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marshmallow-phd · 4 years

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Catching Rain

Part of The Untamed - EXO Wolf Universe

Genre: Wolf!AU

Pairing: Minseok x Reader

Summary: You were more than satisfied with your life. You attended a nice college, had nice friends, a nice boyfriend. That’s what your life was: nice. You weren’t looking for anything more, so what were you to do when this seemingly harmless boy walked into your life and turned your nice little world into one much more dangerous?

Part: 1 I 2 I 3 I 4 I 5 I 6 I 7 I 8 I 9 I 10 I Epilogue

Popcorn ceilings were simultaneously the worst and the best. The crumbs and clusters that fell from above when the upstairs neighbors stomped around or dropped a heavy textbook, shaking the room, were annoying to constantly pick up, especially when they covered the bed. But on mornings like this when you were wide awake at an unfathomable hour, you could stare at the patterns hidden in the ceiling to occupy your mind. You found faces and animals and even the occasional word among the speckles. The game did wonders to occupy your thoughts, letting the time tick by without you constantly checking the hour. However, the nervous churn of your stomach never fully disappeared.

Saturdays were supposed to be fun. A day of relaxation. Even if you were finishing up a project or homework, there was no rush to it. Each step could be taken at a pace that kept you calm and under control. Afterwards, you were free to do whatever your heart felt drawn towards. You could see a movie, take a walk in the park, or even stay cooped up in your dorm to binge the latest TV show. But today would not be one of recreation free from stress. Today, you were meeting up with Minseok. And there was an excitement to that, an anticipation, like you were standing in line to go backstage to meet your favorite band. But there was also a less joyful feeling underneath. Though surely your stomach was empty by now, the nauseated roared on, threatening to overspill.

“(y/n)?”

Flipping over to your side, you looked over at the other bed in the room. Willa had awoken and sat up, her hair sticking up in all directions like a cartoon. One hand rubbed the sleepiness out of a still closed eye while the other stretched out into the air as far as it would go. A long yawn stopped any other words from escaping so you waited it out. “How long have you been awake?”

You shrugged with your one exposed shoulder. “I don’t know. A while.”

“Yeesh. It’s Saturday. It’s like the holy day of sleeping in.”

You smiled at her exaggeration. “My brain just decided it was done resting.”

“Plans you’re looking forward to, perhaps?”

The question was innocent enough, if a little cheeky. It was Saturday, after all, and you did have the tendency to get so worked up over things that you couldn’t sleep, like a child on Christmas Eve unable to dream in anticipation of the next morning’s surprise. But that didn’t stop the swift panic that made your heart jump.

“Just a project I really need to get started on,” you lied smoothly as you sat up, turning so your legs now dangled off the edge of the bed. Well, it wasn’t really that much of a lie. But wasn’t it a lie when you omitted part of the truth on purpose? Fingernails digging into the cotton sheets that covered the standard dorm mattress that made your back ache, you contemplated spilling the beans ricocheting in your stomach. You were spared making a decision.

“Speaking of projects,” Willa yawned. “I’m stuck in another group where I’m sure I’ll be doing most of the work.”

You raised an eyebrow, knowing your friend’s history all too well. “And why do you think you’ll be doing all the work?”

“Because no one seemed interested in what I had to say and trying to get a time to get together was nearly impossible.”

Definite warning signs, but not unusual in a college environment. “Okay. So, make sure you get your work done. Anyone who doesn’t get their part done, take they’re name off of it. No one learns if things come easy and are done for them.”

Willa frowned. “So, you’re saying worry only about myself?”

“Sort of.” You sighed. This was your big issue with group projects. Yes, they were supposed to teach you to work with others (because there wasn’t enough of that in secondary school, apparently) but some professors didn’t care if you tried to get the others to work when they didn’t want or care to and the group suffered for it grade-wise. College in the classroom wasn’t supposed to be about life lessons – it was supposed to be about the material. “Continue to try to get them to cooperate, but if you see after a few times that it’s pointless, drop it. I’m sure someone else in your group will help out, too.”

The pout on Willa’s lips told you that she wasn’t completely on board with your suggestion. “Yeah, okay. I guess I’ll wait it out.”

“Good. In the end, it’s up to you, though.” Jumping out of bed, you headed over to the bathroom you shared with the room next door. After conducting your morning business, you went to the tiny closet and got dressed. “Want to get breakfast?”

“I can’t,” Willa said regretfully. “I’ve got other plans.”

“Okay,” you said, not the least bit hurt. You had offered out of simple politeness. The more time you spent in your friend’s presence, the more tempted you would be to let out the incoherent thoughts that refused to organize themselves in your head. Yanking on a sneaker, you grabbed your keys and bag, waving to Willa as you hurried out the door.

The student union was nearly deserted. Most who lived on campus were spending this weekend morning logically, which meant the corporate food choices were closed. Thankfully, the university-sponsored coffee shop was open. Already you were being hit with the smells of fresh pastries and dripping espresso. The cashier greeted you with a sleepy smile and waited patiently for you to make a decision. Once that was settled and you’d paid the tab, you walked over to an empty two-person table and sat down. It was only a minute or so later that the barista brought out your coffee and a warm scone. The berries baked within the dough were soft and juicy, leaking onto the surrounding pastry, which in turn soaked up the flavor in an addicting manner. You smiled to yourself with each bite.

Pulling you out of the bliss, however, was your phone screen lighting up from your peripheral. With a squint, you picked it up and read the message as you chewed. It was from Minseok, once again confirming your ten o’clock meet up time in the library. According to the digital clock located at the top of your screen, you still had about thirty minutes before you needed to head over to the library. You set the phone face down on the table without replying. The thought of seeing him again in a mere few minutes was surging you more awake then the caffeine ever could. But you knew you shouldn’t be feeling this way.

The thing was, nothing was wrong with your relationship with Erik. He was sweet, supportive, caring. He listened and paid attention to you. He was a relationship dream. But it suddenly didn’t feel like enough anymore. Were you simply getting bored? Had you peeked over the fence and seen a greener field? It felt more complicated than that, but you couldn’t put your finger on the cause. Shaking your head, you sat back in the chair and sipped on the cooled off coffee. Maybe you should cancel, make up some excuse that you were sick or that something else had come up. Or maybe you should just tell him the truth that it was a bad idea to spend time with him and his child-like laugh.

You were absolutely and utterly weak. In a flash, you were picking up your phone and sending a text that you would see him there. You lasted about five more minutes sitting in that shop before you were guzzling down the rest of your breakfast and heading out of the union to the other side of the courtyard where the library sat. It was still early, but it didn’t feel like a bad idea to go ahead and get started – or, at least, look like you’d gotten started. However, you were beaten to the punch.

Sitting in one of the old donated chairs by the front windows of the library, Minseok flipped slowly through a book, engrossed in its pages. You couldn’t read the title to know what it was about, but the athlete on the front gave you a clue that it might be about soccer. He saw you the second you stepped inside, closing the book and tossing it in his bag. “Hey, you’re early!” The smile spread quickly across his face, letting you know that your arrival well before the allotted time was not discouraged in the slightest.

A strange, gripping warmth shrouded over you. Like a hug in the middle of a harsh winter, you melted, feeling safe and comforted. An invisible rope made of steel cable was reeling you in closer to Minseok. No saw or knife in the world could sever it, you were sure. Coming here to the library felt like a final choice. Turning back would no longer be an option to you. A dark sea lied before you, but on the horizon, a possible promise of Treasure Island.

“Are you ready?”

You blinked, having gotten lost in your own metaphor. “Yeah,” you said with a smile. “Ready to learn about math. Yay.” There was absolutely no enthusiasm in your sarcastic cheer, but it made Minseok laugh. The two of you found a round table near the back of the second floor where the reference books were housed.

“So,” he beamed at you as soon as you were all unpacked, “to finish my thought from last time….”

“Yes! You had an idea!”

“Unless you were able to come up with something you wanted to do?” he offered. You snorted as your reply. He laughed. “I had a feeling.”

“So, then what’s your idea?” you challenged.

“Marketing.”

You frowned, confused. “Marketing?” You didn’t see the connection.

“Yeah.” Looking around, Minseok motioned with his head. “Come on.” You followed him away from the table, through several aisles of books until you came to a small corner where worn and peeling covers gave clues to the context between the pages. The titles you could read talked about marketing statistics and “eye-catching strategies”. Pulling a book off the shelf, he held it out for you to see.

In the Masses Eye.

“What’s this?”

“It’s called old fashioned research.”

You rolled your eyes. “I understand that part. I meant marketing... and this book in particular.”

“I think marketing might be your best angle to go with on this project,” he explained. “There’s a correlation between what people see and what makes them buy a product. A bad picture that isn’t well thought out can deter sales. According to statistics, at least.”

The hinges in your jaw came loose, leaving the bottom half of your mouth hanging open. “How did you come up with that?”

A pink hue flushed on his cheeks. He even seemed to shrink in on himself as his shoulders rose and he leaned up against the shelf. “I like things like this.”

You erupted in giggles, covering your mouth and hiding your face with the book. What was he doing to you? Collecting yourself and searching for a distraction, you pulled a few more books out of their spots and flipped through them without purpose. But soon your eyes caught on to what Minseok was originally saying. Certain pictures stuck out to you, making you stop and take a second look. It was exactly the effect you tried to achieve with your own shots. You smiled, delighted.

“See what I’m talking about?” Minseok said quietly. He didn’t say it with a cocky tone or snark, just simply inquiring.

“Yeah,” you nodded. “Yeah, I do. In fact-” A blaring song rang out from your pocket. “Shoot!” You struggled to pull your phone out, having forgotten to put the ringer on silent. It was Erik calling you. “Hello?”

“Hey, babe!” Erik greeted cheerfully. “I know I said I was going to be busy all day, but we’re taking a break so I thought you might want to grab an early lunch.”

“Oh, um.” You looked up at Minseok. He waited patiently during your conversation, lips sucked in and his gaze set on you. But there was also a tension in his stance that you couldn’t understand. It was only now hitting you that you never had that conversation with Erik. You never told him that you were even doing this extra credit, never mind who was helping you. Right now did not seem like a good time to go into those details. “I… can’t. I’m kind of already knee-deep in this project and if I stop now then I’ll lose traction. I’m sorry.”

“No, it’s okay. I understand. Maybe we can grab something tomorrow?”

“Um, sure. I’ll let you know.” You hung up without saying goodbye, needing desperately to end the awkward exchange. Quickly turning the ringer to silent, you clumsily shoved the device back in your pocket. An odd tension hung in the air between you and Minseok, neither sure of how to continue the earlier conversation.

“So, was that your boyfriend?” Minseok finally asked in a quiet tone. He made “boyfriend” sound like a curse word.

“Erik,” you confirmed with a nod. “He’s an artist. Right now he’s working on the sets for the theatre department.” You weren’t sure why that information needed to be shared, but it was out before you could think.

Minseok bobbed his head, but you had a feeling he was only half-listening. “You guys been together long?”

“A few years.”

“Ah.”

Something along the lines of defeat seemed to glaze over his eyes as they shifted to the floor. You didn’t like seeing him in this state. A pain manifested itself in your chest. You certainly preferred the happier, more enthusiastic Minseok who bounced on his feet in constant excitement and tilted his head to amplify his attention. That constant feeling of guilt had done a one-eighty on you. Now instead of feeling it towards Erik, you felt it for the person in front of you. On their own, your fingers reached out. They hovered in the empty space, unsure of the right move. You longed to caress his face in comfort. But that would be inappropriate; crossing a line that should have been a mile wide. Yet stepping over it seemed as easy as stepping over a shallow creek.

You willed the power to pull back and let your hand drop to your side. Minseok, however, still managed to take some contact, brushing his fingers against the back of your hand as he took the books from you. An electric shiver ran up your spine. When his skin was gone, you almost whimpered. You questioned how well your fingers would fit in the spaces between his own. And if that electricity would go on forever at the prolonged contact.

“We should get back to the project.”

“Right.” You cleared your throat. Hiding in this back corner was giving your brain ideas and following down paths that were clearly unmarked, dangerous even.

Back at the table, the two of you worked on the project, bouncing around ideas of how to use the statistics of marketing that the resources gave and applying it to your own photography. A few hours later, you had the full back bone of your project completed. All you needed was to break down the expressions and equations that would back your claims. But your brain was done for the day. However, that didn’t mean you were done with Minseok.

“You know, I just realized I don’t know much about you,” you said as you packed away your things.

Minseok shrugged as he gathered up the books to put back in their homes. “I’m not sure if there’s much to know.”

“Everyone has something worth knowing.”

“Touche.” The smile was coming back. Good. Perhaps it was selfish, but you were feeling lighter due to his own lifting mood. “But I don’t know where to start. I mean… I’m a math major-”

“That I already knew,” you laughed.

“Right. Um….”

“Do you live on campus?” you offered as a starting point.

He shook his head. “No. I live out of town, a ways out. My friends and I live in a farmhouse in the woods.”

“A farmhouse in the woods!” you exclaimed. That sounded like a dream. Or the setting of a YA novel. “How many of you live there?”

“Including me? Twe- Nine.”

You were confused as to why he suddenly changed numbers, but the sad look that was here and gone in his eyes made you think it was best not to ask. “Nine? Wow. Isn’t that crowded?”

“Sometimes. But really, it's more comforting than anything. We’re like brothers so it doesn’t feel as overwhelming as it sounds. Although, sometimes I do really need the quiet.” The Minseok from before the phone call was nearly completely back. The weight was dropping from your shoulders as you saw the tension leave his.

“Where do you go then? When you need quiet?”

He smirked. “I go for a run. In the woods.”

The wolf from the clearing flashed in your mind, as well as the campers who were attacked. “Isn’t that dangerous?”

Minseok shook his head. “Not for me. I know those trees pretty well.”

You scoffed. Boys and their confidence.

Standing up and throwing your bag over your shoulder, Minseok walked you out of the library, telling you more about his roommates, mostly about Jongdae, his hot headed best friend. In turn, you told funny stories about you and the shenanigans Willa dragged you into. So lost in the conversation, you stayed standing in the middle of the courtyard. You should have said goodbye, but you kept putting it off, bringing up new subjects to keep talking.

“Minseok!”

The two of you turned to see a small group of students coming your way, one waving their arm in the air with extreme enthusiasm. Minseok cringed as they came up, scratching the space behind his ear. He gave off the air that being caught like this was the last thing he wanted, even if the scene was innocent enough.

“You didn’t tell us that you were going to be here today,” the tallest boy said. He had a jolly, lopsided smile and ears that stuck out.

Minseok shrugged. “I forgot.” His eyes flickered over to you. “Oh, um, guys, this is... (y/n). (y/n), this Chanyeol, Baekhyun, Sehun, and Jongin. They’re some of the friends I live with.”

“Oh!” You lit up at being able to meet a few of the roommates. “Hi! It’s nice to meet you!”

“You, too!” the one who Minseok pointed out as Baekhyun said. He eyed Minseok suspiciously, a sly grin on his face. “We were going to get some lunch. Do you guys want to join us?”

You opened your mouth to accept the invitation, but Minseok beat you.

“Actually, we were just saying bye.”

You looked at him, confused. Sure, technically you were done working on the project, but you were enjoying this down time after the fact. He hadn’t seem like he wanted to part either. At least, before his friends showed up.

Jongin seemed to catch on to the contorted expression on your face. “Are you alright?”

It took you a second to absorb his question, but when you did, you slapped on a fake smile. “Yeah, of course. I’ve got to meet up with my boyfriend, but thank you for the invite.”

“Maybe another time.”

“Yeah, maybe. It was nice to meet you, though.” You gave a slightly less enthusiastic expression to Minseok. “Thanks again for your help. I’ll see you later.”

He gave you a small wave. “I’ll see you later.”

You walked away, shoulders drooping. The switch that happened before your eyes made your head hurt, like whiplash. Was Minseok… embarrassed to be seen with you? You didn’t think there was anything particularly shameful about you. But what else would make him not want you around for lunch with the very people he was talking about mere minutes before with joy and laughter? It didn’t make any sense. All you could focus on was the shut down. As you headed for the theatre, you tried to tell yourself that there was no reason to be upset. He was not your close friend. He was merely a… tutor, for lack of a better word. And that’s all he would be, apparently.

You approached the theatre doors, unsure of where else to go. If you thought your feelings were stirred up this morning, now they felt like they were stumbling off the world’s most twisted roller coaster, unable to even stand on their own. Just how bruised would you be when you finally fell down?

#exo #exo wolf au #exo wolf!au #minseok x reader #kim minseok #xiumin #exo werewolf au #exo werewolf!au #exo supernatural au #exo series #exo fanfic #exo fanfiction #The Untamed Universe #Catching Rain

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holy-honeybees · 3 years

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Snowdrift

AO3

Rating: T+ (for swearing)

Summary: Three friends and their dog get lost in a snowstorm while investigating the paranormal. Amidst swirling flurries of white, some lose their way and get lost in their memories, others lose sight of their friends and loved ones, and an unforgiving winter quickly fills in the footprints one would follow to get back home.

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Chapter One

Chapter Eight

Arthur struggled through the ever-deepening snowdrifts, hunched over as he braced himself against the wind. The fingers on his right hand were already frozen and stiff, and the metal of his prosthetic was so cold it burned where it met the remaining flesh of his arm. He cursed his stupidity for having gone outside in a blizzard with no coat or hoodie. Even with his vest zipped up and his hands tucked under his armpits, he shivered so hard the mechanic felt he might shake apart at any moment. Arthur wondered just what had prompted him to leave the safety of the van without proper protection from the cold. He’d like to think he had some self-preservation skills, though his recent actions had done little to support that claim, and he was sure Vivi at the very least would outright challenge the statement.

I have to find Mystery, he reminded himself. He couldn’t remember why it was so urgent that he find the kitsune though, only that it was. He’d long ago lost sight of the white shape in front of him, and Arthur had to wonder if he was even going in the right direction anymore. Still, he pushed onwards, compelled to keep moving forwards even if he didn’t understand why.

I have to find Mystery. The phrase had become a mantra he repeated with every step, a reminder of his single-minded purpose. Between the wind shrieking in his ears and the constant chattering of his teeth, he could hardly put together a cohesive thought outside of trying to locate his friend. He knew he should try harder to figure out what was happening and why he was out here, but he was so tired, and the cold was mind-numbing.

I have to find Mystery. Something nagged at the back of his mind that besides being hopelessly lost and half-frozen, something else wasn’t right. Some unnamed threat which loomed in the darkness. He just couldn’t recognize what it was. The temperature outside plummeted even further, and a particularly icy blast of air seemed to freeze him to the very core. Arthur shivered, not just due to the bitter cold, but from memories he’d buried long ago as they began to resurface.

---

It had been a long drive to reach Uncle Lance’s home in Tempo, and the hours spent under the summer sun had caused the temperature inside the car to climb to an almost unbearable degree. His dad had told him that rolling down the windows was just as good as running the air conditioning, but Arthur was unconvinced. He was beginning to suspect that Uncle Lance didn’t call the old station wagon his father drove “lemon” just because of its bright yellow paint. For the first half of their trip, Arthur had done his best to distract himself from the heat by playing with his Game Boy Color, and after its batteries had died, he’d resorted to trying to keep cool by letting the wind blow through his hair, his arm dangling out the open window. At least, up until his father had laughed and said that was a good way to lose a limb. Arthur had promptly yanked his arm back inside the car and, despite the sweltering Texas heat and his dad assuring him he’d only been joking, rolled up the window for good measure. By the end of the journey, they were both covered in sweat and even his dad’s sunny disposition had begun to waver.

As the door to his uncle’s home swung inward, the blast of cool air that washed over him made Arthur shiver in relief. Lance usually accepted his brother’s unannounced visits with practiced ease, welcoming them in with a rough “get in here before you let the cool air out” and strong-armed, back-slapping hugs. They would come by when his dad was between gigs as a roadie sometimes or when the car needed repairs. This particular visit felt different though. There were no bone-breaking, lift-you-off-the-ground hugs between the two brothers, no boisterous laughter as they greeted each other. Instead, Lance had merely met them both with a dark, raised eyebrow, the stout man nearly eyelevel with his scrawny, preteen nephew. Maybe it was because it was so hot out and they were both sweaty, or maybe they’d come at a bad time. Either way, the tense situation made Arthur shift uncomfortably, the added weight of his heavy backpack threatening to throw him off balance. They must be staying for a while this time. Arthur had almost everything he owned crammed into the old bag he lugged around, the zippers threatening to burst under the strain. As usual, his dad hadn’t done any packing of his own, and would probably end up heading out to the car half a dozen times throughout the night to grab various items, Uncle Lance grumbling good-naturedly the whole time.

“Hey, buddy,” his dad said, ruffling his hair, “Me and your uncle are going to go check out the car, take a look under the hood. Why don’t you go get settled in? We can order some pizza for dinner later.” Arthur meekly nodded his head and shuffled past his uncle in the doorway, eager to escape the tense atmosphere that no one was acknowledging. The old mechanic twitched his lips up into a brief smile as Arthur passed, which the young boy nervously returned. His uncle’s serious, gruff nature was intimidating at times. When Arthur had first met the taciturn man, he worried that Uncle Lance didn’t like him. His dad had laughed off his concerns though and told him that’s just how Lance was, and without kids of his own, his uncle would simply need some time to get used to him.

Arthur passed through the familiar hallways of his uncle’s home until he reached the spare room he and his dad usually stayed in. Normally, it served as a kind of office or storage space for Uncle Lance’s business, with instruction manuals, receipts, and spare parts scattered amongst a few personal items. There was an old wrestling belt and a framed picture of Arthur and his father on the wall above the sleeper sofa they used. The bed was already folded out and made up with clean sheets and pillows, and Arthur wondered if their spontaneous visit had truly been unexpected. His dad had announced their trip a couple of days ago, and they’d been on the road driving to their destination ever since. Arthur had gone out to get some ice for their motel room and come back to see his father deep in conversation on the old telephone the room came with. Arthur didn’t think he’d ever seen his dad so serious. His father had cutoff midsentence once he’d spotted Arthur, looking inexplicably guilty before saying a hurried goodbye to whoever was on the other line. The young boy could only make out the speaker’s agitated tone of voice, distorted by the crummy receiver, before his dad hung up the phone. With his father’s usual smile plastered back on his face, everything seemed to have returned to normal, and Arthur was told to pack his things because they would be leaving first thing in the morning to visit his uncle.

