#mywriting
They do not have anything of their own. Not really.
(Or; Clones and Names and the things they do not own.)
“Sing me a song,” Geralt whispers into Jaskier’s thigh. “Please.”
Jaskier looks down at him. “What kind of song?”
“A soft one.”
They’re still tipsy from the festivities — had walked into town just as everyone had been hanging lanterns and tuning their instruments — and even though they should be sleeping, Geralt can’t find it in himself to be tired. Not yet, not like this: with Jaskier’s hand in his hair, smoothing out the pattern he’d braided into it earlier, the soft cotton of his sleep trousers a gentle pillow for his head.
“My voice is a bit hoarse,” Jaskier points out quietly, but Geralt can feel him sitting up a bit straighter. “It’ll hardly be a grandiose concert.”
“Mm.”
Fishing for compliments, his bard. He should not give in. He makes a habit of not giving in for a reason.
“They all are.”
“They all are what, dearest?”
“Grandiose concerts.”
Jaskier jostles him a bit, puffing his chest with pride. It fills the room, his ego (and it smells like roses and basil leaves, and Geralt loves it, and him, but he knows he shouldn’t feed it often, lest it become a beast he must slash away) and he claps Geralt on the shoulder. “Well, then! If you insist on me showcasing my talents, then I shall not leave you wanting, Witcher o mine.”
Geralt tries to roll his eyes — he really does! — but maybe it’s all that drink that’s made its way into his brain and is slowing his movements down, because, instead of his trademark-eyeroll, a smile dripping with fondness makes its way to his mouth.
(He should really check what kind of wine it was that they drank).
Jaskier’s fingers drum a simple, soundless beat on Geralt’s shoulder, and slowly his voice fills the room. It’s a bit hoarse, just as Jaskier had predicted, but it adds an edge to the honey-soft words that fall from his mouth. Geralt doesn’t really know what he’s saying — can’t really focus right now — but it’s a tender thing; slow and flowing like fallen leaves following a sunbeam on a stream.
It’s gentle. Good.
His eyes close without him ever meaning to, and suddenly there are hands in his hair and music in his ears and love in his heart and he knows, with absolute certainty, that this is where he belongs.
This is where he must stay.
“That was it, my love,” Jaskier murmurs when the song ends, voice rougher than before. “Did you like it?”
Geralt turns his head to look up at him. “I love you.”
Jaskier has a dimple on his left cheek. It deepens when he smiles. “A song was all it took?”
Geralt smiles, too. Dimple-less, but true all the same. “It was over for me when you offered me day-old moldy bread from your dusty pockets.”
Jaskier flicks him in the forehead, leaning down to kiss him anyway. Their mouths meet, their teeth clacking together because Jaskier can’t quite contain his laughter, and it’s far from their finest kiss, but somehow it is the best they’ve ever had — because they’re in a small bed in a small inn, with wine stains on their shirts and rose-tinted cheeks and Jaskier’s hair is falling in his eyes and Geralt can’t quite make his hand push it back, because they’re laughing too much and he’s a bit tipsy and too much in love.
“We should go to bed,” he says, even though they’re both wide awake.
“We should, old man,” Jaskier says with a smile, his fingers carding through Geralt’s hair. “I love you too, you know.”
Geralt closes his eyes, smiles back. “I know.”
They’re still smiling when a gentle, slightly off-kilter Aard blows out the candles on the nightstand. Geralt accidentally tickles Jaskier’s side and gets a kick to the shin for his troubles, and they’re laughing so hard they almost fall off the bed, twice. And when they’re finally settled, when it all seems to have died down, Jaskier snorts a laugh into Geralt’s hair and it gets them going again.
This is where they belong.
This is where they must stay.
“Yen,” Geralt says through gritted teeth. “It’s not wearing off.”
She peers at him across the table. “What isn’t?”
He growls. The potion, he wants to say, the stupid potion that had been innocently placed among his own elixirs, wearing a nondescript label and looking innocuous enough. The potion that is making his every thought escape through his tongue and jump out of his mouth, into the world of the living.
Thatpotion.
“Mm,” she nods. “It’ll go away soon enough. The urge.”
They both follow Jaskier’s moving figure with their eyes, the bard prancing around the tavern floorboards with practiced ease and a salacious grin on his pink-bitten lips. They watch as he belts out a high note, sweat clinging to his skin, pooling in the hollow of his throat, uncovered now that he’s shed his doublet on the back of a chair.
Geralt tries very hard not to imagine what it would feel like to put his mouth there, because it’s a stupid thing to think, and because the filter that usually keeps stupid thoughts at the back of his mind where they belong is broken, and it would be very unwise to let such imaginings out in the wild.
But—
“Seems our bard has found himself some company,” Yennefer says, a smug smirk on her lips, as she waves in his general direction. “Such a handsome fellow, too.”
And, because he’s weak, Geralt tears his gaze from a knot on the wooden table and finds that Jaskier’s singing has stopped, and he’s now animatedly chatting with a patron. A broad-shouldered, heavy-handed man, with charming brown eyes and curls that bounce on his head every time he laughs that musical laughter at something Jaskier’s said, and a well-trimmed beard that frames his face ever so nicely. A man whose hand is resting on Jaskier’s forearm, his thumb rubbing distracted circles on it as Jaskier draws closer and closer.
Geralt’s tankard creaks ominously in his hand.
Yen has the gall to look amused. “Anything on your mind, dear?”
Geralt tries to ignore the way his mind is screaming at him, but it doesn’t work, of course, because that godsdamned serum is still coursing through his veins, still making him— “I want to draw my sword and place it on that man’s neck and watch him sweat, and when I’ve made sure he’s gone I want to take Jaskier back here and have him sit on my lap and show everyone who he belongs to.”
It all comes out in one breath, so fast that he doesn’t have time to feel ashamed, and he feels as though he’s never talked so much in his life. He probably hasn’t.
“Interesting,” says Yen, watching Jaskier saunter back to their table. “Very interesting.”
“So,” Jaskier says once he’s reached the table, plopping down on his seat, “seems our Witcher is in a mood tonight.”
“YourWitcher, you mean,” Yen says with a smirk.
“Hmm,” Jaskier replies in a passable impression of said Witcher, gaze still fixed on the invisible trail Geralt’s footsteps had left in their wake as he’d half-jogged up the stairs to the inn rooms, almost in a hurry to leave even though Jaskier had been approaching their table. Huh. “He’s also been awfully quiet today, did you notice? Even more than his usual self. Andright now! He left like his pants had been on fire. Do you think he’s avoiding me?”
Sipping her wine — or whatever the barkeep had advertised as “their finest wine” — Yen hums. “He’s been known to be a weird bastard when the mood strikes. Perhaps this is the full moon’s doing.”
“I don’t know,” Jaskier says, resting his elbows on the table like a child. “I mean, I was catching up with Sam — my good friend from the bakery on the corner we bought those sinfulsweet rolls from this morning, remember? — and I thought I’d seen the two of you talking.” He frowns. “Which I thought he was incapable of doing, since all I got out of him today were a few exhasperated sighs and some very rude eye-rolls. Not even a good, old-fashioned hmm! Not even one! He must be very cross with me.”
“Maybe,” Yen says with a small smile — the small smile that often scares Jaskier because of its ambiguity — and clicks her tongue. “Or maybe…”
She doesn’t finish her sentence, even though she knows it irritates Jaskier to no end.
