’t need to eat and hunger no longer clawed at their stomachs, Bucky always remembered to share the slice of warm bread with her as their fingers turned numb and chattering teeth filled the silence at night.

“Hold my hand…” as fingers entwined with fingers.

“I’ll take care of you…” accompanied the sound of blood dripping onto the stone floor.

“When we get outta here…” followed by a million promises and the scratch of the shiv against the stone wall.

It’s the little things that count.

“You’re upset.”

Her voice is soft, gentle as snow as Bucky runs a towel raggedly through his almost-dry hair. He twists on his bed to see her standing there, in a new uniform and hair damp as it falls around her face. He thinks she’s never been more effortlessly gorgeous. Life has returned to her cheeks and her eyes spark.

“Angel,” he says with a smile and he scoots over to allow her room next to him. After a wash, he can almost imagine feeling like a new man. He tosses the towel onto the pillow behind him as she sits down. “Did they feed you yet?”

“Just had a quick wash. I was planning on eating with you,” she chirps, sliding an arm around his waist. Tugging him towards her with extraordinary strength, she smiles as Bucky ducks his head underneath her chin. Wrapping his own arms around her middle, he closes his eyes.

“I’m not upset,” he mumbles as her hand trails up his back and runs through his drying hair. “I’m just relieved we got out.”

“I know it’s more than that,” she whispers, gently tugging his head to meet eyes. When he finds her gaze, he feels boneless. A warmth floods his blood and a smile overcomes his face, small, tired. “You always let your guard down when you think no one’s looking.” But I’m always looking are the words that hang between them.

Bucky swallows and cold flashes over his body.

“Let’s give it up for Captain America!”

“You think Steve’s gonna last till next week?” he asks quietly, hands falling away from her. He flinches back when her hands reach for him and he doesn’t see the hurt that settles on her face. “We saw soldiers die, friends bleed out, and you think Steve is gonna be different?”

“He is different.”

“Yeah, so they’ll have him fight the good fight.” His words are bitterly strung out and he wants to put a hole through the wall. “They’ll have him on the front lines and I’ll be right beside him because I can’t abandon my best friend. A best friend who I can barely recognize, and—”

“Bucky, he’s still your Steve.”

“I’m supposed to protect him!” Frosted silence pools into his heart as his breath comes in rattled gasps. His heart hammers against his ribs and he can hear hers, a gentle beat. “And I failed. So that’s the rest of my life; that’s what I’m going to do. Make up for every time I wasn’t there for him and every time I couldn’t stop him from getting hurt—”

“Steve’s changed. Even you can’t protect him from war,” she says and Bucky, with a humourless smile and darkness in his cold blue eyes, shakes his head.

“I can damn well try. If not me, who?” A hollow where his heart should be swallows him whole and he only sees the darkness of the Austrian factory, the vomit and blood after every session. The soft sobs as he whispers he can’t remember his ma’s face. Rebecca is nothing more than a fading memory. “I’m not letting this war take more from me than it already has.”

“Neither am I.” Her hands are folded in her lap and despite how desperately he wants her touch, he feels like he’s just seconds from falling apart. Sucking in a deep breath, he brings his shattered pieces together and silently tells her not to disrupt the broken glass. “If you spend your whole life protecting him, who protects you?”

“I don’t need protection.”

“Bucky.” Her sigh sweeps into his ears as she reaches for his arm and he jerks back, standing sharply. His knees shake and he feels the soreness in his feet as he meets her eyes. Her eyes glisten as she blinks against the fading dusk and he turns away to the tent exit. He barely takes a step before she pipes up again. “Does he know?”

Turning around, he barely utters, “What?”

“What we went through. Does he know?”

“That’s not important.”

“Like hell it isn’t!” She storms up to him, face an effigy of wrath as she grabs his arm. Turning it over in her fingers, she pulls up his wrist so he is forced to stare at his own veins. They run, bulging and blue-grey, and he can hear his own blood flowing. “We got fucked over, Sergeant Barnes. You don’t even remember what your mother looks like and you say it isn’t important?”

“It’s war! I’ve been gone too long.” Bucky rips his arm from her grasp as something in him slants.

“I never forgot my brothers’ faces until I went in there.” She throws an arm out, points to some distant corner of their tent but her glazed eyes do not stray from his. “Sometimes, I can’t even remember their names and you’re no different, and right now, it isn’t about Steve. This is about you and what happened to us back there!”

Heat bubbles underneath his skin and when she does not speak, it’s almost as an avalanche rushes through his body. “I’m trying to forget what happened to me in there! I have a job to do and I can’t… I can’t be distracted because that will get Steve killed. People die every day and I’ve gotten used to it, but I won’t let my best friend be someone I have to leave behind in No Man’s Land. I thought you of all people would understand.” Sticky, humid air clouds his face and his vision blurs as he collapses to his knees. Hands immediately land on his shoulders, slide down his back as he’s pulled into a spine-crushing embrace.

“Oh, Bucky, I do,” she whispers. She pulls him back, cups his face and the suppleness of her skin causes his shuddering breaths to hitch. He sucks in a huge gasp as he continues to crumble. He slips between her fingers as he desperately tries to pull himself together but with her every swipe of his tears, he only shatters. “I promise I do. Just let me take care of you when you can’t do it anymore.” Her thumbs brush underneath his eyes as his hands on her hips squeeze and she lets out a gentle sigh. “You can fall apart on me. I promise I’ll protect you.”

“It’s not worth it. I’m… I’m… not worth it.”

“It’ll always be worth it if it’s you,” she promises and his eyes close. Another rush of tears spill over her fingers as gentle lips press between his eyebrows. “Besides—” Her voice whispers over his skin as she tucks her chin in to look at him. His forehead presses into her sternum as he melts into her body. His hiccuping breaths shake his shoulders jerking as she runs a soothing hand through his hair, down his back—“if you’re not worth saving, then neither am I.”

At this, Bucky raises his tear stained face to his angel and shakes his head, stubborn as they come. His heart slows in his head and cool wind kisses his wet cheeks. Their lips almost brush and his breath shudders in his throat.

“I will always save you no matter what.”

She smiles, a soft exhale that could almost be a laugh puffing against his cheek as he shifts against her, sitting up straighter. She pulls back, wiping her hand along his jacket and he sniffs, a small, watery grin cracking over his face.

“You’re quite the romantic, Sergeant Barnes.”

“How many times do I gotta tell you? My name’s Bucky.” He can hear her heart quiver as he touches her face, spreads his fingers along her cheek and gently guides her closer until he can taste the smoke and lime that clings to her skin. He can hear her breathe his name, a gentle sigh before their lips meet, and he thaws underneath her touch.

Her fingers brush his jaw as he closes his eyes and the feel of her mouth, chapped and warm against his, is ecstasy.

Their first kiss is everything and nothing Bucky has ever dreamed it would be. A desperate clash of tears and lips and teeth, yet softer than anything he’s ever known, he knows one thing is certain in his life now.

He has found the love of his life, and only Death will do them part.

The wind is knocked out of him the minute he sees her. His angel has managed to steal his heart all over again and Bucky wonders how he’s going to survive the night when his eyes are glued to her. Clean, soft, and radiant, she stands there almost bashfully, waiting for him to notice her. Her smile splits her face as he remembers to close his mouth.

“Sergeant Barnes,” she greets politely as she looks up at him. In her heels, she looks as if she could rule the world. Bucky barely manages to greet her before clearing his throat. His cheeks pool with heat and he looks down at his shoes, running a hand through his hair. “Where are you off to?”

“Captain Rogers invited me to the Whip and Fiddle for an important meeting.”

“How strange. I was invited as well.” She grins as he extends an arm and she leans over to kiss the corner of his mouth. Bucky’s cheeks flare up and he turns to look at her. She loops her hand through, holding him close as they walk down the street and Bucky places a hand on top of hers along his arm.

“Who’s the lucky man?” he asks as if he isn’t walking the most gorgeous dame in all of London to some bar a few minutes away for their first date.

“A very brave soldier,” she replies. Her heat seeps through his jacket and he turns to look at her, trying to come up with a compliment adequate enough to express how much he adores her. “You look very handsome, Sergeant Barnes.”

“Can’t compare to you, angel.” Her smile becomes tender under his gaze and she pauses just outside the pub. Inside, the frosted glass glows with the heat and with every swing of the door, merry singing and the beginnings of Dum Dum telling a story sweep into the cool air. Words pound at the back of his teeth as he stares down at her, looking so pretty in the warm lamplight of London. “How’s your family? Did you have a chance to see them?”

“Mum’s doing okay. Dad was out with my brother so I was a nice surprise to come home to.”

"It sounds like a warm welcome, doll.”

“You know, they would love to meet you, too.” He blinks, hand stalling from where he’d been brushing a strand of hair out of her face. “I told them about you, if that’s alright…”

“They know about what happened to us?” His voice is tight, just the mere mention of it burning down his arms.

“No.” She looks guilty and Bucky wonders if the weight on her shoulders has always been there. “Mum’s got enough on her plate with my brother leaving and all. He’s, he’s actually travelling to Oxford soon so it was necessary for me to say goodbye and Dad… I don’t think he can take it. He’s lost two sons already.”

Bucky runs his thumb down her cheek, planting a tender kiss against her forehead.

“When this war is over, we’ll find them,” he promises and she smiles, pressing her lips eagerly against his. He can’t help the huge grin that spreads across his face and he chuckles into her mouth as she plants her hands on his cheeks and holds him there, kissing him again and again. “Give me a chance to show you Brooklyn ‘n’ Shelbyville, where I was born, Coney Island… We can take the Railroad and everything.”

“Too many places for a time like this,” she teases, pulling back. “First the Whip and Fiddle, then I show you around London and then we go to America.”

“Deal.” She smiles up at him, like they’re not in the middle of war, like they haven’t just escaped prison with blue serum running through their veins, like they’re still the boy and girl they were before.

“Let’s go in. Steve’s probably waiting,” she whispers, turning to look at the warm, fogging glass. Bucky turns, glaring at the door. Suddenly, meeting Steve doesn’t seem so inviting. Her hands trail down his face and rest on his chest as she sighs longingly. “I don’t want you to go back in there.”

Turning around again, he takes her hand from his chest and kisses her fingers tenderly. “I’m staying right here for a while longer,” he murmurs, knowing that this is not what she meant at all.

A cool chill sweeps between their bodies and Bucky tucks her into his body, wrapping her in the tightest embrace he can manage. She’s all supple muscle, carbon bone, and she’s taller than before yet all Bucky can think of is protecting her.

I love you. I love you. I love you, he thinks, eyes closing as he rests his chin in her hair. He can feel her heart beating like a soft drum through her back as she drags her hands up his shoulders.

“You’re the only one who understands,” she whispers into the wind, yet his ears still catch it all. She buries her face into his chest, her fingers digging into the ridges of his back as he brings a hand to cradle the back of her head. “Please don’t leave me.”

His eyebrows furrow together and he doesn’t even feel the wind bite at his skin until his fingers turn purple. His chest aches and everything inside him cracks like glass under pressure. Winding, and winding, long and elegant in a catastrophic kind of way.

Never, never, never. I love you more than anything. How can I ever leave you? He wants to scream it into the night, tell her until she understands.

I love you, I love you, I love you.

“A zip line?” she says dubiously, the snow dotting her hair as she sits by the fire. Heat and frost play at her face, bathing it half in white light, and half in blazing orange. “It doesn’t sound very enticing.”

Bucky forces a smile and kisses her for what he doesn’t know is the last time. She tastes like beef jerky and mountain water, and he can hear Morita making some wise crack about how gooey the Sarge is being. “You won’t even notice I’m gone.”

“I always notice,” she retorts.

It sounds an awful like a confession Bucky can’t bear to hear right now.

They leave at dawn.

The last thing he does is slip an envelope into her rucksack and he prays that he’ll be back before she can open it.

When his fingers slip, there’s a moment in time that freezes. He teeters on the edge of life and death, and he can see Steve’s outstretched hand just before his.

And then he falls and a million and one thoughts fly from his head.

All he can think of is broken promises and the Coney Island lights. The wind that rips away at him is like the way the Cyclone had tossed him through the air, safely bound by the metal bars, but this time, there is nothing holding him back.

He throttles through the air, collides with something sharp and jagged before rolling down, through snow and ice, and his vision swims in inky black as he struggles to breathe. His lungs are paralyzed and his skull splits open as he tumbles over and he thinks the blood is coming from his head? Or maybe it’s his nose or his throat or how can he still think with all of winter’s wrath surrounding him? His head is buried in snow as he tries to remember what it was like to breathe again.

Snow falls softly around him, landing on his face like tiny kisses and it is almost as if his heart leaps to his throat. Blood bubbles at his lips, his whole body wracking with agony. He sinks into the snow, ice the pillow beneath his head. It dribbles warmly down his cheeks, leaking from the corner of his lips and the snow melts in the heat of his essence.

Wind caresses his face gently and he swallows a thick glob of blood that catches halfway as a sob pushes its way up his throat.

He wonders how long he will stay here, broken and dying, until Death comes to collect him, but then something grabs his boot and his eyes jerk open.