Now that they had arrived, Arthur couldn’t help but feel like something was wrong, like he was missing something. Some vital clue he should have picked up on that would have helped him to make sense of what was going on around him. He shouldered his backpack off onto the bed, intent on starting to unpack his things. Instead, he only worried at the zippers, his thoughts too troubled to focus on the task at hand. He felt as if there was an answer right in front of him that he just couldn’t see. After several fruitless minutes, Arthur gave up on unpacking his bag and left to find his father and uncle. He wandered through his uncle’s home, searching for the two adults, before being drawn to the garage door by the sounds of an argument. Despite being nervous about being caught eavesdropping, Arthur pressed his ear to the door to listen.

“Just think about what yer doin’ for once, Percy,” Uncle Lance said in a low, dangerous voice.

“It’s just going to be for a little while,” Arthur’s father replied, his usual cheerful tone sounding strained.

“You an’ I both know that’s not true!”

“This latest gig will last a month or two, tops,” his dad said, and then, after the slightest of pauses, so small Arthur could almost convince himself he’d imagined it, “Then I’ll be back.”

“No,” Lance insisted stubbornly, “I know that look in yer eye, I seen it before. Saw it when my baby brother up an’ dropped out of high school, hit the road, an’ didn’t drop his family a line for a full year to even let us know he was alright!” Arthur’s dad sighed heavily.

“Look, Arthur’s starting to grow up, you know? The whole ‘on-the-road’ lifestyle isn’t really doin’ him any favors. He’s smart, but there’s only so much I can teach him. Kid doesn’t really have any friends, either. He could really benefit from going to school, meeting kids his age and getting a real education.”

“If this is really about his best interests, why don’t you stay here with him?” Lance pressed, “Settle down finally. Get a steady job in town. Hell, I’ll hire you.” The only response was silence.

“Yer not leaving Arthur here so he can ‘grow up’,” Lance growled, “Yer stickin’ me with yer kid so you don’t have to!”

“I don’t know what I’m doing! I didn’t plan on becoming a parent!” His father shouted angrily.

“You are one though, an’ yer not gonna figure this one out by runnin’ away from it!”

“I’m trying, okay? If it was just about keeping him fed or entertained or whatever, it’d be fine, but…he’s different. I thought he’d outgrow it, but that last show I worked, you know, with that rock band? He had one of his…fits halfway through the set. He kicked up such a fuss they had to stop the show and everything. The guys on stage were cool about it, but, well… Would do him some good to have someone like you help toughen him up.”

“Percy, I know you’ve got yerself convinced yer doing what’s best for him, but that’s not what it looks like from my perspective, and that certainly ain’t what it’s gonna look like from his. Of all the selfish, irresponsible—”

“I love my son!”

“I’m not the one yer gonna have to try an’ convince if you go through with this.”

The rest of the argument was lost to the ringing in his ears as Arthur quickly backed away from the garage. So there was something wrong. What was worse, it seemed like it had something to do with him. He retraced his steps to the spare room, his breath coming in progressively shorter gasps. He’d had episodes like this before. “Fits”, his dad called them. It happened from time to time at the concerts his father worked, like when the music was too loud or there were too many strangers crowded around him, though those hadn’t been the only incidents. One time had left him feeling so dizzy and lightheaded afterwards, his dad had taken him to an emergency room. The doctor who had given him a checkup had called it a “panic attack”, suggesting they reach out to a specialist to talk. He never got the chance though, their transient lifestyle requiring them to leave town the very next day. His dad tried his best to help, telling him to relax and dismissing his fears as silly, but Arthur just couldn’t do the same.

With his heart trying to pound its way out of his chest, Arthur closed the door to the spare room behind him and promptly dumped out the contents of his backpack onto the bed, frantically searching for anything that might help calm him down. His eyes settled on his Game Boy and he snatched it off the bed before sitting down on the floor. With its batteries run down, he wouldn’t be able to distract himself by playing a game, but there was something comforting and familiar about holding the small dandelion-colored console nonetheless. He ran his thumb over the control pad—up, right, down, left—again and again. Gradually his breathing slowed, and the fuzzy edges receded from his vision. As if on cue, there was a knock at the door, and Uncle Lance entered the room, frowning as he did so.

“You alright, kid?” his uncle asked, “Yer lookin’ kinda pale.”

“Y-Yeah, just cool-cool-cool—” Arthur shook his head, trying to dislodge the word he’d gotten stuck on.

“Cooling off,” he finished lamely.

“…Alright. Well, pizza’s on its way. Should be here in about thirty minutes. Yer dad ordered the usual,” Lance said gruffly. Arthur gulped and nodded his head. His stomach felt as if it was twisted up in knots, and the thought of eating anything made him feel vaguely queasy. His uncle paused for a moment, as if to say something else, before giving up with a sigh and walking away.

The pizzas arrived right on time, and long before Arthur was ready. He, his dad, and his uncle all sat around the small kitchen table Lance owned, paper plates loaded up with hot, greasy pizza slices. His dad joked and laughed, smiling the whole time, as if nothing were wrong. Uncle Lance barely said a word, only letting out the occasional grunt, while Arthur nibbled half-heartedly at the pizza in front of him. They’d ordered the Meatzilla and Atomic Aloha, with extra pineapple and jalapeño peppers, Uncle Lance and his father’s favorite pizzas respectively. Normally, Arthur was happy to share with his Uncle Lance, the Atomic Aloha being too spicy for him to enjoy, but now the pizza he did force down sat heavily in his guts. When they’d all finished eating and Lance cleaned the paper plates and used napkins off the table, his dad had asked him to stay behind. His father told him that he had a new gig, but this time, Arthur was going to stay behind with Uncle Lance, just for a couple of months while he was gone. Arthur wanted to tell him not to go, but he simply nodded along, his thoughts muddled and his stomach churning unhappily.

His father left within the hour, assuring him that he would be back soon and that he loved him very much. He ruffled Arthur’s hair as walked out the door, leaving the young boy behind to sit on the couch with his uncle in the living room. Uncle Lance opened his mouth as if to speak several times, but always closed it with an uncertain look in his eye, the silence instead filled by reruns of old wrestling matches playing on the TV quietly. Eventually, Arthur excused himself, saying he was turning in for the night. He entered the spare room and flopped down on the bed, not even bothering to clear away the contents of his backpack he’d haphazardly dumped on top of the sheets. He curled up and cried, tossing and turning miserably as the pizza he’d eaten failed to settle in his stomach. The harder he cried, the worse he felt, and the sick feeling grew until Arthur had no choice but to rush to the bathroom at the end of the hall. He was still kneeling by the toilet, the cool tiles of the floor pressed against his hands and knees, when he felt a hesitant hand, rough and calloused, pat him on the back.

“It’s okay,” Uncle Lance said, “I’ve got you.”

---

Released from the grip of his memories, Arthur found himself kneeling in the snow. The cold seeped even deeper into his bones with his arms and legs sunk way down into the snowbank. The mechanic struggled back to his feet and scanned the horizon for his forgotten destination.

I have to find Mystery, Arthur reminded himself, tucking his arms tight against his body as he resumed his steadfast march. His breath fogged before him, looking like a silver mist that disappeared just as quickly as the memory had. He couldn’t even recall what it was he’d been thinking about despite the tears frozen on his face. Something about when he’d come to live with Uncle Lance. But hadn’t he always lived with his uncle? He just couldn’t remember. He pushed the doubts and confusion from his mind as he continued to trudge numbly through the snow.

I have to find Mystery.

He felt raw and weary, like an exposed nerve. Where were the others? Why had he been left behind? Abandonment had always been an issue for him, though he didn’t understand why. Uncle Lance had always been there for him. Still, whatever had caused that fear to take root was only exasperated after Lewis and Vivi had started dating.

I have to find…

It had been hard seeing them so happy together. It left Arthur with a complex mix of emotions where he was glad for his friends yet jealous at the same time, which gave way to shame for feeling so awful when he should have been excited and supportive. He was just waiting for the day they’d tell him they didn’t want him around or need him anymore. He’d been distancing himself slowly so that when the time came maybe, maybe it wouldn’t hurt quite so much. Instead, it just made him more miserable to see how happy his friends were without him. Then there was the cave.

I have to…

His weakness had let whatever that thing was take control of him. He could still only remember bits and pieces of what happened, even months later. Everything was hazy up to the point he woke up in a hospital bed without his arm, jumping out of his skin if Mystery so much as twitched an ear. Vivi was like a blank slate, and Lewis was missing.

I…I have to find Lewis.

Arthur watched as another thin stream of silver left his mouth, whirling away into the wind. He felt drained, his mind foggy. He must have found a lead to his missing best friend out here, wherever this was. Still, he’d wished he’d brought a coat or something. But if he could find his friend and bring him back, it’d be worth it, whatever it took. Arthur called out for Lewis as loudly as he could, the name broken into pieces by his stutter and chattering teeth. He had to be close by if he’d made the decision to leave Vivi and the van behind. Arthur kept shouting, his voice becoming hoarse as he sucked in deep lungfuls of frigid air, trying to be heard over the howling wind. A desperate sense of urgency fueled him, tinged with a guilt and remorse he couldn’t quite place, which nonetheless helped propel him onwards through the snow.

I have to find Lewis!

#mystery skulls animated #msa #msa fanfic #mystery skulls animated fanfic #arthur #lewis #vivi #mystery #uncle lance #arthur kingsmen #lewis pepper #vivi yukino #Snowdrift

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huilian · 3 years

Link

It wasn’t a good patrol. That was a surprise in and of itself, because the two of them have generally learned how to work around, and more importantly, with each other. Dick has learned a lot of Damian’s quirks, Damian has learned a lot of Dick’s, and for the past couple of weeks, all of their patrol was, if not the best that it can be, at least fairly good.

This one was not. It was disaster after disaster, and Dick doesn’t even know whether the fault is his or Damian’s, because every single thing they did tonight was out of sync. Dick thought he had told Damian about the code for one of the flying maneuvers--it was a maneuver that he and Bruce used to do all those years ago, when Dick is still small enough to make it work--but obviously he hadn’t, because he told Robin the code and then Damian, instead of bracing himself to be launched up, went slack, causing Dick to throw a limp mass of Robin to their attackers.

It went horribly. It was only luck that caused them to get out of that particular encounter unscathed. Well, physically unscathed, at least, because that particular mishap seemed to throw off their rhythm for the night.

It was a horrible patrol. Dick is tired and cranky and all he wants to do is take off this damned cowl and cape and crash for several hours straight, at least.

Which is why when Damian starts to criticize everything about the maneuver, one that Dick had spent months, once upon a time, developing with Bruce, it hits him. Hard.

“Not to mention that it is a very inefficient way to apprehend those criminals,” Damian drones on. “Honestly, Grayson, I expected better of the man who dared called himself Batman in my Father’s place. It is a shameful excuse for a maneuver.”

Dick really shouldn’t react. The boy is just fishing him on. Dick learned that early on, working with Damian. He’s like a little hedgehog, curling up into a ball and stabbing people with his spikes whenever he feels threatened or hurt.

“But really, I should have known that this is the quality of work I should be getting accustomed to in this forsaken city. How you manage before my arrival I will never know, if tonight is of any indication.”

Dick tries to let the words go past him. Damian is just trying to rile up Dick. The boy is not stupid, he knows that his complaining is not going to achieve anything other than making Dick mad. Which means that that is precisely what Damian is going for, and so Dick is not going to be mad.

“Why I consented to come to this city and stay I will never know,” Damian finishes with a sneer.

Dick takes a deep breath in, and then out. He reminds himself that Damian is just talking his mouth off. Damian just wants to relieve his own frustrations for the night in the only way he knows, by taking it on others and making others hurt in his stead.

Dick knows all of this. He knows.

That doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt.

“Well, have you ever considered that I never asked to have you in my life!” Dick finally spits out. He knows that Damian is only saying all that shit because Damian is also tired and cranky and frustrated after the disastrous patrol, and that he is only a ten-year old boy that has spent the majority of his childhood taught to lash out whenever he felt threatened. Dick knows all of it.

But once the words came out, it cannot be stopped. “I never asked for you to come, I never asked for you to stay, I never asked for you to be here! If this city and this work is so abhorrent to you-” Dick turns to face the boy “-then you are free to go at any time!” he finishes with a yell.

He regrets the words the moment they came out, because the look on Damian’s face isn’t shock or anger. It’s acceptance.

Like Damian knows this is coming, and has been preparing himself for it.

“Thank you for your honesty, Grayson,” Damian says with a clipped voice. And then he turns around, every movement calm and collected in a way that tells Dick that he is in no way calm and collected, and walks out of the room.

Dick opens his mouth to call on Damian, but he closes it again. The boy won’t answer, Dick knows that much, and Damian needs some time to himself to calm down.

Just like Dick needs some time to calm down.

What he said is true. Every word of it. It isn’t fair to Damian--none of this is--but it is true. Dick never asked to have Damian in his life. He shouldn’t have said it out loud, especially to the boy himself, but it is true. Dick is honest enough to know that.

But then he also never asked to have Bruce in his life. He never asked to have Alfred, or Jason or Tim or Cassandra or practically every single person he now considers family, in his life.

He is happy enough with the rest of them.

Dick sighs, and sits down on the chair in front of the computer. The chair is new, just like the computer (which Dick still cannot bring himself to call the Batcomputer yet). The suit he is in is new, and so are most of the things in the Bunker, underneath the equally new Penthouse of the newly refurbished Wayne Tower.

And therein lies the truth.

It’s not that Dick never asked to have Damian in his life. It’s the fact that he is now responsible for him. It’s the fact that he is now raising him, when it should have been…

He never asked for this. He never asked to have to come back to Gotham to keep it from falling apart. He never asked to have to step into Bruce’s shoes. He never asked to have to be the one raising his little brother, because Bruce…

Because Bruce died.

If Dick is being honest to himself--and why not, what more harm could he do now, after he has said that to Damian’s face--as much as he’s grown to love the little brat now, in the first few days after Bruce’s death, he would have traded it all. His father for a new little brother that is as infuriating as Damian was? It wouldn’t have been a contest.

His father, and his old life, and his freedom? Against Damian? He hates himself for saying this, but then, he would have traded it all in a heartbeat.

But he couldn’t, then, and now… And now he doesn’t want to.

Which makes what he said to Damian all the worse.

Dick sighs again, letting his head fall behind the back of the chair. He needs to go, needs to make sure that Damian is not going to do something as foolish as leave, but he’s not sure whether or not Damian is going to want to see him. He could ask Alfred to keep an eye out for Damian, but the old butler already has so many things to do, Dick doesn’t want to ask him to do more.

Besides, this is his mess. He should be the one taking care of it.

Dick sighs one last time before rising up, preparing himself for one more night of standing vigil in front of Damian’s door.

***

Damian knows it’s coming. He knows that one day, he would have to leave, all of Grayson’s pitiful attempts at denial notwithstanding. It’s just another trick, another test.

Say that nothing would make him throw Damian out, and then see how many mistakes Damian made. A glaringly obvious tactic.

He grows tired of the deception, or so Damian tells himself when he goaded Grayson. Last night’s patrol had been yet another evidence of his many inadequacies. Damian has been here for weeks already, he should have known all the codes.

A foolish mistake, but a mistake that costs them the patrol all the same. Grayson must be thinking of throwing Damian off, he must be. There is no other option.

So Damian goaded him, because if he is going to leave, he is going to leave under his own terms.

And so here he is, in his room, waiting for the sun to rise so that he can leave Gotham undetected. He doesn’t need to pack--his go-bag hasn’t been unpacked ever since he arrived in Gotham--and so he spends the time going over his route. Which he already knows by heart.

He knows it’s coming, he knows that he’s going to have to leave eventually, so he does his best to block the echo of Grayson’s words. It’s nothing he hasn’t suspected before. It’s nothing he hasn’t deduced before.

It somehow still hurts to hear it from the older man’s lips.

When the sun finally, finally, rises and bathes the room in light, Damian takes his go-bag out of its hiding place, and then releases it again. Another half hour, to make sure that there is enough people in the building and on the streets for him to blend into.

He spends the half-hour going over his route, again, because as much as he underestimated Grayson when he first met him, Damian knows better now.

And then, the half-hour too is gone. He has to leave. He has to leave. It’s better to leave on your own accord rather than be drummed out of Gotham, or worse, being escorted back to Mother.

Damian takes one last look at the room, and decides that he needs to go over his plan one more time. It never hurts to be prepared.

Take the stairs down, then, at the second level, take the public elevator down to the lobby of the Wayne Tower. At this time in the morning, there should already be people taking the public elevator, so Damian can blend in. Keep in the crowd until you’re out of the Tower, and then walk several blocks east, until he can take a bus to the edge of Gotham. Then, take another bus back in to Gotham, without paying or showing any signs of his presence this time, and go down at several stops before his destination. Then he can just walk to the safehouse he keeps in the outskirts of Gotham.

He’ll figure out just where to go in the bus.

Damian lifts up the go-back, and if it only contains the absolute necessity he needs to survive then that’s his own business, and opens the door.

Only to be met by Grayson, who jumps awake when Damian has opened enough of the door to see him.

Damian freezes. This shouldn’t be happening. Grayson should be asleep in his own bed, far away from Damian. He should be rejoicing that he’s not going to be burdened by Damian anymore. He shouldn’t be sitting in front of Damian’s door, waiting for someone he never even asked to be in his life in the first place.

Why is Grayson here?

Grayson recovers first. “Damian,” he says, and then he stops, face scrunching. Silence stretches between the two of them, silence that Damian doesn’t want to break first.

Why is Grayson here?

“I’m sorry,” Grayson finally says. “I shouldn’t have said that.”

Damian just looks at him. He wants to believe it, but he knows he shouldn’t. It’s always coming, whether it is today or tomorrow or months later. He would have to leave.

That is inevitable.

“I shouldn’t have said that,” Grayson says again. “I’m not going to lie and say that I didn’t mean that, because you deserve better than a lie, but I want you to know that even though I never asked for you, it doesn’t mean that I don’t want you.”

Damian grips the straps on his bag tighter. A cheap tactic. That is all. A cheap tactic because Grayson knows, just like Damian does, that it would be much better for Damian to make his own way to Mother rather than be escorted by Grayson.

It would be much better for Damian, when he eventually must face Mother again, and so Grayson is striving to make it more difficult.

“I want you to stay, Damian,” Grayson continues. “I’m sorry for saying that. I’m sorry for losing my temper. I’m sorry that I made you feel unwanted.”

He would have to leave, Damian chants inside his head. He would have to leave eventually.

“I want you to stay, but if you want to leave, I’m not going to stop you. Just… Wait until we can arrange for something better, at least? So that you don’t have to go with just one go-bag.”

Damian looks into Grayson’s eyes. Grayson is a good actor. He must be, to survive many undercover missions. Grayson is a good actor, and so everything that Damian reads off him could be entirely wrong.

He would have to leave, eventually. He knows that. Grayson knows that too.

But it doesn’t have to be today.

Damian drops his go-bag just outside his room--he can always make another go-bag later, and anyhow, it would be a good exercise--and nods, never taking his eyes away from Grayon’s face. Then, he turns around and closes his door

Faintly, he hears a sigh from outside the door. He would have tell Grayson, and maybe Pennyworth, that he intends to stay. For now, at least, and for longer that it would take for them to arrange for, in Grayson’s words, something better. But that can wait.

That can wait for later.

Damian would have to leave, eventually. He knows that, and Grayson must know that also. But it doesn’t have to be today. And it doesn’t have to be tomorrow, either.

#dc #dick grayson #damian wayne #fic #lian write #batfam 18+ server january prompts

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caitybug · 4 years

Note

(Also sorry you are working on sads and feel blegh) maybe Rain is too "mundain" as far as prompts. 5? 7? 8? Any of those sound fun? 😂

5. Typed kisses.

7. Kisses after decades apart.

8. Kisses after dark.

Birdy, bc I love you, I’m going to try to do all of these haha.

(Shoutout to @adamarks for looking this over to make sure I wasn’t going insane.)

(1:35): Good morning!

(1:35): Snow, it’s 1 in the morning.

(1:36): Why are you messaging me?

(1:36): It’s 7:30 here.

(1:36): It’s still morning, though. So my original text stands.

(1:37): Good morning, Snow.

(1:37):😘 😘

(1:38): XO.

Day 2:

(10:03): Let me know how your appointment goes.

(10:03): XO.

(10:04): My what?

(10:04): Your check-up.

(11:05): You forgot about it, didn’t you?

(11:10): I’m here, I don’t know what you’re talking about, Baz.

(11:12): You’re an idiot, Snow.

(11:12): 😘 😘 love you.

(11:13): I love you too, XO.

Day 3:

(15:03): Do you think the milk is still good?

(15:04): When did it go bad?

(15:05): It says it went bad a few days ago.

(15:06): But the date says best by…

(15:06): So it just means it isn’t at its BEST right?

(15:07): How does it smell?

(15:07): Not good.

(15:08): Then don’t drink it.

(15:09): What if I just don’t know how milk is supposed to smell? How often do I really smell milk?

(15:10): Snow, just get more milk. I think we can spare the money it costs.

(15:10): But I’ve already started cooking.

(15:12): I’m just going to try anyway.

(15:12): It’ll be cooked anyway, right?

(15:13): I want it known I believe this to be a bad idea.

(15:14): You also said that subscribing to three different butter services was “unnecessary and excessive”

(15:15): I stand by that, Snow.

(15:15): How can one person eat that much butter each month?

(15:16): I can’t believe you would doubt my abilities like this.

(15:16): I thought we were in a loving and supportive relationship.

(15:17): I love you and support your health.

(15:17): Which means cutting back on butter sometimes, darling.

(15:20): I’m going to use the milk.

(15:22): I wish you the best.

(15:22): 😘 😘

(15:23): XO.

Day 5:

(7:40): How is your stomach?

(7:45): Better.

(7:45): I told you to buy new milk.

(7:47): I think there is a stomach bug going around.

(7:47): Probably that.

(7:49): Sure, Snow.

(7:49): That’s why you spent yesterday regurgitating the entire contents of your stomach.