“Maybe?” He echoes. “Maybe… what? What could it be? We were fine at your cottage yesterday! I didn’t do anything lately to upset him— I mean, well, maybeIdidsort of light his hair on fire that one afternoon, perhaps, but does that reallywarrant the silent treatment after all this time? Guy’s not so fond of holding grudges. Is he mad because I rearranged his potions again? I swear, I don’t understand how he can find anythingamongst that unlabelled mess. He should be thanking me, really.”
“Maybe he should,” Yen says, and sips her wine.
Jaskier turns in his bedroll again.
“—fucking winter and its wintery fucking— cold as balls, ice frozen—”
“Jask?”
“—good for nothing— oh.” His tossing stops. The ground is so fucking cold. “Sorry, did I wake you?”
One golden eye peers at him. He would say Geralt looked annoyed, but he can’t see most of his face, tucked as it is under his cloak, so he chooses to interpret it as friendly concern. “Your muttering did.”
Jaskier smiles sheepishly at him, even though Geralt probably can’t see him either, with his scarf tied around his neck and covering most of his face. “Sorry. Just…”
“Can’t sleep?”
Jaskier shakes his head. It’s their fifth year on the Path together, the first one Geralt’s invited him along to spend the winter at Kaer Morhen with him — and Jaskier’s excited, really, but sleeping on the forest floor with a thin bedroll and definitely not enough blankets kind of dampens his spirits a little.
They’ve laid their bedrolls side by side, the fire keeping their feet warm, but still Jaskier can’t fend off the chill that’s seeped into his bones. He would blame it on his frilly, beautifully impractical clothing, with its soft but thin fabrics, with its stunning trim but no insulation, but if he did, he’d basically be agreeing with Geralt, and he can’t have that. Not even in the privacy of his own mind.
(He still hasn’t ruled out the possibility that Witchers are mind-readers). (Geralt is awfully quiet whenever Jaskier brings it up, and, well, one can never be too careful).
So he’s been tossing and turning and singing lullabies to himself in a feeble attempt of finally succumbing to a warm, deep sleep. Not that it’s worked, anyway.
The single golden eye looks considering, now.
“Wha—?” Jaskier manages before Geralt stands up, the bare skin under his sleep shirt immediately reacting to the cold air of the forest and erupting in gooseflesh.
Then, a blanket is being tossed to his face.
(It smells like horse).
“There,” says Geralt, not unkindly, his voice a bit rough. “That’ll help.”
“Well,” Jaskier replies, trying to adjust the blanket without taking his hands out of his bedroll, which proves impossible. “Thanks.”
Before he can sit up straight and, like a sane person, rearrange the blanket on top of himself, Geralt’s doing it for him. His hair is a mess from where he’s been laying on it and he’s squinting, but his hands are warm as they reach for the ends of the blanket and he tucks them into Jaskier’s bedroll, making sure his body is covered.
“You’re tucking me in,” Jaskier whispers, something that suspiciously feels like love standing on his heart a little.
Geralt smiles. He smiles his soft smile, the one where his lips stretch over his face and they’re pink and pretty and there’s a shine in his eyes.
“I guess I am,” he replies, checking no corners have been missed. “We’ll reach the mountain soon. No more cold nights after that.”
Jaskier smiles. He doesn’t know what it might look like on his face, lips chapped and slightly cracked. He hopes it shows his gratitude for him.
Geralt sits back on his haunches. The smile is still there. Fonder, somehow.
“What, no kiss goodnight?” Jaskier murmurs, because he’s an idiot, because he can’t help himself.
“Mm,” Geralt says, and for a second, Jaskier thinks he’s getting up to leave, but then Geralt leans forward and there’s a gentle, sweet kiss being pressed to his forehead. His smile is bigger when he turns away. “There. Goodnight.”
Jaskier can feel the warmth on his skin, the skin Geralt pressed a kiss to. He can feel it seeping into his bones.
When he turns around, blanket firmly secured, Geralt is watching him from his own bedroll.
“Goodnight,” he mouths at him, and Geralt closes his eyes.
His cloak is covering half his face again, but Jaskier can see the smile he’s hiding anyway.
To Keep Our Promise
Natalie Paquette has dreamt of going to the Solace Ruins ever since her first visit with her father many years ago. Her chance finally happens when an unexpected donor funds an expedition for her and an assortment of odd personalities to journey to the Ruins once more. But upon arrival, Natalie is haunted by vivid dreams and strange occurrences that lead to a revelation about Natalie’s connection to the ancient ruins, a beautiful statue encased in marble, and a promise that still needs to be kept.
DarkSparks (Wattson | Natalie Paquette/Wraith | Renee Blasey)
Rated M
Chapter 1/13: What Treasures and Perils May Lie Ahead
Read Here
what have you done?
inhibitions and doubts
smell like spoilt auflauf
and the day after summer.
your words are advertisements
for another conversation,
but I am not ready.
-the day after summer, Kelsey Ray Banerjee
German:
was hast du gemacht?
die hemmungen und zweifel
riechen wie verderbenes auflauf
und am tag nach der sommer.
deinen wörter sind werbung
für ein andere unterhaltung,
aber ich bin nicht bereit.
-am tag nach der sommer, Kelsey Ray Banerjee
I can’t believe one of the major focuses of my degree was German. It’s been too long since I’ve used it in any meaningful capacity. So I’m bringing it in to my poetry fold. :-)
I’m craving Auflauf though, y'all.
it started with a sense
of a soft glow, a soft heart
a soothing subtle warmth
and inherent trust
the heart grows fonder under water
swelling with it all
Becoming its own ocean
it grows heavy
but we are born of breath
and ever air
and light as one could be
the mind is tidal
tumult, earth nestled
a thunderstorm in a closed off room
at times
we are weather before we find
we are forever, shifting, but divine
i doubted, but the signs kept coming
i doubted, but Love did not
Spirit never tarried
and I was never truly lost
a warm wind, northward bound
the sunlight nourishing
evaporating sorrow, creating spring
the sun let seeds sown blossom
i was inundated and exhausted
resting in rain and shade
full of fear that thunder could shake
and split the earth i grew from
but always harboring faith
i grew
it started with a sense of ease
and ended with a shout
in celebration
now my only storms
are joyful tears
quenching earth
I wake this morning to soft white,
welcoming overcast skies
the wind surge goes to and fro
misting pitter patterned rain
upon my window pane
Each thrush and intermittent hush
coaxes my heart back to sleep
and after the rock tense stress of yesterday
it’s a well needed reprieve
For someone so prone to noise sensitivity
I sure do love birdsong, and the static
background, whispering wind
even the humming mechanical noise, in the distance
contributes as an instrument in an unscripted song
and the cars passing by on the road play along
I think about how poetry can be
struggling to unwrap yourself
when you’re all wound up with rope
and ending up tripping
because every one way ties you up another
Or it can be rhythmic and enchanting;
a magical dance with fate and space
where the mind locks in and the heart beats
in tune with passing waves above, around, within
and everything is beautiful til the heart sinks
because it’s frustrating, knowing
some days the ocean fills you up
and you’re levitating
and it’s POWER in its most essential form
choosing you, flowing through you
and nothing can stop the poem from being born
other days, staring at a page
eyes glazed over, heart full of rage
wanting catharsis, fearing art has become
just a sensitive kid who’s afraid to take the stage
don’t look at me, don’t see me, please
if you don’t care, don’t fake it
i miss the days I’d freely say
whatever stole my heart to break it
but don’t forget me, please forgive
i can’t do this alone
i’ve given everything to this
i’ve made this place my home
all the while the funny little mind wanders
casting prismatic pebbles in the dark
for just a glint
whilst the great cosmic laughter erupts
and the hologram blinks
exposing everything
as light
there we sat,
four strong in the abandoned station
boxes and trash scattered haplessly about
the dim lit room, on couches
tense and anticipatory
she saw seesaws by the water
tilting to and fro
as wind blows cloud by her open mind
a mouth ajar and hanging lame,
spittle sticks
a miscreant metaphor abhorred in dark
a lonesome emptiness that cannot get a grip
when suddenly a crowd forms from
the avenues wherein adventure halts
sign the form
name and date
Brain: Frog
she rants and raves
or is it “he?”