Wolves. Wolves will eat me alive, he muses, too tired, too dizzy from pain to fight. The blurry grey-blue canvas above him stretches above him, brighter than anything he remembers seeing, as he raises his head blearily. Men take him by the legs and pull, something he can barely feel as his bones click into place.

“Sergeant Barnes?”

“Angel?” he mumbles beneath his breath, eyes rolling back into his head as it slams back into the snow and he thinks he can hear her laugh echo in the ravine above him. “I’m sorry…”

For every promise I’ve broken, for every day I won’t be here, for every time I never told you I loved you. For loving you and leaving you. For leaving you. For loving you.

I’m sorry.

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savannah-lim · 3 years

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I Owe You A Drink || Deirdre & Savannah

Timing: Immediately following Put A Ring On It Location: Dell’s Tavern Parties: @savannah-lim and @deathduty Content: N/A Summary: After Deirdre saves Savannah from a fairy ring, the two go for a drink.

Savannah felt as if she'd stumbled into a movie, some uncomfortable mix of horror and romantic comedy. Having just outrun an angry mob of whatever-the-hell-those-were, this breathtakingly gorgeous woman was taking her hand and telling Savannah she owed her drinks. Within minutes they were sitting in a booth in the back corner of Dell's Tavern. Music played loudly enough to stop people overhearing them, but not loud enough to make conversation too difficult. "I'm paying, right?" she said, giving Deidre a little smile. "Okay, I have many questions, but first, what're you having?"

Deirdre needed a drink. Or, more accurately, several drinks. Taking them with an attractive human wasn’t the worst way to go about it. She smiled back at Savannah and tried to remember how charm worked again. It didn’t help that part of her mind was still screaming filthy human; ruined the mushrooms! While the other part replayed the fae yelling at her. Being a good person was terrible, and she hated it, but getting drinks was something she was used to. “Now, that depends on how much money you have to spare, love.” She leaned on the table, extending her hand across and playing idly with loose strands of Savannah’s hair. It was like Morgan’s, in that it also possessed a fluffy quality. “Whiskey. Neat. If you can just get me the entire bottle, that’d be nice. It takes me a while to get drunk and I’d like….” she sighed, drawing her hand back. “To forget what just happened.”

Savannah gave a low chuckle. Now that she was looking properly at Deirdre without the corner of her gaze eyeing an aggressive fae or the two of them running through the woods, she was able to truly appreciate just how beautiful she was. “I’m pretty sure anything Dell’s stocks, I can afford,” she replied, giving Deirdre a small grin, trying desperately to ignore the fact Deirdre was playing with her hair. The combination of touch and accent and those big brown eyes was overpowering enough when Savannah didn’t consider the fact this woman had just saved her life. Before long, the two of them had a bottle and two glasses in front of them. Enough to share. “I don’t think I’m ever going to forget it,” she said, taking her first sip. “And you may not be able to, considering I plan to spend the next several minutes asking you questions about it, starting with what the hell just happened, and what are you?” She didn’t have to be under the influence of alcohol to be so terribly direct. It came naturally.

Humans were interesting not for their own merits, but as pieces of nature. Deirdre enjoyed watching them mill about their lives not particularly because she cared about their lives, but because their lives were as interwoven into the fabric of Fate as any other creature. They dropped like flies, lived like rabbits, behaved like dogs. It wasn’t so much about getting to know Savannah as it was figuring out what flavor of human she was--fly, rabbit, dog? So far, dog. Deirdre poured her glass full, downing it with practiced ease and elegant determination. “Oh, I’m sure you do…” She smiled, rasping her words as she poured herself another glass. “But what makes you think you deserve answers, Savannah? You were the one poking around mushrooms in the woods, shouldn’t a girl know better?” She paused, having downed one glass of whiskey and now enjoying savoring her next. “What am I?” She turned her gaze to the humans--flies, rabbits, dogs. “You can call me a storm--a gale of wind, a dark cloud, the lightning that strikes a tree down.” She turned back to her company. “Or an attractive Irish woman. What are you?”

Savannah let loose a scoff of both amusement and irritation. “Wow, poetic.” Savannah didn’t know it yet, but fae were often terrible at giving direct answers, and for a woman as direct as Savannah, that was both unfathomable and frustrating, yet part of it challenged her too. She couldn’t deny she found it somewhat alluring. Like a puzzle that didn’t want to be solved. “Okay, dark cloud,” she played along. “You wanna try it again without the bullshit?” Savannah wanted to add that she hadn’t needed Deirdre to tell her about the attractive Irish woman part. She’d figured that much out on her own. But she wouldn’t give her ego the satisfaction. “I’m someone who’s no good at coming up with aloof and lofty descriptions. I’m someone who likes answers. That--” Person? Thing? Creature? “That woman knew you. She used your name. Then they called you--what was it? Flatback? I’ve seen people with wings like that before.” Well, one person, but Deirdre didn’t need to know that it had just been Regan. She had to attempt to have some bargaining chips in this conversation, because right now, if she was honest, she felt a little outmatched.

Yep. Definitely dog. “Oh, I wouldn’t call it bullshit…you’ll learn sooner or later that I’m not much of a person at all.” Deirdre had trouble hiding her grimace at the word ‘flatback’; it was one thing to hear it, another thing to have the human repeat it. She tipped back her glass and down another big gulp, holding it up to the light to inspect how much was left. She didn’t want to get too drunk, especially in a crowded place, banshee control and alcohol didn’t play well, but she also didn’t really want to be sober for this. “How have you seen people with wings before?” She questioned, “you could say me and that mushroom-loving gremlin are a community. A community that adores their secrets.” She flicked her gaze up at Savannah. Humans could be curious, sniffing around things they didn’t deserve to, but just because she knew what a wing smelled like, she wouldn’t really understand it. “As a person who likes answers, you should know not all come free. Not all come easy. And certainly, not all come cheap.” Deirdre leaned on the table, glass set down and head propped up in her hands. “I’m a person that enjoys a little incentive. The way I see it, I just saved your life. And now you want to ask me questions? Do you want to know what that person would have done to you?” Deirdre reached out, pressing her finger to the center of Savannah’s forehead. “First, she would have taken your mind.” Deirdre trailed her finger down to the tip of the human’s nose. “Then, your power.” And down, until she brushed the edge of her lips drawing her finger back. “And then your body. You would have been dead slow and tortured, and nameless. No one would ever find you, and you’d never get any answers.”

"Oh, would you prefer a more poetic word?" Savannah asked. The challenging nature of this stranger became even more evident as their conversation continued, but she checked her tone. She did have a terrible habit of being direct to the point of bluntness. "Because someone invited me to see them in the woods," she said simply, giving a small shrug and not going into further detail. "Secrets can be important for safety. I understand that." If word got out about the things she had seen while living in White Crest, there would be mass panic. There was a reason she never put any of this in her reports, beyond not wanting to look crazy. "One of your kind trusted me enough to show me something I assume is very intimate. There had to be a reason for that. I'm simply asking a question. I can't make you answer it." She refilled her glass, which she'd drained all too quickly. A chill ran down her spine at the description of what the other creature would have done to her. She shivered when Deirdre's finger touched her nose and lip. She'd done deals before. Immunity for information. Why should this be any different? "Why did you help me?"

“I appreciate poetry.” Deirdre hummed, her eyes remained on Savannah. She was right in saying one of her kind must have trusted this human enough to reveal her wings, but with fae like Regan, how much did that matter? Deirdre took another sip of her drink. What were the odds this human knew Regan though? Sure the town was small, but Regan was more or less a hermit. She couldn’t picture the ex-medical examiner talking to someone who didn’t work with her. But what fae would trust a human enough with their wings, and not their name? “I helped you because that’s what you’re supposed to do…” She eyed her glass, staring at the amber liquid for answers. “...at least, that’s what I was told.” She’d only really considered that Morgan would do this, and Morgan would appreciate this, and she knew being better meant doing these sorts of things. And that’s what she wanted, wasn’t it? To be better, to be good. But she didn’t like the idea that there was more thought out into it than that—never mind the guilty twist that erupted in her stomach at the thought of Savannah’s eventual demise. “Fae.” She said after a moment. “My kind of people. They’re called fae. You ought to know the name if you’re going to be sniffing around. And don’t call us fairies; we’re not. It’s fae.”

Because that's what you're supposed to do, Deirdre had said, and Savannah weighed the words heavily in her mind. That wasn't very reassuring. She'd have preferred to hear something like 'I couldn't stand to let anything awful happen to you', but she'd take what she could get. At least it was honest, Savannah supposed. She'd value that over lies any day of the week. "Well, I appreciate your help," Savannah said, no idea what the words might mean. "And I can tell you appreciate a good drink, so I hope we both got something out of this nightmarish day." She swallowed her drink again, the liquid pleasantly burning the back of her throat. "You don't like being called fairies?" she asked. "Is it like, a micro-aggression or something?" Deirdre's glass was running low too, so she refilled it for her. "You have no wings," she said, her voice soft, almost sympathetic. What was the point of being a fae without wings? Regan's were so breath-takingly beautiful.

“Don’t appreciate it, human,” Deirdre growled. “I don’t enjoy being thanked.” She shook her head, downing the last of what was in her glass. She could feel the fuzz starting to form around her mind, and was desperate for more. She poured herself another glass. “Not a micro-aggression, more like a major-aggression. Fairy is a human word, it’s a bastardization of what was once ours. Even fae is not something we ever called ourselves—at least, not where I’m from. But fairy has become so muddied by your human tales, fae suits us better.” Deirdre sighed, winching again at mention of her wingless back. “Why, Savannah,” she hid her pain with a sharp smile, “why don’t you buy a girl dinner before you go off commenting on her back?” She took another slow, long sip of her whiskey. “And I don’t like that pity in your voice. But I understand it; wings are beautiful, aren’t they? I wish I had a pair to show off.”

"The way you're talking, you don't enjoy or like very much." She was almost as bad as Kaden, Savannah thought. Even he'd been easier to have a conversation with. Her excitement for this conversation was quickly waning. Savannah really had nothing to add to this fairy/fae conversation. She couldn't say anything right to this woman. "It's not pity." But she didn't know what else to call it either. "Hey, I bought you drinks, didn’t I?” She snickered. “I'm learning things in this town that a year ago, I never would have considered believing. I've almost been killed by fae, flying monkeys, and a mermaid. I just wanted to round my shitty day off with drinks with an attractive Irish woman." She repeated Deirdre's earlier words with a small, flirtatious smile. "What do you want?"

“That’s not true. I enjoy death, bones, murder, my girlfriend, pushing humans down stairs—“ Deirdre waved her hand dismissively in the air. “We have to try that one, one day.” Though despite her jokes, it was true she didn’t enjoy much. She had her mother to thank for that, being a banshee was quite a drab thing. “What is it then? You’re sad I don’t have wings, is that not pity? It’s not like I’m angry at you for it. I agree. I’d be better with wings.” She sighed. Another sip, long and slow. She placed the glass back down in much the same way. “Flying monk—“ Nevermind, she didn’t want to know. “Mhm, mostly for you to keep calling me attractive. I might think about offering the same courtesy back to you.” Another sip. And another. “Or maybe I should get to ask you some questions, hm? Why should you get all the fun?”

Girlfriend. Well, harmless flirting was just that, wasn't it? Harmless. It wasn't like she'd expected anything to come from all this anyway. That'd be crazy. "You like murder?" Savannah asked, realising that was what most have stuck out to most normal people. "Human remains, animal? My ex-wife was a tattoo artist. Her studio had bones everywhere. Animal skulls, mostly." She'd always appreciated them, in a way. They were interesting to watch her ex draw from life, transform into tattoos. "I'm not /sad/ you don't have wings." She wasn't sure if that was a lie or not. Yeah. It probably was. "I just would have liked to see them, if you did." And touch them, she added, if only mentally. "I know I'm attractive," Savannah answered with a small shrug. "But you can still say it. And I never said you couldn't ask me questions. Please do."

Ex-wife. Deirdre processed this news with a tinge of sadness. Human relationships were strange to her, how did someone love someone once...and then not? How could that happen? How could anyone let that happen? She thought of Morgan and grew very fearful; humans liked divorce, didn’t they? Wasn’t her mother always calling them fickle? Deirdre took another long sip and shook her head. “Did she pass?” She asked, hoping for the sake of her own imagination that death was the breaking factor. “Yes, well, bones can be a work of art. And I do, by the way, enjoy a good murder. I think they’re fascinating.” Deirdre liked to play on the line between absurdity and plausibility—let someone else think she was joking or meant something else. She was a fae who could lie, but often found it more enjoyable to simply not. “Yeah, well, I would have liked to see them too. And anyway, it’s not like you can talk. You don’t have any either. You’re human and boring, you can’t even levitate a spoon, can you?” Could she? “Well the fae,” she said, “I want to know why a fae would show you their wings.”

