#'back then I shouted 'to live'! with those words I overturned what was 'best' for humanity! so then; i have to find my own answer!'

[kotaerukoto]

" ...That's right. Despite it all... "

" Despite it all, I'm still not ready to give up. "

[beskar-cowboy]

Coup d’œil

Part 1 of The Best Things Dwell Out of Sight Series

Summary: The Mandalorian saves you from what quickly becomes an unsuccessful bounty hunt. (6.9k words) ao3 link here

coup d’oeil (french) - a sharp eye or a glance that takes in a lavish view.

Warnings: slightly NSFW (Mando has dirty thoughts!) canon typical violence, mentions of past violence against the reader, mentions of cuts and blood, fluff and angst i guess

A/N: this series will be uploaded in a non-linear order! i realize that this way of doing things might not be everyone’s favourite so please let me know if you would like to be notified when all the parts are uploaded (linearly in my masterlist) <3

Mandalorians had filtered into your work place before. They never stayed as long as other customers, but they seemed to enjoy themselves just as much as anyone else did.

But when he walked in today, you knew it wasn’t for pleasure, he wasn’t here to enjoy himself, to be entertained or distracted. No, he was here strictly on business. 

You heard him ask one of the girls for your boss; a bail jumper, known criminal who was constantly on the move from bounty hunters like him. Your boss was never in, barely stopped by the place he owned due to the high volume of lurking bounty hunters just waiting for him to show up.

Maybe this Mandalorian was just really lucky, or had impeccable timing because your bail jumper boss just so happened to be in today. He was in the back, probably harassing a worker.

It wasn’t long before blasters were being fired, seemingly from every corner of the bar. Turns out the shiny Mandalorian wasn’t the only bounty hunter in search of your boss today. All their tracking fobs were going off, almost like a choir. 

But the Mandalorian didn’t shoot first, he’s much smarter than that. 

He probably wouldn’t have even used his blaster, a blaster would have drawn too much attention to him. He would have gone around back without alerting anyone, using his rope and lasso to tie him up and bring him back to the ship with almost no effort, no hassle. 

But some rookies, some fucking twerps, had to get cocky and show off their blasters, aiming un-preciously, setting curtains and clothing up on fire. This place was about to go up in flames, fast. 

With no sign of your boss, Mando was about to call it quits on this one as he watched the flames grow hungrier and hungrier, consuming more and more of the bar with each passing moment. With the child next to him, he wasn’t so sure the bounty was worth the credits anymore. 

Mando ducks behind an overturned table, taking cover as the child’s closed pod follows him seamlessly. Alcohol catches on fire, fuelling it and sending glass shattering across the bar. He takes a deep breath, gripping his blaster, looking for a way out. 

That’s when he sees you.

Near the bar counter, huddled on the floor with your knees and head tucked into your chest.

Acting on sheer impulse, he rushes over to you, taking your shoulder into his much larger hand and grasping it somewhat forcefully, enough to alert you to his presence. He’s not a threat, he just wants to get out of here before this place is swallowed by the flames, he’s assuming you do too. 

You gasp, big eyes filled with tears as you look up startled at the Mandalorian. He may have been after your boss, but maybe he could get some measly credits for bringing you in as well. Not that you thought you were worth much, or anything for that matter, but you couldn’t help the way your brain was working in overdrive right now. 

You shoved yourself away from him, pulling your shoulder from his grasp with desperate fervour.

You were so used to the filthy touch of men, you’re unfamiliar with a gentle, helpful touch. When you look to the Mandalorian, the one who came in completely uninterested in the half-naked girls, who didn’t spare them a single glance, you can’t help but soften a little, maybe putting too much immediate trust in him.

“Let’s go!” He shouts over the firing blasters. 

Deciding you don’t want to go up in flames with the bar because of your stupid habit of overthinking, you let him pull you out of the crumbing building. 

You stare at him, bewildered and a little helpless if you’re being honest, somehow still afraid of your boss who’s probably dead by now anyways. 

You can’t help it, the fear is ingrained in you, it was beat into you. He'll know you’re trying to leave, trying to escape. He’ll come after you, he’ll hurt you. He always does. He always knows, he’s got eyes everywhere.

The Mandalorian’s hand feels warm and softer around your bicep this time. You let him pull you down the street and into the alleyways until you come upon a giant ship. Maybe not giant but it’s by far the biggest one you’ve seen around here.

The Mandalorian opens the hatch to his ship and this is the part where you’re not sure if you’re supposed to follow him, or get lost. 

He stares at you through the T-shaped visor, probably asking himself the same thing.

There was nothing for you on this dingy planet, no family, no friends, no work besides that bar that was about to go up in flames and out of existence. Everyone knew where you worked, who you worked for. They wanted nothing to do with you. You suddenly realized this was your chance, possibly your only chance at leaving and starting anew. 

The ship groans when the hatch finally touches the ground. You stare at the Mandalorian as you follow him and the floating pod inside, relieved when he doesn’t object. You can still hear the blasters going off in the distance up until the moment the hatch closes behind you. 

The floating pod that’s been following the two of you finally opens up with a mechanical hiss, revealing a little green… baby?

It coos at you and you can’t help but laugh a little at its exaggerated features, still very baffled and dizzy at how quickly everything seems to have escalated within the past half hour.

You follow the Mandalorian through the ship, up a ladder until you’re in the cockpit. With wide eyes, you watch him walk into the pilot seat, flip a million switches and you feel the ship rumble with life. It isn’t long before you feel it leave the ground and you stumble a bit, grabbing something on the control panel to steady yourself. You don’t feel like it’s in your best interest to assume you can just sit in the seat next to him, so you just grab the paneling a little tighter. 

You look out the large windows spanning across the cockpit and you quickly spot the bar you both just escaped from up here in the sky. Where you worked and lived for the last five years of your life. It was all you had come to know, all you were familiar with. You watched it as a sudden shock wave rocked the ship, you stumbled but held your ground, straining to look out the window at the explosion. 

You stare at a mass of angry flames, what once was the bar now fuelling it completely. The Mandalorian had seemed to know so intuitively that it would combust into a fiery pit, and you’re thankful that he found you at the exact moment that he had.

You had been paralyzed with terror, unable to move due to the fear of getting caught in the crossfire or being dragged away by your boss. Your thoughts fade away as you watch the smoke rise high into the sky before a flurry of stars flashes before the windows. 

This time you do fall from the sudden change in speed on the ship, landing hard on your ass. The baby turns to look at you over the edge of his pod and giggles. Your cheeks feel hot.

The Mandalorian doesn’t spare a glance back at you as you lift yourself off of the floor and walk awkwardly to stand next to him. You rub the skin on your elbow that stung from your fall as you look from him to the control panel, and the flickering stars dashing past you in solid blue streaks. 

“So... where are you headed?” You decide to ask after much deliberation on your wording, not wanting to accidentally say the wrong thing and set him off. He had no reason to trust you after all, might as well try and suck up to the bounty hunter. He doesn’t say anything for a few moments before he answers you.

“Batuu.” His voice sounds much deeper now that you’re in the dead silence of hyperspace. The modulator of his helmet no doubt distorting it to some extent but… you can’t help but shiver at his tone, at the deep rumble of his voice as it passes through you. 

“Great, I’ll just… I guess we’ll part ways once we’re there.” You nod at him even though he’s not looking at you. He doesn’t say anything in response.

At the sound of your voices, the child babbles from where the pod floats now next to you, probably wanting to be included in whatever conversation he thought the two of you were having. You turn to look down at him and smile when you meet his big black eyes. He was very precious and you couldn’t help but wonder what a young child was doing travelling with a big, bad bounty hunter.

With your head turned to study the child, Mando finally turns to look at you, look at you properly since you two fled the bar. 

Your hair and skin were dirty, flesh below the knees littered in bruises and dirt. He wonders to himself what exactly your job was at that bar? 

He asks himself this as if feigning ignorance, as if he does not notice your scantily clad body in that see-through dress, nothing but thin, white material and a thong underneath. As if you are not covered in bruises that may have been left from the rough hands of men who knew no boundaries. 