butcher you, to stay
with me forever
No
I will not tarry there
in the stagnant air
won’t weep with you
in this empty room
I’ll dive into the deep
hide beneath the false surface
waves under stillwater
I swim up
a boat laps over me
exposed belly
no rutters cut
no blades to leave me empty
I survive
Father'lone, a search party
but in my dive into obscurity
I left my friends behind
We could’ve taken her
The spirit, soul
being, whole
One seeing mind
open to find the divine inside
One, seeing mind
to merge, emerge
bestow and grow
Surrender to the everflow
To sleep in deep, cut through me
Ocean of patterns, possibilities
Without a vessel, spirit consumes me
to sit in this unity
Am I thinking, feeling, seeing
Does reality flow through me
in intimate silence, mind wide
duality
I am quiet, true
unseen
but i can’t hide
these feelings
Are thoughts my own, when all things spring
from a source that’s forever branching
onward into ignorance,
whilst knowledge keeps advancing
So i’m dancing in the action
of solitude and truth romancing
a fool who takes a chance to be
alone but Love is seeing me
In endless conversation
with vibration, i am free
but i would shackle myself
cuff my hand to yours
to be known in this temporary moment
without knowing what’s in store
To be adored
drip with me in poetry,
and know the voice unknown
amor
When confronted with the inexplicable,
the human mind seeks to rationalize,
explain,
and fit information into an established worldview.
When confronted with the incomprehensible, the mind recoils.
It shrinks into and attempts to consume itself.
You cannot wrap self over self.
You cannot become the outer and the inner.
You are but a superposition of the visage of God;
a superficial reflection of divinity’s affection.
You cannot become the subconscious
of your subconscious.
You cannot become the intuition
of your intuition.
You can shed the mind and be present.
You can breathe and connect
and form a circuit between;
be a conduit for varying information
of different vibrations and intensities.
Form a loop that spells infinity.
This transition is the interstitium;
where information acts synaptic;
where transference relays occurrence
between two spaces with different interfaces.
It is elastic.
It is magic in liminal plastic,
snapping back and creating
the dialogue with self.
It is a circuit of convergence
where purpose meets inertia.
It is neither beginning nor end.
It is betwixt real and pretend.
It can upend the rend
of space and face;
time and place, and waste and worth.
It interweaves the world with dreams
and breathes new life into your needs.
It knows you without knowing anything.
It knows your feelings,
and the concepts you can’t speak.
It is your mind not minding.
Infinity across dividing.
I open up to my mother
she listens begrudgingly
but physically
cold shoulder
I point out her body language
she says I’m on the attack
I just want peace
but a cold war is still a war
He coughs all day to numb the pain
releasing it in clouds around him
every sound has a weight on my heart
and it never ends
I want to escape
but I’m frozen in place
and I’m not interested in playing pretend
Maybe ignorance is bliss and this
is suffering needlessly
I can’t escape
paralysis
except when I’m asleep
demons used to chase me
in the worlds inside my dreams
one day, i touched the bottom
surfaced from beneath the waters
woke but couldn’t move
at the end of my bed
a demon waited
so i sent waves of energy in its direction
and freed myself
even the most fearsome monsters
respond to these vibrations
is that how they see me?
certainly I’m no exception
It resonates, and it is a melody
in harmony with your song.
Youresonate,
and you write an ode to it.
You serenade it,
embody its energy,
match its frequency
with your whole being.
It resonates with you,
and it is a tune,
and you are complete.
You resonate with it
and you are open, empty,
ready to eat of its fruit;
become a part of it
as it becomes a part of you.
Am I too rigid in my windiness?
Am I too mutable to coalesce?
Too stuck on shifting with the breeze
to be mellifluous?
Am I a one man band
against a symphony
of endlessness?
I say it resonates,
but I’m expressed;
removed from zephyr
and born as breath.
A ‘more’, amor,
but nothing more
than breadth
without substance
27
I can be a student
and a teacher
I can be a patient
and a healer
I can be a lover
a believer
I can share a kinship
with an equal
I can be a mirror
and a light
I can show another love
that what’s inside them
shines as bright
I can be of value
if I see the beauty around me
and if I embrace my worth
I might find I’ve always been free
I can be appreciated
without being conventional
I can be a wild child
and still be in control
I’ll just embrace the parts of me
I already know are true
and to my fears and my illusions
I can bid adieu
I don’t have to live my life
seeking validation
Once I accept that I am valid
I’ll find true appreciation
In a fairytale fantasy
I am right where I need to be
engrossed in overflowing love
perspective rising high above
if I’ve a doubt, it’s so I can see
the endless possibilities
and I’ll write a poem every day
and never wonder if it’s okay
In a perfect world, I’d still be myself
just lacking inhibition
and I’d be supported by everyone else
in my deepest goals and missions
I’ll learn just for the love of it
a perpetual student in a state of bliss
the universe breathing into me
sustaining the vision of all I can be
I’ll never hide my truest self
and never be denied
natural abundance will be my wealth
as the world is on my side
I would grow, more, with every passing day
while sure of every step along the way
my heart yearns
in shouts that span the sky
but i found love stumbling
into a hole in the wall
in a momentary interaction
vanishing
maybe there is hope for me yet
24
shivering betwixt
vibrating infinity
the body slips through
a micron filter universe
every particle moves
til interlocked in place
and only through such haste
can it elapse the distance between space
a final stop
where nothing ties the mind to moving
like sand suspended, reality falls
before me
His throat jumped as a single finger hooked on the velvet ribbon that encircled it, thumb caressing the soft material. That sound… it lulled him into a stupor every time.
“Have you forgotten…?” Xemnas asked; his voice was low, a threat lingering in the space between them as he continued. “Your allegiance is to me.”
Axel’s eyelids felt heavy but he kept them open, brow furrowed as Xemnas pulled him closer by the ribbon. When it came to that thin strip of fabric, he always allowed even the lightest touch to move him… Because putting strain on it could break it, and breaking it had consequences.
His condition was not only to obey but to be careful, gentle, predictable… to fully disarm himself. He was dangerous when he was upset. Not only to himself, but everyone else, too. He needed discipline, he needed to be receptive to precise, exacting control if he wanted to be useful to anyone.“I know… I’m sorry.” Axel apologised again. It hurt to breathe… Xemnas had already made up his mind. How long did he plan on making Axel grovel before he told him it wasn’t good enough?