Savannah supposed she'd set herself up for the personal question when she'd given Deirdre permission to ask her things, but the question itself took her aback. Strange, she thought, that this be her first assumption. "No. If she'd passed I'd have called her my late wife." Savannah chose not to elaborate, for almost no other reason than she felt she should at least try and give this fae somewhat of a challenge, not to simply be an open book. Holding back information could be so important in investigations. It could also be important in social situations. "Yes, murder and bones can both be fascinating," she agreed. "And yes, I'm also a boring human. Perhaps that's why I'm so interested in people like you." Another pause. Another drink. "You'd have to ask the fae. She mentioned she had them. I asked. She said yes. I don't assume to know her reasons. Maybe because I’m so attractive," she teased. “And trustworthy.”

Deirdre sighed. “Yes, of course you would.” Though it was often more thrilling to hear about the people who died than the ones who lived. Deirdre felt curiosity itch across her skin. “Can I ask you a personal question?” She leaned on to the table, eyes serious. “Divorce. How does that happen? How does someone let that happen? I don’t get it.” She leaned back. “My mother often called humans fickle—they couldn’t commit to something even if they wanted to. But I know that’s not true. Still, I wonder. Divorce; how does that happen? How can you make vows and then….not?” She took another sip; long, slow. She nodded as Savannah explained about the fae, laughed as she called herself attractive—it was true, of course, but it was good to know she had a sense of humour. “Maybe so. Maybe that fae knows something about you I don’t,” she smiled, “but I’d like to find out.”

Savannah was a little surprised by Deirdre’s question. After all, hadn’t all of this been personal? She refilled her drink. Soon, they’d need another bottle if they continued at this rate. This topic though, she definitely needed to drink before discussing. Savannah shrugged. She’d had enough to loosen her tongue. “I still love her. It’s not about not loving someone. At least for me.” It was probably good that she’d moved to a different state, because she’d lost track of the number of times she and Jamie had fallen into bed together after too many drinks. The commitment part, the expectations, that was what had needed to go. Not the love.

“Haven’t you changed during the course of your life?” Savannah asked. “What if your partner doesn’t change with you and you outgrow them? What if your goals and desires change, your feelings aren’t the same over time, you begin to make one another unhappy, or your partner does something horrible and you can’t forgive them? All these things happen. We never did anything awful to one another. We’re still friends. But I prioritized my work over my marriage. Too many missed dinners, late nights, weeks of travel without her. In the end it just hurt too much.” Even when she knew Deirdre was taken, it was tough not to be taken in by her flirting. “You can find out plenty about me, as long as your girlfriend is alright with that. I’m not planning to leave this town any time soon.” There was too much work to do here, and if she was honest, there was too much fascination.

“And what if you don’t want to let them go?” Deirdre’s voice grew soft, curious. Behind her eyes was a simple fear, a type of timid anxiety that asked ‘what about me’. Her devotion was a product of thousands of years, a history of banshees teaching their daughters that nothing was more important than loyalty. She served Fate, but she loved Morgan. And her heart twisted at the possibility of losing her; of growing apart, as simply as Savannah described it. “But distance doesn't matter, does it? Time apart...wouldn’t change much, would it?” She stared down into her glass; the alcohol was working, and it was making her sad. “You didn’t want to try harder? Change? Was your work really...more valuable than your marriage?” If Deirdre had any sense of what were appropriate things to say to a human, she might have apologized for her inquiries, but her earnesty was plain to see. “Huh?” She looked back up, pulled from her thoughts. “Why would my girlfriend have an issue with me learning more about you?” And now, her confusion was obvious. “Aren’t we just talking?”

"A relationship has to go two ways. If one person wants out, it's done. You can work on it. But you have to work together." Savannah's voice was low and her eyes remained on Deirdre's face, a quiet sadness in them. She'd text Jamie tonight, just to say hello, just to check in. "Of course I wanted to. It's just... it's complicated. Now you're making me sound like a shitty person," she chuckled humorlessly, almost a scoff. "I was a shitty wife. By the time we tried to fix it, it was already broken. People are complicated. Sometimes we need things our partner can't provide, sometimes we don't know what we need. If I ever get married again-" she doubted that was on the cards, but you never knew. "I'd do it differently." She sighed, waving away her words. "Never mind. I'm drunk, and I thought you were actually flirting with intent until the whole girlfriend thing. Now I don't know if I'm disappointed or relieved." Or both.

“But you’re making it sound so...hopeless. Like it couldn’t be helped; it just happened. You made mistakes but is it really so—Did she not—“ Whatever Deirdre wanted to say, she couldn’t get it out. Her fear boiled slowly deep down, where it questioned from the corner it cowered it. I just don’t want that to happen to me, she was saying, in more words than she had to. But Savannah’s words rang in her head; sometimes people needed things their partner couldn’t provide. Sometimes people didn’t know what they needed. Deirdre sighed. “Sorry. That’s just how I talk. But I can flirt with you some more and we can forget we just talked about your divorce for several minutes.” Deirdre raised her glass. “To not thinking about divorce!”

“It happened,” she shrugged. “Thinking about what I could have done or didn’t do to fix it, that won’t change anything now.” Savannah added some more to her glass, topping it up with diet soda. She chuckled as Deirdre offered to continue flirting with her. “Oh, that’s exactly what a middle-aged woman like me needs. Your pity flirting,” she teased, but touched her hand for a moment, hand for a moment before pulling it away. “Alright, well then, to not thinking about divorce, and to finishing what’s left of this bottle.”

#paras #with: deirdre

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talltales · 4 years

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pair: jaebeom / reader desc: 'i love you,' she thinks and it's just like old times words: 2.4k+ rated: 14+ genre: romance notice: attempts at fluff thanks: to christine, for helping me get this far gifted: to chloe. happy birthday baby!! this is all for you.

—YOU COULD BE HAPPY; I HOPE YOU ARE YOU MADE ME HAPPIER THAN I'D BEEN BY FAR

it takes no less than three lifetimes to get it right.

- one -

winter is a breath away. it descends on the last remnants of autumn with grace; the leaves fall away in the mornings, and the stars glimmer all that much brighter in the dusk. she longs for the sun, for the afternoons when it lingered long enough to cast the skies in brilliant tones of gold.

“your meal is prepared,” comes a muted voice from her side. the handmaiden stands outside the sliding doors, her hands clasped loosely at her front. it is an old, familiar posture; one she had to unlearn as the eras passed, from one rebirth to the next.

in her first, she’d been his servant. he lingers at the ends of her memory, nameless. but in all her lifetimes, she has never forgotten the warmth of his fingertips.

quietly, she rises to her feet and offers the girl a faint smile.

“thank you,” she murmurs as she passes, because she recalls the feeling of callouses on the tips of her fingers and the dizzying sensation of walking on eggshells, “you are dismissed.”

with her permission, the girl vanishes down the corridor.

and she turns to regard the opaque screen; steps close until the bottom is pressed to the tips of her toes. this era is all too similar to their first. a feudal one filled to the brim with dirt, tears and ruin. the lords squabble over land and the power that it promises. and despite occupying this delicate body for sixteen years, she is unaccustomed to living in their midst, not as a servant but as part of them; their flesh and blood.

respected. adored. and it means nothing, when he is still out of reach.

her pulse flitters about like a caged bird. she is aware of his presence in inexplicable ways—as if he is the gravity that keeps her bound to earth. maybe it’s the other way around, since she is the one that always remembers.

he is inside.

she opens her eyes—unaware that they had even fallen shut—and steps beyond the threshold. the table set before her is heavy with dishes and fragrant cups of tea. a waste, since she is eating alone.

with a sidelong look, she examines him. ever silent, he adjusts the sword tied to his hip and—if possible—straightens even more. the metals on his uniform glimmer in the candlelight and this, she thinks, is the closest he’s ever been to the man she met many lifetimes ago.

even as a common guard, he easily takes command of her attention.

“milady,” he greets her, a deep timbre that resonates with memory so fully that her breath catches. if there is anything that has not changed, it is the sound of his voice.

if he notices the faltering of her movements as she kneels before her table, he doesn’t comment. her nameless guard is a stoic man, self-assured and able. she feels his gaze fall upon her back; feels the afterglow of it on the curve of her neck.

“what is your name?” she inquires, keeping her eyes fixed on the spread before her. carefully, she picks up her utensils and takes her first bite. it is a delicious waste of effort and precious resources.

when she looks back, he is thoughtful—seemingly weighing the merit of answering. the twin moles perched over his eye shift with the furrowing of his brow.

“haejin,” he says, after a minute.

but that isn’t right.

though it should be something that she expected, when her name has changed more times than she cares to count.

“haejin,” she tests it out on her tongue, finding it unfamiliar but not entirely unpalatable, “thank you for sharing.”

he appears to be at a loss for words—either for the ease with which she speaks to him as an equal, or the way her eyes sparkle with humor.

“you’re welcome, milady,” he breathes out, lips quirking into the smallest of smiles. it is a first, for all the time that he’s trailed after her, as silent as her shadow, and just as close.

it takes weeks to draw forth a real smile and this, she concludes, is what trying to bleed a stone must feel like.

haejin-ah, she calls him when they’re alone, just to watch the flush of his cheeks in the cool sunlight. she takes pleasure in disarming him—peeling away the layers of consternation that make him seem much older than he really is.

it is startlingly easy to make him blush.

she makes him laugh, eventually. three months into their unconventional friendship, she tells an off-color joke and witnesses the gradual shift in him. his shoulders shake before the sound erupts from his lips—full of mirth, tinged with disbelief.

she thinks she could live the rest of her wasteful life with this man.

when he is sent to the front lines of her lord father’s campaign and dies in the dirt, haejin is given a perfunctory mention for his efforts. his body is buried in the countryside with no marker.

somehow, she manages the journey back to her chambers before she falls apart.

- two -

like lazarus, he rises again.

but this time—thankfully—he is no soldier.

he is a watchmaker. it is by coincidence that she stumbles into his orbit. but it is no accident when she enters his small shop, accompanied by the jingling of bells over her head. the telltale fluttering of her heartbeat confirms his identity before he turns from his small desk and gives her a welcoming smile.

the sign on the door tells her that his name is jaehyun.

“hello,” his glasses are perched low on his nose—tiny things made for his work. he raises a hand to take them off and sets them aside, before rolling his sleeves to his elbows, “what can i do for you today?”

there are the faintest hints of wrinkles at the corners of his eyes. it has taken longer than expected to find him, though it isn’t for lack of trying. he is as beautiful as he’d been at nineteen; her haejin had died young—

this iteration of him, her nameless lover, has lived a fuller life.

his wedding band clinks against the counter.

too late.

it’s hard to tell, he may be in his late thirties. maybe his forties. she’s twenty-two, and this, she thinks, is why she missed him this time.

“i have a pocket watch that i would like you to look at,” his hand turns palm up, ready to accept the broken thing. she pulls it from the pocket of her dress and sets it within his grasp. “it’s very important to me.”

he nods, “i’ll take care of it, miss—”

“just miss is fine.”

he is undeterred.

she busies herself with flipping through the paper folded in front of her, though her eyes register little more than the gleam of silver wrapped around his ring finger. for his part, he takes just a moment to examine the item—some old thing she’d picked up at a thrift shop—while humming a tune under his breath.

his melody matches that of the soft jazz emanating from the record player in the corner.

“good news,” he says, and his eyes crinkle at the edges as he grins, perhaps playfully, “i think i can save it.”

she longs to grow old with him, just once.

“how much will it cost?” running her fingertips along the edge of the paper, she maintains a steady focus on the man as he pauses, turning to consult a ledger sitting on his desk. he sings to himself while flipping to the first page, where several prices line the left side of the paper.

he turns back and runs a hand through his hair. his forearms flex with the movement.

she inhales deeply around the knot in her throat. those hands will not touch her, not in this lifetime.

“6,000 won,” he answers, and her disbelief must show clearly, because he laughs—and her world tilts sideways, because it has been too many lifetimes since she’s heard the sound.

silently, she laces her fingers together and prays for strength.

“that’s ridiculous,” through her lashes, she observes him; this joyful and familiar stranger tucked away in his little shop, unmoved as the world passes him by. he belongs in this time.

she does not.

“maybe, but i won’t charge you more,” he sobers, examining her with an intensity that makes her think—hope—that he recognizes her this time. that this time, he’s fallen into her orbit.

“why?” her curiosity prompts her to ask the soft-spoken question. all the while, she swallows her expectations before they swell. the edge of the counter presses into her stomach as she leans forward, “why would you do that for me?”

“because you seem sad, miss,” he says, and it is an effort to stifle her sigh. instead, she hums; manages enough of a smile to visibly set him at ease.

“well then, i have no choice but to accept.”

forty minutes later, she leaves him with a quiet thanks and a like-new pocket watch dangling from her fingertips. the chain clinks, the clock ticks, and she walks away from the humble shop on the corner without looking back.

her eyes close, without permission—

she dies a little inside.

- three -

time, it appears, is dragging him further away from her with each of his rebirths. their little piece of the world is now something bigger; interconnected in ways she’d never dreamed of.

but the internet, she muses, is no substitute for the magnetism of the physical world.

too often, they are separated by decades and continents—

and always, always by the spectre of death.

this time, however, he finds her. and this time, she chooses to keep close, but to leave him be.

her heart is weary, after so many lifetimes.