(7:50): Yes, it is.

(7:52): Have a good day.

(7:52): I miss you.

(7:52): 😘 😘

(7:55): I miss you too.

(7:55): XO.

Day 8:

(20:46): The people above us are pounding it out again.

(20:47): Earplugs are in my bedside drawer.

(20:47): If you were here I’d just try to compete.

(20:48): You certainly would not.

(20:50): I bet we could beat them.

(20:52): Come on, Baz, I know you’ve got a competitive streak. Don’t let Richard and Shelly show us up.

(20:53): You’ve got two hands, Snow. I’m sure you could manage something.

(20:54): Oh? Good idea.

(20:54): Talk later.

(20:55): 😘 😘

(20:57): I regret so much about this conversation.

(20:57): XO.

Day 13:

(14:05): YOU COME BACK TOMORROW!

(14:07): Please stop yelling at me.

(14:07): But yes, I do.

(14:08): 😊 😊 😊

(14:09): I love you.

(14:14): I love you too.

(14:15): Can we facetime?

(14:15): In a couple of hours, Snow.

(14:15): I’ve got one more meeting.

(14:16): 😔

(14:16): Alright.

(14:17): XO.

(14:18): 😘 😘

Day 14

I get through security. It’s always a painful even, especially in America. Have to practically strip just to stand in a machine that tells everyone what I’ve already known.

No gun here the machine says with a green light and a beep.

As if I’d need one.

It’s been delayed several hours for a reason I’ve yet to figure out. The weather looks clear, planes are moving in and out. People on other flights are still departing on time.

The only reasonable explanation I’ve come up with is the airline is incompetent.

“Snow,” I say, putting a finger in my right ear, trying to ignore the man screaming at the poor help desk person. “I may not be back until tomorrow.”

I look at the clock. Even if we left now I wouldn’t get home until midnight.

“What? Why?” He asks. His voice sounds frantic.

I hate worrying him.

“This airline work flew me through is set upon ruining my life,” I growl under my breath.

The service representatives have been berated enough, they don’t need me coming after them as well. (Even if I want to.)

(Crowley do I want to.)

“Right now it doesn’t have us leaving for another two hours, so at earliest I won’t be home until 3 in the morning. With the trend of how this has been going, I won’t be surprised if it gets canceled altogether.”

He huffs.

“I miss you.”

It comes out as a whisper, any quieter, and I would have missed it.

It’s not that he’s ashamed of saying it. We’ve said it a lot over the past two weeks.

He’s sad. I am too. I was supposed to be home by dinner. We were going to order takeaway and watch a movie, kiss and makeup for lost time.

Ignore all responsibilities of the world around us for the evening.

“I miss you too.” I face the large windows, looking at planes that aren’t mine leaving the runway.

The blasted airport is under construction too. Everyone said to fly in and out of La Guardia because it is easier, but I’m wondering if I should have taken JFK.

“I’ll be home as soon as I can.”

“You better. Preferably before I drink more spoiled milk.”

“Stay away from all dairy products until I return,” I chuckle into the phone.

An announcement comes over the intercom.

“They’re announcing another delay, I’m sure,” I groan. “I’ll send you a text.”

“I love you,” he says from the other side.

“I love you too,” I respond, ending the call and slipping it into my pocket.

(14:36): I hope you get home soon.

(14:36): Threaten to suck their blood, or something.

(14:36): I’m sure that would work.

(14:36): 😘 😘.

(14:37): You’re an idiot, Snow.

(14:37): XO.

Day 15, 4:16

I turn my key in the door, trying to quietly walk into the flat. My suitcase softly rolls against the wood behind me as I pull it in, letting it sit next to the door.

Unpacking can happen after I get at least fourteen hours of sleep.

I place a brown paper sack of scones on the kitchen table.

I couldn’t resist. The shop next to us had just opened, and I knew it would make him smile.

I continue down the hallway, stopping only to take a piss.

In our room, still blanketed in darkness apart from the street lights coming from the road beside us, Simon softly snores.

He still sleeps on his side of the bed while I’m away. It makes my heart feel softer than I’d like to admit.

One hand rests next to his head, his wings spread out across the bed.

I change clothes, relieving myself of all the feelings of travel before softly lifting a wing to get under the blanket and allow him to cover me again.

I don’t have long to process the fact that I’m with him again before I feel something wrap around my calf.

I pause for a moment before I remember.

The tail.

He is, for all I can tell, still asleep. Meaning it’s recognized I’m here and is saying hello in its own way.

I rub it softly with my other foot.

It dislikes not getting attention, you see.

Simon’s mouth is open as he breathes deeply. I think his pillow is a little wet.

I’d call it disgusting (it is, truly), but I missed him so much that I can’t help but smile.

I risk moving closer and kiss his cheek softly, trying not to wake him up.

I know he hasn’t slept well without me.

(I haven’t either, without him.)

Side effect of sleeping for so many years in that tower. We both got dreadfully used to hearing the other breathe, the way we each navigated and slept.

At this point, I think even his snoring lulls me to sleep.

(I still complain about it, however.)

An arm wraps behind my back and pulls me close.

He takes a deep breath, and when I pull back I see one eye open.

“Hey there,” he says, voice hoarse with sleep.

“Your breath smells.” I lean in, kissing his forehead.

“Well your hair is greasy,” he replies, pulling me into a kiss, his hand moving to my hair.

“You don’t seem to mind it.”

He hums in response.

I pull him tighter. I need to feel this. Everything.

His lips.

His hands.

His chest against mine.

“And you don’t seem to mind the morning breath,” he states, smiling at me as we break for a moment.

I open my mouth to retort but he puts a finger to my lips, shushing me.

“No talking, only kissing,” he whispers. “I’ve not kissed my fiancé in decades.”

He leans in but I pull back for a moment.

“It’s been two weeks, Snow.”

“Decades,” he states matter of factly. “Each day was like five years passed. It’s been 70 years. I’ve gone grey and wrinkly, waiting for you to return.”

I laugh, being shut up briefly by another round of kisses.

I should sleep.

But this is so much better than sleeping.

I feel something wet hit my cheek.

Backing up, worried there is a leak from the ceiling, I realize why.

It’s Simon.

“Love,” I say.

What’s wrong?

“It’s fine; it’s fine,” he says, wiping a stray tear from his cheek. “I’m just tired, and I missed you.”

Another tear drops from one of his eyes, and I brush it away with my thumb.

I open my mouth to say a response, to comfort, but I feel a stinging in my own eyes.

(My eyes have been open for too long, you see. Couldn’t sleep on the plane. I’ve been up far too long to be able to control any tears that fall.)

I lean in to kiss him again.

We kiss, and kiss, and keep kissing. Hands roam, trying to remind our brains of what it feels like to have each other again.

It was dark when we started, but soon an orange haze comes over the room as the sun rises.

The tears start, stop, start again.

Laughter rings out a few times.

“You did WHAT to our oven??” I shout at one point.

He lays now with his head on my chest. My eyes are closed, fingers scratching his head lightly.

His hand is softly rubbing my stomach.

“Wait,” Simon says, jumping up and looking at me.

I blink a few times, trying to fight off the sleep that was about to overcome me.

“Did you get?” He asks, question incomplete.

I search his eyes for a moment, frowning, trying to comprehend before I realize what he is saying.

“Yes, they are on the table,” I laugh softly.

He jumps up and starts to go to the door.

He pauses, looking back at me, clearly wracking his brain with a question.

“We can eat them in bed,” I say, knowing where his mind is trying to go.

He smiles and continues his run to the kitchen.

I look out the window and see the sun hit the windows of nearby buildings.

It’s good to be home.

#snowverylost #carry on #simon snow #baz pitch #snowbaz #Caity does fanfiction #I hope you like this!#Me #Trying To Do A Text Fic #lol #<3 you birdy

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downwiththeficness · 4 years

Text

In the Blood-Part Seven

Pairing: Brasa/Female OC

Word Count: ~3,000

Warnings: None

Part One Part Two Part Three Part Four Part Five Part Six

Part Eight Part Nine Part Ten Part Eleven Part Twelve

It took about two months of research to find the artifact. While there wasn’t a shortage of books bound in flesh in the rare antiquities world, there was only one bound in the skin of a culebra. She tracked it down to a veritable recluse a few towns over and had spent the better part of the last eight weeks trying to get inside his house.

Lilah rubbed at her eyes until she saw spots, drawing on the last reserves of her patience as she read through another disappointing report. She leaned back in her seat and stared at the ceiling, wondering if she should just drive out there and deal with it, herself. Javier had insisted that she shouldn’t, that she was needed here, but the team he’d hired was striking out left and right. The hermit couldn’t be bought, he couldn’t be threatened, and his security system was top of the line—an uncrackable safe, she’d been assured by experts.

And, Brasa was MIA. Lilah leaned on her elbows. Since that night in the hotel, she hadn’t seen him, but she’d feel him now and again. Pressing a palm to her stomach, a breath across her collarbones, heat radiating from beside or behind her. She wanted to talk to him, wanted to ask him more about the world she was suddenly immersed in. Lilah had read so much about culebras, mostly from books Javier sent her, but nothing about Xibalba. Correction: Little about Xibalba. The only thing that the books seemed to say was that it was like hell, only worse.

Surreptitiously, she’d skimmed the pages for information about a queen, and for Brasa’s name. There was next to nothing. The going theory was that Xibalban rulers were cruel, blood soaked tyrants who killed at will. Lilah spent a lot of time trying to reconcile the soft touch of Brasa to the violence in the books. She tried, and failed. Lilah needed more information.

Still, the job was there, every day. More excuses from the team, no book. Lilah looked up the directions to the hermit’s house, just in case.

This morning was an anomaly. A report came in that told her the hermit had a son. The hermit had a son that liked to gamble. She smiled as she read it, knowing that they could work the son to get inside and get the book. Easy.

Lilah pulled the contact information for his favorite haunt on her phone and dialed the number. She stood and paced while she waited for the other side to pick up. She hadn’t bothered to make the bed, knowing the housekeeping staff would take care of it later. She also hadn’t bothered to unpack. Though she’d been in this room nearly the entire time, she kept her suitcase packed and ready to go when she wasn’t actively using anything inside. Every night, she stowed away her laptop and other essentials. Just in case.

The line picked up, “Hello?”

“Yes, is this Mr. Pickerelle?”

A pause, “Who is this?”

Lilah sat on the bed, and put on her most professional voice, “I represent a loan operation and we specialize in—“

“Not interested,” he cut her off, voice brooking no argument.

Lilah tsked, “I think you are. I’d like to buy one of your debts.”

While she went over the details and got his account information to transfer the money, Lilah leaned over the bed and pulled the complementary notepad from the drawer of the side table. She wrote the numbers down, smiling at the first real progress in weeks.

“Tell me, what do you want with this guy?”

Lilah laughed, “Nothing good, I assure you.”

He launched into an anecdote about squeezing his first victim for money, and Lilah rolled her eyes, laying back on the pillow. Really, she should end the call and hang up, but information was information. She might need it later.

Just when she thought he might pull the story to an end, he went off on a tangent, and she slapped a hand to her forehead in boredom. She debated interrupting him, when a warm weight settled on her thighs. Lilah glanced down and saw nothing, but the heat was familiar. Absently, she reached down, hoping to find something solid. Her hand met only air.

Frustrated, she turned her attention to the call and found her opening to end it, pressing her thumb to the screen with a little more force than necessary. She tossed the phone to the side and looked up at the ceiling.

“What are you doing?”

Lilah didn’t know if saying out loud would transmit the message to him, but she said it anyways. The warmth dissipated after a moment and she clenched her jaw, refusing to feel bad about it. She had a new lead that needed to be explored. It was time to take that on.

Lilah spent about three hours figuring out details over email and then decided that she was going to do it, herself. The guy was easy to hunt down, given that he had no idea he was being followed. People were creatures of habit, whether they admitted it, or not. This guy was no exception. He frequented the same bar at least twice a week and drove a yellow Mustang. Convenient.

Lilah didn’t do much shopping, but she wasn’t going to get into this bar without wearing something nicer than jeans and a hoodie. She bought a tight fitting navy dress and maroon heels, curled her hair, and put on the only piece of jewelry she owned—a gold linked chain that fell enticingly into her cleavage.

The bar wasn’t so much a bar as it was a club. Lots of blue laser lights, music with a thumping base, and dark. Lilah could work with dark. She stepped to the edge of the dance floor, looking for her mark. It was early, and it was possible that he hadn’t arrived yet. She craned her neck, looking over the crowd. Not here, not yet.

Lilah turned to the bar, thinking that she might look more at home with a drink her hand, and felt a wave of dizziness. The air turned hot and the music transitioned to something slower. It vibrated in her chest, forcing her to turn around in search of someone else. She wasn’t in the bar anymore. She wasn’t really sure where she was.

To her right, there was a seating area that was sparsely filled, everyone’s attention on the stage to her left. She looked, too, jaw dropping as she observed a burlesque show mid-performance. The woman was beautiful—beautiful and really, really flexible. Lilah turned her head as she pulled her leg back and around so that it bent gracefully over her head.

Feeling a sympathetic ache in her thighs, she glanced around the rest of the room, looking for something to orient herself. She recognized no one, and it seemed that they didn’t recognize her, either. The few pairs of eyes that she met took note and looked away, far more interested in the show. Lilah was grateful, less interest meant less possibility for questions that she definitely didn’t have the answer to.

She almost went to the bar, but an area lit up in red caught her eye. Focusing, she took a few steps forward, edging around a high table to get a closer look. There was evidently a meeting in progress, several men discussing something passionately. One man I particular snagged and held her attention.

“Brasa,” she breathed, barely able to help herself. After so long, seeing him felt like coming up for air after laying at the bottom of a pool until her lungs burned.

As if he’d heard her, his head snapped up, eyes finding her across the room. He didn’t exactly look shocked to see her, but his brows rose in question. Saying something to the others, he pressed his hands to the table and rose. Lilah watched him stride over to her determinedly, pace quick but not rushed. She didn’t miss the way people moved out of his way, hurriedly stepping to the side. Lilah smirked when she noticed he wasn’t wearing all black this time, opting for a deep green long sleeve shirt alongside his usual black gloves and slacks.

“What are you doing here?” He asked as he reached her, his hands already rising to her shoulders in order to draw her close. She went willingly, too glad to feel his warmth again.

Lilah’s brows lifted, “You’re not happy to see me?”

He smiled, “Of course I am.” Then, “Come with me.”

Brasa took her by the hand, leading her deeper into the room, past an ‘employees only’ sign, and through another set of heavy double doors that looked as if they were made of metal. The hallway opened up to a massive room with a single cement walkway through the middle, dissecting a large pool. On the far end was a desk and several chairs. The light, as in the club, was a dim red that seemed to come from the ceiling, though there were no discernable fixtures.

Lilah took in the room, slowing a bit, “Is this your office?”

He stopped and looked back at her, brows together in confusion, “Yes, it is.”

She continued gazing around appreciatively, “Nice digs.”

His head tilted to the side a little, one side of his mouth lifting, “Is that good?”

“Yes,” Lilah confirmed with a smile, “Its good.”

Something like relief flashed behind his eyes. He continued to look at her, taking in her dress, her heels, his eyes dark. She found herself blushing under the weight of that gaze, wanting him closer despite her frustration with him.

“Its been a long time,” Lilah prompted gently, wanting an explanation for his absence, but unsure of how to go about getting it..

Looking contrite, Brasa grasped her hips in both hands and dropped his gaze to the ground, “I know. There have been complications.”

She lifted one brow, “What complications?”

He released a breath borne out of long contained agitation, his fingers tightening ever so slightly on her body, “A faction of my people have been attempting to run a coup. I have spent nearly every waking moment working to keep the peace.”

Lilah couldn’t help the little bit of ire that remained, though the explanation was pretty fucking good, “You could have said something. I started to think that it was all up here.”

She motioned to her head, attempting to convey the paranoia that had crept into her mind with every passing day that she didn’t see him. Passing touches only fueled the doubt, and Lilah did not like to doubt herself.

Brasa gathered her to his chest, resting his chin on her head affectionately, “Please accept my apologies.”

Reluctantly, she wrapped her arms around him, inhaling his scent and feeling tension she didn’t know she had fall away. Lilah wanted to hold onto it, but it slipped from her like water—which didn’t make any sense, because holding a grudge was a skill that she definitely had in spades.

“What is this? Please, explain it to me.” She didn’t conceal the edge of panic in her voice, not caring what that made her look like to anyone who cared to look.

He pulled away, catching her eye. It took real work to keep from falling deep into his gaze, the soft brown barely illuminated by the red light that seemed ubiquitous in this place. Darkness and shadow passed over and through him, making themselves at home.

Brasa swallowed and his glance shifted to the side a bit. Lilah forced herself to remain silent. He’d been open with her in the past when she asked him direct questions, she would give him that opportunity now.

“It thought it was impossible. I thought that demons couldn’t have—weren’t made for…”

She leaned in, resting her hands on his biceps, “For?”

“You,” he finished, the word issued with a little force. “I thought I would never have you. But, when I felt you in the healing pools, it just all fell into place.”

If anything, she was more confused now than she had been half a minute previous. She tried to hold his gaze, but he was still looking to the side. Lilah tried to force a little urgency into her next sentence. She needed to know.

“You’ve got to be little more specific.”

Brasa shifted on his feet, fixing her with an unblinking gaze, his jaw clenching. He stilled unnaturally, breaths coming in a little faster. Leaning down, he pressed his nose to the sensitive place behind her ear, inhaling, “Fuck, you smell good.”

Lilah couldn’t help the little whimper that she made when his mouth opened and he tongued along that little bit of skin. She wobbled a little in her heels, arching to give him more access. Despite the tangent, she liked the electric feeling of skin meeting skin, her body welcoming every touch.

“You still,” she asserted on the tail end of a moan, “Haven’t answered my question.”

Brasa laughed against her skin, kissing along her jaw until he met her mouth, where gave her the quickest, lightest little peck. Lilah tried to follow him when he pulled away, earning herself another soft chuckle.

“I haven’t,” he agreed, “And I did agree to answer your questions.”

“You did.”

Though he leaned back so that he could look at her, he kept his hold firm. She couldn’t have stepped away, if she wanted to—not that she particularly wanted to. Despite her effort to keep focused on their conversation, Lilah couldn’t quite tamp down the urge to run her hands up his arms and over his shoulders, her thumbs resting on either side of his collar. Fiddling with the fabric kept her from using it as leverage to pull him down for a deeper kiss. She’d been way too long without him and didn’t know when she’d get the opportunity again.

Clearing his throat, Brasa attempted to start again, “Do you remember when I told you of the blood bond I had to my queen?” When she nodded, he continued, “This is similar—deeper.”

“Deeper how?”

“You are mine and I am yours,” he said, the words coming out in a rhythm that hinted at ritual.

Lilah frowned, “Are you talking about soul mates?”

He smirked, “Blood is the conduit of the soul.”

“That doesn’t make any sense.”

Brasa rolled his eyes, “I doubt its meant to. But, this is real. Every time I touch you,” he cupped her face, “Kiss you,” he pressed his lips to hers, “Catch your fucking mouthwatering scent. It. Is. Real.”

They stood there for a while, foreheads touching, sharing breaths. Lilah was speechless, her brain working to try to rearrange her whole world around a man who seemed to eclipse everything around her. After several false starts, she just stopped trying.

“Green looks good on you,” she murmured, tugging a bit on his collar.

His chin lowered and he traced two fingers from her chin, down her neck, to the edge of her dress, where he lingered.

“When I saw you tonight, I thought it was another dream to torment me.”

Surprised, Lilah asked, “You dream about me.”

“Constantly,” he affirmed, “You’ve wrecked my concentration.”

Lilah thought he was certainly doing a hell of a job wrecking her concentration. Her brain reminded her none too gently that she was supposed to be doing a job. Her body was calmly telling her brain to shut the hell up so that she could enjoy this. She rose up a bit in her heels and kissed him, ending the feud entirely.

He groaned into it, and wrapped both arms around her, a move that seemed almost reflexive. Lilah couldn’t seem to catch her breath. Every part of her felt over sensitive and raw, achy. She pressed her thighs together to try to put a little pressure where she most needed it. The motion brought into sharp focus the fact that she was teetering on the edge of knife. Just a little push would send her to her knees.

A loud banging on the heavy doors sounded, and Lilah gasped with the sudden intrusion. Brasa’s arms remained locked around her. He veered off to the side, mouthing down her neck and to the swell of her breasts. Lilah’s moan was loud even to her ears when his tongue snaked out to lick a hot stripe between them.

The knock sounded again, this time more urgent.

“My lord!” Someone yelled from the other side.

A vicious growl rumbled out of Brasa. It started low and built to one long, deadly warning. Lilah shivered, though she couldn’t exactly put her finger on why. The edges of the room began to blur and she could feel the tell tale wooziness.

Straightening, Brasa breathed deeply, his eyes closed. Lilah smiled at the concerted effort he was making to calm himself. It gratified her to know that she wasn’t the only one wanting more.

“Go take care of that,” she whispered, “I have a job I need to get to, anyways.”

Brasa’s eyes opened and she could see the determination in them, “We’re not done.” He gripped her chin between his thumb and the curve of his forefinger, “I found you.”

A little thrill went through her at the implication that she’d see him outside of their shared visions, “We’ll finish this later, then.”

Reluctantly, he let her go, taking a step away. Her mouth went dry as she watched him adjust the erection straining against his slacks. A not so little part of her wanted to reach out and palm it, feel its shape in her hand.

The knocking continued and he took a long, final glance at her before turning and heading for the door. Lilah closed her eyes as her equilibrium shifted, and then she was back in the bar she’d started out in. And, to her good fortune, her target had arrived.

#In the Blood #from dusk til dawn #from dusk til dawn: the series #fdtd #maurice compte

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solynaceawrites · 4 years

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Promise Me Forever [3]

Fandom: Devil May Cry Characters: Dante, Lirael Thorne (OC) Tags: Slow Burn, Romance, Arranged Marriage, Alternate Universe, First Time, Friends to Lovers Chapters: 3/14 co-written by @lickitysplitfic Summary: An old, long-forgotten promise between gods comes back to haunt Dante when it deposits an unfamiliar woman on his door. Claiming to be the descendant of Ler, she says that they’re meant to fulfill the oath made by Sparda centuries ago, and all he can do is watch as she turns his life upside down. Yet when her parents come knocking, demanding the oath be fulfilled, he’s forced to choose: return to the bachelor ways he loved so much, or give in to the emotions brewing between him.