“Fickle thing,” Xemnas finally murmured, tugging on the ribbon, pulling it taut, “Have I been too neglectful, again?”
I really do just look for the worst possible thing to do to this man and then do it, dont i
Post link
summary: now that race and (Y/N) are a ~~thing~~, (Y/N)’s “friends” have something to say about it.
word count: 2,934
(Y/F/N) = your “friend’s” name (friend uses female pronouns yeet) (friend is in quotations bc like someone not good)
alexa this is so sad play santa fe
It felt like everything was happening so fast. Ever since you had held hands at the movies, you weren’t sure there was a moment where Race wasn’t by your side, his hand glued in yours. However, if you were forced to use your hands for normal human functions, he would always have an arm around your waist or his hand pressed against the small of your back. Not that you were complaining- oh no. You loved every minute of it. The only time you were apart was at lunch, where you still sat with your separate friend groups.
Your friends began to notice after a few days of this. They knew you were going to prom together, but had no idea that you shared an interest in each other, which made sense, because you had been spending more and more time with Race and his amazing friends Spot and Albert, and hadn’t got the chance to talk to yours as much outside of school. You didn’t see a problem with it until one of them pulled you aside in the hallway.
“(Y/N), how have you been?” (Y/F/N) said sweetly.
You smiled. “I’m doing well! Listen, I’m sorry we haven’t seen each other as much lately but I promise we can go get dinner or something soon. I’ve just had a lot of fun with Race and his friends, and-”
“No, I get it.” She said, placing her hair behind her shoulder. “I just…” She hesitated, sighing before resuming. “I’m worried.” Her frown was subtle yet noticeable when she spoke.
“About…?” You asked.
“You.” She paused, tilting her head. “And Race.”
You smiled at the mention of Race’s name. “Wh-I’m confused.” You said, your repressed laughter slowly turning into concern. “Why are you worried about us?”
Her frown slowly disappeared into a neutral expression as she talked as if this was common knowledge. “I just don’t think he’s right for you. He’s loud all the time-which is super annoying-actually, he’s just annoying a lot of the time. He’s not smart, and not to mention, we all know he’s a huge flirt. He could have any girl here at the snap of his fingers, and is that really something you want a relationship with?” She stood, looking at you as if this was just a normal thing people said. Your smile quickly disappeared into a look of shock. “I just don’t want you to get hurt, (Y/N). Someone had to tell you the truth.”
The bell rang, giving (Y/F/N) an excuse to walk away before you could give any form of response.
You knew the things she said weren’t true, but that didn’t make it hurt any less. What shocked you the most were her parting words, “Someone had to tell you the truth.” Were there other people that believed that stuff, too?
Floating through the rest of the day in a distracted and insecure haze, you landed in your bed upset and confused. Your nightly conversation with Race was cut short as you decided to go to bed early.
“Is everything alright? You sound…off.” Race asked with a concerned tone.
You shrugged and then realized that you were on the phone. “Yeah.” You mumbled.
“Okay, I’ll let you go now, even though I really don’t believe you.” Race sighed. There was a pause over the phone, neither one of you having the heart to end the call. Race spoke up. “Will you open your window?”
You slid off your bed and trudged over, pulling up the blinds. Race was standing there with his hands in his flannel pajama pants and a concerned look on his face that quickly melted into a smile when he saw you. Your concerns softened and you gently smiled back, too.
“Goodnight.” He said softly.
“Goodnight.” You replied. You reached over to pull the blinds back down.
“I-” Race spoke, and then stopped himself.
“What?” You asked.
“Nevermind. Sweet dreams, (Y/N). See you tomorrow.” He said, walking back over to his bed. You watched him sit down before you lowered the blinds.
“See you then.”
You turned off your bedroom lights and got into the bed, plugging in your phone. Closing your eyes, you tried to sleep, thinking of Race. Keyword: tried. But you couldn’t. (Y/F/N)’s stupid words were still rattling relentlessly in your brain. You picked your phone back up and sent Race a text.
Y/N: can i sit w you at lunch tomorrow?
Race: ofc
Race: why don’t u wanna sit where u usually do?
Y/N: tell you tomorrow
Race: ok
You sat your phone back down, only to hear it buzz again as you closed your eyes. You picked it back up.
Race: be warned the boys may not be on their best behavior…
Race: but are they ever lolol
Race: i’ll talk to them tho
Race: ok. i’ll stop spamming u now
Race: gnight
Race: ♡
Now smiling, you rolled over again, finally falling asleep.
The next day, you walked into the cafeteria, summoning your courage to walk directly past your friends to the other side of the cafeteria where Race was. You hoisted your backpack up higher on your shoulders and kept your eyes fixed on the back of Race’s head as you walked to the other side of the room. You could feel your friends’ eyes on you as you walked past them, but none of them spoke up. Getting closer to the table, Race turned around and smiled, patting the empty space between him and Katherine at the long table.
Setting your bag down, you greeted Race and sat next to him.
“I didn’t know you’d be joining us today, (Y/N)!” Katherine smiled, wrapping her arm around your side and squeezing. You smiled and gave an excited hello.
“(Y/N), these are the fellas.” Race said proudly, gesturing to all of the boys, who either waved or smiled with the occasional finger gun. “Fellas, this is (Y/N).”
“How’d you like to be Ms. Romeo?” The boy, who you assumed was named Romeo, stuck out his hand from across the table, palm facing up. Confused, you laid your hand in his. He brought it to his lips and kissed it, making you laugh.
“Hey, paws off.” Race said, slapping his hand away as Romeo winked.
“The name’s Jack Kelly.” You felt a tap on your shoulder and looked towards it. An older looking boy leaned from behind the other side of Katherine, hand stuck out. You shook it with a smile.
“This here’s Davey.” Race said, gesturing to the boy sitting directly across from you. He gave a gentle smile and a wave.
“And you already know Albert and Spot.” Race concluded, pointing at the two boys, who smiled at you.
The next couple of days you kept this routine, and since your friends didn’t say anything about it, you didn’t either.
“(Y/N), you’re just not acting like yourself. You seem down.” Race spoke into his phone, stretching after his dance class.
“I know, and I’m sorry. I just don’t want you to worry about it.” You said, sitting on your bed.
“Listen…if we’re going to be in this…for the long haul…then I’m ready to listen to whatever problems you have.” Race said slowly, nerves forming. His words made you stiffen. Was he for real?
You paused. “Do…do you want to be in this…for the long haul?” Butterflies began to swarm in your stomach.
Another pause. “I mean, I do. But I don’t want to pressure you into anything, I swear.” You could hear shuffling in the background.
“Well…what if I said I do, too?” You could feel the smile growing on your face.
“Wait just a sec.” Race said. Your posture softened, but your smile didn’t. Through the phone, you heard clambering and Race walking around.
“How long is this gonna take?” You said with a laugh.
“Just a second, I swear.”
You heard your doorbell ring, and you laughed again.
“You did not.” You smiled through the phone.
“I told you it would be just a second!”
You ran as fast as you could to the front door, pausing a second to catch your breath before swinging it open. There was Race wearing his shirt from dance and a pair of sweatpants, still holding the phone to his ear. He didn’t even have any shoes on, just his socks. The sun had just set, the porch light giving him a gorgeous glow. His skin was dewy, which may have been from rehearsal or the fact that the air was warm, a sign of spring coming soon.