He pulls his eyes from you, he really fucking does because he feels somewhat angry for you, angry at what seemed to be your life and your job. He feels no desire to participate in the act of looking at someone who does not care to be looked at in that manner.

You turn back to face him, catching him off guard as you notice him analyzing you. You look at him with those big fucking eyes and that’s when he notices your split lip, the dark circles of fatigue, maybe even a black eye.

You can feel the way he looks at you is not with malicious intent but you can’t help but wonder how truly beat up you must look, how tired. He seems a bit taken back when you accidentally meet his eyes from beneath the visor… it must be bad.

“Your lip?” He’s unsure how to ask if you’re okay, if you need something or if you’re badly injured. He’s even more confused when you scoff and roll your eyes. 

“The other guy looks worse.” You huff, crossing your arms, feigning annoyance or arrogance but it comes out small and unsure. 

Mando looks away then, when your arms cross and press your breasts snuggly against each other. He regrets the way he begins to feel hot underneath his helmet, his beskar. 

But you hear something of a breath from underneath his helmet, maybe he was laughing along with you. At least, you hope he was. You’d rather that than him pitying you.

God, you hated how pathetic you seemed, how helpless and small you must seem to him. You were thankful for his rescue, for the semblance of warmth and compassion he’s shown you so far but… But you’re just not used to this, therefore you don’t know how to accept it and show how thankful you truly are. 

You both sit in silence for several moments. You sort of admire him while he pilots the ship, flicking switches and pushing buttons every now and then while you steal glances at the child, waving to him and watching him wave back and make those little noises, wondering what he’s trying to say to you. 

Mando thinks your laugh is sweet as it floats through the air every now and then, he wonders what it would sound like through his ears, without the receivers influence in his helmet. He likes how at ease you seem with everything, with him, even though he’s not quite sure what he’s done for you to feel that way.

“Would you like to use the ‘fresher?” He asks suddenly and you try not to appear startled at the sudden sound of his gravelly voice. He realizes he should have offered you the opportunity to wash off a lot sooner and he mentally kicks himself for it but, better late than never.

He’s turned to look at you expectantly. All you can do is nod your head. 

Cute, Mando thinks.

He stands up, towering over you and standing incredibly wide. You follow him as he leads you back down the ladder and into the main area that you had come in through. The refresher was just through a slender door that you had missed when you came in such a hurry. You step inside and start to close the door behind you when the Mandalorian says, 

“I’ll be in the cockpit when you’re done.” You nod and close the door once he leaves. 

Mando lingers on the other side of the door, screwing his eyes shut at the damned images that play through in his mind. 

Ones of you undressing, stepping into the shower, the shower he uses. 

Fuck, he had already basically seen all of you, there wasn’t much left to the imagination thanks to your dress. 

If he wasn’t wearing the helmet, he’d press the palms of his hands into his eyes until the sinful images dissolved into stars and static. But he is wearing the helmet so he shakes his head and lifts himself back up into the cockpit to distract himself with the millions of flickering buttons that he could be pushing on the dashboard.

Back in the refresher, you turn to look at yourself in the mirror that hangs above the sink incredibly slowly and reluctantly. 

There were no mirrors in your old place of work. Boss said it would distract the girls, pull attention away from the customers. Now maybe you knew why.

The bags underneath your eyes were dark, almost like you had a black eye on your right one. Then again maybe you did, the cut on your bottom lip would certainly indicate that it was a possibility. That guy had hit you pretty hard after you refused to fuck him now that you think about it.

You weren’t one of the girls that fucked, you served the drinks that intoxicated them out of their minds. 

But all the girls had to wear the same, debasing outfit either way; sheer white dress, black thong, combat boots. No socks. 

No wonder the customers got confused.

Deciding you didn’t want to look at yourself anymore, you quickly pulled your dress from your body, slipping the thong down as well before tinkering with the knobs and buttons of the shower. Eventually you managed to get the water hot enough to wash the grime from your body and you sigh, relaxing under the loving caress of the stream. 

You never had a shower to yourself at your work. Someone always hosed you down, all the girls standing in line, the weekly routine.

It saved water they said, but the water was always freezing cold, the hose down and harsh scrubbing that immediately followed only lasted ten minutes anyways. How much water could they have been really saving? A hot shower was a luxury you were never afforded, so you closed your eyes and tried not to cry at the embrace of the scalding water. You dipped your head down and watched the water drip, watching as it swirled down the drain with a dark red and brown tint to it.

Without snooping through the Mandalorian’s things, you found a bar of soap resting on a ceramic ledge in the shower. You lather it between your hands quickly, not wanting to waste his soap. You scrub it gently along your body, relishing in the sweet slippery slide of your careful hands. When was the last time you received a loving touch, even from yourself?

You ignore the sudden images that float through your mind; a faceless man, tall and wide like the one up in the cockpit, naked and scrubbing himself with the same soap you’re using now. You wondered if the earthy smell clung to his skin the way you hope it clings to yours, hoping it reminds you of a brief moment you were living in luxury, in comfort and dare you say safety. 

Eventually the hot water does start to run cold, you didn’t quite expect a ship to have a great hot water supply anyways. Upon turning the water off and stepping out, you realize there aren’t any towels for you to dry off with.

You then notice a small bin in the corner of the refresher, you peek inside finding a pile of dark clothing. You reach in and pull out the first thing you can grab, a black long-sleeve shirt. 

This must be his… 

You bring it up to your nose, inhaling the sweet scent. It smells like skin in the summertime, sweet and nutty, whatever cleaning product used on it only slightly lingering, almost like he slept in it too many times, deeming it dirty and throwing it in here for future washing. 

You reach for your dress, deciding to dry off with that and slip on his used shirt to wear instead. You think it smells good as you pull it over your shoulders, letting it fall to the middle of your thighs, the sleeves going far past your hands. Stars, this guy was huge. 

You throw your dress in the hamper, thinking that he won’t mind disposing of it once he realizes you’ve left it behind. But you keep your underwear, pulling it up onto your hips before you exit the refresher and are greeted by those big black eyes of the child.

“Hi there.” You smile, crouching down to the floor to be more level with him. He babbles and waddles towards you, stretching his little arms out. You hold your hands out for him to grab and play with, not feeling totally confident in yourself to pick him up, mostly because of the arguably overprotective Mandalorian sitting right upstairs. 

His small, three-fingered hands latch onto your own, prying your fingers apart and trying to put them in his mouth which you softly discourage with a soft ‘hey, don’t do that’, and ear rubs to try and distract him. 

A loud thud comes from behind you, close to where the ladder is and you yelp, jumping away from the kid. The Mandalorian stares at you, or maybe glares, you can’t tell from the way his helmet gives way to no emotions whatsoever. 

“I-I’m sorry, I wasn’t-” You begin to stammer, trying to apologize to a fucking Mandalorian for playing with the child, for all you knew was his son. You guess he could be green underneath that helmet and you wouldn’t have a clue.

A small coo cuts you off and you look down to see the child waddling towards you on the ship floor. His arms are stretched out again, reaching for you but he settles on putting them on your ankle.

Normally, Mando wouldn’t be so lax about a stranger being so close to the child, he wouldn’t be lax at all actually but...

But the way the kid is drawn to you, reaching for you, he can’t help but trust the little womp rat as a judge of character.

Mando’s eyes follow the child, watching him put his little hands on your ankle, your bare…

Oh.

You stand there in nothing but his shirt. 

His shirt. Fuck… Where did you even find it? 

Of course you wouldn’t want to put that scrap of material called a dress back on after washing off. He feels bad for not having the foresight to have offered you some clothing beforehand, although he would have had nothing better to offer you than another version of that same shirt, so he supposes it worked out all the same in the end anyways. 

You made the shirt look so much bigger with the way it seems to swallow you whole. Your perfect legs, bruises and all on full display, your hair dripping wet, soaking wet patches into the shirt, making your- fuck… making your nipples hard as you stand there nearly trembling in his gaze.