The rest of the day passes with more ease than Lir could have hoped for. Dante gets her set up on the computer, a marvel of technology she never truly got to use before, creating an account for her and walking her through how to use the search engine, where to find the games that were pre-installed. The fact that she has access to solitaire, even if it's digital, delights her, and she wastes a few hours playing through it. Then she finds a news site and reads through the articles on the first page; a lady, her mother said, should know what is going on in the world in order to make conversation with her husband.

Dante, for his part, doesn't seem to do as much work as she'd thought. There are a few phone calls that he answers tersely, but none that make him move from behind the desk, where he dozes. Lir tries not to look too closely at the magazine over his face. The woman on the cover is far more curvaceous than she could ever be, and she wonders, more than once, if that's the sort of thing he prefers.

She's just gotten up to see what she can make them for dinner when the door to the shop opens. A young man enters, and the similarities between him and Dante are striking enough that Lir can only stare as he crosses the room towards her. "Is this her?" he asks.

Dante rocks up. "Nero? The hell are you doing here?"

"Hey, you're the one who called me," Nero retorts. "You scared Kyrie half to death with that warning of yours, so I wanted to come and see for myself what the fuss was about." His piercing gaze shifts back to Lir. "She doesn't seem so dangerous."

"Dante?" Lir's eyes go wide as he strides over, and the way he crosses his arms over his chest and stares down at her gives her deja vu.

The boy narrows his eyes as he scowls. "Who are you and what do you want?"

"Okay, lay off," Dante calls over.

She shrinks back towards the wall as he rolls his neck. "Start talking, lady, or—"

"Hey!" They both turn to see Dante leaning forward in his chair, a scowl on his face. "I said lay off."

"No, you said there was a woman here who was trying to kill you." The young man flings out his arm as he turns and scoffs. "I'm here to help!"

"Some help," Dante laughs. "You are about twelve hours too late."

"Yeah, well I spent all night behind a dumpster looking for a pack of demonic squirrels." He looks around with a frown. "Did you clean?"

"No." Dante nods to her. "She did. Her name, by the way, is Lir, and she's not going to kill anyone as far as I know. Though I might if you don't back up."

It doesn't sound entirely genuine, but Nero does take a few steps away, though he continues to eye her distrustfully. "Where'd she come from?"

"Somewhere up north."

"Why's she here?"

Dante glances at her as he says, "Personal business."

Nero points at him, obviously exasperated. "Listen, you. Kyrie was in tears when I got home, she was so worried about you. If you got her that fuckin' worked up over nothing, I'm gonna come over there and shove my fist up your—"

"Nero? Was that your name?" Lir interrupts, quickly standing.

Her heart is pounding when the young man turns and frowns at her. But if he is threatening Dante, she should help somehow, so she holds out her hand. "Nice to meet you. I'm Lir."

He regards her suspiciously before shaking her hand. "Yeah, I'm Nero. Dante's a friend of mine." He puts his hands on his hips, and again the similarity between the two is striking. "So what's your personal business?"

"I'm here to marry Dante."

Before she can continue, Nero bursts out laughing, leaning over to brace himself on his knees to keep from falling over. "Dante! Oh my fuck, you ordered a bride? Are you insane?" He leans back with another round of laughter, wiping a tear from his eye. "Damn man, if you were that desperate I could have set you up with one of Kyrie's friends or something."

"I didn't order her," Dante sighs. "She's . . . It's sort of an arranged marriage thing."

"Wait, what?" Nero looks at her, and she nods. "Shit. Well, I feel sorry for you, Lir. This guy might be one of the best in the business, but he's never had any luck with the ladies."

"So I've heard." She glances between them again, noting the light hair, the strong jaw, the similar stance. "How do you two know each other again?"

"We met in Fortuna," Dante says. "I was on a job to deal with a cult, Nero worked for said cult. Wound up going against them when he realized what they had planned, but it's not like he knew they were bastards."

Nero gives a shrug. "I thought he was evil at first. Tried to kill him a couple of times."

"Never came close to it," Dante interjects, and Nero flips him off.

"Oh, I see." Lir studies them closely. "It's only . . . Well, you look so similar that I thought you might be related."

Nero scoffs loudly as Dante leans against his desk. "This guy? Yeah I don't think so." He chuckles and shakes his head. "I'd put a fucking bullet in my head if—"

"Okay, watch the language." Lir swallows her chuckle as Nero scowls at him defiantly. "You see? Everything is fine. You should head home."

"Yeah." But he's looking at her now, not Dante. "If you ever need to get away from this jackass for a while, give me a call. Kyrie would love the company. Hope you don't mind kids, though. We've got a couple. She runs an orphanage." There's more than a hint of pride in his voice, and it makes her smile.

"I'd love to visit, as long as Dante doesn't mind."

It's the right response by what she's been taught, but the way the two men glance at each other makes her feel that maybe it was the wrong thing to say. "Right," Nero says. "Well, be seeing you."

"Tell Kyrie I'm sorry for scarin' her," Dante calls after him. The door closes, and he sighs and settles back into his chair. "Kid's a pain," he says to Lir, "but his heart's in the right place."

"He's, um . . . interesting." She glances at Dante, who has gone back to his magazine. "You met him in Fortuna?"

"Yup."

Dante turns the page as she settles on the couch, frowning. "I read about Fortuna. That was last year, right? They had a cult dedicated to Sparda, your father."

"Yup."

She leans forward, brows raised expectantly, and when Dante doesn't look up she sighs loudly. "Well?"

"Well what?"

"Don't you think it's strange that there is a city founded on the demon Sparda, and a boy there exactly like you?" Dante looks up finally, but she rambles on, "They had many of his artifacts, right? Maybe Sparda isn't dead. He could have been living there, and there might be evidence there that proves what I've been saying. Maybe we can find him! And if we find him, then maybe . . ." She looks at him with wide eyes, the wheels turning in her head with the possibilities. "Perhaps you're not the son of Sparda I'm looking for."

His expression goes so cold that she instinctively steps back. It's as though all the progress she'd made in the last twenty-four hours has disappeared, leaving them back in the mire of mistrust they'd started in. "He's been dead for almost forty years," Dante tells her, "and the only sons he had were yours truly and Vergil, who's been dead for twenty."

"I'm sorry," she murmurs. Lir knows that she's supposed to soothe him somehow, but, because she is the cause of his ire, she has no idea what to do. "I only meant that maybe you would be free from dealing with me. I wasn't trying to—"

"And Nero," Dante continues, speaking sharply over her, "has been through enough shit in his life without you going and causing more of it for him because you think you have to bed one of Sparda's bloodline to be worth something."

Tears rise very suddenly, humiliation flooding through her. "I'm sorry," she whispers, but Dante has already returned to his magazine as if nothing had happened.

She blinks rapidly, then turns and moves quickly through the building, hurrying up the stairs and to her room. Lir keeps herself from slamming the door, closing it firmly and moving to sit heavily on the bed, breathing slowly in and out to keep herself from crying.

After several minutes, she wipes her eyes and smooths her hands down her shirt. "I'll make it up to him," she says out loud, standing on shaky legs. Then Lir heads to the bathroom, getting to work scrubbing it from top to bottom, pouring her mixed up emotions into making the marble sparkle.

She is elbow deep in some unpacked boxes in his bedroom when Dante comes to find her. "Hey, Lir, about what I said—"

Lir looks up to see him looking around the room with a grin. "Hey, it looks great in here!"

She opens her mouth to respond before closing it, not sure what she should say to him, or if it even matters that she replies. He moves over and kneels next to her, reaching into the box to pull out a baseball mitt. "Huh," he mumbles, then sets it back inside. "Find anything interesting?"

"I've only just started," she says quietly.

"Right." His fingers drum on his thigh. "I'm sorry. I know I was a bastard to you, and you didn't deserve that. But Lir, you . . . I mean, do you want to just marry me? Is that it for you?"

Lir freezes. The question is one she has never heard before, and she realizes she has never even considered it before. "It's hard for me to answer that," she replies slowly. "If I don't marry you, then what am I going to do?"

Dante shrugs. "You were talking about getting a job. You could do that. What do you want to do?"

She looks away, heat rising up her neck and burning her ears. The fact that she doesn't have an answer is humiliating, and she turns back to the box so Dante can't see her blush. "I'll have to think about that," she murmurs.

"Hey, why don't you give that a rest for a bit?" Lir glances out the side of her eye to see him tilting to the side, trying to catch her attention. "I'll take you out to eat. There's a good diner nearby."

"That's okay." She stands and clears her throat, trying to look composed. "I can make something, it's not a problem."

"Nah. You've done a ton already. Unless . . ." Lir looks up to see him giving her a teasing smile. "You don't want to go to dinner with me."

"I don't understand." He cocks his head, reminding her of the large hound who'd slept in the gardens and kept the foxes away from the hens. "Doing something like that is considered a date, is it not? A romantic gesture? Why would you ask me to go with you if you have no interest in me?"

Dante pauses, his brows furrowed. "It can be, I guess. But it's also a friendly thing. Or you can think of it as a reward. Shop looks better than it has in years, you've made two of the best meals I've ever had. Why wouldn't I want to pay you back?"

"Taking care of you is its own reward," she replies.

"Lir . . ."

"No, I mean it!" She tucks her hair behind her ear. "You seemed happy, and that was nice. I liked making you happy. I just keep . . . messing that up, and I'm sorry."

Dante gives her a smile, then nudges her with his elbow. "Go clean up. Meet you at the front door in five."

He turns and heads into the washroom, his shouts over how clean it is making her giggle. Lir heads back to her room, using the guest bath to wash her face and hands before running a comb through her hair and changing her shirt into a short-sleeved blouse. After a brief debate she dusts some mascara on her eyelashes and applies a bit of lip balm before heading downstairs to meet him exactly five minutes later.

The sight of him renders her speechless. Breathless, too, if she feels like being a bit more cliche, but he looks so good and it's the first time she's really taken him in as a whole since she arrived. The dark denim of his trousers clings to his thick thighs and firm backside almost like a second skin, just loose enough to avoid being considered indecent, and she quickly lifts her eyes up to his chest when she notices the hinted bulge between his legs. But that's no better for her, as the button-down he's wearing shows off his broad shoulders and strong arms, and his hair is loosely gathered at the nape of his neck, highlighting his soft lips and straight nose.

Dante is, in a word, devastating.

Her skin feels too tight and too hot when he grins at her. "You look nice," he says.

"Do I?"

Her voice comes out like a weird half-whisper, and he nods. "Yup. Like a normal person."

That isn't what she had expected, but he is sliding on his leather coat and pressing his hand to her back, leading her to the door. "Okay if we walk? It's only two blocks."

"Yeah, it's fine." Dante doesn't offer his arm and she doesn't ask, so they stroll together side by side. Lir takes the chance to look around, trying to familiarize herself with the buildings and streets. Everything seems so on top of everything else, and the paved sidewalks offer little greenery as she is used to seeing, but Lir smiles to herself as she takes it all in. The slower rural life never seemed to really suit her, and she enjoys the energy from the city around them as she follows Dante to the diner.

"You ever been to one of these?" he asks, breaking her from her thoughts. Lir shakes her head, and the smile that lights up his face only makes him more handsome. Her mouth goes dry as she studies his lips, wondering if they're anywhere near as supple as they look, how they'd feel on hers, on her throat, at her breast. "You'll love it. A waitress brings you a menu, and you pick what you want to eat. Cheap, delicious, and sure to fill you up."

Like you probably would, she almost says, but merely nods, blushing furiously. "It sounds strange," she says. "Are the waitresses paid?"

"Yeah, but not a lot. But they get tips." He opens the door for them and leads them to a booth, taking opposite sides. It is only half filled, and Lir looks around curiously, watching the waitresses move between the tables. She can see into the kitchen in the back over the counter, and the place is filled with a rich mixture of delicious smells.

A woman comes over and hands them two large menus. "Look at you! Brought a girl this time, hm?" She winks at Dante who smiles back, and the waitress pinches his cheek. "Cutie. Want your usual?"

"You know it." He leans against the seat, slinging his arm over the top of it. "Cindy, this is Lir. She's staying with me for a few days. Lir, this is Cindy. I told you about her yesterday."

Lir nods, murmuring a polite greeting. The waitress, Cindy, is tall, with an hourglass figure that makes her a bit self-conscious. Of course all the women he knows would be gorgeous, she thinks, and the fact that she'd dressed up a bit makes her feel ridiculous now. "Hey, darling," Cindy greets her. "You need a minute to look over the menu?"

"Please," she replies softly.

"Sure thing! I'll get you some water. Just give me a shout whenever you're ready!"

Cindy heads behind the counter and Lir, her appetite gone, studies the menu, looking for something light she can pick at so as to not offend Dante. Is this what it is to be jealous? Why is it bothering her now, and not before? She's debating between a Caesar and a garden salad when Dante clears his throat. "You alright?"

"Yes."

She hears him shift. "You sure?"

"Please," she whispers. "Please, don't ask me. I don't want to make a fool of myself."

"Uh . . . okay. What are you thinking?"

That this was a mistake, she thinks, but Lir clears her throat. "A salad."

"No way. Get a cheeseburger. They are the best here."

Lir glances over the top of the menu. His expression is charming, and she closes the menu and sets it down. "Okay. Cheeseburger it is."

He smiles at her a bit warily. Is he afraid that she's going to burst into tears in the middle of the diner? Cindy returns, and they order, and when their food arrives Lir can only stare, half in awe and half in horror, at the monstrous burger, mountain of fries, and giant sundae placed in front of Dante. He sets in on it, wolfing it down as she carefully works through her own plate; it's greasier than anything she's ever eaten before, cheese dripping from the patty, and the fries are crisp and salted.

It's delicious.

Dante pays when they've finished, stretching his arms over his head with a hearty belch that has her side-eyeing him. Then, with a playful farewell to Cindy and a hefty tip, he offers Lir his hand and helps her up, letting her go as they leave the diner. Being next to him now feels comfortable, if still uncertain, and they say very little on the walk back towards the Devil May Cry.

"I gotta ask you something," Dante says.

She looks up curiously. "Of course."

"You seemed, uh . . ." He rubs the back of his neck. "I don't know how to put this. Like you've never seen a burger before? I know you are from the boonies or whatever, but . . ." He gives her a side eye that has her blushing. "I mean you were impressed with that old computer in the shop and that thing is almost as old as I am!"

Despite the embarrassment from his assessment, Lir giggles. "I grew up . . . I guess sheltered is the right word. My family is part of a group that heads our community, and as the direct descendants of Ler, there was even more pressure, all eyes watching. As a daughter of the family, I was expected to wait for the son of Sparda." She chuckles at the look he gives her. "I know, it seems strange, doesn't it?"

Dante shrugs. "Doesn't sound too off from the Order in Fortuna. It's just odd to hear when people treat Sparda like he was some big deal."

Lir looks at him in shock. "Sparda is a big deal! He delivered humanity from the demons! And now you carry on his work."

She smiles at him, but he looks unconvinced. "You're starting to remind me of Vergil."

"Vergil?" Lir struggles to recall where she's heard the name before. "That was your brother's name, wasn't it?"

"Yeah. He was obsessed with gaining our father's power and got a lot of people killed doin' it. Then he wound up serving Mundus until . . . Well, there probably wasn't much of him left by then."

"I'm sorry," she murmurs.

Lir places a hand on his arm, rubbing it gently, and Dante shrugs. "Long time ago," he says. "It's just still funny to me to hear people making a big deal about Sparda. To me he was just . . . my dad, I guess."

She thinks of her own father, his warm smile and big bear hugs, the little gifts he would give them of candy and trinkets, the way he would sing loudly when he indulged too much and laugh at her mother's tutting. Could it be possible that the great knight Sparda, deliverer of humanity and savior of the world, drank too much and embarrassed his wife with his singing?

"Is there anything you want to do?" Dante asks, pulling her from her thoughts. "While you're staying in the city, I mean. Something you want to do tomorrow?"

"Could we . . ." Hesitating, she comes to a stop, and he turns after a few steps to give her a curious look. "Could we go to the aquarium? I read online that there's one not far from your home, and I . . . I'm sorry, it's a silly request."

Dante makes a noise that might be a cough. "Nah, nah, it's . . . Nothing wrong with wanting to see it. Sure. We can go."

"Really?" Lir claps her hands excitedly, then reaches out to take his arm. "I've always wanted to see one! I've only seen pictures."

Dante barks out a laugh as they cross the street, but he doesn't comment on Lir holding onto his arm. "You lived by the water and yet never saw a fish?"

"I've seen fish. But not ocean creatures." She sighs and puts her head on his arm, thinking to herself as they walk. "Even if I do go back home, it'll be worth it to see some jellyfish."

"Would all that really happen to you?" he asks, his tone serious. "Taking your tongue or whatever?"

Lir straightens, suddenly aware of how close they are. She lets go of his arm but he moves closer, so they walk elbow to elbow. "I don't know, honestly," she says, laughing nervously. "I'm the first one to meet a son of Sparda. Not really a precedent."

"I see." He turns them down a corner, and then stops, leaving her to turn curiously. "What I don't see is where we are."

Lir looks around, frowning. "We're lost?"

"Not exactly. I thought we'd take the long way, but . . . oh wait! There's Front Street. Come on."

Dante drapes an arm over her shoulders, tucking her neatly to his side. The warmth of him makes her flush, as does the intimate nature of the act, but the blooming hope that maybe this means good things for them is crushed when he leans down to whisper into her hair, "On my mark, find a place to hide yourself. Something's been followin' us for the last couple of blocks, and it's gonna get messy."

"Demons?"

"Probably," he agrees. He gives her a squeeze before releasing her, pushing her forward with a hand at her back. "Go."

Lir takes two steps forward. Then she feels it, something dark and dangerous that pulls on her lungs and stomach before dousing her like a bucket of cold water. She turns, afraid to look but unable to stop, and watches as Dante reaches under his coat and pulls two revolvers out. Beyond him, in the shadows, emerges three creatures the likes of which she has never seen. They look like bugs: huge, overgrown bumblebees, with stingers on the end of their lumpy bodies and claws that reach outward.

"Go screw off," Dante says.

The click as he pulls the hammer makes Lir jump. Run! she yells at herself, but before she can gunfire erupts. The flash from the barrel is bright on the dark street, the lampposts somehow out and bathing them in darkness. One of the creatures screams as it is hit, another advancing with a swipe that Dante ducks and avoids easily.

She stands frozen as she watches him fight, firing off shots that connect each time and leave the demons howling and spraying dark blood. It is a horrible sight, something out of a nightmare, but Dante seems almost unbothered. He seems to barely break a sweat as he delivers a kick to one, using the lid of a trash can to smash into another, and by the time he has eliminated all three, Lir's heart is pounding in excitement.

Dante flips the back of his coat up with a chuckle, replacing the guns before turning around. He catches sight of her gaping and frowns deeply. "Didn't I tell you to hide?"

"You . . ." Her voice is too strangled to work properly, but there's so much she wants to say in that moment. Thank you for protecting me, you really are the son of Sparda, where did you learn to fight, did you recognize them, the list expands with every second that crawls by until, fed up with her own inability to speak, Lir darts forward and flings her arms around his waist, sending him stumbling a step.

He gives a curse as he catches her. Lir takes a few steadying breaths as the adrenaline pulses in her veins. "You were amazing," she breathes, looking up at his startled expression. "The way you handled them so easily! Your skill is incredible!"

"What? Nah." Dante eases her back, but Lir keeps hold of his jacket as he rubs his cheek sheepishly. "They were nothing."

"No! No, you were . . ." Her voice fades away as she looks at him almost dreamily. "Just like the great knight Sparda. You are a hope for humanity."

He opens his mouth. Closes it. It looks, to her, as though he is trying to figure out what to say, and her suspicions are confirmed when he clears his throat. "Look. I know you were raised to . . . Well, I don't know that you worshipped him, but to at least respect him, but you gotta . . . Can you relax with the hope for humanity stuff?"

"Oh." She lets her hands fall away. "Of course. I'm sorry, I guess I didn't realize that it was making you uncomfortable. I'll refrain from it from now on."

"I mean, this is the guy who I watched nearly set a house on fire trying to make burgers, y'know? He was never a hero to me." He scratches the back of his neck. "Just . . . strange. That's all."

Lir nods, and they stand there for a moment, not making eye contact. Finally she says, "You were very good though. Thank you for doing that."

"Yeah. It's my job, right?" Dante huffs out an awkward laugh before jerking his chin. "Come on, we're only a couple of blocks from home."

Home? Lir doesn't comment as she follows him, but she doesn't take his arm again either. They don't speak again until they are back at the Devil May Cry, and the two once again stand awkwardly in the foyer, Lir's eyes down as she watches him shuffle his feet.

It's Dante who breaks the silence with a sigh. "I keep saying the wrong things, huh?"

"What?" Her gaze snaps to his face.

"I keep forgetting that people out there only know about the legend. Makes sense that you'd say those things about him. I only meant . . ." Dante tilts his head back. "Ah, hell, I'm no good at this."

"Will you tell me about him?" Lir asks. "What he was really like?"

"Maybe tomorrow," Dante says. "It's getting late."

Lir nods, feeling more than a little disappointed. "You're right."

"We should be hearing from Lady tomorrow," he offers.

It should be good news, but it feels heavy. The sooner Lady confirms her story, the sooner Lir will have to move on. "Yeah," she replies. "I'll head upstairs then."

Dante doesn't say anything, so she turns and moves to the steps. "Goodnight," he calls to her when she reaches the bottom.

Lir turns around hopefully, but he's at his desk, back turned as he looks through the mail. "Goodnight," she murmurs back before heading up the steps.

#dmc #devil may cry #dante sparda #lirael thorne #lir #dante/lir #dante/oc #dmc oc #dmc fanfic #dmc fanfiction #writing #myfic #collab #promise me forever #pmf

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eves-library · 4 years

Text

Day One - Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: The box of Christmas decorations traveled to a new family every year.

Word Count: 3048

Warnings: Family loss, pregnancy, fluff.