“(Y/N),” Race said, still talking into the phone, but maintaining eye contact with you. “This may be a little sudden, I don’t know.” You both chuckled a little. “But, will you be my girlfriend?”
“I’d love nothing more, Race.” You smiled and ended the call. You both stared at each other with what felt like unending happiness. You finally broke the silence with, “Would you like to come inside?”
“Sure.” Race beamed. You held the door open for him, and he held your hand as you both walked to the couch. “So what’s wrong?”
“Losing friends is always hard.” You say. He nods in agreement, pulling you closer to him. You throw your legs across his lap and lean your head on the side of the couch, arms folded in front of you. He puts one arm behind you, holding your waist, and the other on your leg. “(Y/F/N) just said some hurtful things the other day, and I don’t want to be around that kind of mentality, yknow?” Race nodded again.
“What did she say?” He asked. After he saw your frown at his words, though, he spoke up again. “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.”
“No, I will.” You sighed. “She said we weren’t right for each other. That you were annoying. And flirty. And other stuff that’s untrue. And I don’t even feel like talking to her anymore because I don’t want her to say more stuff.” He rubbed up and down your side.
“I’m sorry to hear that, (Y/N). Is there anything I can do?” Race’s face grew concerned.
“You’ve done enough just by being here, Race.” You smiled.
“Well, you always have me and the boys. We’ll be here for you. And Katherine, too, of course.” Race said proudly. You nodded, eyes feeling heavy. Today had worn you out. “Do you want me to leave? You look tired.”
“No, no.” You said, waking yourself up. “Just put on Netflix or something.” Race obliged, turning on the TV and then The Office. You got through about half an episode before your eyes felt as if there were weights tied to them.
You don’t know how you got there that morning, but your phone’s alarm woke you up in your own bed, still in your pajamas from last night. You rolled over and looked at your phone and saw a text from Race.
Race: sorry for leaving u. i let u sleep on me for a couple hours before i had to go home. woke u up and helped u walk to your room, but i don’t think u will remember. also, pls tell ur mom thanks for letting me stay so late. ♡
Another day of school, another day closer to prom, and another day of sitting with Race’s friends (now your friends). Walking to the parking lot, you noticed Race turn a corner. Usually, he rode with Spot or Albert, so you weren’t sure why he was walking the opposite way. Your curiosity got the best of you and your eyes followed him. You quickly sat in your car, continuing to watch Race. Suddenly, he stopped on the sidewalk, looking at his phone. That’s when you noticed (Y/F/N) approaching him. …Weird. After a minute of them talking, you felt awkward. You couldn’t read either of their expressions from where you were. You trusted Race, and you could always just text him later.
Pulling out of the parking lot, something felt off. Your gut dropped. Something wasn’t right.
You knew your gut was prophetic when the following day, Race seemed distant. He didn’t talk as much, he wasn’t as smiley, and he didn’t touch you once throughout the day. After he refused to even look at you at lunch, you decided to text him during class.
Y/N: hey, is everything okay?
Race: no
Race: we need to talk
Y/N: ??
Race: meet me in the parking lot after school
For the next two and a half hours, you were a mess. You weren’t able to focus in class, and you couldn’t calm down for the life of you. Finally, the final bell rang, and you quickly walked to the parking lot, scanning for Race.
You found him standing next to your car with his red hood pulled up over his head, looking at his phone. You locked your car, making the horn honk and making Race jump. You giggled as you walked over to him, trying to ease the tension. Race’s face remained unreadable. When he didn’t say anything, you offered to give him a ride home. He simply nodded and sat down in the passenger seat, slumping down after buckling.
The ride was eerily quiet, aside from the soft music playing on the radio. Race scrolled mindlessly through his phone, avoiding any conversation.
You reached Race’s driveway and parked the car, turning to face Race, who finally sat up and took his hoodie down, still not making eye contact with you.
“You said you wanted to talk.” You said gently. “What’s up?”
Race inhaled, eyes fixed straight ahead. “I don’t think we’re going to work out.”
You could feel a hole forming in your chest, heat rushing to your neck and shoulders. “Race, we haven’t even been official for a week, what’s making you say that?”
“I just…I just know.” Race said. He still wasn’t looking at you. You weren’t even sad yet, you were livid. How could he give up on you so quickly? And for what reason? You could feel tears beginning to form in your eyes.
“Race. If you’re going to break up with me after not even a week of dating, you could at least look at me when you say it.” Your voice was commanding; it was obvious that you were now angry. Race listened, and his hard expression turned into hurt when he saw your face. You clearly had nothing to lose, so you spoke up again. “I saw you talking to (Y/F/N) yesterday. Is that what this is all about? Why she doesn’t want us together? Why you’re breaking up with me? Are you with her or something?” Race remained silent, mouth slightly agape. The silence was deafening as you felt yourself begin to choke. You had grown so attached in such a short period of time and where had it gotten you? You felt weak…used, almost. And to make matters worse, you still didn’t have an explanation “Race, please.” A mix between a cough and a sob slipped out as a couple tears fell. “Say something.”
Suddenly, Race lunged at you from across the armrest, his arms wrapping around you. “I’m so sorry.” He said as you began to cry into his shoulder. “I’m so, so sorry. I take it all back. I’m so sorry. I thought it would fix everything, but I-I’m sorry.”
“What?” You say in between tears, now even more confused. Race began to run his hand through your hair. Your anger melted away. The confusion remained, but you were so relieved you didn’t care. Race quietly whispered more “I’m sorry”’s while your crying slowed, your face never leaving the crook of his neck, his hands never leaving you, rubbing gentle circles on your back. When you finally collected yourself, you sat back.
“I thought you would rather be with your friends than me. I thought I was in the way. That’s what (Y/F/N) told me. You guys used to be so close but I’m taking you away from them.” Race said, holding your hand as you wiped your face with the other. You shook your head, laughing through the tears.
“They aren’t my friends, Race.”
“They aren’t?”
“No, if they were…they’d be understanding.” you sniffled. “They would be supportive. That’s what real friends do.” You sighed. “I’d rather be with you, a friend who is supportive and understanding and kind, than be with fake friends who aren’t.” Race smiled.
You pulled down the mirror to look at your reflection. “God, I look like a mess, don’t I?” You laughed.
“No, you don’t.” Race said. You turned to face him, smiling. “You look beautiful as always.”
“Thank you, Race.” You said.
Something shifted.
Everything was happening so fast, and the number of feelings you had right then was too much to not act upon.
It seemed that Race had that same idea, his eyes flicking towards your lips before back up at your eyes.
You couldn’t stand it anymore. If you were going to move fast, why stop now. You leaned towards Race, no hesitation.
Your lips connected, and Race immediately got into the kiss, placing his hand on the back of your neck. It was sweet, soft, and mildly uncomfortable leaning over the armrest. It felt perfect.
You decided fast was good.
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“Is everything alright? You sound…off.” Race asked with a concerned tone.
You shrugged and then realized that you were on the phone. “Yeah.” You mumbled.
“Okay, I’ll let you go now, even though I really don’t believe you.” Race sighed. There was a pause over the phone, neither one of you having the heart to end the call. Race spoke up. “Will you open your window?”