“It’s okay,” Mando’s voice is strained, hoarse and maybe a few octaves lower. He clears his throat before continuing, not wanting to come off as mad or upset. “He clearly likes you.”

You laugh nervously, looking down at the child who looks back up at you with big blinkey eyes, clearly trying to tell you something from the way he will not stop babbling. “I guess…”

The Mandalorian takes a few long strides towards you until he’s picking up the child from the floor, holding him against his chest, as if trying to show him to you in a more effective manner. You feel hot, nervous from how close he stands to you. 

Without the context of the child, there was a deadly bounty hunter, standing less than a foot away from you. You couldn’t help the way you trembled, you hoped he couldn’t tell. 

You reach your hand out to the little green child before stopping and looking up to the tall man, asking, “Can I?”

Mando shudders but nods his head. He watches you as you gently prod and rub the child’s ears and forehead, completely taken by your beauty. 

The shower seems to have done you good, you seem more at ease and he feels like he can truly see your face now. Clean skin save for the few cuts on your lip and under your right eye. But even the cuts seem less coagulated and crusted over. You probably scrubbed them too hard in the shower, he feels like he can see tiny bits of fresh blood near the ripped, purpled skin. He has bacta spray, maybe he should offer to clean it? What if it got infected-

“Is he yours?” You ask suddenly, voice small as you look up to the Mandalorian and his breath catches in his throat again. 

Did you know how deadly you were? Those eyes, that face… He hopes you don’t hear the way his heart pounds, but you don’t, you couldn’t, not over the baby’s relentless talking and squealing.

“Yes,” Mando answers too quickly, realizing very suddenly that he does not want you to think that he was green underneath all that beskar. “N-no, I’m-” not that there’s anything wrong with being green, he just- 

Fuck.

“Adopted?” You ask, sensing his inner turmoil. You hadn’t meant to ask such an intimate question, you were honestly stunned he even answered it, or at least tried to answer it.

“Yes, adopted.” You nod, seeming to understand to some degree. Thankfully, you don’t press it further.

“We’ll arrive in Batuu by morning. You’re welcome to sleep in the cockpit.” The Mandalorian says, changing the topic.

“Okay.” You follow him back up the ladder, letting him go first which he quickly realizes is so he doesn’t get a full view of your underside.

Sometimes he really is thankful for the helmet, especially with how much he seems to be blushing around you. He’s not typically like this, he’s not one to blush and stammer, people don’t make him feel hot, flustered, depraved. 

But then again he’s never let someone like you catch a ride with him, shower in close proximity, play with his adoptive son… all in less than an hour of meeting each other. 

After what felt like minutes but was more close to an hour, your eyes become droopy, feeling heavy as you fight to keep them open. Even though you’re still in hyperspace, you can’t help but feel like you’re missing out, missing out on seeing a galaxy whiz by that you would otherwise never have seen if it weren’t for Mando (short for Mandalorian, he informed you from the few questions he reluctantly answered). 

The child is asleep in his pod next to you, cozy and wrapped up in his long tunic and a thick blanket covering his body. You can’t help but feel a bit jealous, wishing you had something half as cozy and warm as that blanket looked. Your knees were tucked into your chest, arms wrapped around to hold them for extra warmth. 

But you’ll take what you’re given, you’re thankful for what Mando is providing you with, what he’s giving you; a new life, a fresh start, a second chance-

“Thank you.” You mumble, you whisper. You’re not quite sure if Mando catches it before your head is lulling to the side, then resting on your knees as you succumb to slumber.

Mando’s helmet turns to you when he hears you mumble something incoherently. Maybe you were sleep talking? He looks at you and finds you in the same position he found you in back at the bar. Head and knees tucked into your chest, this time with your bare feet hanging off the edge of the seat. 

His heart pounds. Like actually fucking pounds at the soft rise and fall of your back with each heavy, sleep laden breath you take. The way your toes and feet slightly twitch every now and then, the way your legs bend, the soft pull of skin around your knees, your thighs.... 

Once his eyes get too far up your leg he realizes that if he were to bend forward in his seat, even just slightly, he’d get a full view of that spot in between your thighs covered by the racy material of your underwear… his shirt you wear riding up over your hips with your position, there was no way you weren’t completely exposed to the open air of the cockpit.

But Mando wouldn’t dare look, wouldn’t dare peek at you, especially not… not that part of you. You seemed trusting of him for some reason. Maybe it was because he travelled with the child, maybe that gave him a sort of false air of trustworthiness, of gentleness perhaps? Mando doesn’t know, he’s not quite sure. The only thing he’s sure of right now is that he needs to drop you off in Batuu so he can stop thinking about the way you make his cock swell. 

How easily you made his cock swell, feel hot, heavy, starved.

Mando groans to himself, keeping it muffled in his helmet, scared to wake you or the child.

This was going to be a long night.  

//

The hatch opens and a warm gust of wind flows into the ship you’ve now come to know as the Razor Crest. 

You hold the long shirt down with one hand while shielding your eyes with the other, the harsh sun blinding you for a moment. You hadn’t realized how dark the inside of the Crest was until now. 

You had never been to Batuu, you hadn’t been anywhere for that matter, but as you step out of the ship, you think it might be the prettiest planet you’ve ever seen.

Mando had landed the ship in a secluded area, surrounded by dense trees and across a clearing from a lake. You wish you could stay here and rest with them but that wasn’t what you two had agreed upon. Mando had business here and he would escort you into town, and then that would be it, you’d be on your own. 

You tried not to think too hard about the fact that you were about to be walking around a densely populated city, wearing nothing but a long shirt, a thong and some boots without any socks. Mando didn’t seem too phased by it at least, but then again, he was wearing a ton of beskar and probably wasn’t worrying too much about your appearance. 

You walk alongside him regardless, not having much say in the matter. You could buy new clothes once you got into town.

The child’s pod floats on Mando’s other side, where he can keep a watchful eye on him as you walk through the wide streets of the town. You look around, coming to terms with the fact that this is where you live now, this is your new home. 

You feel your lip tremble, suddenly overwhelmed with how unfamiliar everything is. Where do you even start? Where do you go? Who do you talk to? What do you do when night falls-

“Are you hungry?” Mando’s deep modulated voice suddenly cuts off your quickly derailing thoughts which he noticed due to your shaky breaths, trembling lip and shiny eyes. You sniffle and run your hands down your face. 

“What?” You pretend you don’t hear what he said, trying to distract from the fact that you’re trying not to cry.

“When was the last time you ate?” He asks instead, realizing now that neither of you have had anything for almost twenty four hours now. You were probably starving, thirsty, parched. Your lack of response is enough of an answer for Mando.

He changes trajectory, leading you down the road to a rather big establishment with music flowing out the wide opening. A cantina. 

Eyes catch and follow the shiny man as the three of you walk into the place, taking seat at the relatively empty bar. Within seconds of having sat down, the bartender is scurrying over and standing in front of the brooding Mandalorian.

“Broth and a jug of water.” Mando orders and the bartender scurries off as quickly as he had come over. 

You look to Mando inquisitively with a furrowed brow, wondering why he had only ordered food for one- oh. Right. The helmet. He cannot remove the helmet.

The food and water arrives too quickly and you feel awkward, you feel bad eating in front of him, knowing he can’t have any and fuel himself too. 

“I-It’s on the house.” The short man stammers, scurrying away once again before Mando can say anything. Not that he would anyways, he just looks at you, carefully sliding over the full bowl and jug to you without paying any mind to the bartender. That was...

That was kind of hot. Butterflies erupted in your stomach and your cunt involuntarily clenched at how easily he displayed dominance. 

The broth steams and makes your stomach growl, but you go for the water first, downing it all in one go. You hadn’t realized how thirsty you were. 