A/N: Okay... So I said this was going to be short in length but it just got out of control (oops). I honestly didn’t know what I was gonna write with this first prompt but I gotta say I love this concept, hence the length. Days two and three will be posted in a few hours just so I get on time. Day four will be posted on Wednesday 4 at around 9 p.m. along with (hopefully) one of those Sweat Pea fics I promised over a week ago. (Sorry for that, again)

Also, if anyone knows how to put the keep reading thing and would be so kind as to tell me how, I will highly appreciate it!! Now, enjoy it!

You've been waiting for this day for months, ever since you dragged Bucky with you to the community center near your childhood home. You had explained to him that you spent a lot of time there with your parents before they died. You also told him about a certain tradition the community center has. Every year members pay for raffle tickets to take home, on December 1st, several boxes with Christmas decorations. These decorations consisted of Christmas lights, some had ribbons, others had mistletoe and other types of decorations, but the one thing every box had were cardboard spheres with pictures on it from members of the community center with their families and loved ones. The tradition started many years back when the community center couldn't afford decorations for Christmas. They had decided to ask for the members to bring pictures of their families and they would make the cardboard spheres as frames. Over the years the tradition stayed and soon the community center had more spheres than they needed, so instead of rejecting the pictures and spheres they started making packages to raffle and give to the winners.

When you were a kid, you and your parents had honored the tradition and made your own cardboard sphere. Christmas after Christmas you guys would buy raffle tickets and although not every year you got to take a box home with you, you remembered your last Christmas together decorating the Christmas tree with pictures of lots of different happy families along with other decorations. You were fond of this memory and you yearned to make a new one with Bucky.

You ran down the stairs to receive the package that came from the very well known address for you. You thank the delivery boy and made your way upstairs once again. Bucky had gone out to the tower to a short meeting he had with Steve, and promise to be back on time to help you start decorating. You knew it wouldn't take much as his meeting was at around 10 in the morning and it was just 11:30. You started unpacking the decorations you had just received by mail and the others you and Bucky had bought a week ago. You were completely excited about the decoration task as you also have a small surprise for Bucky. Just as you finished taking everything out and laying it down the door opened and two super soldiers came through the door. "Y/N, Babe, I'm home! And I brought company!"

You could clearly saw Bucky and Steve from your spot in the living room, "You don't have to shout Buck, I can see you both from right here." You said fake annoyment on your voice and a teasing smile on your face. You moved closer to Bucky as he made his way towards you. Once at arms reach he pulled you close and pressed his lips to yours. Even though the kiss was short and sweet, you felt your whole body melting and a content sigh escaped you.

You then move to greet Steve with a kiss on his cheek and a complicity look. "Hey Y/N, I hope I'm not intruding, I just had nothing to do and Buck said instead of doing nothing I could come help decorate." You moved to face your decorations again and smile, "Of course you are not bothering at all Steve! The more the merrier! Now," you turned to look back at the boys, "let's get to work!"

Steve and Bucky started hanging garlands on the windows and door frames, even on the frame of the countertop between the kitchen and the dining room had now a garland and white Christmas lights. You started working on making some centerpieces for the counter and table you had seen on Pinterest. You guys worked for a few hours, a break here and there. Between stories from when Steve and Bucky were younger and jokes filling the space as much as the festive mood, the little apartment you shared with Bucky felt cozier and a warm and fuzzy feeling crept up your chest.

It was nearing 4 o’clock and you guys decided to go grab some food and return to finish. Thanks to the three of you working in tandem, the only thing left was to put the tree up and you were almost vibrating with excitement. You excused yourself to the bathroom before leaving to grab takeout. Once you were out of earshot Bucky turned to Steve and in a hushed whisper said, “Okay, give me the gift. I can go hide it in the room while you guys head out and I’ll stay with the excuse I forgot my phone.” Steve chuckled and took a box from the pocket inside his coat and gave it to Bucky. “I still don’t get what why didn’t you kept it, it’s not like Y/N would check your pockets, she’s not even expecting something for today, is she?” Steve asked Bucky a little amused by the nervousness clear on his demeanor.

“Of course she’s not, but she could of feel it when I hugged her, I didn’t want to risk it,” Bucky said as Steve had said the dumbest thing, which for him he had. You walked out of the bathroom and grabbed your coat and wallet. “Okay, let’s go get some good burgers and pie, please!” Both guys chuckled Bucky helped you get your coat on, then you guys were heading out of the apartment when Bucky suddenly excused himself. “Wait! I forgot my phone, you guys head out I’ll see you downstairs.” You and Steve nodded and head out. You needed to speak with Steve urgently and you will take your chance. Walking a little faster than needed you dragged Steve one floor of stairs before you started to speak, not without checking if Bucky wasn’t following yet. Steve was giggling and shaking his head, he was sure of one thing, you and Bucky are mad for one another. “Okay, so I have the camera ready, it is hidden on the top shelf next to the counter in the kitchen. When we are done setting the tree up I will excuse my self to our room and I need you t go grab the camera with the excuse you want a beer or something, stay on the counter, you’ll know when to take the picture, I’m counting on you, Steve.” Your tone was stern but there was a big smile across your face. He didn’t know what was it you were going to give Bucky but he could see you were excited and just how important this was, not only to you but for his best friend too. “I won’t let you down Y/N, I cross my heart.” He said and made the motion of crossing his heart.

While you were plotting with Steve a floor down, Bucky was looking for the perfect place to hide the gift he had gotten you. It needed to be somewhere you wouldn’t accidentally found it while you guys finished decorating but somewhere he could reach easily for when the time came to give it to you. Bucky was nervous as hell, he didn’t know if you will like his gift. He had been searching for it for at least two weeks, knowing he needed to have it ready by December 1st, wether you guys won the raffle at the community center or not, it was a deal you and him had made, December 1st was going to be decoration day. He knew his gift would be either the cherry on top of winning the raffle or the perfect way to distract you from losing. Once Bucky decided to hide your gift inside the drawer he kept the videogames Sam keep on buying him he let out a breath and head to the door a smile on his face. He couldn’t wait to finish decorating and give you his gift.

You guys ate in record time, especially because you had ordered an extra portion of fries and when dessert time came, you asked two spoons of ice cream on top of your extra-large portion of pie. Once you reached your floor you were dragging your feet, Bucky almost carrying up the last couple of steps. Steve and Bucky were laughing at you and your antics, “Oh god, why did you let me eat so much Bucky!” that made Bucky laugh harder. “In Bucky’s defense Y/N, you did threaten him when he tried to eat part of that big slice of pie, I think your exact words were ‘You are gonna spend the rest of the day in Tony’s lab if you dare take a bite, cause I’ll cut your hand with this spoon if you do!’” You just groaned and stuck your tongue out on Steve’s direction, which just caused the two supersoldiers to laugh harder. Once inside the apartment, Bucky spoke, “Okay, so we just got the tree left, you already untangled the lights, so this should be fairly quick.” You agreed and just like that the excitement flooded your body once again.

It took you and the guys around forty minutes to finish setting the tree, you were just missing the star at the top of the tree. You were sitting on Steve’s shoulders while Bucky was holding the tree from the base so it wouldn’t fall. “ You gotta get a little closer, Steve,” you directed, “Now to your left, no my left!” “Y/N is the same left!” Steve exclaimed as he moved right, “Either way you got the idea didn’t you?” you said as you leaned closer to the tree holding the top branch and finally inserting the garment at the top. “Done! Now get me down, I wanna see it!” You said as Bucky stood straight up and helped you off Steve’s shoulders. Steve took a seat on the couch and Bucky hugged you from behind, his arms circling your waist and his head on your shoulder, “Do you like it, doll?” Suddenly your eyes starting watering a little and your throat seemed to have a knot so you just nodded, after a few seconds you composed yourself and speak, “I love it, thank you, Buck, for letting me do this, it means a lot.” you turned your face towards his and you find him already looking at you. “It means a lot that you want to share this with me Y/N. I love you.” you both smiled at each other and you closed the minimal distance between your faces and kissed him. It was a strange angle to kiss but it was perfect. After a few seconds, you broke apart and you snuggled further into Bucky’s embrace, Steve had disappeared into the kitchen you assumed, maybe stealing one of the cookies you had bought on your way home to eat later in the afternoon. “Steve Grant Rogers, if you so much as eat one cookie you won’t be getting the cinnamon rolls you like so much tomorrow!” Steve’s head popped from behind the counter eyes big as one of a deer caught in headlights. You chuckled and gave him permission to eat one of the cookies. Bucky had left and when you turned around you found him with his hands hidden behind his back and a cheeky grin. You look at him suspiciously and a smile threatens to brake in your face. “What is it, Buck?” You asked stepping closer. “Y/N, I know how much this tradition means to you. The moment you told how the last Christmas with your parents was spent this way I knew I wanted this Christmas to as closer to that was.” Bucky took one step closer to you and from brought his hands in front of him, a rectangular box wrapped in brown paper and a golden ribbon. “It took me a while to have this ready, but after asking for some help I had I found it, they say you can keep it if you can, as a Christmas gift.” Your brows furrowed as you took the gift in your hands. You took a seat on the couch and started unwrapping it. when you took the wrapping paper you found a box, you opened it, your eyes grew to double their normal size, and you had gasped. Once the initial shock from the surprise wore off your eyes started watering, this time there was no chasing the tears away or hiding them. Two tears, one from each eye run down your cheeks and you brought your hand to your mouth. Bucky was kneeling in front of you and you looked up, a sob scaping you at the same time a big smile broke on your face. You threw yourself to him and he caught you easily. You spent a few minutes like that until you composed yourself and seat back, this time on the floor Bucky by your side. You leaned into him and held the object up still with watery eyes.

When you had gotten the box that morning you had taken out all the cardboard made spheres and carefully examined each one of them. You knew it was a long shot to find the one your parents and you had made all those years ago, but you still hoped to find it. Sadly, you hadn’t and even though you felt a weight in your heart you stayed happy because nothing was going to ruin your Decoration Day with Bucky. What you didn’t know was that the moment Bucky heard the story of this tradition he knew he had to find that sphere for you. He had gone to the community center the next day after you guys bought the raffle tickets and spoke to the person in charge and explaining his plans to them. They had easily accepted to help Bucky as they remembered your parents fondly. He spent several days looking through all the boxes at the community center until he found it, now those late nights at the compound going through reports with Steve made a lot more sense.

The click of a camera brought you back to your living room. and you looked up to find Steve holding the camera in his hands and smiling at you both. Bucky spoke as he knew words may still be hard for you at the moment. “Where did you even got the camera, punk?” He said with a laugh at the end of his sentence, and it was as if a light had gone off in your head. You bolted to your share bedroom and Bucky looked confused as you ran off. not five minutes later you came back with a gift bag in your hands. “I got you a little something too, Bucky.” You said taking your spot next to him once again, a shy smile on your face. Bucky took the bag from your hands, “I thought gifts were meant to be given on Christmas, baby.” He said as he took out the three objects out of the bag and you shrugged. “I thought this one couldn’t wait until then.” You said and watched him carefully, now a little nervous at his reaction. Bucky looked at the three objects a little confused, the biggest one was a sphere similar to the one he had gifted you but this one was made of wood and at the top, the words “Our Little Family” were painted with golden paint. The next was a piece of paper, black and white and he couldn’t really make out what it was about until he finally looked carefully at the third object, it was a white stick, a pregnancy test he realized. His eyes went from the test to the ultrasound, he now realized and finally to you. You were biting your lip and holding your breath waiting to hear him speak. “Y/N, are you pregnant?” he asked and you slowly nodded, “I’m going to be a father?” His lips turned into a giant smile and now his eyes were the ones watering. “We are going to have a baby, Buck.” You said softly and he was the one throwing himself at you know, hugging you tightly to his body as he cries tears of happiness.

In the background, you hear the soft clicks of the camera but you could care less. Last week you had noticed you hadn’t had your period in a couple of months, you then had a suspicion but before panicking, you went to the pharmacy to buy a test. You wanted to tell Bucky right away but thought better of it. The next day you went to the doctor just make a final test and she made you an ultrasound. You had already sent the sphere to be made in wood to gift it to Bucky as a mean to tell him he was now your family and will be for as long as he has you. When you got the message from the guy at the store that your sphere was done and ready to be picked you came up with the idea of telling him today.

Once Bucky composed himself and separated from you, did Steve came closer with tears brimming on his eyes. He congratulated you both, “The extra food and threats have more sense now,” he said jokingly and you punched his arm and he started chuckling.

You had lost your parents years ago, right before you became a legal adult and life had treated you roughly, but you wouldn’t change a thing. It was what had led you to this moment with the love of your life and your future family.

One year later…

Bucky had an arm wrapped around your waist as you guys walk to the community center with your baby on asleep on your arms. Today was the day the community center opened the cardboard spheres workshop and the sale for raffle tickets started. On his other hand, Bucky had a folder with some pictures you guys had taken just a week ago, for this specific reason. Your little family is going to follow the tradition and make your own cardboard sphere to be donated to the community center.

#31 days of christmas #day 1 #bucky barnes x reader #james buchanan barnes x reader #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes x y/n #james barnes x y/n #james buchanan barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x you #james buchanan barnes x you

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discomfort-food · 5 years

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Terrible, Beautiful, Maddening (a Hegeleth fic) 5/?

Read on AO3

She wakes up in a hospital bed three days after the fight in the throne room. Judging by the biting light streaming in the windows, it’s mid-afternoon. At first, she thinks she’s alone in the room, but a small snore alerts her to Flayn’s presence, blending in perfectly with the overflowing table of flowers and gifts at the side of her bed. In her lap, precarious and on the edge of falling, is a set of knitting needles and a half finished object that could possibly be a hat, she isn’t quite sure.

Her head aches, and it takes her a minute or two to remember what exactly happened to her to land her in an infirmary yet again. Ah yes. Edelgard. If she closed her eyes again she could almost see those haunting red eyes again, desperate for something, but what she could not tell.

Her throat is dry; she shifts on the bed to see if there is water anywhere, and Flayn wakes with an “Oh!” Knitting needles clang to the floor, forgotten, as the girl leaps to her feet.

“Professor, you are awake! We have all been so worried! You sit tight, l’ll go find Mercedes and the other healers.” Before a word can be said, Flayn scurries out the infirmary door. Minutes later, a wave of healers, well-wishers, and Seteth bustle into the room. They busy themselves asking questions about how she feels, if there’s any pain, how many fingers are they holding up. Her headache is whisked away by a cool hand aglow in white healing light but the endless questioning threatens to bring it back with a vengeance.

She tries to say she’s fine, really, but either nobody hears her or believes her or both, until a stern voice from the back of the crowd halts the poking and prodding. Seteth- bless him, orders everyone who isn’t himself or Mercedes out of the room. They slowly file out, mumbling congratulations and words of encouragement. Mercedes quietly confirms that she seems to be in good health, only requiring another day of bed rest to make sure there are no lingering side effects of having a Ragnarok spell nearly dropped on one’s head, and leaves. Her throat is still parched.

Seteth assures her that Dimitri is fine (internally she is rather surprised at herself that her first thought upon waking was Edelgard rather than the young prince, and makes a mental note to unpack that at a later time) and has been up and about since yesterday. She can expect a visit from him when he returns from his inspection of the captured imperial troops. He updates her on the status of the Archbishop, who is recovering in another room after suffering severe malnourishment in the palace dungeon. She nods along as he lays out details of efforts immediately underway to placate the restless population of Enbarr; distributing supplies and offering medical aid seem to be winning people over more and more each day.

Several minutes into Seteth’s report, she yawns. He stops mid-sentence with an amused smile. “Ah of course, you must still be exhausted from recovery, Professor. Please excuse my thoughtlessness. The rest can wait until tomorrow.”

He turns to leave, but as he crosses the foot of her bed, he hesitates and stands before the open window, clasping his hands behind his back. His shadow falls across the thin blanket at her feet. “There’s one more thing I would like to mention. Dimitri fell unconscious upon hitting the floor, which leaves you as the sole witness to the ultimate fate of Emperor Edelgard. While there is no question that the final spell you cast was devastating enough to destroy half the platform you stood on, curiously no remains of her body were found. Therefore one must come to the conclusion that the blast was concentrated enough to destroy the entire body after it reverted to human form, much like the students we saw that were transformed by the crest stones. Additionally, the shockwave from the blast must have been the cause of the shattered window above the throne. Does this theory parallel the actual events as you experienced them, Byleth?”

She swallowed thickly. Why was there no water here still? “Yes, that’s… That’s how I remember it,” she said with what she hoped was some measure of confidence.

He turned his head and regarded her with one eye. “That is reassuring to hear, my friend. A creature like that let free to roam across Fodlan would certainly cause a good deal of trouble and unnecessary death, don’t you agree?” His words were deliberate and pointed.

“Of course, Seteth.” She should have known Seteth, ever the perceptive one, would have noticed something was awry. She is thankful he is not the type to act rashly, Dimitri would not be so receptive to such knowledge. She can only hope that he trusts her enough to let things be.

“Very well then,” he says, mouth a set line. “I’ll leave you to your rest, professor. Lots of people are looking forward to seeing you up and about.”

He leaves the room, and she slumps back down onto the pillows, letting sleep take her again.

She returned to Garreg Mach monastery late the next day. As she had predicted, Seteth, Flayn, and a good portion of the Knights of Seiros had already arrived several weeks earlier. Almost immediately she is whisked away by Flayn to the second floor of the church, updating her on what she had missed while she was away, as well as the several varieties of fish she had tasted while on the road from Enbarr.

They reached the second floor strategy room, which served as a makeshift classroom for the last few months of the war. Inside, Dimitri, Seteth, and Gilbert were set around the large table in the middle of the room, voices hushed and faces somber.

“Brother! Look who the cat has dragged in!” Flayn said, beaming.

Dimitri stood and met them in the middle of the room, embracing her in a tight hug. “It is good to see your face, Professor! I was beginning to believe you would not return before I left for Fhirdiad.” He released her and stepped back, grinning. “I was a bit surprised to hear from Seteth that you would be taking some time to yourself, but I suppose I am not one to judge a person on how they process such violent experiences.”

Seteth stepped out from behind Dimitri’s fur-covered shoulder. “Yes, professor, it is most fortuitous that you arrived when you did. We were just beginning to consider sending out search parties, in fact.”

She nodded. “Yes, my time spent away was most… refreshing. I apologize for not returning sooner than I did.”

Dimitri laid a hand on her shoulder. “Nonsense, professor. Now, let’s update you on the reunification efforts so far…”

That night, and days after, were filled with endless meetings with lords about reparations and distribution of relief aid, and when it wasn’t that it was slowly getting lessons from Seteth about the duties of the position of Archbishop. The only constant thing she could rely on were dreams every night bookended with two glowing red eyes staring at her from the darkness.

It was almost three weeks before Byleth was able to divest herself enough from her ever-growing pile of duties to be able to leave the monastery again. Reassuring Seteth that she would only be gone for a couple days, she set off at the first light of dawn. Her breath puffed in the air in front of her as she made her way through the winding mountains. Being familiarized with the path she had to take this time, she was able to shorten her journey by several hours and made it back to Edelgard’s valley by late afternoon. At the mouth of the valley, she stopped for a moment to admire the view. If she hastened, she could make it back to her campsite before sundown. She adjusted the pack she carried on her back, it was bulky and quite heavy, but she hoped that at least some of it would be unnecessary to carry back on the return trip. She pulled her hands together to breathe some warmth into them, and continued down into the valley.

The bright leaves of autumn had all but fallen to the forest floor by this time of year, and the bare trees above her arched like the vaulted ceilings in the monastery’s chapel, casting long shadows in the evening light as she walked. As she got closer to the opposite end of the valley, she noticed more and more snapped trees and fallen limbs that had been broken off and tossed aside, creating traversable spaces through the dense forest.

Reaching her campsite, she noticed the carefully-built circle of stones she had placed for her fire had been knocked aside and scattered across the campsite. She sighed, dropped her pack at the edge of the clearing, and began the task of picking up each stone and placing it back where it belonged in the circle. Once that was finished, she took out a small hatchet from her pack and began gathering branches and kindling for the fire.

As she circled the outskirts of the clearing, she noticed several familiar footprints. Some were old and covered in leaves, others were more recent, left in softer soil, and a few, she was glad to see, looked to have been made within only a few days. Most of these tracks carefully skirted the perimeter of the clearing, save for one set, which seemed to be left from when the stones had been knocked aside.

Finally gathering enough firewood to last the night, Byleth dragged over a dead and dried log she had found near the river to sit on, pulled some dried meat and cheese out of her pack, and sat down to wait as the sun fell below the mountain peaks. She waited as the sky grew dark and the waxing moon showed its face through the bare skeletons of the trees above. The fire cracked and popped, providing just enough warmth to keep away the early winter chill. Somewhere far away a wolf howled, and was soon joined by another on the opposite side of the valley.

She waited until she heard what she was listening for. Her back against the boulder making up one wall of the campsite, she heard a snapping of branches to her left, just beyond the reach of the fire’s flickering light.

“You’re back.” Her voice was just above a whisper.

“You knew I would be,” Byleth said. She started to turn, to meet the red eyes she saw so often in her dreams now, but at the motion there was a hurried shuffle of dried leaves as she moved backwards.

“No, don’t… Don’t turn around. Don’t look at me.” Her voice was pleading, wavering, and Byleth felt a tug of something deep in her chest to hear it.

Byleth slowly moved her eyes back to the fire. “Okay, Edelgard. I won’t.” After a moment, she heard Edelgard take a few steps closer again. “Can we talk?”

She hears a tired sigh from behind her. “Very well. Although I am afraid I have become a poor conversation partner as of late.”

“That makes two of us,” Byleth said, poking the fire with a stick, considering her next words. “How have you been?” She immediately realized she was off to a poor start as a harsh bark of laughter echoed through the trees.

Edelgard’s voice changed to a bitter tone, far from the one who pleaded for Byleth not to turn around but moments before. “Please, professor. You are smarter than that. How have I been ? Half the time now I’m not sure I even am . Am I destined to become a living revenant, a forgotten echo of the person I once was? Do not mock me with such drivel.”