You slid off your bed and trudged over, pulling up the blinds. Race was standing there with his hands in his pajama pants and a concerned look on his face that quickly melted into a smile when he saw you. Your concerns softened and you gently smiled back, too.
“Goodnight.” He said softly.
“Goodnight.” You replied. You reached over to pull the blinds back down.
“I-” Race spoke, and then stopped himself.
“What?” You asked.
“Nevermind. Sweet dreams, (Y/N). See you tomorrow.” He said, walking back over to his bed. You watched him sit down before you lowered the blinds.
“See you then.”
You turned off your bedroom lights and got into the bed, plugging in your phone. Closing your eyes, you tried to sleep, thinking of Race. Keyword: tried. But you couldn’t. (Y/F/N)’s stupid words were still rattling relentlessly in your brain. You picked your phone back up and sent Race a text.
Y/N: can i sit w you at lunch tomorrow?
Race: ofc
Race: why don’t u wanna sit where u usually do?
Y/N: tell you tomorrow
Race: ok
You sat your phone back down, only to hear it buzz again as you closed your eyes. You picked it back up.
Race: be warned the boys may not be on their best behavior…
Race: but are they ever lolol
Race: i’ll talk to them tho
Race: ok. i’ll stop spamming u now
Race: gnight
Race: ♡
Now smiling, you rolled over again, finally falling asleep.
from the Alex/Caleb au I’ll maybe eventually fully write
alex is early 20s, dealing with home life + coming out + religion; caleb is a coworker that lets him stay with him when being home isn’t comfortable anymore, idk. I have the most minimal of ideas for this au, okay, but this scene wouldn’t get out of my head so here we are
age difference obvi, blah blah blah, enjoy
//
the clock strikes midnight, the club around them starts to erupt in cheers and singing, and alex gets lost in the beauty of it all for a moment.
even from his seat in one of the corner booths, the joy in the air is palpable, magnetic - so fucking alluring, and it doesn’t make his heart race with fear. he isn’t worried about being caught. doesn’t feel his spirit being shackled with guilt as he watches couples share small moments together, free and happy and proud.
alex wants this to be the year he finds that joy for himself.
“happy new year, alex,” caleb says warmly, squeezing alex’s elbow before handing him a beer.
alex takes the bottle and looks over at caleb as he slides into the booth next to him, holding his gaze for a moment and then breaking eye contact when he feels his cheeks pinking up. “happy new year. I’m, um. I’m really glad I’m starting it here.”
“it’s a fun place for a new years party, isn’t it?“ caleb asks, looking out at the dance floor below them.
“yeah,” alex agrees. he takes a quick sip from his bottle, takes a breath to steel his nerves, and then - “but I meant - I’m glad I’m starting the year here with you.”
when alex looks up, caleb’s already watching him. his eyes are somehow more blue from the lights overhead, and it’s midnight on january 1st, which means it’s entirely appropriate to ask for a midnight kiss, right?
“alex.”
alex claps a hand over his mouth. “I said that out loud.”
smiling, caleb nods and runs his thumb over the rim of his glass. “you did. but - alex, I don’t think it’s the best idea.”
“because of the whole ‘dealing with being kicked out of my parents’ house, living with my out and proud coworker’ thing?”
“certainly part of it.”
alex decides to risk it. “is the other part that you kinda wanna kiss me, too? cause it’s just a kiss, caleb. a new years kiss between friends.”
caleb smirks a bit, eyes on his glass like he’s considering it. when he meets alex’s eyes, he lifts an eyebrow and confirms, “just a kiss?”
“a very platonic kiss to celebrate new beginnings and - y’know. living this year completely out. might as well start with kissing a guy, right?”
“there’s plenty of guys closer to your age in here.”
“they aren’t as handsome as you,” alex answers honestly. “but mostly - I trust you.”
caleb’s gaze softens at that. he scoots closer and alex can suddenly hear his heartbeat in his own ears.
“sweetheart,” caleb breathes, one hand coming to rest on alex’s cheek. “relax. just a friendly kiss. right?”
alex exhales slowly, nodding. his eyes drop to caleb’s mouth. “yeah. okay. I’m okay.”
when caleb leans in, alex lets his eyes fall closed. caleb’s fingertips are light on his jawline, dragging gently over the stubble there until they come to rest beneath alex’s chin. alex feels his chin being tipped up and then caleb’s lips are against his, soft and warm and tequila-sweet.
when caleb breaks the kiss, alex leans forward on instinct, but caleb’s hand is on his cheek again to slow him down. “alex. hey.”
“sorry,” alex offers, swallowing and sitting back. “sorry, just - “
he doesn’t finish the sentence, but based on the flush on caleb’s cheeks, he probably doesn’t need to.
“thanks,” he offers, twisting one of the rings on his fingers. “not a bad way to start the year.”
caleb’s grin is slow and amused, almost a little bashful as he agrees, “yeah. not bad at all.”
“Please don’t move!” | Haemorrhage
Ignore that it is May 2022. This was in my drafts from last years challenge.
“What happened?”
Kerry wasn’t sure who said it, but she found herself awkwardly positioned on the ground, head in her hands, a knee pulled close to her chest as she finally heard it.
“I…” her heart was beating fast; her voice stuttered. She could feel panic setting into her like a fire burning in her stomach, only she didn’t know why.
She couldn’t think straight at all, so she just kept her head down. It was easier that way. And maybe when she looked up it would make sense when she was ready.
Her eyes were shut tight as she thought back, trying to remember what exactly had happened. She didn’t know why this question had been directed to her.
Could they not tell she didn’t know?
Everything was silent. Not peaceful. But silent. This silence was heavy. She could feel its pressure all over her body. She felt around her head, her hands sequentially going over each recognizable feature as she tried to ground herself. She could feel her glasses. The mundane finding brought a wash of relief throughout her body.
She had her glasses. Something was normal.
But her head still ached. That wasn’t normal. A dull ache contrasted against the stinging feeling on the forehead. She moved her hand up. It was sticky.
“I’m bleeding?”
Her words sounded distant even to herself. Everything was dark and muddled, she wasn’t even sure she had spoken aloud. The only confirmation was when the voice returned.
“Are…are you okay?”
For the first time, Kerry noticed that the voice sounded just as unsteady as she felt. It was strained, forced out with an abnormal amount of effort. Something was wrong.
Kerry turned on the ground towards the voice. It whimpered. But this time it wasn’t as clouded, she recognized the voice.
With growing concern, she started to crawl towards it. It was still dark and the area she was in was cramped. She extended a hand outwards, pressing down into the carpet and pulling herself forward. Only it didn’t feel like carpet.
She felt the pool of blood. The pool of blood she was leaning on. The pool of blood that was holding her upright.
“Oh god, Susan!” She called out, her brain making connections without her. She didn’t know why she had screamed the woman’s name. Nothing made sense.
She slowly pulled herself to sit upright, opening her eyes. And for the first time, it wasn’t dark anymore. It was right there in front of her. The answers to all the questions.
Kerry’s eyes meet the blondes, wide, scared, and wet with tears.
“Is…is that your blood?” Kerry asked. It was a stupid question. She knew the answer.
It was quiet, and then, “It is. My head, my back, everything hurts.”
Susan was clutching at her wound, her other hand over her mouth and eyes closed.