“is there any way that i can ask a favor of you?”

for a moment, she wonders if it is now—when she is holding onto the last vestiges of hope—that his soul at last recognizes hers. then he laughs, shuffling a hand through the hair at his nape.

quietly, she places the pile of folders she is holding onto her desk. he waits patiently for her full attention, watching her sort through ungraded tests and quizzes with all the enthusiasm of a dead man approaching the gallows. when she’s satisfied with the controlled chaos that is her workload, she turns to face him—leaning against the desk with her arms crossed loosely over her chest.

“what can i do for you, jaebeom?”

this time, his name feels right.

he starts at the question, appearing to snap out of his own thoughts—smiling a bit sheepishly, at that. ”ah, sorry. i was wondering if i could get your help on that astronomy exam coming up...” his gaze drops to the stack of manila folders behind her, “but i can understand if you don’t have the time.”

quietly, she regards him. he is the closest echo of his first soul that she’s ever seen. shy and kind, a little strange—if the stories about him having five cats are to be believed—but the focus in his eyes is haejin. the dexterity he utilizes to twirl his pen between his fingers is jaehyun.

he is whole, this time.

“i don’t mind,” her lips curve into a smile before she thinks about it, taking note of the way he releases the breath that he looks to have been holding, “relieved?”

and jaebeom blinks at her, face reddening faintly as he shuffles his bag further onto his shoulder, “yeah. i’m not sure i’d pass this class without your help.”

“what a flattering lie,” her hand lifts, brushing away the remnants of autumn leaves clinging to his jacket, “you’d be fine.”

his eyes follow the movement, before he reaches out to tug her wrist.

“and what better time than now?”

faintly, she wonders if it is at all appropriate to follow his lead—to let herself walk down the path that he’s laid at her feet. the click of her heels echoes down the hall as they emerge from her office—a closet that the teachers assistants get shoved into while doing the busywork of their superiors.

he glances over his shoulder at her, before turning and walking backward through the otherwise empty corridors, “would you mind if we grabbed something to eat? off campus.”

she resists the urge to smile.

cute.

humming, she feigns deep thought. her fingers dance across her chin as she observes him from the corner of her eye; perhaps unconsciously, jaebeom wrings the hem of his shirt with his free hand. it strikes her, how similarly her young lord had looked when he’d asked her to sneak away with him—

and their journey has come full circle.

“if you treat.” it’s a tease, but he nods just the same.

- last -

“sirius is actually a binary star, you know.”

of course she does, but she refrains from commenting—he is half-awake at this hour, face partially buried in his pillows. his mind is expelling the random facts he’s consumed in the past three months like material from a dying star, “yeah?”

“mmm,” he tilts his head, contemplating her with half-lidded eyes. she suspects he’s on his way to a deep slumber; though the sun shines brightly over his shoulder, warming the sheets pooled over their laps, “it’s the brightest star in the night sky, but there are actually two components.”

this time, she indulges him—reciting his notes with a soft smile.

“sirius a, the brighter star, and its white dwarf companion, sirius b.” quietly, she reaches up to run her fingers through his hair.

he leans into the touch, exhaling as his eyes fall shut, “right.”

it makes sense, that he would be the brighter half of their binary system—that it is her, chasing after him with quiet determination.

they slip into a comfortable silence, and she listens to the steady sound of his breath; feels it fanning lightly across her face. the sun is setting at his back, outlining his features in shades of muted gold.

what a beautiful boy, she thinks.

when his eyes open, hazy—his cheeks dusted in pink—she realizes that she’s spoken aloud.

jaebeom dips his head as his smile grows, pressing his face into the sheets in a poor effort to hide. she watches with equal parts humor and awe, love-struck by the glimpses of her old love in the crinkling of his nose.

“i’m not a boy,” he mumbles, and she hums; bites back her laughter.

“i know.” she touches his cheek lightly, pressing her forehead to his, “i know.”

i love you, she nearly says, but it isn’t time yet—

she comforts herself with the knowledge that now, they have all the time in the world.

#jaebeom fanfic #jaebeom au #got7 fanfic #got7 au #label: viii

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skelffricat · 3 years

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Good grief, Charlie Brown.

I’ve never owned an electric toothbrush. I’ve never had a dishwasher. I am the dishwasher. I like washing dishes. I never bought an iron. I don’t have a hairdryer. I find it strange that I get advertised these reusable alternatives for things that I never use anyway. Alternatives to cling film. I put another plate over the dish. Alternatives to cotton buds. I use my finger. (Ew, you may say, but surely a finger’s that size to fit in ears and nostrils? Or whatever orifice you please. Wash your hawnds.) Alternatives to cotton wool circles. What? I dont know why these thoughts have come into my head, when I want to write about my youngest child. Really, I’m meant to be working, but an annoying email from my dead daughter’s school sent me down a suicide rabbithole. Perhaps those other thoughts come about as my classic brain avoidance schemes. Like when you hoover instead of doing an essay. Positive procrastination, I used to call it. I wanted to visit some friends last night- a fun thing! but I was feeling all solitary and awkward. I cleaned the bathroom ceiling at first, instead! I had to really talk myself into going to see them. I was looking at my bed and it was saying, “Get into me! and read your book!”

Then I went, and I had a lovely time, of course. I still finished the book I was reading, when I got home at midnight, until three am, making myself ever so tired. I’ve stopped taking the tablets- beta blockers and mirtazapine (more by accident rather than design. They’re still up in the chemist waiting for me. I’m rather disorganised) and so sleep doesn’t come as readily. I have to take deep breaths for ages sometimes, to get over. And I awake in the night hearing things that aren’t there. I heard The Woodcarver calling me, one night, plain and loud as day. Another time, I heard my son knocking my door three times, sharply (or was it a burglar? I said that to someone and they laughed. Burglars don’t knock! Oh, hello there, wake up, I’m robbing you blind!) Bounced out of bed. Heart hammering. Called him. He was fast asleep. Was it her ghost? I don’t believe in ghosts, really. Kind of wish I did. She’d be a mischievous one, no doubt. Is it always 5:57am, when I awake? The same time. Time to find your dead child.

I’m often in the house alone, now. They didn’t want to leave me alone, and there were so many people in the house, for ages. Then all of a sudden, it stopped. And I changed lovers... I changed to the one I’d been in love with for over a year, the one who seemed too young, the one who wasn’t interested. Suddenly he was interested. Well. It wasn’t sudden. It took a few weeks. Seven weeks? The seven week itch? It coincided with when the Scottish lover asked me to stop letting other people come to the house. He wanted me to himself. Which is kind of fair enough, though I knew it wouldn’t last anyway. (People coming to my house, I mean, not the relationship. I really enjoyed having a relationship with him. He is very sweet, funny, intelligent, and kind. The sex was great. He can cook wonderful food and play guitar well. I liked to sing with him. I am ashamed to say I was bothered by his being smaller than me, though. His face tended to itch me, too- he never quite grew a beard long enough to stop that. As he kept shaving it off, not because he couldn’t. That was the first time he kind of annoyed me, though.)

Lockdown doesn’t help, of course. We were all breaking rules in our grief. Covid is cancelled, my mother said. Masks off. Hugs all round. A friend told me you need extra oxytocin when you’re grieving. I was getting plenty of it. Good grief...

Now I am frequently alone, and as my new lover is very busy studying (or perhaps less interested in me again now that he has my attention back? Though his reticence in getting with me stemmed from his concerns about the uneven nature of our interest in each other...) I haven’t seen him all week. I feel myself becoming depressed, and withdrawn, and paranoid, yet I still don't feel particularly sad about my daughter’s death. Which is strange. Isn’t it? Here is the email I received from her school this morning (it had her name and class at the top of the email):

“Good morning

I hope this email finds you all well.

A number of years ago I signed the college up to the campaign against period poverty. I receive and distribute sanitary products to girls, primarily on free school meals, but any who are in need of the products and either can’t afford them or it is difficult to get them. The products are normally distributed by myself, during P.E and games, unfortunately this can’t happen at present.

These products are still available during the school closure. If you wish to avail of them, please contact our school info account (which is only read by one member of office staff) your request will be directed to me and I will contact you directly regarding collection.

These are difficult times for many at present and to quote my favourite supermarket, ‘every little helps’.

Kind regards...”

I was really with her until she quoted Tesco. And said they were her favourite!! Ugh! I mean, it really is a great idea. Though they really should check if the people they are writing about are still capable of bleeding. My heart bleeds....

I replied thus:

“Hello there.

Great idea, but as (my youngest daughter) has died, she won't be needing them any more. I hate Tesco- they ruin many little businesses.

Maybe take me off this mailing list?”

Then I attached one of her seven suicide notes: the one for school. Which I had previously not shown them. I only found it on Christmas Eve. Can I attach it, here? It has no names...

There we are. Is it wrong of me to find her notes amusing? She is so angry, people say. I wonder how much of it is literal, and how much of it is using the school as a big nameless scapegoat. She was funny in the rest of them, too, and very loving. I found them comforting, like a fucked up Christmas present.

Then I started reading articles about suicide, and they were about how we shouldn’t call the people who do it selfish, about how depressed they are, how they need pity, not anger. I’m tired of the pity (though I’m not the suicidal one). I’m not producing enough sadness from myself when people pity me, either. Where is my sadness? Am I too acceptant of it all? We are all going to die. Is suicide like a C-section? Is it cheating death, like I thought my Caesareans cheated birth? Is suicide self euthanasia? Why do I not miss my daughter more? Is it because she had already left? Was she released, happy, free as a bird, swooping away on an Awfully Big Adventure? Trapezing her way into the æther? I googled to see if I could find any positive reactions to suicide. Is this my nature, to try and find the good in everything? To try and make light of the horrific? Is everything a joke to me?

I found this blog post, from Andreas Moser.

I love it. Am I trying to take the blame away from myself? The NHS? The school? Should I be reeling and railing against the systems that let my daughter get into that state? Why am I instead trying to find ways to applaud her behaviour, accept it, even enjoy it?! When I read his words, “I admire their courage (because logical as it may be, it’s not easy) and the determination to make the ultimate decision in life oneself.” I felt a strange sensation of relief, that someone else could think those things. I had been thinking them, but trying not to, because it seemed like such an awful thing to think. But then I think, why does anyone else have to be to blame? It was her decision.

The book I was rereading is called Life After Life, by Kate Atkinson. It’s my favourite book, I have decided, for now. Do favourites stay favourites? I was looking at my old Couchsurfing Profile today (because of Andreas’ blog- he, as a hippy hermit, is, of course, on Couchsurfing). One needs to update these every so often. Explain that you have watched another film in the last twenty years, that there is one less sofa in your living room, one less child on your earth. Even though no-one is allowed to move around, really. No visiting. No exploring. Perhaps she killed herself to escape the boredom.

In Life After Life, the main character, Ursula, lives again and again. (I forgot that to live again and again, she had to die again and again. It's a very sad and graphic book, spanning two wars- read it. It is, ultimately, uplifting.) I wanted to read it again to make my daughter live again, and again. We need to write her alive. Show her drawings and paintings. Listen to her songs (they're hilarious). Read her poems. Admire her photographs. Tell the stories of her antics.

I know that really she was actually depressed and withdrawn. I know it isn’t a glorious escape. That her wee head was broken, and that sometimes it’s just easier to say, it was unfixable, she was determined, this is what she wanted, than to contemplate it as my (or anyone else’s) failure to help her. I know that she used to be confident and gregarious. She would have danced in front of people, inspiring others. She was always upside-down, tumbling, twirling, cartwheeling. She had a dry, cheeky wit, and rather an amusing obsession with poo and wee. She was kind, and wise. She liked to bake vegan treats. She could draw, and paint, and sing so beautifully. She played the ukelele, but by then she was hiding away. She had started to write poems- songs? She wouldn’t show us them. We had to beg her to perform on the trapeze for her Granny’s eightieth, in July. She did so, beautifully, but you could tell she hated the attention. Four months later, she hanged herself on it.

Had we all withdrawn into ourselves, this 2020? Was there really nothing else to do? Yet I remember the start of Lockdown seeming idyllic. All that free time, all that sunshine. Was I just trying to convince myself, as usual? The only people we saw were the Woodcarver and the neighbours. She taught the wee boy next door to ride his unicycle. When she died, he brought in a picture he had drawn, of them on their unicycles, she as an angel above herself, a rainbow arcing over the three figures. His sadness affected me. I felt like I could only be sad through other people. Where is my sadness? Where is my grief? Good grief, bad grief, no grief? Alternatives to grief.

#teenagesuicide #goodgrief #badgrief

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oveliagirlhaditright · 4 years

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If all of your favorite shippings from different fandoms had a movie night together (yes, shippings, I think that's way more fun!), who would show up (there is no limit) and how would it play out?

Oh my gosh. This is a hard, but fun question. LOL. Though I’m worried the answer will end up more boring than you’re hoping for, but let’s hope not.

I’ll also probably only limit this to my top top ships, because I have way too many. Though there will still be a lot here! Also, let’s just assume that everyone will get along for some reason, even though some of them would have reason not to.

So, SoKai’s there (from Kingdom Hearts). Because of course they are. And while Sora and Kairi really are there to watch the movie--and cuddle, because they’ve earned it--Sora can’t help talking to everyone throughout and trying to get to know them, because he’s just a sociable person like that. And Kairi mostly joins in with that. But because of this, they probably have people telling them to shut up during it. Though RokuShi, Namiku, and probably NeShiki come to their defense.