Byleth continued poking at the embers of the fire. “Of course not, Edelgard.” She grew silent a moment, then, “I have to know though, is there no way you know of to reverse this process? Surely you must have had some idea when you- when you became-”

“No,” she interrupted curtly. “This was a last ditch effort of a foolish and desperate girl, who was abandoned as yet another failed experiment as soon as she proved to be worthless to those who performed the procedure.”

Byleth stayed quiet, gradually processing the information. Minutes passed, yet the figure in the shadows did not move away. Quietly, “Do you want me to try and help you, Edelgard?”

She hears an intake of breath, and then slowly, ever so slowly, she heard the soft steps of feet on dried leaves pad closer. From behind, Edelgard whispered softly, “Can you?”

Gently placing the stick in her hand back down on the ground, Byleth took a breath. “May I turn around, Edelgard?” When no response came, she leaned forward and slowly stood up. She moved deliberately, making no quick or hurried movements, and turned to the towering figure now standing just within the warm light cast from the fire. Her eyes moved up, up, until they met Edelgard’s, who shrank back slightly, her arms raised to her chest.

“It’s okay, Edelgard. I’m not going to hurt you.” Byleth moved her arms away from her body to indicate that she, in fact, had no weapons on her. Edelgard didn’t respond, but she lowered her clasped hands slightly, though Byleth could see them trembling almost imperceptibly. Edelgard’s face was shrouded in deep shadows, but Byleth could see strands of her pale white hair framing her face. The golden crown, once intricately and delicately woven into her hair, had become loose and askew, one horned side dangling and in danger of nearly falling off.

“Edelgard… Will you kneel down?”

Edelgard blinked. Then, haltingly, she brought her body to a kneeling position. Byleth tried not to think about the fact that they were in much the same arrangement many moons ago in the throne room. Byleth reached up towards Edelgard’s face slowly, but even that simple movement caused her to twitch and close her eyes.

“It’s all right, Edelgard,” Byleth murmured. Gently, she brought both hands up and worked at untangling her long white hair from the elaborate headpiece, first the one already nearly falling off, then the other. Edelgard trembled slightly at her first touch, but as Byleth continued her ministrations, she could feel Edelgard faintly leaning into her hands.

Once both horns had been tossed to the ground, Byleth loosely combed her fingers through the long white hair, dislodging several twigs and leaves that had found their way into it. Edelgard had opened her eyes at this point and silently watched Byleth work. Her breath had evened out, but Byleth could still sense a great tension held in her tall form.

She was just about to consider her work finished and started to pull away when her hand caught on a hidden knot of hair at the base of Edelgard’s scalp. The sudden jolt of pain released a sharp snarl from the back of Edelgard’s throat, and Byleth quickly pulled back, her hand instinctively flying to her waist where a sword would normally hang.

Edelgard’s eyes darted to where Byleth’s hands lay, and then down to the glistening golden crown at her feet. Rage dashed across her face and in a swift motion she stood to her full height.

“Now you can see all that stands before you is nothing more than a monster. I will not tell you again. Don’t come back.” With that, she turned and disappeared back into the forest.

#edeleth #3h #fe3h #byleth #edelgard #hegeleth #hegemon edelgard #fire emblem #three houses #fanfic #fic #au

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gansey-just-gansey · 5 years

Text

Under the Needle part Five

“Please! Stop!” Matthew begged.

They didn't stop. Ronan threw a punch that landed squarely on Declan's right eye. In return, Declan grabbed Ronan by the back of the neck and slammed his fist into Ronan's face twice. The fabric of Ronan's shirt rubbed searing pain into the back of his neck where the tattoo reached up. His mouth filled with blood. He spit on the ground and hooked his leg around Declan's ankle and brought him down to the ground. He put one foot on either side of Declan's legs, planning to straddle and beat the ever loving shit out him, but then he was hit by something very solid that pushed him away from the motherfucker.

“Get off me, Gansey!” Ronan growled. Declan sat up and wiped under his nose, pulling it back to look at the blood gathered on it.

“Stop! We're out of here. Get in the car,” he ordered. Ronan shoved away from him and went to sit in the BMW. He threw himself in and slammed the door, crossing his arms like a petulant child. He glared out the window to where Gansey was helping Declan up off the ground. Declan brushed himself off and proceeded to yell at Gansey for several minutes, alternating waving his arms around and pointing at the car Ronan was in. Gansey nodded through the whole thing until Matthew finally pulled Declan inside to clean him up.

Gansey knocked on the driver's side window. Ronan rolled down the window without moving his eyes from where they stared, straight ahead.

Gansey leaned down so his head was next to Ronan's ear. “So.”

“So,” Ronan mimicked.

“Ronan.” Gansey sighed. “At least wait so Matthew can say goodbye.”

“Fine.”

Ronan got out and leaned against the side of the car while Gansey went to go get Matthew. He just wanted to get out of here. He gently touched the back of his neck, where the tattoo still burned. There was blood on his hand when he pulled it back.

“Fuck,” he murmured. Matthew came bounding out of the house.

“Ronan,” he said, his eyes already wet.

“Don't, kid.”

“No, I'm just going to miss you so much!” He threw himself into Ronan's arms. Ronan patted him on the back gently.

“I'll be back. And you can visit me at college,” Ronan promised.

Matthew let go of him. “You'll be here for Thanksgiving right? And Christmas?”

“Of course. It's only a couple hours away.”

“Okay,” Matthew sniffled, backing away. “Okay. I'll see you soon, right?” Ronan nodded. “I've gotta help Declan. Have fun at college!” He ran off back into the house. Gansey came out a minute later.

“Ready to get the fuck out of here?” Ronan asked.

“Ready as I'll ever be,” Gansey said, pulling out the keys to the Pig. They both got in their cars, which were both packed to bursting with all of Ronan's belongings. Gansey left first and Ronan followed behind in case the Pig broke down again.

They arrived at William and Mary close to two hours later. They parked as close to the dorm rooms as they could. Moving all of Ronan's things took about another hour with the walking they had to do and the elevator they had to take up to their floor.

Gansey sighed when they were finally done. “Ready to unpack?”

“Fuck no. I actually have to head to Cabeswater again,” Ronan replied, walking around Gansey.

“Again? You might want to try not being so obvious,” Gansey said.

“You're one to talk,” Ronan shot back. “But I actually have to go in this time. I need Adam to check if there was any damage to the tattoo in the fight. There was blood, I think Declan ripped the scabs off when he grabbed at my neck.” Ronan was also a little worried about the tongue ring having been ripped a little with all the blood in his mouth, but he could always let it heal and get it re-pierced. The tattoo was more permanent.

“Turn,” Gansey commanded. Ronan obeyed and let Gansey pull down his shirt collar from the back. “Oh damn. You really should have him look at it, actually.”

“Fuck. I knew it. That worthless jackoff wrecked my tattoo.” Ronan was livid.

“You don't know that yet,” Gansey said firmly. “Just go get it checked out.”

“You coming?” Ronan asked.

Gansey beamed. “Yes.”

They made the quick trip to the tattoo shop, choosing to drive this time to get there faster, as though it might help save Ronan's tattoo.

The bell chimed as they walked in. Blue smiled when she saw them, then dropped it when she actually took them in. She straightened up from where she had been leaning against the wall near Noah's station. Adam stood up from his station and came to join the group when he saw Ronan's face, his own filled with worry. Ronan could fly away at the idea that Adam Parrish, the most beautiful boy Ronan had ever seen, was worried about him.

“Another question for Adam?” Noah asked suggestively, not looking up from his sketchbook. When he did he gasped. Apparently Declan had left a mark.

“Yeah, and one for you too, Blue,” Ronan inclined his head toward her.

Her eyebrows pulled down. “What's up?”

“I need you to check my piercing.”

“Why? What happened to you?” she asked.

“I got in a fight. My mouth bled and I want to be sure it wasn't from the piercing. I'm not sure if maybe it ripped a little.

Blue's face immediately became serious. “Open up.” Ronan stuck his tongue out for her to look. She pulled him down to her level by his shoulders. “Whoever you fought really did a number on your mouth,” she said, inspecting him. “But it doesn't look like there was any serious damage to the piercing. It is red and angry so you definitely pulled it a little bit but I don't see any reason it shouldn't heal right. If it migrates, let me know and we can take it out and let it heal then pierce it again.”

Ronan straightened up. “That's good. I think the tattoo might've gotten messed up though.”

“What?” Adam strode over to Ronan in two long steps and turned him around roughly. He pulled the collar of Ronan's shirt down like Gansey had earlier. “Oh,” he breathed.

“Is it bad?” Ronan asked, expecting the worst.

“All the scabs ripped off the top, but I think we can save it. I'll bandage it again and you'll have to go back to the Aquafor for a couple days. Once the shading and everything is done, it shouldn't be noticeable even if there are some wonky lines,” Adam said, letting the shirt go. “Come back to my station and take your shirt off.”

Ronan stripped it off. Adam pulled on some gloves and started getting out the bandage and surgical tape. Ronan waited in front of the large mirror on the wall, trying to get a good look at his back. What he could see was as angry and red as it had been the day it was done. Ronan sighed.

“I really think it'll be fine, some people pick at the scabs and it doesn't mess up the lines too bad,” Gansey said next to Ronan.

“Most people pick them, not violently rip them off with cotton fabric,” Ronan said angrily.

“So who did you pick a fight with?” Blue asked.

“Why are you so sure it was me that picked the fight?” Ronan raised his eyebrows.

“Just the vibe I get from you,” she chuckled.

“Well you'd be wrong,” Ronan said. “It was my brother this time.”

“The dickhead?” Adam asked, returning with his arms full of the supplies he needed. “What'd he do now?”

“He was being a condescending fucker about my tattoo and piercing. I told him he was a disappointment to our father. He hit me. So it goes.”

“It sounds like your thing was a little worse than his thing,” Adam said mildly, putting Aquafor on Ronan's back. Ronan fought back a groan that threatened to escape as Adam rubbed his back gently.

“Maybe. But I'm just paraphrasing. He still deserved it.” Gansey looked like he wanted to argue but he bit his tongue for Ronan's sake.

Adam laughed and taped the bandage on Ronan's back. “I imagine so. All dickheads do.”

“What about your dickhead? Ever fight with him?” Ronan asked.

Blue's face screwed up in a cringe and Noah looked paler than he normally did. They both looked at Adam.

But Adam just shrugged. “Something like that.”

“What do you mean some- oh. Oh.” Ronan internally cringed. “Shit, Parrish.”

Adam shrugged again. “It's over now.” He pulled the gloves off and tossed them in the trash. “You're done, but you can hang around the shop for an hour so I can check it when it's time to take the bandage off if you want.”

“Yeah, I've got time,” Ronan answered. “Gansey can get that matching tongue ring you were talking about.”

Gansey chuckled nervously. “I don't think so.”

As Blue and Noah attempted to sway Gansey into getting any kind of piercing, Ronan walked over to Adam's station, where Adam was putting away the after care supplies.

“Hey, about earlier-” Ronan started.

“Don't worry about it,” Adam cut him off. “It was a long time ago.”

“Do you ever talk to him?”

Adam seemed surprised by Ronan's genuine interest. “No, I don't. I haven't spoken to him since I moved out my senior year of high school. I ended up in the hospital once and after that I never went back.”

“Jesus, the hospital?”

“Yeah, I had some bruised and broken ribs.”

Ronan swore. “What a bastard.”

“Yeah, but I moved out, saved enough money from tattooing and mechanic work to open my own shop.” Ronan paused to admire Adam's work ethic. Beautiful boy and a hard worker to boot. And he knew about cars. Adam was exactly Ronan's type, if he had one at all.

“I'm surprised you don't have any tattoos, owning a shop and all,” Ronan said, trying to subtly probe for more information from Adam.

It worked. “I have tattoos, you just can't see them.” Fuck. He shouldn't have asked. Ronan was going to go crazy imagining all the designs Adam could have hidden underneath his clothes. “Your eye is looking real bad,” Adam said, taking the attention off himself.

Ronan reached up and touched his left eye, feeling for swelling. It was a little, but not enough to really impair his vision. “It's fine. My dad definitely taught us how to leave a mark though.”

“I can see that.” Adam looked over Ronan's shoulder. “Also I think the wolves have descended upon Gansey.”

Ronan looked over at the other three. “I better help him.”

Ronan shooed Blue and Noah away from Gansey. They spent the rest of the hour comparing the flash tattoos that were hanging around the shop. There weren't the usual dragons and tribal and barbed wire that usually littered the walls of tattoo parlors. Instead there were ponds with lily pads and and tiny stick and poke ideas and fairies caring for flowers. Slightly more detail and much more original.

“Ronan,” Adam called from his station, where he had been engrossed in his sketchbook. Ronan savored the way his name sounded in Adam's mouth.

“Been an hour?” Ronan asked.

“Yup, time to take the bandage off.” Ronan walked over and took his shirt off again, giving Adam access to his back. “It looks better already. It looks like scabs are reforming. I think you'll actually be okay.”

“Perfect. How many days of Aquafor?

“I think you'll be fine with two. We'll keep the appointment next Saturday and check how it's healing, but hopefully this won't mess with our time line. Try not to get into any more fights,” Adam joked.

“I'll try but I'm not going to promise anything,” Ronan laughed.

“The best I can hope for I suppose.”

They stood there awkwardly for a minute.

“Well,” Ronan cleared his throat, “we better get going, I have to unpack all my shit.”

“Sounds good, I'll see you that Saturday.” Adam said.

“I'll be there.” Ronan looked back to Gansey, who was leaning back against the wall with Blue. “Gansey,” he called.

“Okay, I guess we have to go.” Gansey bumped his shoulder against Blue, meaning he nearly hit her in head since she was so much shorter than him.

“Saturday,” both Gansey and Ronan said as they exited the shop.

The Pig broke down half way back to campus and they had to walk all the way back to get Ronan's BMW to jump start it, but even that combined with the fight couldn't bring Ronan down now.

He was walking on air.

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talkiermango502x · 3 years

Text

Weird date story! If you can even call it that...more like the time a guy I hadn’t really met decided we were in a relationship and stalked me for months.

When I was 19, I worked at a bar with my best friend. One night when I was off work, she gave my number to a random guy she’d just met. She said they’d been flirting, and he explained he was looking for a serious girlfriend, but since she was already in a serious relationship she said she knew the perfect girl for him. (Let’s play count the red flags, shall we? Both for the now ex-best friend and this guy.)

That night, he started texting me, and let me tell you, he was relentless. First thing the next morning I got a “good morning, beautiful” text (we had never seen each other, btw). On the second night of texting me (we hadn’t even met yet), he texted me to tell me he’d told his mom about me. He asked if I wanted to come to her house to meet her tonight (it was already 11pm), and then invited me on a camping trip with him over the weekend. I said no, I didn’t know him yet, I wasn’t comfortable meeting his mother or going camping in the woods with a stranger.

Stepping back, he asked me on a date but our schedules didn’t line up for another few days. So we set up a meet for about three days from then. The following night while I was working, a coworker came over and said there was a man looking for me and asked if she should let him know I was working or if I wanted to talk to him. I had my older coworker and security guard (a friend of mine) keep an eye on us while I went over to serve him.

The guy said he’d gotten impatient waiting to meet me and wanted to move our “relationship” forward. He had showed up specifically to have dinner with me during my break and intended to wait until after my shift ended (12am) for us to finish our date. I told him this was kind of inappropriate, to show up at my place of work and expect an impromptu date. I didn’t appreciate him surprising me like this. He said he intended for it to be romantic.

He spent the next few hours sitting at the table, watching me work. My security guard friend went over to talk to him during the waiting, to get a feel for what we were dealing with. He came by later and said to watch out, the guy was kind of weird. The guy seemed to think we were in an established serious relationship. I asked my friend to wait with me during my break and after to make sure I got through it safely.

During my 30 minute break, he asked if I’d like to go to a nearby park for dinner. I refused, saying I wasn’t comfortable with that given that I didn’t know him. He said a lot of strange things—how my friend had talked me up and I sounded like perfect serious girlfriend material, how he couldn’t wait to introduce me to his mom, how he was searching for a serious relationship and was really glad we’d met. He never really asked anything about me, instead just sort of word vomiting all this stuff at me.

I went back to work and then he started talking to my coworkers, especially the male ones, and asking about me, how they knew me, what their relation was to me. Kind of weird and possessive. Another coworker came by and said he’d introduced himself as my boyfriend. By now, I’m completely irritated. Since I can’t get away, I text him and tell him to stop telling people he’s my boyfriend, we just met. He replies and says he was making sure my male coworkers knew I was off the market. There was a lot to unpack there and I couldn’t deal with it at work and over text.

Before I got off my shift, I asked my security guard friend to stay out in the parking lot and keep an eye out. I told the date guy that I was really tired and felt grubby from work, so wouldn’t be hanging around. He as really upset about it and demanded to walk me out to the parking lot. If my security guard friend wasn’t following me, I’d never have allowed it.

He then told me to come see his car. He went on and on, never listening to me, about his car. He said he was into street racing. His ex-girlfriend was really into it because of him. He told me a story about how he’d been racing for pink slips and lost; the other guy pulled a gun on him so his ex-gf blocked the other guy with her car while he made a getaway with the street race car. His ex-gf had been shot at and ended up in the hospital. I spoke up and said that was really shitty that he abandoned his gf to deal with a gunman while he went off with his car. He said I just didn’t understand cars and needed to learn to be a ride or die chick to be with him. I laughed and said that wasn’t gonna happen. I kept interrupting him and saying I needed to get home.

I basically had to just start walking to my car and climb in, but he held the door and wouldn’t let me shut it. He tried to kiss me and told me he was excited for our relationship. He explained he wanted a serious relationship before going into the military, so he’d been waiting to enlist because he wanted a fiancé to be waiting for him. I said I would talk to him later and rushed out of there.

My security guard friend was basically like a big brother. He protected me all the time from creepy men and I’d brought him along on more than one blind dates. That night, my friend texted me, worried. The next day at work, he helped me decide how to end this safely.

I called the guy on my break and told him I didn’t think we would be a good match, that I wasn’t really into it, he wanted something I wasn’t interested in, etc. The guy started sobbing and begging. He then said he was coming to work (he’d gotten my schedule from my friend, and told me he knew what hours I was working). I told him I wasn’t interested and to please leave me alone.

An hour later, he showed up at the bar, crying and begging for me to take him back. He accused other male coworkers of splitting us up. Eventually he made such a scene security had to remove him from the building. He then went out to my car, bashed in my taillight and wrote “fuck you bitch” on my window.

What happened next was several months of being stalked. He kept getting my school and work schedules from my friend. She said i had overreacted and didn’t realize what a cute couple we would make. She insisted we get back together. The guy had told her a bunch of lies about our time together (which honestly was him just staring at me while I worked). The guy kept showing up at the bar, telling me how he wanted me back. He threatened a few male coworkers for talking to me. He was eventually banned, and would instead sit in the parking lot or on the street waiting for me. He started showing up at my college looking for me. After a month or so, he got less aggressive and instead played the guilt card. He would find me and tell me how he was depressed since we broke up, how he’d been drinking. My friend had him on Facebook and got concerned because he’d posted a bunch of suicidal posts about missing me, life not being worth living without me, how if he didn’t get me back, he was going to end it.

A few weeks later he found a new girl and mostly moved on. He showed up at the bar about four months after all this and followed me around, being mopey and telling me he was really depressed since we’d broken up but he was moving on. He seemed to be trying to make me jealous. Honestly I felt like I dodged a billet. I never even knew his last name.

#creepy men #stalker #story time #too many men #harassment #creepy

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teachingoutsidethebinary · 7 years

Text

Absolutely Anything

Summary: Y/N Stark lost her leg in a car accident as a teen. Her boyfriend, Bucky Barnes, helps her dad design a new prosthetic. To celebrate, they head to the beach, where some of Y/N’s insecurities resurface. Bucky decides to help Y/N beat her self-doubt by facing some of his own fears.

Characters: Bucky Barnes, Tony Stark, Reader

Warnings: mentions of a car accident, insecurities, an insane amount of teeth-rotting fluff

Word count: 2063

A/N: Thank you so much for the prompt @fuckkoffcourtney !!! I hope I did it justice!

One Shot Masterlist

Bucky carefully guided you down the steps to your father’s lab with his hands covering your eyes. His heart was pounding in anticipation with each tap of your shoes on the metal staircase. When you both finally reached the bottom, Tony Stark was waiting bouncing with excitement.

“Okay, doll, open your eyes,” Bucky said, excitement filling his voice.

“Um, Bucky? You kinda need to take your hands off my face first,” you replied, cheekily.

“Oh, right!” Bucky fumbled. He removed his shaky hands and you found yourself staring at a metal leg.

“What’s this?” you asked, turning between Bucky and Tony.

“Well, honey,” Tony replied, “you’ve been complaining about your prosthetic for months now, so I made you a new one.”

You gasped and covered your mouth with both hands. A horrific car accident had left you short a leg when you were a teenager, and you had been struggling to find a prosthetic that could keep up with the demands of your job as an Avenger.

You walked over and carefully examined the leg. It was a sleek silver, and it had metal plates running down the entire length. It almost reminded you of…

“Is this vibranium?” you asked Bucky. “Like your arm?”

Bucky nodded shyly. “Do you like it?”

You traced your fingers over the smooth, cool metal and grinned. “I love it,” you answered confidently.

“Buckaroo here let me scan his arm to help me make the prototype,” your dad informed you. “So congrats! You match!”

“And this’ll hold up in the field?” you asked, skipping right from sentiment to practicality. “I mean, it looks amazing, but will it last longer than this one?” You pointed to your jean-covered plastic prosthetic leg.

“Will it hold up?” Tony scoffed. “Of course it will! I built it!”

You stared at Tony blankley and blinked several times. “Let me ask again-”

“Yes, it will hold up!” Tony replied, exasperatedly. “My god, I know how to invent things.”

“Just checking!” you said. “Remember that one time you SWORE those propulsion boosters wouldn’t melt the plastic from my last leg?”

“One time!” Tony exclaimed. “I make a mistake ONE time and you can’t let it go, can you?” You both smiled at each other, and Bucky knows all of your comments are said with love.

“So you like it, doll?” Bucky asks, bringing your attention back to the matter at hand. “You really like it?”

You walked over to Bucky and wrapped your arms around his neck. “I love it,” you repeated. “And I love that it came from a part of you.” You pulled him in for a kiss, and you were both lost in the heat of the moment, much to Tony’s dismay.