Kerry watched in horror as blood seeped through her fingers as she pressed them against Susan’s neck.
It was then the world rushed back into focus.
And it all came back to her with violence.
The seminar. The terror. The screams.
Susan.
“Please don’t move!” Kerry sputtered out, swapping out Susan’s weak hands for her own and pushing down on the entry wounds. “I’m here. I’m here.”
“You be careful with that television. It’s one of those fancy, smart tvs,” golden red hair glistened under the summer sun, and sandals skidded sharply on the concrete as she directed the men carrying the box inside the door, “now, you can put it in the living room, Rob!”
Leola moved hurriedly behind the men like a hungry cat. Her hair fell in ringlets, not a strand of grey could be found, and she chewed her bottom lip. The two men pushed through the open door, never losing their grip on the television box, and stepped into the living room where her husband sat in the easy chair near the window.
“What do you think?” She walked behind the chair. Her nails dug into the smooth fabric, “It looks nice right, and Little Lee is here to set it up for us, aren’t you sweetie?”
“Yeah, sure, I know how they work,” the men crouched against the wall where the former television used to stand only a few days ago. A vacant space it had been, and now, it was suddenly filled.
Her mother’s salary didn’t pay for this. Her father’s salary certainly didn’t pay for this. Leola watched the men put the television box down, and she sat on the sofa, starting at the white cardboard box. Her fingers tapped her knees quietly, thinking of what wires and programs would soon be available. Her mother was picky with shows. Her father was even pickier. Television wasn’t something they didn’t often watch together, but she felt the aesthetic of having a fancy new television appealed to them.
“Alright, you two,” Leola chirped excitedly, “I’ve got my checkbook right here, I’ll go write them down.”
Her mother disappeared into the kitchen where the two work men followed. It wasn’t a fair description to call them two men when they were in fact her older cousins, but she hadn’t seen them in years. Left in the room with her father, she reclined on the sofa uncomfortably.
The walls had been repainted. The carpet with its vague, indescribable stains was completely removed, and in its place were polished mahogany floors where light reflected brilliantly. A new chandelier lined with gold and crystal illuminated its far away glow from the kitchen, and Leola’s head fell on the armrest, eyes closing as she imagined her mother’s soft bounces as she wrote the checks to her nephews.
“Dad, how did you afford this?”
“Momma got a raise,” his grumbled response was as close to the truth as she was ever going to get. He rose quietly from his chair and reached for the box cutter on the coffee table in the middle of the room.
“Daddy, I can do that.”
“No.” Like his movements, his voice carried the quiet threat of violence, “I’ll do it. You sit there and get ready for the other stuff.”
Leola did as she was told. Her head lied on the armrest, watching her father’s burly hands tear the cardboard apart. Fluid hands stroke down, tore roughly at the center, and the grunts breathed in between made her heart sink for some reason or another. Her mother’s chirps continued in the background, and she heard her cousins’ laughter at their good, kind aunt.
“Don’t lie about, Lee.” Sandals couldn’t make a sound on the polished floor, “We’re going to need you to do this soon once your father gets all of it out.”
“Yeah.” She moved her hand from her eyes and stared, “Dad said you got a raise, congratulations.”
Her mother blinked. Her pretty, green freckled eyes were kissed with grey under the right light, and her thick eyelashes, all true and not glued, fluttered innocently. She laughed, breathed like a guff of air was shooting straight through her, and she took a seat on the sofa beside her, slipping her lap underneath her feet.
“I did get a raise.” She winked, “A good raise, and we’re going to work on the kitchen next. The renovations I’ve always wanted, y’know Rob.”
Using his hands, the cardboard yielded, and he threw the pieces to the side. Sweat beaded on his forehead, and the yellowish tint of his skin turned pink in the rush, “We can get a new sink for the bathroom,” he mumbled, “we need it.”
She looked at her mother, then her father, and finally, looked at them at the same time. They were consciously handsome people, now having reached middle age, but there was always something forced about their attractiveness. She couldn’t identify it then, certainly not now, but she felt it imposed on her.
“I’m glad.” Leola nodded and walked to the other side of the television, “It’s good that you’re able to afford these things. You’ve worked for it, both of you.”
Maybe her parents breathed sighs of relief, maybe they were just satisfied to maintain balance, “Thank you, sweetheart, now, you two can work on that while I call Lili. She’s on her way to Texas for some concert.”
“You think you can call the cable company?” Her father asked as she hooked the wires together, “I want to make sure we get the right thing.”
This could be an offering, and if it was, Leola knew she didn’t want to take it, “I called this week. Someone should be here today. It’s close to four anyways.”
He nodded stiffly, a brief smile on his face, “Good girl, always thinking ahead,” he walked away from her, holding the boxcutter in his hand.
Pieces of cardboard littered the floor, and Leola sighed, going to the kitchen to grab a trash bag.
His mind fractured, his body weak, his house a mere cobbling of wood.
Every day he punches misery and defeat with steps and puzzles,
Reading books and letters to remind him of the outside world.
But he is solitary aside from a caretaker who doesn’t know him,
a miserly fellow who only helps because of a favor being owed.
The man feels like a burden, an insect, a moment away from death.
Yet he holds out hope for a better life with a great career,
To enjoy fresh air and a lively company around him,
To find romance with tenderness, touching, and laughter.
1993.
25 years old and drifting through jobs without a mission. I don’t know if this program thing is going anywhere, but if Doom is success, then I could be the next big thing.
My steady supply of rock and rap keeps me sane in these moments, and I don’t have my old band around to sharpen my drumming skills, so it’s been a drag. Not even going into the political shit going on. My philosophy of voting the current guy out of office every 4 years is better than getting sucked into that rich snob world.
This town really sucks the fun out of you, and I’m looking for that next kick in the ass to get me out, having some fun before I get chained down and have my hair cut. If I have to settle down, I don’t mind if it’s with the cute record store owner with the raven tattoo.
Something cool happened the other day at least. The blue house by my apartment started glowing. I thought it was the TV but it was the entire thing! Not my business either way, but I’d laugh my ass off if it’s aliens.
Quick oneshot sometime post 7x10, and pre finale, it is a little darker than normal, not quite as full blown angst as I had first planned, but that would have been probably triple the word count and didn’t have the time for that.
Definitely not what will happen in the show, not with only 3 ep’s left! But was just annoying my brain until I wrote it out.
The fight to get Jemma back had been tough and gruelling, but ultimately successful, if success was measured simply on the fact that her, Deke, and the Zephyr all returned alive and in one piece. But Nathaniel still managed to get away, weaker and with minimal supporters, but alive, they were still stuck in the 80’s and everyone was quite worse for wear.
The parting words of Enoch were starting to appear more and more likely, with the team barely hanging on, barely a team, and Coulson was fairly certain that they would all need a long break at the end of this; if they survived the end that was. The team, still a family when it counted, had gone off to their separate corners of the light house, had gone off on their separate ways to cope and prepare in their own ways for the end of the mission; however it panned out.
Simmons hadn’t spoken much about what they had done to her while they kept her hostage, just that they had been after Fitz and had not been able to remove the memory device before the rescue, but even without remembering, what Daisy had told her about when she did remember had thrown her. Daisy and Coulson were the only two that remembered those screams, and they were just another something that kept them up at night, the unknown, the fear and the worry for their teammate haunting them.