Roxas and Xion (KH) are super into the movie, because they’re still kind of amazed at the existence of films in general. Since they were essentially babies in the Organization, who knew nothing about life. And while they know more now--like when Roxas had those false memories in the Virtual Twilight Town--they’re still amazed by the simple things.

Riku and Naminé (KH)... Naminé is drawing, of course. Probably things from the film. And Riku is by her side, just happy that she’s happy. But he (aside from Buffy) is probably the one person on edge, judging everyone because he doesn’t think some things are right about some of these people Lawlight.

Yes, Light and L (Death Note) are there... And they’re probably bored of the movie. It’s not clever enough for them. They’d much rather watch some murder investigation and try and figure it out--also, can I say what a miracle it is that L ventured out in the first place?--and this is when Riku begins to get uncomfortable and Buffy probably says something like, “Okay, if I hear one more thing about murder, some serious slayage is about to occur.”

So... Bangel (Buffy the Vampire Slayer). So, this is some happy-isa ending after Angel takes on Wolfram & Hart and doesn’t die. The curse is still a thing. But Buffy and Angel have decided to try and be together without it, since Buffy almost lost Angel. They’re happy to be together enjoying the movie, of course. And a lot of cuddling is happening. But not too much, because they can’t get too worked up. Because again: curse. Also, if they’re watching some crappy movie--which they probably are--Buffy pipes in every now and then to give the characters wittier lines than they actually had, and everyone actually appreciates her for that. Angel may also notice Naminé’s artwork, praise her for it, and begin drawing during the movie himself... He draws Buffy watching it, of course.

Jace and Clary from The Mortal Instruments. They’re doing more PDA than anyone... but still nothing too bad, that would anger most people. And Clary might have joined in on giving the characters better lines with Buffy. Buffy and Clary probably strike up a friendship. Jace is really the person annoying everyone during the film, because he can’t keep pointing out everyone’s stupid choices and the lack of logic... which is true, but come on my man.

Max and Logan from Dark Angel. So, bored with the movie--as I said above--L and Light begin trying to solve a case while everyone else is engrossed. Logan notices this and joins in as Eyes Only. He and L also become friends, when they realize how much they have in common... I want this to be a happy AU where Light isn’t Kira, or has been redeemed, but it’s probably not. And he’s now worrying that Logan could be a threat to him too, and probably plotting to kill him. Max somehow senses this and throws food at him, though she plays it subtle. Like, “Hey, stop making me waste good food to get you to stop glaring at my hubby.” Oh, and Max is making herself at home with all the food. Because our girl loves to eat, and to relax. She and L might get into a fight over the sweets, though. And our transgenic super-soldier girl would of course win.

Madoka and Homura from Madoka Magica. It’s probably at this point, that Homura also notices something is wrong with Light. And she wants to get Madoka away from this scene to protect her. Because of course she does. But Madoka turns her down. And for the most part, Homura will never do anything that Madoka doesn’t want her to do. Madoka probably is somewhere between bonding over drawing with Naminé and Angel, and asking if she can be friends with Buffy and Clary and try and say funny things, too. They agree, of course. So Homura is sandwiched between Madoka and all her new friends, and she really can’t complain about that at all.

Noctis and Luna from Final Fantasy XV are also snuggled together, and they write secret notes to each other during the whole thing. Because even though they’re now finally together in person, they’ve just sort of gotten used to communicating that way.

Zack and Aerith from Crisis Core are probably being disasters, who are trying to build a flower wagon while everyone else is watching a film. But, hey. That’s just them. Aerith also probably joins in on the ad-libbing the movie thing.

Meanwhile, Cloud and Tifa from Final Fantasy VII are really close to the screen--Cloud is in love with this movie--and Tifa is trying to help explain things to him. Why? Because On the Way to a Smile talks about how Cloud doesn’t even know some vegetables and fruits’ names, because he decided to try out for SOLDIER at a young age and then had his mind shattered because of Mako poisoning, trauma, etc. So... if they’re watching a movie about cooking or something, Cloud could seriously make a mistake like, “Oh, so they’re using sour cream for this baked good. I didn’t know you could do that. But I guess it makes sense.” Tifa - “No, Cloud. They’re using cream cheese.”

Neku and Shiki (The World Ends With You) are enjoying watching the movie close together. And Neku is quietly humming during a lot of the singing parts, which makes Shiki blush and her crush on Neku grow even stronger (he may even be singing to her). And no one cares, because Neku actually has a nice singing voice. During the film, Shiki might attempt to make clothes based on the main characters’ outfits, that everyone is then amazed by.

And maybe I’ll add Tidus and Yuna in from Final Fantasy X. Tidus is trying to convince Yuna to just have a good time with him and have fun watching the movie--and she wants to--but she also senses something is wrong. And is prepared to pull her pistols out to stop someone from doing someone heinous, or to perform a Sending if someone dies here... whichever comes first.

And what the heck, did I just write? LOL.

Some other pairings I love that weren’t featured here, because I didn’t know how to fit them in and this probably already has too many people: Zidane and Garnet from Final Fantasy IX, Percy and Annabeth from Percy Jackson, Will and Elizabeth from Pirates of the Caribbean, Raoul and Christine from Phantom of the Opera, Eren and Mikasa from Attack on Titan, Snow and Serah from Final Fantasy XIII, perhaps Clark and Lana from Smallville. And maybe even Yozora and Nameless Star from Verum Rex, even though them and Noctluna are cut from the same cloth, etc.:)

Thanks for such a fun ask!

#and I didn't proofread any of this crack because otherwise I might not have had the courage to post it #so sorry if there are any weird typos here or anything. or that I probably used the same words a million times #I maybe should have included terqua from kh...but tbh. I prefer sokai rokushi and namiku over them a lot. and I didn't want TOO much kh #also my feisty kairi probably warms up and snarks with the girls too #part of me wishes I had included joshyme. because I'm still stupidly attached to themfor some reason #but in a platonic way. but meh #in some au where death note and dark angel take place in the same universe l and eyes only would probably respect each other #though l might have a problem with eyes only being okay with criminals dying. though they try to avoid that at all costs #it's just that. like. if max is trying to be a subject in and they're being violent and would kill max if she didn't kill them first #both Logan and max would be okay with her killing the thug of course #and l probably would in self-defense too. but still #and max probably becomes close with her 'sisters' here too #buffy and max also bond over food #and sometimes I forget how much I love livi and nike from the world is still beautiful #if they were here nike would be eating all the food too #in another world Jon and Daenerys would have been on this list. if the show hadn't made me hate them #do better books #and with so many super-powered people here now I wonder who would win if they all decided to try and kill each other #Tenchi and ryoko and syaoran and sakura. and maybe even Edward and Bella should've been here too but oh well #oh. usagi and mamoru too

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lady-oceana9518 · 4 years

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Made some partially cleaned/colored practice sketches of my She-Ra OCs (and eventual romantic partners), Eosa (the Kitsune girl) and Cyrus (the clone)! The first drawing is of their first meeting; the second, some wholesome cuddle times with Eosa in her very fluffy Kitsune form; and in the third, Eosa’s being a cheeky vixen and making her alien bf blush💙

Some of you have met Eosa already! I posted a watercolor painting of her in her five-tailed fox form the other day and have debated putting her into the SPOP universe for months now; because, let’s be real, she’s basically a self-insert. But I decided, “fuck it, she’s magical, she would fit in well as an Etherian, and I’m gonna do what makes me happy.” So I did!! She lives deep within the Whispering Woods, somewhere between Bright Moon and Dryl. She prefers to keep to herself most of the time but has met the Princesses before, and she and Entrapta would get along well. She’s a biologist who studies the behavioral ecology of Etherian wildlife, so I could definitely see them getting together to discuss their research and learn more about fields of science with which they’re unfamiliar.