“Ew, gross. Mushy,” he groaned, making his way back up the stairs. “No sex in the lab!” he called before disappearing completely.

You giggled as you broke the kiss. Walking over to your new leg, you picked it up off the stand.

“So what do you say we test out the flexibility of my new leg?” you asked, quirking a suggestive eyebrow up at Bucky. You waved your leg a bit and got a chuckle out of him.

“Actually, I have a better idea,” he countered. “Let’s go to the beach.”

“The beach?” you asked. “Why the beach?”

“What better way to celebrate your new leg than with a little relaxation?” he replied, taking one of your hands in his. “Plus, it’s been forever since I’ve been to one,” he added.

You carefully considered his offer, and nodded your consent. A break did sound nice. Bucky beamed, and you were certain his smile was going to crack his face in half.

Talking about going to the beach and actually going to the beach were two different stories. You had barely managed to switch out your legs before an alarm about an Avengers mission blared through the compound. Thankfully, your dad had been right, and your leg was fantastic in battle. Not only did it help you run a bit faster, but it could handle a heck of a lot more impact that your old leg.

The second time you tried to get to the beach, a tropical storm raged through New York, making it impossible to get out of the city. You and Bucky spent the night putting your leg through other...rigorous tests. You were both pleased to find out that it held up just fine.

A few months later, it appeared that the third time was the charm. You and Bucky arrived at the beach with a cooler full of food and an umbrella big enough to provide shade for the entire city of Manhattan.

When it came time to get out of the car, though, you hesitated.

“This is going to be awesome, doll,” Bucky gushed as he unbuckled his seatbelt. “We couldn’t have asked for a better day!”

“Uh huh,” you nodded, absently, staring at the beachgoers who had already gathered on the sandy shore.

Everywhere you turned, it seemed like all you saw were gorgeous women in string bikinis without a blemish, or metal leg, in sight. Confidence in your body had never been a huge issue, even after your car accident. But your old prosthetics had blended a bit more, and this one was so...shiny. Despite having a Stark personality, you were never one to really enjoy the spotlight, and you were basically going to be drawing attention to yourself like a super-sized magnet. Maybe this had been a mistake. Maybe-

“Doll, I can practically hear the gears in your head turning,” Bucky said, interrupting your thoughts. “What’re you thinking about?”

“Nothing,” you lied. “I’ll get the cooler.” You went to open the car door, but Bucky locked it before you could even pull on the handle. You sighed and looked at Bucky. “You know, in order to get to the beach, I kind of need to be able to leave the car, love.”

Bucky ignored your sass and continued to stare at you expectantly. He didn’t need to say a word, and you soon crumbled under his intense gaze.

“Ugh, fine!” you finally exclaimed. “I’m nervous, alright?”

Bucky tilted his head. “Nervous?” he asked. “About what?”

You swallowed and looked down at your hands. “I just...I don’t show off my leg that much. I’m nervous that people will stare.”

It was true. You had always been one to opt for wearing jeans or pants whenever you went out. You wanted people to see you more for who you were as a person, and not for what you had on your body.

Bucky was silent for a few moments, and you were afraid you had offended him. You knew how self-conscious he was about his arm.

“I’ll make you a deal,” he said, breaking the silence. “I’ll take off mine, if you take off yours.” His eyes shined with a bit of nervous excitement, and you couldn’t help but stare at him.

“You’d take off your shirt?” you asked, uncertainly. “For me?”

Bucky leaned across the seat and kissed you chastely on the lips. “I would do absolutely anything for you, doll,” he whispered. His gaze flicked up to yours, and you almost combusted from the look of complete adoration you saw staring back at you. You kissed him again with more intensity, and your hands wandered down to the hem of his shirt.

“Um, doll,” he said between kisses. “What are you doing?”

“I’m just helping you take your shirt off,” you replied innocently as you peppered his neck with soft kisses.

Bucky groaned and banged his head against the back of the seat. “You are going to be the death of me,” he chuckled.

You winked and pulled your pants off to reveal your polka dot bikini and silver prosthetic. “Shall we?” you asked.

Bucky yanked the shirt over his head and tossed it in the back seat, his arm on full display. “We shall,” he grinned.

The sun was high in the afternoon sky as you and Bucky dragged your supplies across the sand. A few people stared as you scouted out the perfect spot, but you both kept yourself distracted by threatening to dunk each other in the ocean once you were unpacked. You finally settled on a spot in the middle of the beach fairly close to the water.

“Make sure you secure the umbrella,” you instructed as you laid out the blanket. “We don’t need it blowing away on us.”

“I’ve got this,” Bucky replied, using the force of his arm to jam the umbrella in the ground.

You giggled and spread out on the towel. The warm sun felt amazing on your skin, and you could feel the stress from the car melt away. You sighed and opened your eyes to find Bucky staring down at you.

“Water?”

“Water,” you confirmed, nodding your head. You bolted off the blanket, yelping as Bucky picked you up and barreled into the ocean with you on his shoulder. You spent almost an hour splashing, making out, and just floating in the waves. You couldn’t remember the last time you had had this much fun. All of your insecurities has disappeared by the time you walked back to the blanket for lunch. You stretched your leg out proudly as you munched on the sandwiches you had packed earlier this morning.

“You doing okay?” Bucky asked, pulling you close against him. You knew the double meaning behind his question, and there was no hesitation in your answer.

“I’m having an amazing time,” you answered, honestly. “Thank you.”

You were about to lean in for a kiss when a small voice interrupted you.

“Excuse me?”

You and Bucky both looked up to find a little boy standing at the edge of your blanket. He wore bright blue swim trunks with dinosaurs on them, and he couldn’t have been more than seven years old. He held both arms behind his back and teetered back and forth on his tip toes.

“Hi there!” Bucky said, cheerfully. “Do you need help?”

The boy shook his head shyly. “I just wanna show you something,” he said in a small voice.

You raised your eyebrows at Bucky before sitting up. “Okay,” you replied, not sure where this was going. “Go for it.”

The boy looked over his shoulder, and you saw a woman, who you guessed was his mom, giving him a thumbs up. He took a deep breath and whipped his hands out from behind him. You gasped when you saw his a red and gold prosthetic arm where his right arm should have been. You had no idea how to respond, but thankfully, Bucky had your back.

“That is so cool!” he exclaimed. “You have an arm just like me!” He waved his metal arm at the boy, who giggled in response.

“I was nervous about comin’ here ‘cause sometimes people stare,” he said. “But then I saw your arm and leg and I wasn’t nervous no more.”

You choked back tears and smiled at the boy. “I was nervous too,” you admitted.

His eyes widened with shock. “Really?” he gasped. You nodded. “But you’re not nervous now?” he asked.

You shook your head. “It’s a part of me, and I like who I am. So there’s no reason to be nervous.” You paused and intertwined your fingers with Bucky’s. “Thank you so much for showing us,” you added. “My dad’s favorite colors are red and gold, you know.

“Cool,” the boy whispered in awe. He waved at you and Bucky one last time. “Bye!” he called as he ran back to his mom. She gathered him in her arms and squeezed tight. She mouthed a teary “thank you” to you and Bucky before leading her son to the water.

Bucky looked at you proudly as you watched them play in the ocean. You were his rock, his everything, and he couldn’t imagine his life without you. You made each other better people, and he liked the person he was around you. He wanted to give you the world.

Without disturbing you, he reached for the small black box he had hidden in the cooler earlier this morning. He took a deep breath as he prepared to show you just how much he wanted to do for you for the rest of your lives.

TAGS: @buckyappreciationsociety

#bucky x reader #fluff #so much fluff #Bucky Barnes is a cinnamon roll #james bucky barnes #bucky fic #beach trip #tony stark #sassy tony stark #love yourself #metal arm #metal leg #overcoming insecurities

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disaster-goose · 7 years

Text

This is the story of how I tried to access mental health help in the United States and how it only made everything so much worse. It’s not meant to discourage anyone from asking for help or from taking medication if they need it. I just need to write it down, because at the moment I am on the verge of a panic attack and I need to do something with my hands. So I’m going to tell you the story.

This is a long post, so I’ll save you all and put it under a “Keep Reading”

Content warning: This post contains discussions about mental health, including suicidal ideation and self harm.

A little background: I was diagnosed with depression and PTSD when I was 14. I spent my teens and early twenties on various SSRI Antidepressants that only made things worse. I was extremely emotionally unstable. I was so unstable that I had a modified education plan in high school. My therapist had meetings with my school. That’s how serious it was.

Sometime in my twenties, I stopped taking medication. I went to therapy. I got a degree in Psychology. I went to grad school. I left my abusive ex. I came out to my family. I got away from the toxic people in my life. My depression went into remission. I say remission because once you have depression, you’re always at risk of another episode. That’s just reality.

Last fall a lot of things went wrong all at once. I had a huge falling out with my family after I put my foot down and refused to tolerate my mom’s manipulative behavior. I was on the verge of going no-contact. Two weeks later my dad was diagnosed with cancer. I was consumed by guilt.

At the same time I was dealing with financial problems, physical health problems, and a variety of life stress that I wasn’t coping with very well.

In October I spent two weeks in my home town while my dad received cancer treatment. Being in my home town was hard. I revisited a lot of painful memories.

In November... Well, we all know what happened in November.

In December I called my mom. It was a few days before Christmas and I called for a friendly chat. I had decided we wouldn’t talk politics. She decided that we would talk politics. It was bad. I hung up the phone and fantasized about all the ways I might kill myself. I can’t even remember Christmas.

In January I saw my primary care physician (Lana) for a follow-up on my various health conditions. In the fall I’d been told that I was critically anemic, so anemic it might kill me if I didn’t get it under control. By January not much had improved. Because I’d previously disclosed a history of mental health issues, my appointment included a depression screener. I was severely, dangerously depressed.

Lana said she would refer me to the in-house counselor (Bret) who would then refer me to the in-house Psychiatrist (Colleen). Both of these people were so overbooked and overworked that it would be months before I could see them. I was hopeful. I wanted counseling. I wanted someone to sit with me while I unpacked my guilt and grief.

Lana warned me that she was leaving the practice soon and that while she would be comfortable prescribing medication for my depression, none of the other doctors in the practice would prescribe psychiatric medications until I saw the Psychiatrist (in three months).

I didn’t know how I would survive those three months of waiting, but I didn’t want medication either. I just wanted a counselor. I told her about how bad I reacted to SSRI antidepressants. I told her about the instability, the self-harm, the constant suicidal ideation. She agreed that SSRIs were a bad option for me, she thought I had Bipolar 2 (which is like classic Bipolar except the manic episodes are less severe. People with any kind of Bipolar disorder should not take SSRI medication alone. It causes exactly the kind of mood destabilization I’d experienced.

Lana told me about a drug I’d never tried before. Lamotrigine. It’s a medication for seizures that has shown some promise in treating bipolar disorder. Before agreeing to take it, I did tons of research. A lot of people liked it. A lot of people called it a miracle pill. It had very few listed side-effects, as long as you weren’t one of the rare unlucky people that got a potentially deadly rash.

I filled the prescription for Lamotrigine, but I waited to take it. I wasn’t sure. I had managed to get an appointment with Brett sooner than I’d expected, so I waited to see him.

In the meantime, my most recent lab results came back. I was still severely anemic, and apparently I was also severely vitamin D deficient. Anemia can cause symptoms that mimic depression and low vitamin D can actually cause depression.

I had my first appointment with Brett. I hated him instantly. He was smug. He didn’t listen to me. He was more concerned with filling out his case notes than actually talking to me. He was upset that I hadn’t started the Lamotrigine yet. He was dismissive of my concerns. He put “Noncompliant” in my chart. He talked down to me. I told him that I had gone to grad school and studied counseling psychology. He still talked down to me.

Lana had said that Brett would do an intake and refer me to a counselor. “I just have to suffer through one intake with him,” I told myself. As it turns out, there are no other counselors. There isn’t a single other counselor within 50 miles of me that takes my insurance. The “counselor” Brett referred me to was himself, and because of the overburdened mental health system, I was entitled to just 20 minutes of “counseling” every two weeks. Five to ten of those 20 minutes were spent on a depression screener and the rest were consumed by Brett tapping away at his computer to fill in his case notes.

During one session Brett told me to choose a word that represented a “safe place” and to repeat that word to myself when I was anxious or upset. In another session he told me to dunk my head in a bucket of water when I was having a panic attack.

After a particularly bad session wit Brett, I go home in tears and call my insurance company and every counselor in my town. No one accepts my insurance. No one can help me.

In four months of bi-weekly sessions with Brett, he has never once asked about the events that precipitated my depressive episode. He never asks me about ANYTHING except my work life and my relationship. Every session he forgets the details of both.

After two horrible sessions with Brett, I caved and started taking the Lamotrigine out of pure desperation. Because of the risk of a life-threatening rash, I had to increase my dosage very slowly over the course of two months. In those two months nothing improved and my anxiety actually got worse.

In May I finally increased my dosage of Lamotrigine to a theraputic level. I met with Colleen (the psychiatrist) and liked her immediately. She listened to me. She respected my autonomy. She considered the physical, psychological, emotional and social aspects of my depression. She told me to give Lamotrigine a try and see her again in two months.

It’s June and I’ve been on a therapeutic dose of Lamotrigine for a month now. Every day feels worse than the last. I am so anxious that I have to take sleeping pills to get to sleep at night. I’m so depressed that I just want to lie down and go to sleep in the middle of the day. I cry over small frustrations. I am plagued by intrusive thoughts and obsessions (new symptoms that I’ve never experienced before). I put clothes in the dryer and obsess over the idea that the dryer will catch fire. Car headlights flash in my bedroom window and I am consumed by the idea that home intruders are coming to kill us all.

In the evenings when I’m done with all of my responsibilities, I obsess over the idea that if I just cut myself I’d feel so much better. The thought replays through my head over and over, like a fucking Linkin Park song that won’t get out of my head.

I feel dull. I feel flat. I can’t enjoy anything. I feel emotionally disconnected everyone around me. I have two emotional states: numb and angry.

I try to distract myself with my hobbies, but I’ve lost interest in everything. I play Stardew Valley for hours. I don’t enjoy it anymore, but it’s calming. It’s something to do. It’s something to keep my hands occupied.

Besides all these psychological symptoms, I’m physically sicker than I was before. I have headaches every day. I grind my teeth and now have to wear a night guard so that I don’t wake up in excruciating pain. My neck is so tense that I can’t turn my head.

A few days ago I had another session with Brett. I tell him all of this in detail. I describe the intrusive thoughts, the new symptoms, the misery. I tell him I feel worse than I did before. He taps away on his computer, sending a message to Colleen.

Brett reframes my statements and says that my mania is well controlled but that my depression is lingering. I wasn’t manic to begin with, so how is my mania now well controlled? I tell him firmly that this isn’t lingering depression. This is something new. It’s horrible. It’s intolerable. It’s worse than it was before. I look at his screen as he types away. I’m now “high risk”.

This morning I woke up to a call from Colleen. Despite all my efforts to explain things clearly to Brett, the message he sent her includes none of my own words. He’s told her that the medication is controlling my mania very well and that I have lingering depression. His notes don’t include anything about the new symptoms, the obsessions, or the intrusive thoughts.

I spend 30 minutes explaining myself all over again, but Colleens’ judgement has already be clouded by Brett’s assessment. I can already imagine exactly what my case notes say. “Non-compliant, poor insight, high risk.” I know what my case notes look like because I had peers just like Brett when I was in grad school. Arrogant pricks who couldn’t listen to what their clients were saying. I wouldn’t be surprised if my file also includes something like “suspected borderline personality disorder” because even though I don’t meet any of the criteria, I’m a woman, I’m queer, and I have a history of self-harm. Often, that’s all it takes.

Fortunately, Colleen isn’t like Brett. She respected my autonomy, and though her tone indicated that she thought I was making a mistake, she respected my decision when I said I wanted off the Lamotrigine. I explained to her that I wanted to consider the possibility that this depressive episode was triggered by physical problems (Anemia, Vitamin D deficiency). She said she understood, but she seemed skeptical. She gave me instructions on how to safely discontinue the Lamotrigine, and what dosage of Vitamin D to take.

I see Colleen again in a month. She will probably be waiting for me to crash and burn before I agree to try another medication.

I see Brett again in two weeks. He will write “Non-compliant” in my case notes again and probably tell me to stick my head in a bucket.

I still have no access to a counselor.

#Mental Health #Depression #Bipolar #Suicide #Self Harm #Lamotrigine

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calgarysnow · 5 years

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Breakaway Ch. 1

Chapter 1 - Girls and Boys

Charlie wakes up to the sound of her phone vibrating, she sees several texts, two missed calls, and a voicemail. All came in with in minutes of each other, around midnight. Rubbing her eyes Charlie sees she’s only just missed the last message. She opens the first one, annoyed with the sender. “I think we made a mistake some where along the way, I regret not trying to figure this out.”

“Charlie, just text me back. I need to talk to you.”

“I’m a little drunk and reckless, I’ll come to you, please I wanna talk.”

“I want to give us another shot.”

“2 missed calls from That asshole who broke your heart”

“Charlie what’s happening babe?” her companion asks, the insistent messages drawing him too from sleep.

“Nothing that I can’t deal with in the morning,” she smiles. She turns her phone off as another call starts to come through and turns to face her bed mate. She presses a kiss to his lips, her fingers glide through his hair. She smiles into the kiss, still amazed that she’s here with this man. Never thinking he’d be the person she would end up with.

As he hums and snakes his arms around her pulling her close she realizes she’s never been happier.

Charlie and Barry have been friends since anyone could remember. They were inseparable from the moment Charlie’s family moved next door. It was the 3rd grade and Charlie’s dad had just gotten a new job and had to move to live closer to the company. Charlie remembers the fit her sisters threw when they found out. She didn’t really care, she didn’t really like any of the people who her mom made her go to playdates with anyways. She just knew her mom was friends with the other moms. So she didn’t really have any friends to leave behind. She only misses hockey, she doesn’t know if there will hockey in her new town.

It was their second day in the new house, Charlie was meant to be unpacking. Instead she had snuck out to the backyard, she’s swinging contented. He old house never had one of these. She’s startled when a voice says “Hey,” from behind the broken fence slat. Looking over she sees a bright eyed boy with wild curls waving to her. She smiles and jumps off the swing, “I’m Barry,” he tells her happily.

“I’m Charlie,” she says approaching the boy.

He sticks his hand through the fence, they shake hands. Then Barry disappears for a moment, but then makes an appearance climbing over the top of the fence. He drops down in front of her, “I was hoping for boys, but you’ll do,” Barry says with a smile.

Charlie doesn’t know what to say, “Do you like hockey?” He asks a second later.

“Yeah! I played in my old town.” The smile on her face is wide, she likes the curly haired boy already.

Hockey is what sparks the conversation, but it does turn out that they’re fast friends. Charlie’s mother finds them both laying in the grass watching the clouds float by hours later. Both giggling and already thick as thieves. Barry’s mom had come by wondering if they had seen her youngest. She’s relieved to see both of them getting along.

Charlie and Barry are friends for the long haul after that day looking at clouds. They’re friends through when Charlie’s parents get divorced and her dad moves back to his home town deep in the mountains. They are friends when Barry’s mom get’s cancer and through her recovery. Friends even when they don’t get to play on the same hockey team anymore.

They are especially friends when it’s the summer before sophomore year and they’re sitting under the stars when Barry tells Charlie he’s gay. “Yeah and?” Charlie asked when he finished stumbling over his words.

“That’s it? I spent weeks trying to figure out how to tell you and that’s all you have to say?” Barry squealed a look of shock on his face.

“What did you want me to say? I kind of already had a feeling,”

“I donno, ‘wow Barry thank you for sharing such an intimate detail of your life with me, I know how hard this was for you to tell me’,”

“Shut up,” she shoved him lightly, “But thank you, for telling me.”

“Yeah what ever,” Barry smiles despite his eye roll.

“I love you too,” Charlie kisses his hair. Barry mumbles his response, it sounds vaguely like I love you too.

They go back to stargazing in silence, though now they both have wide smiles on their face.

Charlie loves a lot of things in life, not just Barry. Her family, hockey, dogs and on occasion a good party. She’s pretty in like with her boyfriend too. She’s not sure she loves him yet, she feels like she should by now. Something nags at the back of her mind every time she she thinks of telling him.

Being pretty in like with him is the only reason she let him bring May along to party with them. “Jeez Charlie why is May here again?” Denny complains coming into the kitchen. He’s gesturing to where May is sitting primly on the couch sipping what Charlie assumes is just soda or water. May is too goody-goody to drink underage, or take part in any of the other activities at the party. She’s sat on that couch since almost the moment she arrived. Only Taylor stopping by to bring her a new drink or for a quick chat.

No one else has gone out of their way to talk to her, most every one seems to be avoiding that half of the room entirely. The other attendants of the party aren’t exactly a part of May’s social circle. It’s not exactly a secret that May isn’t exactly well liked outside of her friend group either.

Charlie wonders why May even wants to come to these parties. She never tries to talk to anyone, never drinks, and always unintentionally makes everyone miserable. May’s presence always results in Charlie and Taylor catching a lot of flack. They try to laugh it off, even when it hurts a little more each time.

Charlie sighs and turns back to Denny. They’re all in the kitchen of this random classmates house. Charlie perched on the counter sipping a mostly flat and slightly warm beer. Berry leans next to her with Denny coming to lean on the other side that Taylor had recently vacated. He has a new round of flat beer for him self and Barry. “I don’t want her here just as much you guys,” Charlie tells them. The exasperation in her voice hangs between them.

A football player Charlie whose name she doesn’t recall comes over, it’s clear he was eves dropping. “When will you stop fucking inviting her to things?” he snarls in Charlie’s face.

Barry and Denny are quick to intervene coming to stand between the football player and Charlie. “Oh fuck off, what has she ever done to you?” Charlie snaps at him from behind her friends.

This makes him angry, his face goes red and his fist clenches. Charlie doesn’t care. She’s not in the mood to deal with his fit. Annoyed Charlie hops of the counter, she pushes through Denny and Barry. She shoulder checks the jock on her way past, she hears him complain loudly.