Even if she didn’t know anything further regarding Fitz or her missing time, Simmons was shaken from her ordeal, the longer she went without Fitz, answers, and now Enoch, the more her optimism was fading. Deke was keeping close to his Nana, watching out for her, trying to help, and trying to give her hope, where hope was desperately needed.
The two of them spent most of the time going over anything and everything on the base and on the Zephyr, in an attempt to get or send a message to Fitz, to find something that might help or just keep themselves busy enough to not have the chance to think about what the truth could be. Running off caffeine and energy bars, they would work for days straight until finally crashing, or until one of the others stepped in to force them to rest, more oftenly being May.
With Deke not leaving Jemma’s side, Yo-Yo had taken over the supply runs, her powers allowing her to get in and out of the nearby town easier than anyone else and she was glad for the breath of fresh air, the chance to have a moment away from the doom and gloom type feeling that was settling across the underground base. She knew the team needed a moment, needed a bit of time to get back up and finish the fight, and made an effort on every trip to find something new or exciting to take back to them to share a little bit of happiness amongst them.
Mack and Coulson were spending any spare moment pouring over any documents, history texts and shared knowledge, trying to come up with a plan, a way to save the timeline, and finish the mission. They had turned one of the walls into what looked more like an elaborate conspiracy theory, not a S.H.I.E.L.D. assignment, and the two were also working as the central command for any information Deke and Simmons came up with in their lab, or anything Daisy had hacked for them. Yo-Yo constantly stopped in with food, making sure they took some level of care for themselves, as she helped collect them whatever files or books they didn’t have.
Between training with anyone that wanted to, and going over every last bit of the Zephyr, May was bouncing back the quickest, something that surprised no one, but with her new found gift, she was struggling with the first row seat to how the team was handling it. Initially, this had her hiding in the plane under the guise of making sure it was as it had been before Nathaniel took it, but as time went on, she used it to her advantage for the teams well being; taking the extra time to make sure Daisy got some fresh air, Mack had someone to vent about how Coulson annoyed him that day, and to just check in with Simmons.
After everything that had happened, and only just coming away from Simmons’ rescue mission in one piece, Daisy had gone quieter and more determined than ever, but she was still drained. She had gone from tougher mission, to tougher and now to the toughest she had had to face, and that was saying something. The others noticed but were all on similar wavelengths and for the most part, left her to herself as she readied herself for the fight.
She had taken to sparring with either May or Yo-Yo any chance she got, leaving the lighthouse with May for their daily runs whenever they got the all-clear, or just trying to stick to the other agents insane treadmill settings, and it almost felt as if she was getting simultaneously fitter and tireder as the days drew on. But she knew that for them to have any shot at succeeding at this mission, one that they had no choice but to win, then she would have to be stronger and more ready than ever.
Making sure to stay clear of anywhere near the room they were holding her sister in, while they were still undecided of her loyalties and what exactly to do with her. Daisy tried to keep herself from dwelling on the topic right now, and keep herself from the discussions involving her, she just wasn’t ready to reach out to yet another member of her family who could very well let her down once more, and she wasn’t ready to face the half sister who had gotten the relationship with her mother that she done anything for; but instead, Kora had thrown away so quickly to side with the same person who had tortured Daisy and killed their mother.
A part of her routine involved slipping into Sousa’s bunk every night, the first time he had hesitated, as she thought he would, not wanting to take advantage of her – ever the gentleman, but he, along with the rest of the team, quickly got used to that being her bunk too, not that anyone ever questioned it. That was something she was glad of, she wasn’t sure she had any answers and if she thought to much on the subject right now, she wasn’t sure she could handle that.
There were times that she felt that she was the one taking advantage of him, of his kindness to her and his desire to look after her, and sometimes in the middle of the night, instead of sleep, she would be kept awake with concern that she might just push him too far away before she has a chance to decide if she could risk going all in, and she wasn’t sure which scared her more. Likewise, she knew she would either be surprised or not surprised if at the end of all this, he was still there by her side; both options, although opposites, seemed like they could be the outcome.
But, for the moment, he was letting it slide and she was grateful, knowing that if he pushed to talk about what they were, or to take some space to decide, that she wouldn’t be able to either, and probably just end up ruining something that could see was potentially good for her. So, instead she tried to let him be there for her, like he had told her he wanted to be in the loop, accepting his help, accepting his comfort, and trying to show him that she was thankful, that she just wasn’t able to focus on much more than the mission until it was over; until they had won.
If there was one thing Sousa was sure of, it was that this team he had found himself in, had not had a second to breath in a long time. He had complained about being pulled from his time, but the rest of the team had been too, and by the sounds of it, they had been pulled right at the end of a hard mission; that was right after another hard mission and it just seemed to repeat back like that, and yet, they still seemed to be regrouping; slower, but steadily.
Early on, he had felt himself pulled more toward the one team member in particular, and as time moved forward, that pull strengthened. Sure, the team was a good one to be a part of, and he was always ready to help them, but he only felt that he fitted in, that he wanted to actually keep jumping through time, because he felt like he had found his place alongside Daisy, and the more time he spent with them all, the more he realised just how much that was something she needed.
He knew that she was struggling with it all, and a part of him was worried that she would burn out, or that it would all get too much, and she would push him away completely, because she didn’t see herself, her own well being as higher than the mission. So he did what he could to show her she was worth it, to show her that he wouldn’t leave her, and for the most part it seemed to be working, she seemed to be letting him be there and really that was all that he could ask of her right now.
He always made sure to find her throughout the day with an energy bar or a piece of fruit, just something simple and easy that she might actually eat and would leave a selection of snacks on her bedside table in their bunk. He made extra sure to not spook her, or judge her when she would show up every night, not pushing the subject and definitely not turning her away, letting her have her unimportant small talk or listening when she did broach something more serious, or just giving her days of silence.
Choosing instead to focus on the wins, the positive, like the way she accepted the food with a small smile, or the nights that she would curl up next to him, without initiating anything further, or the times in more public spaces, where she would lean into his brief touches, or the biggest win of all; that she continued to come back to him, to seek him out. Because as snappy as she could get, as cold as she could seem to him occasionally, she was still there, still by his side, still trying to know him, she was just also trying to mend and win a war at the same time.
The rest of the team never questioned him on it either, they all seemed to know about them and either were too caught up in their own things to say anything or didn’t want to risk ruining it, but they knew. Yo-Yo always left anything she had gotten in town for Daisy in his bunk, May would tell him any changes to pass on to her training schedule with her, and Mack would sometimes give him tech stuff to give her, Simmons did once touch on the subject, in her own distracted way, but only to tell him she was glad he was there for her.
Coulson raised the topic with him once, and he thought he was about to cop an earful about taking advantage and that it wasn’t proper, but instead the man that was like a father to her, thanked him for being her person, for not shying away from her. That it was something she needed, whether she would admit it or not, and that it made him happy someone was in her corner more than the missions, and that she was sometimes sidelined on that front in the team because of the strong front she puts on and the others having their own issues.
She had offhandedly made a comment once, a throwback to something that had happened in one of her loops that he didn’t remember, about knowing that it all fazed him too, and that she might not be ready to talk, but she could listen, should he need it. And it in that moment, that he knew that the girl he had been following through time, he would follow anywhere she let him.