Mando watches with endearment, watches you hold the oversized jug with both hands, tilting your head back to get every single last drop. He watches the way your neck extends, how it cranes back so elegantly, how it bobs. He thinks he’d like to touch it, maybe even kiss it, lick it-

“Thank you.” You say to him, in between heavy breaths due to the way you nearly inhaled the water. Mando nods, pivoting on his stool and resting his elbows on the bar, taking in the patrons of the cantina, surveying. He needs to do anything but look at you right now.

You with those killer eyes, wet, shiny lips and heaving chest, chest clad in his shirt, naked breasts pressed up against the fabric he once wore. He could feel the way his blood pumped out of his head and down to his cock, making it painfully twitch underneath his armour.

As you move on to the broth, you take in the sights of the cantina as well, looking at all the different types of species that fill up the booths, so many types of creatures you’ve never seen before. You wonder if Mando notices those particular ones that stare, including this blue guy off in the corner. He seems big, muscular, a wicked smile curling his lips as he looks directly at you. You wonder if Mando sees him. If he does, he doesn’t seem too worried. He is covered in extremely luxurious beskar and travelling with a tiny green child after all, he’s probably used to it by now. 

And a half naked girl isn’t that much of a switch up for him, is it?

You finish the broth rather quickly, all the while keeping your eyes trained on the blue fellow who seems to have moved closer to the three of you, stalking. 

“I have to go to the bathroom.” You announce, standing up and quickly pulling the long black shirt down to cover your ass. Mando nods.

“We’ll be out front.” You nod back, scurrying off to the back of the cantina, standing behind a random man perched on a stool at the far end of the bar who talks to another patron. You watch the blue man as he not-so-subtly follows Mando and the child out of the bar. 

Just as you expected, a stalker. Nothing you weren’t used to dealing with back on your home planet.

You notice the man you’ve crouched behind is armed with a blaster, a blaster that’s poorly holstered to his waist. It’d be so easy for someone to just, 

Snatch it. 

You rush out the back exit of the bar, seeing Mando and the child off in the distance, near the main entrance. The blue man standing only a few feet in front of you with his back turned towards you. Perfect. 

“Hey Mando!” He yells, his speech slurred, heavily intoxicated. You roll your eyes, switching the safety off on the lightweight blaster in your hands. Mando pivots leisurely, searching for the direction the voice came from before his visor falls on the giant blue man. You see the blue guy reach for his own blaster and,

Thud.

He falls to the ground, a burning red ring singeing the flesh in the middle of his back. He falls forward, face down in the ground as you emerge from behind him, blaster in hand emitting smoke from the barrel.

Mando is.... He’s stunned to say the least. And he’s not quite sure what he’s more stunned at.

The fact that he hadn’t noticed this guy beforehand. The fact that you did. How you sneaked off, forming a plan without him clueing in. How you snuck up on all of them. The fact that you have a fucking blaster. The way you stood there, feet firmly planted on the ground, legs apart, solid, long, arms outstretched in front of you, your one eye that was screwed shut in focus slowly opening again. Where did you-

“Where did you get that?” Mando sneers after menacingly marching over to you, gripping one of your wrists tightly into his fits and dragging you away from the body and into the weaving alleyways. You only answer him once he’s allowed you to pull yourself from his vice grip. 

“I grabbed it off some guy in the cantina.” You shrug, like it’s not a big deal, like you don’t know how much it’s turning him on.

Mando snatches the blaster from your hand, inspecting it and then quickly shoving it into his own holster. You feel as though he’s glaring at you from underneath the helmet. You look to the kid, he seems concerned, big eyes shining, ears pointing downwards.

“I saved you guys,” you glare back at Mando. “The child could have been harmed, or worse...” You trail off, not wanting to think of any harm coming to this precious child, even if you barely know him or his adoptive father. You couldn't believe he was upset with you about this.

Mando continues to stare at you, his chest expanding with each heavy stress laden breath he takes as your words settle into that thick skull of his. 

The child… could have been killed, his son. He could have been harmed.

Mando’s blood had rushed right out of his head and down to his crotch the moment he first saw you, he hasn’t managed to form a coherent thought since. 

Maybe he really did need to get rid of you.

As much as Mando had panicked when he had been deemed the child’s (however temporary) father, he could not imagine a life without him anymore.

His son. Adiik.

You watch Mando’s helmet tilt from you, down to the child before it sags even lower, staring at the ground. You scoff and roll your eyes at his lack of a response. Whatever, you were supposed to get lost anyways. 

Without another word, you turn on your heels and begin to walk down the dirt path, trying to think of a game plan as you kick at small rocks with your boots.

Mando begins to panic at the sight of you leaving. He thinks back to when he first delivered the child to the client. The regret, the fear, the shame, the guilt he felt as he left that forsaken building and walked all the way back to his ship before deciding no, he couldn’t give up a child like that. He couldn’t part from the little womp rat. He felt it in his bones, his being. Now that same feeling ebbed through him as he watched you walk away from him and his son. 

Regret, fear, shame, guilt.

“Wait.”

You stop dead in your tracks. Your bare legs halting their hypnotic motion. Mando’s heart leaps in his chest, a glimmer of hope. 

“What?”

Mando takes a deep breath, his beskar feeling too constricting, too tight. 

“Stay.” You don’t say anything, you just continue to stare at him. Mando tries to think of an excuse, an excuse worthy of your devotion. “T-the child has clearly taken a liking to you.”

It was true, the child had grown attached to you very quickly, for reasons unknown to either of you. Maybe it was just a kid thing but Mando can’t help but trust the child, trust whatever affection he’s already grown for you. 

You had stolen a blaster and you had used it to save them instead of threaten them for money, food, the Crest, or whatever else you could want. Mando couldn’t let that fact fly over his head, nor could he ignore the way it made his heart hurt with some emotion he had never experienced before.

Besides that, being a single parent and bounty hunter was not the easy task. It was no life for a child, and Mando couldn’t imagine how much the child’s quality of life would improve if he had someone else around to help him, to help him give the kid the attention and love he needs and deserves. 

Not that he didn’t love the kid but… but his line of work just made it difficult to separate work life and home life. He doesn’t even consider it a home… but maybe, with you -

“I’m not a babysitter.” You shrug, sounding exasperated but with no real malice behind your words. You look to the child, eyes wide as he coos, arms reaching for you like they have been since you met these two. It breaks your heart a little.

You try and convince yourself not to stay with someone who could keep you safe, protected from literally anything in the galaxy… 

No. You can protect yourself. You don’t need him. You don’t need his shiny armor and large ship… you especially don’t need the way your belly swoops whenever he speaks in that low, deep voice. 

You turn on your heels, swaying on your legs like you're debating just walking away again and Mando’s heart beats, beats, beats so fast he feels like he might pass out.

“I can pay you.” Your movements stop and you hesitate, looking to the ground for an answer, like it would be spelled out for you in the sand. The prospect of money is… comforting, intriguing.

“How much?” You say, voice quiet and a little ashamed. Mando tilts his helmet, deliberating over an appropriate amount.

“10 percent of what I collect.”

“Make it 40, that kid looks like a lot of work.” Mando scoffs, rolling his helmet and tilting it as if to taunt you. 

You weren’t wrong, he thinks to himself.

“20.”

“40.” You say forcefully, unbudging. 

Mando stares at you, refraining from throwing another pair of numbers in your face, helmet still and menacing. It seems 20 percent is as low as he’ll go. 

In reality, a 80/20 contract is a much sweeter deal than you would manage to snag anywhere else. No matter how much the Mandalorian makes, which probably isn't a lot but clearly it's more than enough for him and the child, especially if he’s willing to bring you on board to live with them. 

“I guess… I guess 20 works.” You finally answer after realizing he was hanging on your every thread for an answer, some indication that you’ve agreed to such a strange arrangement. 

“Yeah?” He tilts his helmet at you. You suppress some feeling of a smile pulling at your lips, a feeling that makes your cheeks ache. The child seems joyful too, as if he can understand the two of you and the contract you’ve just agreed upon. 

Mando feels like he’s high, like his heart is going to burst through the pounds of beskar which covers it so securely. 