Cyrus has a fairly shy, reserved personality and deals with severe anxiety as a result of his experiences with Prime. His relationship with Eosa helps him process his emotions and improve his mental health, and she helps him come up with a name for himself. Meaning “of the Sun,” his name honors his extraterrestrial origins and warm, affectionate personality that he expresses around those he’s comfortable with. His electric-green eyes eventually turn indigo, the same color as Eosa’s hair in her humanoid form and the tips of her fur in her Kitsune form. Cyrus enjoys assisting Eosa in her biological surveys and especially loves aquatic ecosystems and organisms, so he decides to dye his hair (which he grows out, complete with an undercut) a light teal/sea foam color.

~~~

One clear evening, about a month after Prime’s defeat, Eosa was exploring the Whispering Woods and observing some of the bioluminescent creatures that lived in their deeper, darker reaches. She was in her Kitsune form, which she preferred while exploring the outdoors. Suddenly, she heard scuffling from within the undergrowth and turned around just in time to see a Horde clone fall face-first onto the forest floor. Eosa hadn’t seen many of these clones in person, and certainly not up close. Out of curiosity and, of course, concern for the poor creature, she approached. Slowly and cautiously, so as not to startle them. Prime’s newly-liberated clones were still becoming accustomed to life on Etheria and learning how to express their individual identities, so she expected this one to react defensively. Imagine her surprise when all she received was a shocked, bright green gaze, eyes widened almost fearfully and bat-like ears lowered in a shy, submissive manner. Eosa felt her own electric blue eyes widen in response. They stared, silently assessing one another, until Eosa decided to break the ice.

“Hello there, friend. My name is Eosa. Are you alright?” Eosa asked in a low, gentle tone.

“Ah, y-yes, I believe so...” the nameless clone responded, shakily getting to his feet. His uncertain gaze remained locked on Eosa all the while.

The Kitsune chuckled, smiling with her eyes as well as she could in this form. “Do not worry; I won’t hurt you. Are you lost? It’s easy to get turned around in the Whispering Woods, especially at night.”

The clone nodded, hesitant to admit his vulnerable position, while nervously biting his lip and crossing his arms over his chest. Upon closer examination, Eosa noticed his slightly torn, stained clothing. His frame, though muscular as most clones were, looked a bit too thin. She wondered how long he had been wandering alone like this, and how long it had been since he had last eaten.

“Tell me, do you have a place to stay? Would you like something to eat?” Eosa asked gently.

Glancing away nervously, the clone shook his head in response to Eosa’s first question, then, very slowly, nodded after her second question. As much as he didn’t want to admit such weakness, he didn’t know what was edible and what wasn’t on this strange planet, and wasn’t sure how much longer he would last without food and clean water.

Eosa smiled kindly and stepped closer to him. “My home isn’t too far from here. It’s warm, safe, and I have plenty of food and water to spare. You’re welcome to stay with me for as long as you’d like.” With that said, she began to wrap one of her five long tails around his shoulders to support him while they walked. She hesitated at first, unsure if the touch would be welcome, until he slowly but surely relaxed into it.

The unusual pair walked onward, side by side, as fireflies danced around them and bioluminescent plants glowed underfoot. Little did either of them know how suddenly and wonderfully they would change one another’s lives from then on out.

#she-ra oc #spop oc #my ocs #horde clones #kitsune #eosa the kitsune #cyrus the clone #traditional art #traditional artist #colored pencil #illustration pens #sketchbook #spop #spop fanart #spop fanfic

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blankdblank · 4 years

Text

Ridikulus Pt 9

Barely half an hour was all it took with Molly’s help to guide it along as you kept the families distracted allowing them room to breathe and into the room crying the blonde haired baby girl with hazel eyes taking after her father’s. Victoire Belle Weasley was passed around while Fleur was given the proper potions to return to her former slender figure allowing her to stand and hurry to your side saying excitedly, “Now our daughters can grow up practically like sisters.” Stirring a grin onto your face accepting her tight hug before she made certain you were next to hold her as she said, “You would be godmother, won’t you? Oh please do?”

In a giggle you nodded saying, “If you like.”

She nodded and bounced on her feet, “I would, I insist!” making you giggle again as she said in English, “Now my girl will have the best godmother and two amazing aunties to help me mold her.” Stirring grins onto Ginny and Gabrielle’s faces.

Around you the flocking visitors ooh’ed and aww’ed over the little girl you then passed to her grandmother and you said, “Now, you need to eat so she can eat later.”

Back to the dining hall while the Dwarves stood accepting their chances in admiring Vici and congratulating her alongside the Elf Lords. At your side Vivienne eyed the guests you named starting with the Dwarves before she looked a bit more interested in the Elves. Who Ollivier was already looking over between glances at Em he had claimed drawing their eyes in return in his color changing hair trick his sons around him followed. All to give Em practice on her colors between stolen pecks and hugs for the excited girl answering where you had gotten most of your looks and shifting skills from on top of your full appeal.

The Elves all nodded their heads to their names being called and upon the titles being named they all bowed their heads and curtsied appropriately Vivienne eased to your side snaking her arm around your back and you forced a grin onto your face knowing what was coming. “It is on these occasions it makes me wonder when I would get to see our precious great granddaughter carrying another child.” In a glance at you she brushed the curls from your face behind your ear, “The perfect age for breeding,” the word made the Elves’ brows give a subtle twitch along with how clearly uncomfortable you were, “Now just to find a husband, one daughter already, plenty promising for a son to follow suit.”

In natural fashion Luna stated in a flowing tone asking, “Jaqi, wasn’t there a planned stop for you in the King’s home?”

In that a gentle nudge after a round of parting hugs and pecks on the cheek were issued to you and you were ushered to a few steps in front of the King who took your shifting gaze as a sign to bid your family farewell, all those visiting whom bowed deeply in your leaving with them. Silently you walked to the front door where you pulled on your boots and led the group outside and let out a sharp breath and Glorfindel asked lowly, “Please tell me they were joking.”

In a glance up at him you said after another quick exhale, “They have certain, expectations.”

Elrond, “Yes your father mentioned that.”

“Well, they’re, it’s hard to explain. They’re French, if you didn’t notice their accents differ from ours. They’re from France, a different country, whole other set of culture rules, and I am sorry you were being propositioned,”

Thranduil parroted back in a tone seeming more offended than confused at the notion of their possibly offering an engagement right then and there, “Propositioned?”

“It, they’re not greedy, they are a bit vain on occasion but that is just how they were brought up to be. They’re proud of their bloodlines and status in their home country, and to be honest, even the highest ranked families a girl in their line snagging a Noble with an actual title is nothing to scoff at.”

Thranduil, “You are a Queen.”

You sighed, “Of sorts, but not the sort most people would brag about.”

Arwen, “Still the title-,”

Her voice trailed off and you clarified, “The Death Eaters are murderers, torturers, kidnappers and worse. I didn’t run a country I told murderers who to kill, what lands to attack, at best I was more of a General in an army than a Queen. All of the blood but none of the frills.”

Elrond, “A Queen of our old lands would do the same. None of us I assure you would consider you any less no matter who you kept in line.”

Facing forward again you listened as Arwen asked, “Breeding age? That is how women are offered to their Ones?”

“When it comes to nobility it all comes down to continuing the family name and bloodline, namely sons. Kings more so.”

Elrond, “King Thranduil has an heir, if that would be an issue ever.”

“Yes, but in our world it is best to have an heir and at least one spare.”

Thranduil, “Surely-,”

“Women up until a couple generations back were considered little use except for marrying up or laterally to retain or gain status. If unable to bear children they would be cast aside and marriages were severed so the man could wed again with her named barren.”

Elrond, “That is absurd!”

You shrugged, “It is our past. Now we have freedoms but still, as I said, marrying up would not be a terrible thing. I am sorry, again for you’re being put on the spot like that. Please don’t hold it against them. They just want the best for me.”

Glorfindel looked you over, “How could you be so calm-?”

Turning your head you caught his eye showing the pain in yours parting his lips, “My grandfather Morfin and his family took their daughter Suzsienne,” parting their lips again. “Either by force or by enamorment from her trip to our country, a way her parents hoped would help to lure her back in a term of studies in art courses back to the family profession of performing away from her wish to start a shop of her own. She died giving birth to my Mum, nameless buried as Morfin’s Wife, no more. They spent decades searching for her and I helped them find her. I look like her, I’m talented like them. It all comes down to pain, they lost their girl when she was younger than I am now, never got to meet my Mum. So they sort of forget sometimes I’m not their daughter. Dad would never allow them to force me into anything as concrete as marriage. Just wants me to be happy.”

Legolas said knowing it would irritate his father, “Even if you would miss a chance to be betrothed to a King?”

In a giggle you replied through the clench of Thranduil’s jaw you had missed, “Titles are often more dangerous than treasure hoards. He loves Mum, anything less than my incandescent bliss is downright absurd grounds to propose at all.”

Arwen, “That is a lovely way to word it.”

You giggled again, “It’s how my Mum did, in her journals when she was at school carrying me and they were going to elope no matter what her family said, or his, she was assumed muggle born at the time.”

Thranduil, “Ah, she would have been found unworthy a match.”

“But Gran came round before she passed.”

Legolas, “Did she? That is admirable.”

You giggled again, “I was too adorable and had too much of the Black resolve to be disowned. Even as a child. And a promise the male line would not die out. My aunts Andromeda and Narcissa had children, the former disowned for her choice, Narcissa married Lucius from another Sacred 28 clan the Malfoys and obviously had Draco. At the time Bellatrix didn’t have any children, got locked up too early after her wedding.”

Lindir broke his silence asking, “Your uncle, Regulus, did not marry?”

With a grin you shook your head in a glance at him, “No, he was barely in his late teens when I came around and he spent most of his time helping to act like Remus’ boyfriend while me Harry and Neville grew up under fake names as Remus’ children to draw the eye of anyone more than a fling. Plus he traveled most of the year either way for anyone to be pleased waiting for his return.”

Arwen, “No pressure to carry on traditions?”

“I never met Grandfather, he had passed before I was born, only met Gran and she was gone when he was quite young. And the war was going on, not good footing for baby making.”

Glorfindel, “These discussions do not make you uncomfortable?”

Glancing up at him again you shook your head, “No, my life has always been an open book for the most part. Does it bother you?”

Shaking his head he replied, “No, not in the least.” Keeping eye contact for the few moments until you faced forward again.

In their move to the hall when they had finished eating and passed on good wishes to Fleur and Bill the Dwarves left with Fili keeping hold of Hermione’s hand to pull her with them. Allowing, once out of earshot for Thorin to look to her making her say, “They’re her great grandparents, to be quite, blunt, back home to nab a King or Lord is a good thing for a family’s reputation. There’s no shortage of families believing their daughters would be a great prize for a King.”

In that Thorin calmed, “Surely, they could see that Jaqi was uncomfortable.”

Hermione’s head tilted slightly, “They are very traditional, surely they intend to aim for what is best for her. Only, they realize that they can only offer guidance for what they might choose for her, as even us teens would have bigger sway over what she chooses along with her Dad and Regulus. Narcissa and Lucius haven’t been close long but even they would never force her into an unhappy union. Narcissa married well but she did it for love. Sirius would never allow any less, not after losing her Mum.”

Bilbo, “That is comforting.” He said settling more against Thorin’s side under his arm.

In a quick wetting of her lips she asked, “I wonder, could I ask you a question, Thorin?”

With a nod he replied, “Absolutely. Would you prefer alone?”

She shook her head, “No, merely, you have known, in the least, King Thranduil,” he gave a quick nod urging her to continue, “Even distantly, and I was wondering, he seems, him and Lord Glorfindel, rather intent on Jaqi. Her opinion, her company, you know him, she is, by their behavior being held up as a Queen, so is that Elven habit for Royalty, or, something more? She’s had a rather rough start romantically, if it’s merely curiosity or some sort of befriending out of a thought of debt-?”

Thorin inhaled curtly and cut her off, “No, truly, I do not understand exactly what Elven tradition for courtship might be, however King Thranduil as you have stated before and the Lord were frequently in Jaqi’s dreams. And knowing that it would not be impossible to conclude she is their One.”

Hermione, “The both of them?! Is that normal?”

Oin grinned saying, “My Love was gifted two Ones,”

Balin, “Our Amad as well. Quite common among Dwarves in fact.”

Hermione looked to Fili who quickly said, “Only the Dams do,” giving her hand a gentle squeeze, “You have not had dreams of another?”

Hermione shook her head, “No.” Then looked to Thorin again, “Thank you. I do apologize if it seems-,”

Dwalin spoke shaking his head, “Not at all. You are merely defending your sister, we all understand that. Elves are strange to say the least. No matter how rough they might travel round the bend to get to the point we trust neither would dare insult the Lass’ reputation or harm her feelings.”

Hermione shifted on her feet, “Well, I should let you get going. Another meeting of the Wizengamot over the new laws, fun.” Making the Dwarves smirk in her shift to plant a quick peck on Fili’s cheek and release her hand to step away.

Thorin cleared his throat at an elbow bump from Dwalin, “Miss Granger, I wonder,” she paused and turned to face him with brows curiously raised, “As a member of the new council for your kin we were hoping a fuller list of requirements for those wishing to adopt, from your, orphans.” The final word biting at him and those around him.

Hermione glanced to Dwalin, “Is this about Lulu?” Dwalin gave a quick hopeful nod, “Oh if that is the case you don’t need to worry. We’ve already drafted the papers for you to foster her.”

Dwalin softly repeated, “Foster..”

Hermione, “Please don’t take the term to heart, but we’ve adjusted the process, the system would take six months of fostering and then adoption papers could be drafted. We have agreed all of us you are a more than suitable parent, and have backdated it to when you first took her care. It is merely a term there is no risk of her being taken from you.” Stirring a misty eyed grin onto his face, “It is merely paperwork, though if more Dwarves wished to act as foster parents then we would have interviews for them, of course it would be a matter of, bonding for the children. We wouldn’t force them into uncomfortable situations. The Elves also have asked of the process, mainly for the babies, but there are a great deal of older children left over..”

Balin, “Well that wouldn’t matter, any bairn is a blessing. I am certain were the Elves to claim all the babes our kin would wholly welcome their elders.”

Thorin, “I was wondering, Jaqi, is not included in your meetings.”

Hermione shook her head, “No, she turned down a spot on it, sure like Dumbledore she’s granted honorary status, as sort of tie breaker votes, thought she felt it best she enforce the laws, not write them. Did not want anyone to say that we could be swayed by her, not that she wouldn’t sway us to reason, I think she’s merely tired of all the nonsense the Ministry put her through. Might change her mind later.”

Thorin lowly asked, “So she would hold no sway in housing the orphans?”