Barry is hot on her heels Charlie as pushes her way through the party. They both end up upstairs crammed into a tiny bathroom off a guest room. Charlie has her hands shoved under the freezing water and frustrated tears pricking in her eyes. It threatens to ruin the make up she’d worked so hard on, it adds to the feeling of being overwhelmed.

Barry leans on the counter closely watching over her out of the corner of his eye, arms folded over his chest. The ritual is well practiced over their years of friendship. Barry watching close as Charlie lets her hands ache under the water, until her joints lock up. He waits for one of two things, for Charlie to have enough and turn the water off him self. Or when the beds of her nails turn blue and he turns the water off for her.

It’s only a short while listening to the faucet run before it turns off. Charlie doesn’t dry her hands relishing in the cool ache. She looks up at Barry, “How is this always my fault?”

Barry doesn’t know the answer. He’ll never knows the answer. It’s painful watching the way their classmates and supposed friends rag on Charlie at these parties. This leaves him with little more to do than thumb away the tears in Charlie’s eyes and pull her close.

As senior year drags on it gets worse, there are more and more incidents like the one in the kitchen. Afterwards usually one of two things happens, May grows board and leaves alone or having convinced Taylor to go with her. The moment she’s gone all is forgiven and forgotten. But on nights like this one, where May is more stubborn and immune to comments than usual their classmates turn on Charlie. Who tolerates it longer than any other person would, or even should. Charlie will almost always end up in a bathroom trying to numb the pain.

Barry is thankful when Charlie slumps against him, her arms snaking around his chest. He presses a nose to her hair, her scent soothing his own anxieties now. He dusts her hair with soft kisses, until she starts to giggle. She pushes her face up, looking cutely up at him, “Thanks Flash.”

“I got you Kid.”

May only goes to these parties when her mother is on her case more than usual about dating and having fun in high school. “You’re never going to get a boyfriend sitting around the house like this. Why don’t you try to be more like your sister? Go to parties, have some fun make some other friends.” Her mother had read her this riot act again other night. Trying to get May to put her self out there, her mother didn’t like her friends, except Taylor. She had been nearly as devastated as May when Taylor had asked out Charlie.

So the next morning to appease her mother May begged Taylor to get her an invite from Charlie to Greg Lawrence’s party. He’s the the captain of the boys soccer team and his parents are out of town. May knows everybody her mom would want her to hang out with is going to be there. She also knows that Charlie seems to know everybody and was already talking about dragging Taylor along last week.

May’s other friends are never invited, the choir and theater kids never invited to jock parties. She wonders what kind of stereotype teen movie she’s really living in. She does preen a little (read: a lot) bit when she brags about the invite to her friends. Lana and Missy looking jealous. The major down side of these parties is that she doesn’t have anyone to talk to. She and Charlie aren’t exactly friends. Barry is always stuck by Charlie’s side all night. Taylor always seems to have his own friends to talk to, only having so much time and patience with her. She ends up on the couch, feeling awkward and waiting for Taylor to swing by with more soda for her every now and then.

May doesn’t like how long the music is, she especially doesn’t like having to watch all of her more popular and better looking classmates dance. They all look like drunken fools grinding and falling all over each other. May doesn’t even bother trying to find someone to dance with, not knowing the too sloppy and drunk classmates well enough.

She doesn’t know why she’s holding out so long at this particular party. She’s still hoping Taylor remembers she’s here and comes to sit with her. He’s been bouncing between Charlie and Danny all night. May’s almost reached the the point of being desperate enough to try and talk to Charlie. At least she’d have the chance to maybe get some face time with Barry.

Deciding against groveling to Charlie she decides to find a bathroom. She finds the one on the first floor easily, but is cut off by Clair Wilson and Ryan Masterson. Scoffing May makes her way up stairs to find another bathroom. Which she does easily enough. It’s at the end of the hallway, the door is open, and Charlie and Barry are occupying the room. They’re leaned against the counter and pretty wrapped up in each other.

May is surprised, she knows they are close. That they’ve been friends for as long as anyone can remember. She remembers them showing up to Charlie’s first day at the new school holding hands. Everyone gave them hell for being boyfriend and girlfriend, neither of them seemed to care.

This is a level of intimacy May’s never seen before. She can see Barry’s lips moving as they are pressed to Charlie’s hair. It’s impossible to hear them over the noise of the party that floods the house. It’s a beat later that Charlie pushes her face up and gives Barry what May know Charlie thinks is a cute look. They grin at each other and laugh for a moment. They say something else that’s hard to hear and she watches as Charlie collects something off the counter. “Better get back out there, don’t want Taylor to come looking,” Charlie said. Barry doesn’t say anything just nods and looks annoyed.

Oh. May thinks, this is something other than friendly. She has to tell Taylor. Has to tell him that Charlie is cheating on him. Because May can’t watch another girl rip Taylor’s heart out. She won’t watch the person she’s in love with get hurt again.

When the pair finally leave the bathroom May ducks into a dark bedroom. She doesn’t know what would happen if they saw her waiting there, but she doesn’t want to find out. After they pass she follows them back down to the party.

May feels sick to her stomach as she watches as Charlie goes over to Taylor and wraps her arms around his neck. Taylor’s face lights up as a kiss is pressed to his lips. May looks for Barry, she spots him in the kitchen next to Denny. He looks less than pleased to see the display happening at the foot of the stairs.

She knows she won’t be able to get Taylor alone tonight, not with the way Charlie is hanging all over him. She decides that she’s had enough of this stupid party and Charlie’s stupid face for one night. She doesn’t bother Taylor as she slips out the back door.

It’s not long after she gets home that she gets a couple rapid fire texts from Taylor. T: I didn’t see you leave :(

T: It’s too bad, the party got really good!!

T: we’re playing spin the bottle, I had to kiss Oliver masterson *puke*

T: He’s not as cute as his older bro

May laughs for all of a second until she get’s a picture. It’s of Taylor and Charlie with their cheeks pressed together making kissy faces at the camera. May deletes the picture and ignores her phone for the rest of the night.

#Breakaway #chapter 1 #please be gentile its my first time

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allthevmff · 5 years

Text

Scoobies in Neptune

by lateVMlover

I began writing fanfiction in 2010 due to my obsession with Veronica Mars fanfiction. Many of you may not know that the VM in my handle stands for that show. Although it's not even my top ten favorite show, I LOVED the characters that Rob Thomas created, so I spent years writing several stories only for Veronica Mars. In fact, I've written 1,259,643 words that were solely about Veronica Mars. Then I grew bored and now almost exclusively write Buffy the Vampire Slayer crossovers. However, I've had this idea for a story percolating in the back of mind for a few years now. I've finally put it down on paper.

This story is set after BTVS season 4 and Veronica Mars season 3. It's beginning in the summer after Veronica has left for her summer internship with the FBI. I've altered some key things in the Buffyverse. Faith didn't go evil in season 3, but instead was killed long enough to activate a new slayer. Kennedy is called in her place and makes Sunnydale so unbearable that the gang decides to move away. Neptune is not too far, and Buffy, Willow, and Tara transfer to Hearst while Giles and Faith are guarding the hellmouth in Ohio. Season 4 of BTVS had some serious deviations as Spike isn't a part of the story, and Riley and Buffy were never a couple. This story will not be as plot driven as previous stories. I'm focusing more on the two worlds being thrown together and new connections, friendships, and loves developing.

Disclaimer: Obviously, I do not own either Veronica Mars or BTVS.

I will be moving this story to the crossover page after a bit. It's just been so long since I've written anything for VM that I thought I'd start with it here first. If you are unfamiliar with BTVS this story might not be for you. However, if you know the characters from the show, you should have no trouble following it as it's set entirely in Rob Thomas' Neptune world.

Chapter 1: A Fresh Start

*****Neptune*****

Buffy looked at the small house her mom had bought in Neptune in satisfaction. The one-story dwelling was so much easier to unpack than their other place had been four years ago. The square footage wasn't that different from their old home in Sunnydale, but she did have a bit more space in her room. The third bedroom, however, was on the small size. Happily, they each had their own bathroom, so Buffy had no reason to complain. The large formal dining room that their Sunnydale home had boasted was absent from this house, but it had a large kitchen that their table could fit into as long as they kept the extension out of it. Of course, the main thing the house had was a large basement that she could use to keep up her training.

Her phone rang. "Hey, Will. Are you and Tara unpacked?" she asked. "I'm finally done."

"Not even close," Willow said. "Tara and I found this amazing coffee house by campus called Java Hut, so we're totally distracted. Things are so bright and shiny here, Buffy, so we're not sure what to do."

Buffy laughed. "I know what you mean. Just being away from the hellmouth makes me feel warm and happy," she said.

"Exactly!" Willow agreed. "The reason I called was to tell you that Xander called and said that he got called in for the interview for the maintenance team at Hearst. It's in five days."

"That's great!" Buffy said. "I can't imagine not having our Xander-shaped friend around. What about Anya?"

"Anya doesn't want to leave the hellmouth or her job. Giles made her a partner in the Magic Box before he and Faith left for Ohio," Willow said.

"Doesn't she know she will have to deal with Kennedy if she sticks around?" Buffy asked.

"Well, you know Anya. She'll just tell Kennedy exactly how she feels in that special manner of hers," Willow said in amusement. "Xander did say she threatened to get a vengeance demon friend of hers to hex Kennedy if she tried ordering her around again."

When Kennedy's bullying ways had made Tara cry a month before, a big fight had broken out. Buffy had already planned to relocate shortly after Faith had died and been brought back, thus activating Kennedy the Bitch.

"We can all learn from Anya," Buffy said. Of course, Buffy was action girl. Actions speak louder, and her leaving town said all she needed to say.

"So are we going to the beach this evening?" Willow asked.

"Most definitely," Buffy said. She said goodbye after planning where to meet up and then decided to go shopping for a new swimsuit.

She took a leisure stroll and thought about all the changes that had occurred the past year. After her second month in Sunnydale, Faith had been nearly drained by Mr. Trick. Buffy had thrown Faith over her shoulder and rushed to the hospital, but Faith had flatlined almost immediately. Luckily, they managed to revive and transfuse her. At her mother's instance, Faith had spent a week recovering at their house. The experience had bonded the two slayers like nothing had before. Because Giles had allowed Faith to stay in his spare room, Buffy had been really jealous of Faith. An only child, sharing didn't come easy to Buffy.

However, Kennedy, the new sixteen-year old slayer, coming to town had united the two slayers even more. She was such a stuck-up bitch that the two older slayers just could not work with her. Luckily, Kennedy showed up after graduation and their defeat of the Mayor. For the first time ever, there were three active slayers. Faith and Kennedy had come to blows three times before Giles and Wesley decided that the three of them needed to be spread out across the country. Buffy asked to be allowed to ease out of slaying if Kennedy survived her first year on the hellmouth, so Wesley and Giles had flipped a coin to see who'd get Faith.

Faith and Giles left right after Christmas at the beginning of the new year. That meant that Faith stayed in Sunnydale long enough to seduce Buffy's psychology TA, Riley, and found out he was hiding a very big secret. The military was playing on the hellmouth, and she and Buffy knew it was not a good thing. When Faith discovered they'd chipped a newly returned to town Spike, she'd been pissed—equating it with tying up a dog and leaving it to starve to death. She was going to put him out of his misery and stake him, but Buffy decided sending him to Los Angeles for Angel to deal with was a better option.

A new town was definitely the right way to go for her and her friends.

She was hoping that the new location would work some magic on her love life because Buffy was tired of being single. She'd had the one-night stand with Parker the previous fall and that was it. The very yummy Graham had asked her out, but after discovering his entire fraternity was a front, she couldn't trust him. Now she was ready to have fun or something real. Without the burden of the hellmouth weighing her down, she was free to be a normal college student.

Her mother had decided to leave the dangers of the hellmouth and move to Neptune with Buffy. Willow had been the one to mention Hearst to Buffy. The small liberal arts college was only an hour from Sunnydale, so Buffy could easily get there if Kennedy needed a hand. Willow and Tara had been very eager to leave with Buffy, joining her at Hearst.

Giles won Faith in the coin toss and moved to Ohio with her at the beginning of the year. Although Kennedy had arrived in town with her own Watcher, the woman had been too sensitive to the dark forces radiating from the hellmouth and had asked to be relocated. Her abandonment had worked to make Kennedy even more difficult. Faith, though, was loving being back in a state with real winter as the Boston native really loved the snow Ohio had.

Buffy missed Giles a lot. Although Wesley was better as a Watcher in his second year, she hated that Giles was so far away. Talking on the phone was not the same thing. She and her friends did go to Ohio for Spring Break, though. The hellmouth was much tamer than Sunnydale, but they slayed a few vamps while patrolling with Faith.

She found a shop that looked promising and went in. Neptune had outlet shops scattered around town. The ones close to campus, though, seemed to cater to girls Buffy's age. Luckily, her new house was only five miles from campus. For Buffy, it was merely a nice walk.

"Oh, this is cute!" she said as she grabbed a summer dress. She saw three more and went and tried them on. Her dad allowed her to use her emergency credit card for school clothes, so she didn't feel guilty when she decided to buy all four of them.

Then she went to the swimsuits. A murmuring voice caught her attention, and she looked up. A girl around her age and height was looking at swimsuits with a mulish expression on her face. The attractive brunette had blue tipped hair, which intrigued Buffy as no one back home put colors like that in her hair.

"I don't know why she expects me to waste my hard-earned money on stupid crap," the girl mumbled to herself.

"I take it you don't love clothes shopping?" Buffy asked, giving her a friendly smile.

"I'd rather have a root canal," the girl replied.

"I love shopping," Buffy said.

The girl looked Buffy over and smirked. "You would love shopping," she said.

"I'm taking that as a compliment even though I feel like you didn't mean it as one," Buffy said.

"Sorry," the girl said. "It's just you're wearing one of those cool summer outfits that makes a woman look sexy without effort. Your blonde and beautiful with the long, flowing hair. Are you an 09er?"

Buffy laughed, never having had someone call her beautiful as an insult before. "I don't think so. I'm Buffy. Buffy Summers. I just moved to town," Buffy said.

"Buffy?" the girl said with a smile. "Well, I think you'll fit right in with the 09ers. I'm Cindy Makenzie, but people call me Mac."

"Nice to meet you, Mac," Buffy said. "Do you attend Hearst?"

"I do," Mac said. "Computer science major."

"Oh, my best friend Willow is a computer whiz, too," Buffy said with a bright smile. "She's going to be going to Hearst, too. You might have her in some classes."

"Another girl in the computer science program?" Mac asked, her eyes lighting up.

"Yep. If you're not doing anything later, we're going to the beach behind the campus dorms," Buffy said. "I can introduce you to her and her girlfriend Tara. They are both taking a summer class, so they got into the dorms early."

"Well, I'm leaving in the morning for my family's summer vacation," Mac said. "But I can drop by and meet your friends."

"Oh, so you're buying a new suit for the trip? That's nice. Mine's like two years old," Buffy said. "But in my old town, I seemed to go from one crisis to another and no real beach time."

Mac had to revise her initial impression of the blonde Barbie with the ridiculous name as she was way too friendly to be an 09er. Openly admitting to struggles was also not an 09er trait.

"Where's home?" Mac inquired.

"Well, I was born and raised in Los Angeles, but when my parents split up almost five years ago, I moved to Sunnydale. It's about the size of Neptune but an hour from here," Buffy explained.

"The town with the weird outbreak of laryngitis?" Mac asked, intrigued.

Buffy was surprised she knew that. "Oh, well, yes. The town had a few weird and bad elements," she said.

"I'm not sure Neptune is an improvement," Mac warned. "The 09ers rule it, and there's oodles of corruption."

As no one could ever be more corrupt than the former Mayor of Sunnydale, who turned into a giant snake and ate students at Buffy's high school graduation, she wasn't worried. Of course, she said nothing about that. "What are 09ers?" Buffy asked, frowning. Mac kept saying it like Buffy should know, and she was starting to feel stupid.

"Neptune has two zip codes, 09 and 02. 09 is where the uber wealthy live like the Kanes," she said.

"I take it you're an 02er?" Buffy asked with a grin since she found this zip code division more than a bit silly.

"Yep. Class warfare is very real in this town," Mac said.

"I can't believe it's big enough for two zip codes," Buffy said. "Sunnydale has a USC campus and still only had one zip code."

"That's probably because it wasn't full of elitist snobs that got the city to alter the town charter and give a few neighborhoods their own zip code," Mac said.

"Well, we had a real gang problem in Sunnydale," Buffy said.

"We have that here, but they're not the worst thing," Mac said.

Buffy now had to wonder if Giles was right about Neptune not being hellmouthy. Then again, Los Angeles had no hellmouth, but it had a combination of evil people and dark elements.

The girls finally stopped gossiping and tried on some bathing suits. Buffy decided on a two piece and one cute piece while Mac got a dark blue on piece, not much different than her old black one piece. She refused a red one that Buffy tried to talk her in to buying. Her reluctance reminded Buffy a lot of Willow, so Buffy was quick to like the girl with blue-tipped hair.

Buffy paid for her purchases, and Mac gave Buffy her cell phone number. Mac couldn't believe she didn't have a cell phone.

"Me and technology are unmixy things," Buffy said with a careless shrug. "Willow and Xander, my other best friend, have them, though. If I'm not home, I'm with them normally." Cell phones were superfluous in her line of work. Of course, fighting would be hell on one. Now that she was not really slaying, though, maybe she should get one.

At her confession, Mac gave her a look of horror. "You're a luddite?" she asked.

"Since I know what that word means, no," Buffy said, grinning. "Willow called Giles, our librarian, that once as he called her computer that infernal machine. I can use the computer if I have to, but Will's so much better at it."

"So why bother?" Mac asked in bemusement.

"I'm action girl. I'd rather be running or sparring or fencing," Buffy said.

"You're a jock?" Mac asked in surprise, forced again to reevaluate Buffy.

"I guess you could say that," Buffy said. "But I'm not really into team sports. I did do cheerleading in middle school and ninth grade, but I got bored with it. The cheerleaders at Sunnydale took it way too seriously," she said, thinking of Amy and her mom.

"Hearst does have a track team and a fencing club you might check out," Mac said.

"Okay, I might," Buffy said. Not having monsters to slay was going to leave her with way too much energy. "I'm not really interested in competing, though. I just like things that are physical because I have way too much energy."

Mac grinned, deciding that she liked the girl with the totally airhead name. Clearly, she was no airhead. She might resemble another pixie blonde Mac knew, but Veronica channeled her boundless energy into doing a dozen tasks in twenty-four hours rather than exercise.

"I better head home and prove to my mom that I did buy a new swimsuit," Mac said with a sigh.

"See you later, I hope," Buffy as she walked out the door with Mac.

Mac assumed the woman would head to a car, so she walked toward her own. However, as she pulled out to the road, she noticed Buffy hoofing it, carrying her two bags. Frowning, Mac pointed her green beetle toward Buffy, pulling up alongside her. She rolled down her window and called out, "Buffy, do you need a ride?" she asked.

"Oh, no. I don't live far," Buffy said with an easy smile.

"What's your address?" Mac asked.

When Buffy rattled it off, Mac looked aghast. "That's five miles! You can't walk that far! Get in, and I'll give you a ride," she said.

"It's really no big deal," Buffy said, amused at Mac's look of horror.

"I insist," Mac said firmly. Buffy shrugged and got in the car.

"Well, thanks," she said. "I walked everywhere back home."

"Your friends don't drive?" Mack asked.

"Yes, Willow and Xander have cars," she said. "Sometimes, they'd pick me up. Mom dropped me off for high school, but I always walked home. Then I lived on campus my year at USC Sunnydale. I don't even notice the walking anymore." Five miles was nothing for a slayer.

"You don't have a license?" Mac asked.

"Nope," she said. "Mom says I'm too terrifying behind the wheel and refused to teach me after I dented her car that one time."

"They have professionals that can teach you, you know," Mac said.

"Yea, one day I suppose I'll get one of those," Buffy said with a grin.

Mac laughed and shook her head. "Maybe, this summer I can show you how to drive," she found herself offering. Normally, she'd never make an offer like that to a stranger. But the idea of a woman not being completely independent bothered her.

"My friends will tell you no to that," Buffy said. "Xander and Giles both tried. Giles has taught me lots of things, but he said that the world was safer if I stayed a pedestrian." Of course, she knew it had more to do with her slayer reflexes than anything else.

Mac pulled into Buffy's driveway and looked at the modest sized home—definitely not an 09er. "I just live three blocks from here—well, my parents do. I'm home for the summer but dorming it in the fall," she shared. "I can't believe you walked so far."

"I told you I have lots of energy. It didn't seem that far," Buffy said. I don't get tired like normal people."

"I so can't relate," Mac said dryly.

Buffy laughed. "It looks like my mom is home. Do you want to come in and meet her?" Buffy offered.

"Next time," Mac said. "If I'm going to have time to meet up with you and your friends later. I need to get home."

"Okay," Buffy said. "Thanks a bunch."

She got out of the car, waving to Mac.

Mac grove away, surprised that she made a friend so easily. It took her almost three years to make two friends in high school.

Of course, Mac had no idea how gifted Buffy was at seeing the best in a person and bringing it out for others to see.

As for Buffy, she skipped inside and happily shared with her mom all the details of her encounter with Mac and modeled each outfit.

Joyce happily listened and watched the small fashion show, so happy to see her daughter this way. It'd been years since she had seen Buffy so carefree and excited to be alive. The burdens of being a slayer were gone, and she was free to be young. For the first time in years, she was free to enjoy life to the fullest.

Joyce knew that moving to Neptune with Buffy was the right decision. Life was short, and Joyce didn't want to miss a moment with Buffy. She'd come too closing to losing her daughter too many times.

"I think this move was a good decision," she said to Buffy.

"Absolutely!" Buffy agreed. "A fresh start for all of us."

Buffy believed Neptune would finally be the home Sunnydale never was.

*****Chapter End*****

So what's your thoughts? Veronica will be in this story, but not until the summer is over. I hope you won't miss her too much, but when she returns, there will be fireworks. Reviews are the best. Thanks!

via FanFiction.Net: Veronica Mars, Last Updated http://bit.ly/2IkqBG0 April 8, 2019 at 03:02AM

#IFTTT #Feedly #veronica mars fanfic #vm fic

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