You’ve agreed, you’ve agreed to stay with them. With him. He thanks whatever Maker is out there that you can’t see his face right now, can’t see the ways you make him blush, make him flustered.

“Yeah, Mando.”

“Good. Now... let’s go get you some real clothes.”

[naminethewriter]

America’s Favourite Gameshow!!

Day 2 and I’m still on track! It’s way too late though and I hope I get done with the other prompts sometime before 12am 😴 Anyway, have fun with this silly little fluff story 💙💚🥰 @intrulogicalweek2021

Here on Ao3

Masterpost | Intrulogical Week 2021 Masterpost

Characters: Remus, Logan

Relationship: romantic Intrulogical

Rating: G

Words: 1,480

Summary:  Logan just wanted to make sure his boyfriend ate something. Remus wants entertainment more.

Logan walked along the halls of Remus’ castle in search of his boyfriend who had run off after breakfast to continue some project of his. Now, hours later, Logan wanted to ensure that he had eaten since then because while they didn’t require to eat, considering they were just figments of Thomas’ overactive subconscious, it had proven to be beneficial to their wellbeing as well as Thomas’. It had taken Logan almost a year of research to come to that conclusion but it had been well worth the effort.

 But both sides of Creativity were prone to forgetting the passage of time while working on one of their passion projects, hence Logan’s decision to check on Remus this afternoon. He had already looked through most of the grounds and was now on his way up into a tower. It was pretty much separated from the rest of the castle and nobody but Logan and the Duke himself had access and Remus spend a lot of time up there doing whatever he wants without disturbance. The only reason that Logan had put off checking there first is because he disliked the long, long staircase leading up. About three fourth of the way up, Logan could hear cluttering sounds, so it seemed reasonable to assume his search would soon be over.

After another five minutes of climbing he finally reached the top, only one door separating him from whatever mess Remus has caused this time. Logan took a few deep breaths before pushing it open.

 Pure Chaos laid before him. He couldn’t even begin to describe it. Furniture overturned and broken. Paint or something colourful had gotten everywhere. Glass shards, papers, confetti, everything scattered randomly around the room and Remus in the middle of it.

 Logan didn’t even attempt going any further in. Instead he called out to his boyfriend who turned to face so fast, his head rotated more than it should with a sickening crack.

 “Lolo!” he grinned, pulling his head back into the right position before climbing over the rubble to the door. As soon as he got into touching distance he wrapped himself around Logan in a tight hug. His boyfriend just patted his arm until he let go. “What brings you here, starshine? You horny?” He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively, causing Logan to roll his eyes.

 “No Remus, I am not horny. I simply came to check on you since I haven’t seen you since breakfast.”

 “Ah shit, is it already evening? Damn time flies when you’re busy, huh.”

 “What were you doing in the first place? This entire room is a mess.” Logan immediately regretted asking when he saw the smile spreading across his boyfriend’s face. “No, Remus, please-“

 Too late.

 Remus snapped and suddenly there was a spotlight on the two of them, two more swinging across the room that was now notably darker. Some kind of jingle started playing and an invisible audience started applauding. Remus, now in a suit, brought a microphone to his mouth.

 “Ladies and Gentlemen! You have waited patiently and now it is finally time to play America’s favourite gameshow! It’s” – the fake audience yelled along the next words –

 “Art or Science!”

 “The rules are simple,” Remus continued alone. “Our returning champion, Logan ‘Logic’ Sanders, has five minutes to survey the room and then he has to decide: did I cause this chaos in the name of Art or Science! He is allowed to ask me three things to specify, not one hint more. Our contestant has a success rate of 66% so far and I’m sure we are all curious to see the result of our fourth episode of-!” Remus held the mic away from him and again the imaginary audience shouted:

 “Art or Science!”

 “Now, Logan. Are you ready to start?” Remus held out the mic to Logan this time who groaned and levelled him with an unimpressed glare.

 “Is this really necessary, Cephy?” Remus laughed and threw his arms open.

 “Of course not, but it’s fun so we’re doing it!” Logan massaged his temple. Ever since Thomas had taken to binge watching SNL sketches on YouTube, Remus had been practically enthralled with their game show parodies. Especially if Bill Hader (Remus’ favourite cast member) played the host. His top spot shifted between ‘What’s that Name?’ and ‘Who’s on Top’ every five minutes and Logan couldn’t deny that the chaos of those concepts fit Remus very well, so it should be no surprise that he thought of his own little show. It just annoyed Logan that he was the only contestant ever having to deal with it.

 Well, at least it was short. He could play along for five minutes.

 “Fine, start the clock.” Remus cheered, as did the audience, and the light returned to how it was before, with the entire room evenly lit.

 “As always, please don’t hesitate to give us play-by-play commentary on your thought process, Sherlock,” Remus giggled and Logan nodded absentmindedly, already scanning the room for clues. He took the first minute to simply think and his boyfriend let him but Logan knew he would grow impatient eventually.

 “Clearly there is both art supplies as well as lab equipment present and I have witnessed you using both for the others intended purpose, so that does not provide any essential hints. The furniture is mostly broken and out of place. Especially that table that seems to be hanging out the window and only hangs on with one leg anchored inside. The glass was most likely smashed by said table. This could point to a possible explosion that resulted after a failed experiment, favouring science as its cause. Though again, I have seen you set off an explosion to create an art piece of yours so it is not concrete proof either.” Remus nodded along to his descriptions and a spotlight also shone on the areas he talked about.

 “Now for my first question, I would like you to confirm whether the dark red substance in that corner is blood or not.”

 “It’s not, though I tried my best to get it to smell the same.” Logan nodded, again falling silent for a moment to think. The quiet was broken by a croak and something moved though it was hidden enough that Logan couldn’t quite make it out.

 “You used live specimen. Not unheard off for your art but more common with experiments. Especially frogs.”

 “Toads, not frogs actually.”

 “I can tell apart a frog croaking and toad doing the same, Remus. That sound was a frog.”

 “Nah, you see, I like how toads look better but frogs sound more appealing, so I made a toad that croaked like a frog.”

 “Fascinating. Could you show it to me later?”

 “Sure! Also that counts as your second questions.” Logan glared at his boyfriend for a moment but relented.

 “Fine.” He continued to point out other details about the room and whether they pointed towards art or science and soon Remus announced that he had only 30 seconds left. Logan contemplated in his head and came to a decision at the same moment Remus called:

 “Time! Five minutes are up, Ladies and Gentlemen! Now Logan, give us your answer, please!” The room had darkened once again, with a spotlight on Logan and Remus and two others moving around the room.

 “I say it’s art.”

 “Is that your final answer?”

 “Yes, Remus, please do not drag this out any longer.”

 “Yeah, yeah.” He waved his hand around before getting back into character. “His answer is locked in! Now let’s see if he’s right. Is it art?” A drumroll played and then a bang. Even more confetti poured out of the ceiling, along with balloons, the normal, oval ones and those long ones with two of the former tied to one of the latter (I’m sure you can guess what that symbolises, we’re talking about Remus here after all).

 “Coooooooorrrreeeeccccctttt!” Applause roared and Remus threw an arm around his boyfriend, pulling him close. “Another win for our returning champion! With this his success rate is now at 75%! How are you feeling, are you proud?” He held out the mic to Logan, who rolled his eyes.

 “I am alright, now please wrap this up.” Remus giggled but complied.

 “That was it for this episode of-“

 “Art or Science!”

 “See you next time, folks!” And with another snap, things returned to normal, the lights, the sounds and Remus’ outfit. “Wasn’t that fun, starlight?”

 “It was fine, Remus.”

 “You just don’t like admitting it~”

 “No matter, that is not what I came up here for anyway.”

 “Oh yeah, why did you come here?”

 “To ask if you have eaten since breakfast.”

 “Oh, rotten shit, I forgot.”

 “I thought as much. Come on, I secured you some leftovers from lunch and the rest of the hot sauce.”

 “You are the best, moonlight.”