Hermione, “She was written as their godmother, all of them,” parting their lips, “We documented all of it, all their parents brought their papers and files and family albums and even for a few shrunken family homes and property including memories of their families. Lulu included. She might not have say over the laws pertaining to adoption but she has final say in relinquishing custody.” She looked to Dwalin, “Part of how we’ve agreed to settle on approving the future adoption. Even without being part of our council she will always hold a huge weight on how this generation shapes itself to be. To right it, all of it, don’t be afraid she’s out of the loop, but it’s best to have a neutral council and a neutral Minister to enforce them.” After a quick pause she added, “I will let you back to your plans.”

Thorin, “We might be inviting our kin by the end of the week, a celebratory dinner would be called for.”

Hermione giggled softly, “Sounds like fun.” Turning to stroll off while Balin leaned in to give Dwalin a subtle half hug stroking his back in his wiping his cheek at a long withheld tear at the confirmation that Lulu was going to legally be his soon.”

Balin, “Roughly five months brother, if that, and surely we could add her to our records even before the contracts are drawn up. Surely they would not separate you when she has done all to accommodate your link to Lulu.” Another pat later and he said, “Let us go and work more on her nursery, hmm?” Dwalin nodded and Thorin glanced to Fili patting his back to guide him along to fixing up his own apartment Fili and Kili would be sharing until Hermione and him would reach the dwelling portion of their courtship through which Kili would be acting as their chaperone until their final months before marriage.

Back to your loaned apartment you were left with Arwen. Who helped you to change into the simple bound top similar to a halter top. She paused in eyeing the tattoos across your back and sides added to the duckling on your arm making her say in helping you into a pair of thick bikini bottoms coated in thick overlapping ruffles you assumed to be for modesty, “Your marking of the duckling, it is quite beautiful, for a tribe of murderers.”

With a giggle you replied, “I changed the mark to a duckling after arriving here. I wanted us to change what we stood for. Sever ties from Riddle.”

“What was it before?” Curious of what symbol could be tied to the Dark Wizards.

“A snake slithering out of a skull.”

“Ah. I prefer your choice.” Making you chuckle to yourself under your breath.

Over your shoulders she helped you to add the robe and her eyes hovered over the scar on your belly making you glance down and say, “From my surrogacy.” Her eyes met yours and you smirked saying, “It’s complicated. I was pregnant, in a way.”

“One day I hope to be in your circle of trust to learn the tale.”

In a giggle you replied as she secured the tie on the robe, “I doubt I could explain it for you to appreciate my choice without teaching you about a few of our more rare creatures.”

“I would enjoy learning about your world immensely.” She said turning to guide you to the door.

Peering up at her you asked, “Are all Elves over six feet tall?”

Widely grinning at you she answered, “Elves and most races of Men, yes. I am a bit short due to Ada being half mortal.”

“I must be considered travel sized then.” Making her chuckle again guiding you out into the hall to the shared public bathhouse where you paused asking, “They won’t use anything lavender, will they?”

“Lavendar?”

You nodded, “I start to sneeze and swell up. Back home a friend sent me a lavender lotion, I puffed up like a raspberry and my throat nearly swelled shut before Remus got the right potion for me. I have a weekly supplement for protection for passing by it but to have to soak in it or rubbed on me it won’t work.”

“Ah, I will speak with the healers, the bath is first, no lavender involved. As I am aware normally petals are used in some oils for the sleep treatments.” Through the door you spied the Lords in the bath you passed flashing you quick grins before she left you to the watch of a Healer who helped you out of your robe and joined you into the tub in her silk slip where she led you to the bench in the middle.

The odd herbs were being added by a servant while the Healer moved behind you with a bowl in hand she filled then carefully began to pour the mixture across your shoulders. Across the room behind another set of screens Arwen hushedly informed the Healers in charge of the later forms of treatments of your reaction to lavender making their mouths drop open before they hurried to gather all the lavender they had shoved in a bag they sent away with another servant. Through the screen in Elvish Elrond clarified what he had heard and Thranduil began to mentally trace where all the lavender was in his kingdom to prevent you any harm.

Back to the side of the tub Arwen went in time to see the Healer saying something in Elvish making you look at Arwen in her translating, “She is wishing for you to tilt your head back.”

Timidly you did and closed your eyes for the Elleth to pour more across your face, from that your head straightened again at Arwen’s warning then you were asked to stand and join the Healer out to the next section over where the Elf Lords had taken the larger tables and had begun to lay down. The elders watched your frozen stance staring at the table the Healer had led you to making their and her lips part seeing your hair ripple to pitch black and your eyes clamping shut as you forced yourself forward to the table you climbed up onto to lay face down.

Behind you in Arwen’s stepping away Thranduil stated with a towel draped across his chest stating, “This is Iris, one of our healers, she is here to help relax you.”

Beside the table you eyed the vials and she spoke up to clarify she could speak your language, “We have removed all oils including lavender.”

Wetting your lips you laid your arms flat by your sides in her easing a towel over your hips causing you to draw in a deep breath. Looking you over her eyes focused on the tensing of your shoulders, “Thank you.” The flinch in her move to undo the tie across your back parted the lips of the men watching your clear trouble simply laying on the table. In a tear easing out across the bridge of your nose almost making them take you out of the room they heard you mumble, “Sorry.” Your eyes opened and landed on the concerned bunch and you clarified, “Last time I was on a table it wasn’t pleasant. Just a bad memory.”

Another exhale later their concern for your comfort eased in Iris’ smoothing oils over her palms that lowered to your back timidly. Glancing at the men again you heard Thranduil stating, “Hopefully that memory will ease with continued sessions.”

You raised a brow while Iris stole a glance at the moving tattoo on your arm and the dog on the base of your neck sitting still with the stars giving a slight shimmer over a few small scattered tattoos around your sides and back. “I’m fine.”

Their brows rose again and you sighed relaxing into the table some more trying to ignore the chilling effect from one oil to the warming effect of another. Relaxed at your ease Iris’ grin eased back, still releasing deep breaths at the pain she still felt swirling inside you even with your mental wall locked up to keep the painful memories to yourself. Each press and swish of oil coated brush stroke lulled you farther from the irritations of the morning while a slightly dazed expression slid onto Iris’ face at the faint shimmer your skin was giving off that was beginning to draw the eye of others.

Turning over when your top was secured again a second towel was added over your chest and a the now trio of Healers moved in to work on you from head to toe massaging and coating you in herbs, creams and oils. The one at your feet paying special care for your heavily bruised toes and heels that had them wondering how you had been walking at all with injuries like that.

The bruises easily faded calming the now reclined Lords being coated in soaked leaves you were then coated in. Three more treatments came before the final rinse came and then you were changed again and in good need of a nap the Lords gladly sent you back to your gifted apartment to nap at their insistence to let you rest away from your plotting family. Though while you rested the same question of their being propositioned, in your terms for betrothal to you had them stunned to near silence wondering if the union could truly have been settled so rapidly and possibly met with such welcome from your extended kin.

@himoverflowers, @theincaprincess, @aspiringtranslator, @sweeticedtea, @ggbbhehe4455, @thegreyberet, @patanghill17, @jesgisborne, @curvestrology, @alishlieb, @jogregor, @armitageadoration, @fizzyxcustard, @here2have-fun, @lilith15000, @marvels-ghost, @catthefearless, @imjusthereforthereads, @c-s-stars, @otakumultimuse-hiddlewhore

@long-cosmos-overhead, @partoftheminfamily, @alishlieb

Pt 10

#HP Crossover #Glorfindel x Reader OC

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8stepsoffthebeatenpath · 5 years

Text

Extraordinary You Thoughts Ep 1-8 feat. Differences From the Webtoon

Okay, so first things first... I AM LOVING THIS SHOW SO FREAKING MUCH! I love absolutely everything about it! The characters are amazing, Dan Oh is so much fun, I can’t get enough of her. Haru is so beautiful and cute and ahhh. Kyung is such a jerk but he wears it so well??? Plus, knowing he really doesn’t have much choice in the matter helps. Ju Da and Nam Ju’s story is actually so much fun BECAUSE they’re in a Boys Over Flowers remake but our mains are aware of how dumb it is so it’s actually very enjoyable!

I am actually looking forward to watching this one every week, it’s given me my much-needed drama obsession for the next couple of months or so.

It’s VERY different from the webtoon, but I think it kind of works (for me) because of that? Like, I keep looking forward to figuring out what those changes mean. I am excited to see where they lead! But I do want to talk about them for a sec.

A short disclaimer: when I talk about the “comic” I am actually talking about “Secrets” - the original comic from which Dan Oh comes and lives inside. It’s a romance comic that has its own plot and all the characters of the webtoon are part of it.

When I talk about the webtoon, I am talking about the actual webtoon that you can read, in which Dan Oh is a self-aware comic character trying to change her fate as an extra.

SPOILERS FOR THE WEBTOON!!

The Set-Up

In the Drama they went for a more “Boys Over Flowers”-esque type of story, with three hot friends who are the highlight of their rich kids' high school, and the one poor girl who transferred in and has the guts to stand up to the leader of them. It has scenes like girls ganging up on her to bully her, the leader saying “don’t touch what’s mine” and being all contrary, the special F4 A3 club room/space that makes you wonder about this school funding and if this is really where it should be going and more familiar hits.

And you know what? I totally get it! It’s a cognetive shortcut. We don’t need anyone to explain to us what’s going on in the Comic Plot because we’ve all been there and done that before, allowing the drama to focus on Dan Oh and her reactions to everything around her. Plus, it allows for some very fun commentary from Dan Oh that proves dramas have come a long way and now recognize how exceptionally dumb and cringy much of what we see in them is.

I do wonder if they are going to incorporate their original backstories somehow, the same as they are doing with Baek Kyung, because the comic is still named Secrets, and that was a very big part of why.

Basically, In the Webtoon, you still have three hot friends, but they don’t have their own special area and all of those things. Many of the BOF scenes are not part of this setup. Instead, Ju Da, the main character of the Comic “Secrets” is actually a childhood friend of the comic’s second male lead, Do Hwa. As a child, she went through a horrific experience, which Do Hwa is aware of. She has PTSD and selective amnesia, which means she gets panic attacks from loud sounds and glass shards but has never actually dealt with her trauma because she can’t remember it. She transferred to their school with Nam Joo’s help after her grandmother’s death and has a contract with him that has to do with his secret. They also share a childhood connection. Their relationship is different and more complex than what it is in the drama (so far). Therefore, their interactions are of a different nature than they are in the drama.

Part of what is so great about the webtoon is that it deals with really difficult subjects. The drama so far looks so fluffy and fun in comparison, that I can’t help but wonder how these elements would be incorporated, if at all.

Dan Oh & her Family Life

Webtoon Dan Oh is a much more reserved character than Drama Dan Oh. She is not innocent sweet in her “comic version”, and she is not energetic say-what-comes-to-her-mind in her self aware version, either. She is cool, both in a “she’s so cool!” meaning and “wow, she doesn’t show many emotions” type of way.

Her parents care mostly about money, and actually, don’t pay her much attention. They use her about the same way Baek Kyung’s asshole dad uses him. They are both alive and in the picture, too.

And, most importantly, she is terminally ill from the get-go and she finds that out in her “character concept” from the comic. So, her actions are in part directed by the unfairness of knowing that the author probably doesn’t even mean for her to survive until the end of the comic. Her story is full of emotions, heartbreak, and hope, and it’s really touching. But she does it all more subtly and quietly than Drama Dan Oh.

Webtoon Dan Oh is also very much an extra. At least as far as the main comic story is concerned. Yes, she obviously has her scenes with Baek Kyung that give her some more story and relevancy, but in most of the scenes she appears in with regards to Ju Da and Num Joo’s story, she is a one-liner character if at all. She often wonders why the author brought her all the way to the scene just for this.

Drama Dan Oh is very different, and, look, I ain’t complaining. Drama Dan Oh is all I said Webtoon Dan Oh is not, and that makes sense. In a Webtoon, we have free access to the character's thoughts. Even if she is not as expressive, we know her true thoughts and feelings and so we don’t need that extra energy. A drama doesn’t have that luxury--if we spent all the drama just hearing her thoughts without her really emoting, I don’t think we’d be all that interested. And Drama Dan Oh is so much fun. She is what makes it breezy and funny and refreshing. But that also means her story, so far, is not as poignant and painful. That’s not to say we won’t get there--but for now, it’s lighter and more fun.

As for her family, Drama Dan Oh has a father who would die for her and a loving mother who has already passed away. I kind of feel like thanking the script-writer of the drama for giving Dan Oh something. In the Webtoon, it felt very unfair that the comic writer thought to saddle her not only with a terminal illness and a jerk of a fiance who hates her but also with a greedy, money-hungry family. C’mon, give a girl a break!

Drama Dan Oh is not really an extra, is she? I mean, in the drama, she feels much more like a side character, especially as they made her the “love bridge”, as she calls it, between Ju Da and Nam Joo. It means that she actually appears in many scenes related to Nam Joo and Ju Da. I get that because you do want to give your main character more screen time, but at the same time, it’s a bit weird that she’s considered an extra in this world?

Haru

boy do I have things to say about this one. Because they gave him so much to do in this? Not that I mind, of course. Haru is beautiful and I am here for him to grace my screen for as long as he possibly can, but it does make me wonder where they are going with it.

In The Webtoon, Haru’s role within Secret really is a nameless extra. He has nothing specific to do, no role in Secret’s story whatsoever. He barely appears on stage and when he does it’s background. His relationship with Dan Oh is so bittersweet because it is filled with waiting and lounging--waiting for scenes in which they both exist, so they can sneak off and be together while the script is running around them. They communicate any way they can, looking forward to the quiet moments they can spend together, alone, away from the cold hand of the author. He only becomes active when it becomes dangerous for Dan Oh, and even then, he needs the help of a main character, Baek Kyung, to be able to do something.

The drama is taking a different approach, which actually makes me wonder if the Drama is combining Haru with Dried Squid Fairy from the webtoon, what with the questions about flowers and secret places he shouldn’t know about, the cautious way he approaches Dan Oh, and the allusion to historical places.

Drama Haru actually has a talent that differentiates him--he can draw, and really really well. He appears to have been self-aware long before Dan Oh, which doesn’t necessarily contradict the webtoon, but the fact he appears to have been following her--from afar--for quite a while, is. And why?

the biggest, most groundbreaking difference... Drama Haru actually appears on stage! With Dan Oh! And Baek Kyung! He is literally becoming a part of Dan Oh’s comic book plot. That... that doesn’t happen in the webtoon! For Baek Kyung to get angry at Haru and Dan Oh for having fun together, and for other people to remember it, is actually extraordinary when you look at it in the context of the webtoon. It means that in this version, things really are changing, and changing drastically. Is Haru actually going to be a love rival for Baek Kyung, not just in the Shadows, but on Stage as well?