[avengerscompound]

Moving On - Chapter 5

Moving On: A Falcon & Captain Marvel Fanfic

Masterlist PREVIOUS //

Buy me a ☕ Character Pairing:  Sam Wilson x F!Reader, Carol Danvers x F! Reader

Word Count:  2486

Rating:  E

Warnings:  Pregnancy, death of major character(s), canon typical violence

Synopsis:  You thought Sam Wilson was the love of your life.  You had planned to do it all with him - marriage, kids, see the world.  Even when you’re life gets turned upside down, and you both end up international fugitives, he’s there by your side.

Then Thanos comes.

When Sam is one of the many turned to dust, leaving you alone and pregnant, you don’t think you’ll ever stop grieving.  Yet, everyone tells you that Sam would want you to move on and live your life - that he’d want you to be happy. Gradually you open your heart up to another.  Carol Danvers has lost people too.  First her daughter, then her wife.  As the two of you lean on each other, feelings grow and you move on together.

So what happens when Sam is returned to you?

Chapter 5: When the Dust Settles

Steve had gotten the call from Bruce late at night.  It had come in on his emergency burner phone -  the one that only Tony Stark had the number for.  You’d seen him answer it with shaking hands, and the different possibilities of why Tony might be calling had all seemed to run through your head simultaneously.  Had they overturned the Accords?  Had they dropped the charges against all of you?  Was he just calling to say sorry or that he missed Steve?  Had something bad happened?  Was there an attack and the Accords didn’t matter now, because they needed everyone on board?  Had something happened to Rhodey?

While one of those was right, the last thing you’d expected to hear was for Steve to say the words; ‘Bruce calm down, I don’t understand what you’re trying to say’.

You’d watched the news on the flight to Scotland to retrieve Vision and Wanda.  You’d been told Vision was at risk of attack and your group had arrived not a second too soon. Wanda and Vision were being attacked by two aliens that had to be at least six-foot-six.

Your group had managed to protect them, though Vision had been injured and Steve decided that with this attack, it was time to go home.

Despite what was happening, you couldn’t help but be excited to go back to the compound.  Maybe if you could all deal with this, it would show everyone how the Avengers were needed and you could all go home for good.  You wondered if Tony had kept your things and if not where they would be.  You were excited to just be somewhere familiar even if it was just for a minute.

“Don’t get your hopes up too high,” Sam said, practically reading your mind.  “This is bad, babe.”

“I know,” you said with a sigh.  “I know but… we don’t lose.”

“Don’t do that!”  He yelped.  “You’re gonna jinx us.”

“Sorry,” you sighed, shaking your head.  “It’s just been so long.”

He rubbed your back.  “And everything is a mess.  We’ll just do the right thing.”

“Hope for the best, expect the worst,” you said.

“That’s right,” Sam said.

You had stayed at the compound for even less time than you had expected.  A greeting from a holographic Secretary Ross that involved an order to have you arrested, an awkward greeting between Bruce and Natasha, and debate about how this whole thing was going to be faced.  This ‘whole thing’ being an alien megalomaniac who seemed to have a philosophy degree but thought he was an expert on ecology.  He believed that the way to solve overpopulation and limited resources was to destroy half of all life and was now collecting some stones that would allow him to do it.  One of the stones currently resided in Vision’s head.

So it was back on the Quinn for a return trip to Wakanda in the hopes that Shuri might be able to remove the stone from Vision’s head so that it could be destroyed before another attack took place.

While Shuri worked on Vision the rest of you prepared for battle.  You went to have a quick medical once over before this got started.  The nerves you’d been feeling were making you a little lightheaded and you wanted to make sure it wasn’t anything that would get you into trouble during a fight.

“You are a little anemic,” the medic said.  “I’d say that is from the slight malnutrition.  All of your teammates are a little undernourished.  But the pregnancy won’t help.”

You blinked at her and shook your head.  “Sorry - the what?”

“You didn’t know you were pregnant?”  She asked.  “It’s very new?  Five weeks?  No signs of nausea yet?”

“No… no.  I… but… we’re… we use protection!”

“These things can happen, and with the current lifestyle you’re leading, it would be no surprise if you missed a dosage or there was a breakage,” she said. “I’m sorry.  If you don’t want this we can talk about what you want to do at a more opportune moment.”

You shook your head, not sure what to think.  You laughed… or at least you tried to. It was more of a hysterical sounding screech.  “Right.  Let’s wait until the world isn’t ending.”

“I’m sorry, this is a lot to take in today, isn’t it?” The medic said, going to a cabinet of medication.  She shook a couple of pills out of a bottle and brought them over to you with a small cup of water.  “Here, take these.  It will help with any lightheadedness and nausea you might experience.  We don’t want that in the midst of what’s to come.”

You quickly swallowed the pills and started to redress in your armor.  “Thank you, doc,” you said.  “Sorry for bringing this fight to your door.”

“If it is as serious as they say and you can’t stop it, then we won’t be protected just because we’re in Wakanda,” she said with a shrug.  “Not this time.”  She sighed and looked at you.  “Take care of yourself.  When you’ve saved the world, talk to the father and the two of you can come back to see me, and I’ll help you with the next step, whatever that is.”

“Thank you,” you said sincerely.  “That’s really kind.”

You went outside to where Sam, Rhodey, and Bucky were all waiting by the ships.  “All good?”  Sam asked, looking back at you.

Before you could answer there was a loud rumble in the sky.  You looked up to see a huge ship that resembled some kind of tower entering the atmosphere.

Sam pressed his finger to his comms device.  “Hey, Cap, we’ve got a situation here.”

It crashed into the dome above and exploded on impact, completely disintegrating in the air above you.

“God, I love this place,” Bucky said, as he looked up at it.

“Yeah, don't start celebrating yet, guys. We got more incoming outside the dome,” Rhodey added as more of the ships landed around the perimeter of the dome that protected Wakanda from the rest of the world.

Sam approached you.  “Guess it's the end of the world time,” he said as alarms started sounding and people began to scramble.

You briefly and tenderly kissed him, the secret that you had burning inside you.  “Sam,” you said, taking his hand.

He looked at you and raised an eyebrow.  “What’s up.”

You wanted to tell him but now was not the time.  He needed his head in the game, and so did you.  “Don’t do anything dumb.”

He laughed.  “You sound like Steve just before he jumps off the side of a building.  I’ve got wings, I’ll be fine.”

“See you when the dust settles,” you said.

“Yeah, you too,” he agreed and pecked your cheek.  The two of you then ran off in different directions.  You gathered with Bucky and Natasha, while he went to speak to Rhodey.

Steve, T’Challa, the Dora Milaje all arrived not long after, and your team and the armies of Wakanda were all marched onto carriers as Bruce messed around with a set of Kimoyo Beads with the help of Okoye.  As you were settling onto the carrier, a hole opened in the dome above your head and the Veronica Unit crashed down to earth nearby.  Natasha sighed and vaulted off the carrier going to help Bruce get a handle of the Hulk Buster armor.

By the time you were all flying your way down to the borders of Wakanda, you were in the blank zone that you hid in when you needed to rely on your instincts alone.

Sam and Rhodey flew overhead as the carriers took the armies to their positions and you all formed a large wall facing the dome that held the aliens out.

Steve, T’Challa, and Natasha went to the barrier to talk to the two aliens you had fought in Scotland.  You watched on, knowing it wasn’t going to amount to anything.  The female raised her spear and the ships began to open up.

“Did they surrender?”  Bucky asked.

“Not exactly,” Steve replied as he resumed his position.

Hoards of huge beasts ran through the treeline towards the barrier.  “Looks like we pissed her off,” Natasha said.

You watched on as swarms of the beasts began attacking the barrier, throwing themselves on it, not caring that it was skinning them and tearing them apart too.  “They’re killing themselves,” Okoye said, horrified.

Some began to breach the barrier and charge towards the waiting army.  Bucky, Bruce, and the Wakandan Army began attacking them with long-range weapons, felling them as they broke past Rhodey and Sam who attacked them at the wall.

“Cap, if these things circle the perimeter and get in behind us... there's nothing between them and Vision,” Bruce said through the comms.

“Then we better keep 'em in front of us,” Steve said gravely.

“How do we do that?”  Okoye asked T’Challa.

“We open the barrier,” T’Challa said, and touched his comms device.  “On my signal, open North-West Section Seventeen.  On my signal.”

“This will be the end of Wakanda,” M’Baku said to Okoye.

“Then it will be the noblest ending in history,” Okoye said.

Everyone readied themselves while T’Challa shouted his commands in Xhosa to the army around him.  The border tribesmen let down their shields and T’Challa walked out in front of them.  “Wakanda forever!”  He shouted and everyone charged.

As you ran down towards the border, pulling out your batons and hoping to god that you had the strength to get through this battle, the barrier opened and the beasts flooded through.

You were back from the frontlines when you encountered your first one, and you battled it, back to back with one of the river tribesman, the two of you taking it down together.  Two more attacked immediately, separating you from the man and you did your best to take the one you were facing down.  You could already see that this was not going to go as planned.  There were so many of them and they were so strong.  You managed to take down two others when you saw Bruce getting overwhelmed in the hulkbuster armor.  It felt hopeless, but you needed to win this.  You needed to go home with Sam and start your life together.  This couldn’t be how it ended.

There was a large crack and then something flew through the sky, taking out dozens of the beasts in one go, freeing up both yourself and several of your teammates.  When the air cleared what you realized was a large ax flew into the hand of Thor, who stood with what appeared to be a humanoid tree and a raccoon holding a gun that was at least as big as it was.

Bruce retracted his helmet and laughed loudly.  “Ah-hahaha! You guys are so screwed now!”

“Bring me Thanos!”  Thor roared, charging towards the leaders of the beasts.  He jumped into the air and slammed back down to the ground, his lightning taking out a huge swarm of them.

Thor turned the tide of the battle.  The hoard was being kept back and Thor seemed to be getting closer and closer to their leader.  The hopefulness began to return and you got a new surge of energy.  You were going to win this.  You and Sam were going to go home and retire.  He was going to run his business with his sister.

There was a deep rumble and the earth itself began to quake.  A huge wave ran out underground, sending trees flying and bursting out from under the walls of the dome were huge weaponized wheels that began to churn up everything, people included.

“Fall back!  Fall back now!”  T’Challa yelled and you began to run back away from the combat, trying to get away from the machines.

Wanda flew out from the window and threw one of them, taking it completely out of play.  Your relief at the next of your biggest hitters joining the field was short-lived as you saw Vision tumble out of the window of the palace and down the face of Mount Bashenga.

“Guys, we got a Vision situation here,” Sam said through the comms.

“Somebody get to Vision!”  Steve shouted.

“I got him,” Bruce said, taking off in the direction of the synthoid.

“On my way,” Wanda echoed.

You kept fighting.  Everything became more and more chaotic around you, and your battle turned away from actually trying to stop them, to just trying to survive long enough that you could get to the end of the battle.  The rest of your teammates seemed to head toward a copse of trees while you were still stuck in the open. You wanted to be with them if this all went south.  You didn’t want to die in a field surrounded by strangers, but with each step forward you made you were pushed back two more by the invaders.

Thor had begun to destroy the alien ships, bolstering your hope again despite the fact your energy was waning.  You could hear the battle cries of the Jabari as they began to take control of the battle and slowly you began to start gaining on the treeline.

An eerie silence fell on the battlefield and you picked up your speed running to where your friends were.

“Everyone, on my position. We have incoming,” Steve said over comms.  You looked around for some sign of more ships or something, but you had no idea what he was talking about.

You arrived in time to see Sam being hurled aside by a huge purple man that you could only assume was Thanos.  You charged at the titan, knowing it was no use, but knowing also that it was death either way.  He batted you aside like you were nothing, you hit your head, and lost consciousness.

When you came too, you thought for a second you were hallucinating.  There were people on the battlefield turning to dust.  You scrambled to your feet and looked around, blinking your eyes.  This couldn’t be happening.  People couldn’t just be disintegrating.

“Sam?!”  You called turning around and running in the direction where you last saw him.

Rhodey was looking around with the same look of confusion everyone else seemed to share.  “Sam?”  He called as he gazed around the forest floor.

“Sam!”  You screamed.  “Sam!  Answer me!”

“We’ll find him,” Rhodey assured you.  “He’s gotta be here.”

“He was right here.  I saw him here,” you said, and dropped to your knees, running your hands over the ground where you were sure he’d been.  Your hands came back covered in the dust you’d seen other people disintegrating into.  It was him.  You’d lost him.  You had expected the worst but even your worst hadn’t been you left here alone.  You sunk back on your knees and wailed.

// NEXT

[everlarkficexchange]

the song of my heart (plays in you)

Written by: @thelettersfromnoone

Prompt 108: Everlark fall for one another over a blood transfusion. It happens not once, but twice. His blood runs through her veins, and now hers runs through his. What are the odds they would save each other’s lives? [submitted by @mandelion82]

Rated: Teen and up; mentions of: car wrecks, physical and mental trauma, amputation.

Tags: One-shot, Soulmates, Time Jump(s), Blood-Oaths.

Word count: 2342.

Notes: Unbetaed. All mistakes are my own. Thanks to @javistg and @xerxia31 for being amazing hosts for this exchange ❤️

“The blood [of the covenant] is thicker than [the] water [of the womb].”

“Mama, tell the story again?” Grey eyes peek up shyly through dark eyelashes, fingers curling the folds of her mother’s nightgown. “ ‘bout the dream-people?”

“It’s late, darlin’,” Mama murmurs with a soft smile. She presses a kiss to her daughter’s brow. “Papa will tell the long version tomorrow, hm?”

The girl’s lower lip pops out in a pout- papa is the better storyteller, but she wants to hear the story tonight. She snuggles against her mama’s belly, whispering a ‘night-night’ to the baby they say is growing in there.

“There once was a boy who was called to war, to fight for a king in a land far from home. Though he survived many times in battle, one day, an enemy struck him, and he was hurt, something terrible. At death’s door, his friends brought him to a healer’s house, who saved his life. As he recovered, he grew to love the healer’s daughter, and she grew to love him. In time, when he was recovered, his king came calling on him again. Before he left, the boy and the healer’s daughter made a blood-oath. They drew their own blood, and held their wounds against one another. They vowed that, from that moment until they met again, the song of their blood would call out for one another, no matter how far.”

Her little hand reaches over to mama’s, pressing their palms flush. “Like this?”

“Mhm,” Mama interlaces their fingers, kissing her daughter’s knuckles. “Just like this. Every night, while he was away, all they needed to do was close their eyes, and they could feel one another’s feelings, and see through one another’s eyes.”

“Till forever?” The little girl’s eyes are growing heavy, a yawn coming in spite of her best efforts. “Mama, it’s til’ forever, right?”

Mama doesn’t answer straight away. When she does, it’s soft as a butterfly’s flight; “Till forever, until they found each other again.”

The little girl’s breathing evens out, eyes slipping shut. 

(She’s always wanting a happy ending.)

She’s twelve and using the computer unsupervised the first time she looks it up on a whim. She is meant to be researching poetry, but that quickly becomes dull. 

Instead, the rabbit hole of the web sucks her in.

According to the internet page that comes up, a Blood-Oath Soulmate is defined as a myth, steeped in legend: a couple who, when faced with separation, make a blood-oath that allows them to see, hear, and feel one another across the thousands of miles. 

The origin, exactly, is unclear. It’s a myth with several cultural variants- in her own region, Twelve, and in the northern regions of Åtta, Tio, and Tretton, the war is won, and the boy returns to the healer’s daughter. By contrast, in the southwest, they say the boy earned a glorious warrior’s death, and the girl grieves but honors his memory. In almost all the other regions, the myth is drawn out, many side-adventures and evils hinder the boy’s path home, and by the time the boy finds his way back to his love, amidst a continent of misery, they both are old and grey. It’s not clear where the myth started, some say it’s a retelling of an old Sumerian tale; others, that it comes from Viking oral lore. Some, still, argue that they all are true, that the same fate spreads itself throughout time, throughout the world, in different ways. 