While I don’t mind that idea at all, it changes everything. Like, for real. It changes the idea of fighting your destiny and carving your own, against impossible challenges. It changes the tone and nature of his and Dan Oh’s relationship. It changes the type of heartbreaking scenes we can expect.

Much excitement, very confuse!

Portals

in the drama, they exist.

Okay, fine, I’ll write a couple more sentences about them, yeesh.

Okay, so, what does this mean? Do these portals indicate people can maybe LEAVE this comic book world? If you do, do you go to another comic, or might you actually come out in the Real World? What do these imply, and what can we do with them? I am excited to find out!

Dried Squid Fairy

possibly the dumbest character name to ever appear in a drama, but what can you do.

A little bummed he doesn’t have a bunny companion like in the webtoon, but it’s not like that bunny made sense in the webtoon context, either, so I’m not surprised.

A little bummed he doesn’t have long blond hair, because it was so funny when he pointed out how that hair made NO SENSE for a cafeteria worker.

I feel like his backstory might have been given to Haru, which is a bit of a bummer. In the Webtoon, he is actually a character from a different comic--a historical one--in which he originally became self-aware to disastrous results. The author loves him so much that she/he has given him more than “one life” in his/her comics, much to his aggravation.

I get the feeling they just want a break, really.

#extraordinary you #kdrama #my drama thoughts

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thedistantdusk · 5 years

Note

Heyyyyyy idk if you do asks but could you write about Harry figuring out he wants kids? 😍

I’ve never actually taken a Tumblr ask before… but this was an amazing prompt! Thanks! :D

(On AO3)

Harry hadn’t really thought about babies before. He’d abstractly thought they were cute in their own way — little potato blobs that pooped and cried and gradually became more humanlike.Although Harry doesn’t properly meet Teddy until the war is over (and doesn’t even hold him until mid-May), he automatically knows his godson differs from the nameless, faceless babies he’s seen before. In retrospect, this should have been Harry’s first clue that perhaps part of him — a part that had been asleep for years, or perhaps one that had never truly woken at all — was finally stretching and rising. But even after all that, Harry reckons he’s a bit thick, because it still takes him until July to make the biggest discovery of all.Weekend trips to the Tonks house quickly become customary following the war. Andromeda’s a middle-aged woman raising an infant entirely alone; like everyone else in her position, she needs a break from time to time. She’d conveyed early on that weekends are the hardest, as she’s been with the baby for five straight days — and Harry and Ginny are happy to help. They’ve gladly traveled to her home every Saturday afternoon for months, and thus far, every trip has been simple and endearing. They’ve each enjoyed the little slices of domesticity, little glimpses into normal life, little breaks between the mourning (and shagging), and grieving (and more shagging) and rebuilding (so much shagging).Right away, though, Harry knows this particular trip will be different. Even from the exterior of the house, Harry can tell that Andromeda is struggling. Weeds have overgrown normally immaculately maintained garden, her rose bushes are unpruned, and her lawn is longer than Harry’s ever seen it. Harry vows to help her with yard work as he and Ginny approach the door — and although he feels like nothing malicious is to blame for any of these deviations from the norm, he instinctively knows that a relaxing afternoon is not what the universe has in store. The moment they step over the threshold, this prediction proves correct.Instead of rushing to greet them with tea and biscuits, an exhausted Andromeda is pacing the foyer, bouncing a pink-haired, fussing Teddy on her shoulder. She gives them a weak smile and offers a half-hearted apology for the mess and her attire and the garden, because Teddy’s teething, and it’s been —But Harry never finds out how it’s been, because Ginny won’t let her get that far.

Her red hair trails behind her as she swoops in with soothing words and a gentle pat on the arm and a soft reassurance to the older woman that it’ll be fine. Although she’s nearly thirty years her junior, Ginny’s presence has a calming effect; Harry’s not surprised when Andromeda visibly sags in relief. Harry is surprised, though, when Andromeda walks up to him and nonchalantly plops Teddy into his arms without a single forewarning.Harry accepts his godson, of course — though he can’t help but look startled while he does it. Maybe one day he’ll get used to this custom of people so cavalierly handing over something so precious. Now, though, he’s mostly worried about the plans Ginny’s committing them to while he’s busy holding the baby; Andromeda swiftly explains that she hasn’t been to the shops in ages — and that she positively needs to get out of the house. Ginny instantaneously volunteers to watch Teddy, but all Harry can do is give her a wide-eyed, horrified look: How the hell are they meant to function without an actual adultIt’s no matter, though, because they clearly don’t have a choice. The older woman is ready to leave in a flash — and Harry now realizes (because, again, he’s quite thick) that she’d merely been waiting for them to arrive. Andromeda wraps Ginny in a warm embrace, and Harry shoots his girlfriend a weary look from over her shoulder (Are you sure about this?). Ginny arches an eyebrow at him (No, but we’re doing it anyway) before pulling away from the hug with another calming pat.Then Andromeda offers them a parting wave, turns on the spot, and disappears into thin air.>br/>And with that, Harry and Ginny are off on their first babysitting adventure.>br/>Just the three of them.>br/>Right.

Teddy cuts through the blanketed silence with a little gurgle. Harry glances down just as the baby’s face wrinkles and strains. Harry cautiously leans back, preparing for the explosion that usually accompanies that expression… but instead of expelling something from either end, Teddy lets out a little grunt — and then he shifts, right before Harry’s eyes.Oh. Harry swallows. He’s never seen him do it, not like this… but now the baby’s hair is shifting from pink to black, his eyes from brown to bright greenMerlin…Ginny giggles and sidles up next to them, oblivious to the war waging in Harry’s chest. “Andromeda said he was getting better at this,” she notes, tracing a finger down Teddy’s cherubic little face. “Transforming.” Then she pauses, biting her lip. “Can I—?”Harry clears his throat and passes Teddy into her open hands. He moves mechanically, as if he’s coming out of a trance — but even seeing a baby who looks exactly like him probably wouldn’t have amounted to much…If only Ginny hadn’t taken things one step further.But fortunately (or unfortunately, Harry really can’t decide), she does.The second Teddy’s in Ginny’s arms, the baby’s whimpers turn to gentle sighs. She makes shhing sounds and brings him to her chest as she cradles his head on her shoulder. A soft smile graces her lips before she sinks onto the sofa, and Harry numbly takes the cue to join them.After that, it all happens very quickly.As soon as Ginny props Teddy up in her lap, Harry feels something bubbling in his stomach, something changing him from the inside out, something akin to Polyjuice Potion… except it’s changing his heart, not his hide.Holy mother of God.Harry’s breath freezes in his throat as black-haired Teddy raises a chubby fist. Ginny swoops in to kiss it, tucking a piece of long red hair out of his reach and adjusting him in her lap. She gives Harry a soft smile from over her shoulder; he summons a weak one in return, even though it feels like he’s been socked in the gut.At nearly 18, Harry Potter’s just realized something that would get him into a great deal of trouble if he were to voice it aloud. It’s something he’s confident most teenagers don’t think about much. It’s something that life has never allowed him to consider — or to plan for. Even once.Because Harry’s now certain — beyond any doubt — that he eventually wants a baby.With her.Fuck.He swallows and runs a shaking hand through his hair as Ginny positions Teddy so he’s seated upright. The baby’s green eyes dance with mirth as Ginny coos some vaguely pleasant nonsense, the tips of her red hair brushing her shoulders as she does.Oh, Harry thinks numbly, his heartbeat pounding in his ears. Now they’re playing a game.

Ginny holds Teddy under his arms, leaning in closer and closer to his gummy grin until — at the last second — she makes a chomping sound and kisses him on the nose. Because Teddy’s a baby, he’s surprised every single time; he emits more peals of mirth with every single pass… but after the fifth consecutive time, it’s too much.It’s too, too much.Everything that Harry’s spent seven years denying comes crawling up his throat at the same time. He’s lightheaded and claustrophobic and sick and warm and terrified and thrilled… and he jumps up from the couch and darts to the corridor, muttering something about the toilet as he goes.

Ginny’s confused, “Wha-?” is cut off as he enters the loo and slams the door behind him, all semblance of manners forgotten.Once inside, Harry lurches to the sink, hoping his unsteady legs won’t buckle beneath him on the way. He grips the cool porcelain, slamming his eyes shut, and after several pained seconds, Harry dares to look up at himself in the mirror. He draws deep breaths and wills them to give him some modicum of comfort… and all the while, he tries very hard to pretend that Ginny hadn’t been a vision of femininity and motherhood and perfection and love. That she hadn’t represented every single thing he’s ever wanted.While holding a baby. Who looks exactly like him.Before he can help it, Harry’s imagination explodes — absolutely explodes. Harry’s already known he wants to marry her; that’s a foregone conclusion, albeit one that’s also abstract and terrifying. For some reason, he’s never factored kids into the mix, too… but suddenly, that’s all he can see.Harry sees Ginny, all glowing and beautiful and pregnant, her bright red hair illuminated by a sunset. He sees himself smiling and caressing her growing bump, kissing her laughing mouth, massaging her back, telling her how much he loves her. Then the scene changes; Ginny’s snuggling a black-haired baby (one who can’t shift the color of his hair) as their little family rests atop a worn blanket. Now Harry sees the baby toddling on unsteady legs, his tongue sticking out in determination as Ginny kneels and cheers him into her arms. Oh, and now there’s a green-eyed, red-haired little girl offering him a flower she’s plucked from the garden. Or maybe multiple little girls. Or boys. Harry’s not fussy, not about any of it. He sees hectic trips to Diagon Alley and enormous family dinners and absolute, unadulterated chaos.And he loves every second of it.Harry swallows, looking away, and a shiver races up his spine.Fucking hell… what has he done? _______

Ginny demands answers the second they reach the path to the Burrow. He’d figured she would; he’s just not sure how to explain this, though, without scaring the shit out of her.Right.Harry draws a deep breath and turns on the spot, preparing to give a reasonable explanation — but Ginny greets him with the same warm, curious look he’d seen in one of his bizarre domestic daydreams. Any thought of handling this well evaporates as quickly as it had arrived.Harry blinks at her a few times, opens his mouth — and then blurts everything out with all the elegance of an oiled gazelle stumbling up a set of stairs. His words run together as a single, unpunctuated entity, and by the time he’s done, he’s impressed Ginny hasn’t run for the hills.“You were holding Teddy and he looked like me and I didn’t know what to do with that because I’ve never thought I had a future before but now I think — no, I know — that I want kids one day. In future. Butonlywithyou. Specifically.”Harry groans and turns away, running a hand down his face.Well, that couldn’t have gone worse.For several pained seconds, he stares at his trainers and tries to negotiate the fact that he’s likely left her completely terrified… but just as it seems all hope is lost, Ginny’s words rip him from his mortified reverie.“Okay,” she starts. To Harry’s surprise, he gets the distinct impression she’s caught between amusement and sympathy. “So, to clarify, you saw me with Teddy. And realized that you might want kids. Eventually. One day. And this is… a huge problem?”He glances up to see a smirk twitching the corners of her lips; he slumps over in relief, but she’s made her point. It does seem a bit stupid, when she puts it like that.Harry spreads his palms and attempts to explain. “I just… I never let myself think beyond Tom, yeah? And now that I have thought beyond him, it kind of just… hit me all at once.” He trails off and looks away, huffing out a sigh that sounds as pathetic as he feels. As usual, though, Ginny knows exactly what he needs. Her little palms slips into his; her touch is soothing and perfect, just as it had been with Andromeda.“Well,” she says slowly, staring at their joined hands. Is he just imagining it, or are her cheeks turning pink? “You happen to be in luck, Harry Potter. Because I might eventually — one day, not now — want kids. With you.”Oh.Harry grins and wonders if she can hear the weight lifting off his shoulders. “Yeah?”Ginny swallows through a curt nod — but that’s her last attempt at sincerity before she starts bantering again. Harry doesn’t care, though; how could he care when he’s this happy?“But I want to emphasize,” Ginny begins again, her tone mock-serious, “that these are to be very specific children. Because I’ll be honest, the concept of kids in general?” She shrugs, making a face. “Never really done it for me. So I reckon I’ll either raise them with you or get loads of cats.”Harry laughs and leans in for a kiss; he has to touch her. Ginny relaxes into him, drawing him against her body — and when she pulls away a few moments later, a sparkle of mischief glints in her eye. “Well,” she sighs, draping her arms around his neck. “I reckon a funeral is in order.”He arches an eyebrow as his palms come to rest on her waist. “A funeral?” he ventures, torn between confusion and delight. It wasn’t too long ago that funerals were something dreadful and never-ending and painful, just another piece of the puzzle in dismantling Tom once and for all.But the smirk twitching the corner of Ginny’s lip tells Harry she’s not thinking about anything dreadful or painful or never-ending. She’s happy… just like he is.Instead, Ginny fixes him with a flat stare. “Here lie Harry’s swimmers,” she says stoically, “stuck in the shallow end for the foreseeable future.” Harry snorts before he catches himself. Usually he’s better at this, at expecting her next line and preparing something in return. This time, though, she’s caught him off guard.It’s not until Ginny clears her throat that he realizes she’s actually expecting an answer.“Erm. How long will they be in purgatory, do you reckon?” she asks, her brown eyes wide and seeking — and Harry recognizes the tone of voice she uses to sound more nonchalant than she feels.He shrugs and turns to walk up the path. Truthfully, he’d be ready whenever… but they’ve got plans. They’ve both got plans. Ginny slips her hand in his again, and when he responds, he tries very hard to pretend that they aren’t hedging around a topic with more gravity than anything they’ve discussed before.“Well,” he says fairly. “We’re each really interested in getting into the other’s trousers. Oh, and as a totally unrelated aside, you’re much better at brewing potions.”Ginny gives a dark chuckle, but he can tell she caught his drift; one look at Teddy solidifies that babies don’t always happen on purpose. “Yeah,” she agrees, “but you’re much better at charms. Let’s just hope our redundancy is idiot-proof.”Harry chortles in understanding as they finally approach the gate to the Burrow, holding it open for her as he does. He’s glad they’re on the same page with that one. The very thought of that conversation with Molly (while Ginny’s still in school) is something that makes his stomach turn… He turns back to face her and gestures for her to head inside — but Ginny’s paused in her tracks, a weird expression on her face.“I guess,” she half-laughs, as if the thought is only just occurring to her, “we… actually have time to talk about this now. Don’t we?”Ginny gives him a hopeful smile as her cheeks turn pink again, and when she bites her lip, Harry feels a near magnetic compulsion to kiss her.

So he does.She responds eagerly, melting against him as her hands clasp around his neck. And in truth, they probably would have been content to deepen the snog with wandering hands and lilting whispers — but then Harry remembers the door not ten meters away. And the fact that it’s broad daylight. He finally sighs and pulls back, although he keeps her body pressed to his. Harry needs to feel her, now more than ever, even if they can’t be nearly as close as they’d like. Matching grins stretch across their faces as his eyes penetrate hers, as his hand comes up to tuck a stray piece of hair behind her ear. Yeah, he thinks, cupping her jaw. We have time.

#harry and ginny #fanfiction #harry potter fanfiction #tumblr asks #hinny fanfic

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