All modern experts, essentially, concur on the matter of the story’s implausibility. The human body replenishes its blood count within weeks, one discussion board points out.

It was just a myth to make humans feel their love could be impermeable, or withstand the tests of distance and challenges, claims another. Or, one user with a profane avatar states, the modern meaning is just guess-work and the cultural context and any kernels of truth will forever be lost.

And everyone knows there’s no such thing as a soulmate.

Kat feels her stomach clench as she quickly exits the browser, lonely in the wake of her father’s death, and her mother’s subsequent depressive episode, and still clinging to her mother’s hushed telling of a love that is palpable down to the bone.

(She can’t decide if knowing it’s ‘just a story’ hurts or helps more. The veneer of childhood is always treasured for a reason.)

She is seventeen when it happens. 

A flash of a medical room. Harsh fluorescent lights. Thick, strong hands trying to block the light out. Starched sheets, scratching skin. A pinch of a needle and stifled shout- 

She wakes covered in sweat. 

Something is wrong, niggles at the back of her mind. Her pounding heart beats out wrong, wrong, wrong. She pushes it away, presses the thought down. She manages to lull herself back to sleep, a deep, imageless thing, but the wrongness sticks with her. 

The next night is nearly identical, except the stranger’s hands are tearing off the bedsheets. A stump of a knee rests where a leg should extend. A panicking voice, a nurse, shouts for help as the struggling and screaming begins-

“Where’s my fucking leg?!”

Kat wakes with a jolt, strangled gasps as she pushes her own blankets off, hands grasping at her limbs, the phantom terror and horror bringing bile up her throat. 

What was that?

A dreamless sleep doesn’t find her again, her eyes bruising with nights of nightmares and days of exhaustion. The hospital, the scratchy sheets, the nurses and medications and injections. 

One week, then another.

She’s in Civics class when it occurs to her. 

The blood drive, at the beginning of May. She’d turned seventeen, and finally weighed enough to donate blood.

Could it be…?

She sleeps in, one Saturday morning, when they are fitting a prosthetic on her stranger; crutches and halting steps as those beefy hands grip support bars.

“Just a step further,” a voice encourages. 

Shame and frustration, and a deep, croaking voice lashes out of the throat-

“I can’t!”

You can, you can, you can, she tries to will the stranger her confidence.

The figure stills, and for a moment, she thinks they can hear her. 

“I’m done,” they say, and in spite of the disappointment on the nurse’s face, a man in a white lab coat agrees, and helps them back into a wheelchair.

Kat feels the sinking failure, the desperate yearning to help this person, this stranger. There are only nurses and doctors, in her dreams. She knows what it means to be lonely, even when there are people around; what it means when you wake up in emotional pain, but have no one to share it with.

She wants to tell her stranger it will all be all right, but the weeks pass and she can only confide her secret to herself. They wouldn’t believe her, even if she could say it in person.

Where is your family? she tries to ask.

They never seem to hear her.

(Waking becomes harder, but she can’t confide in anyone that she wakes wishing she could live in her dreams without them thinking she’s gone mad.)

They are kneading dough, seated at a wood table in a cluttered kitchen. The prosthetic is fitting to the leg, tender today but not sore, exactly. She can smell the flour and feel the silky-smooth texture between her fingers. Smoothe jazz music is playing, from a radio over on the counter. She feels a hand squeezing her stranger’s shoulder.

“Looks good, Pete.” It’s a gruff voice, but not unkind.

“Needs to rise,” her stranger- ‘Pete’!- retorts. They don’t look up, but she can feel a flush on her ‘Pete’s’ cheeks.

“We got some coursework from the school, then.”

(She doesn’t realize this is the last she will dream of her stranger.)

The dreams evaporate, after eight weeks, as abruptly as they had begun.

In the aftermath of her first dreamless night in over a month, she wakes to the dawn breaking with no images from her stranger. 

‘Pete’. 

She tries to will herself back to sleep, compel visions back from the brink. It’s the first night she thinks to try and remember the names of the doctors and nurses, or the location of the hospital. The nametags are foggy in her memories, a nurse Jackie or Jenny and a last name they had abbreviated to, ‘A.’ 

The internet doesn’t help her any more than her own mind can. ‘An amputee named ‘Pete’ who likes to knead dough and is doing high school coursework at home’ doesn’t do much in a White Pages search. 

She writes it all down, then, each snippet and sound she can recall. She keeps the journal under her mattress, knowing her mother won’t bother, and her baby sister wouldn’t dare to look. 

Like a madwoman, she rereads her own accounts, adds notes to it every morning, hoping the dreams will start again. But every morning, the dreams seem more as if they were fantasies, and her journal reads like fiction.

A year passes. 

Her dreams now are either blank, or memories of ‘Pete’.

She could blame it on her family friend, and his stupid insistance that she attend Prom; or maybe the girlfriends she eats lunch with, who guilt her by saying that everyone needs a life outside of school, and after-school jobs.

Kat had only driven into town because she needed a damn dress. Two weeks later, and she would have been exhausted from Prom as she crossed the school stage, collecting her high school diploma.

Nothing pans out the way she imagines it will, though.

She’s alone in the car when a truck in the oncoming lane overturns at a curve in the road.

Pain bursts on her head. Flames against her skin. Crushed metal, and broken glass. In the distant fog of wailing sirens, she can hear first responders attempting to call out to her. 

The only thing she remembers seeing clearly, between the accident and the hospital, is smoke rising into a blue, cloudless sky, through a shattered windshield.

“You lost a lot of blood, Kat,” the doctor says, tone not unsympathetic. “We had to do a transfusion.”

“Oh.”

She blinks, a haze of morphling in her preventing her from fully comprehending. Some broken bones. A neck brace. Burns on her face and arms, but not as bad as they first had thought- she won’t need skin grafts.

All small mercies.

Her sister and mama are there, balloons and flowers and hugs a-plenty. Get-well-soon cards from several classmates and family friends.

“You’re lucky to be alive,” her mama murmurs, as the doctor leaves.

“Okay.”

Mama runs her fingers through Kat’s knotted hair, while her sister clings and tells her how much she loves her.

She’s not numb, not beneath the morphling. But she’s so damn tired and her skin itches under the bandages. 

(She can’t comfort her family while they try their hand at comforting her.)

She is washing her hands in the hospital room sink, when she feels a jolt, a compulsion; a chill down her spine and gooseflesh down her arms. She looks in the mirror, and feels in awe, feels a foreign elation. A burst of affection, a warmth. 

She can’t reckon with it, can’t justify it. 

It’s just… her own face. Sloppily braided dark hair. Healing stitches on her cheek, and forehead. Silver eyes, surrounded by a bruise, set in a narrow face. She gulps, leaning in closer, and trying to grasp the sensation. Out-of-body, might be the right term- dissociative, she’d read about once, for Health and Wellness. 

There’s a knock on her door, the nurse doing a check, and as Kat turns, the warmth dissipates.

The nurse comes in not long after, checks her vitals and asks a series of questions.

“My name is Katniss Everdeen.”

That warmth in her chest is back, the hair at the base of her neck stands straight.

She scrubs her hands over her face, focusing on the simple questions the nurse is asking.

“I’m eighteen years old. I’m graduating from PPH12 in Sommen in one week. I’m at Merchant Memorial Hospital.”

In the bathroom that night, she stares at her own reflection, and wonders if maybe that feeling of someone looking over her shoulder- more like looking through her eyes- if maybe….

She fogs up the mirror, and writes her room number. She stares at it, for a time, before scoffing at own ridiculousness, and wiping it away with her towel.

She only has one day left before being discharged, though she’ll miss graduation and the parties that would entail. She can’t say she is particularly disappointed; she’s never been a party person.

She’s awake when the door to her shared hospital room opens. She pays it little mind. The curtain around her bed is pulled taught, her roommate jabbering away on their phone about the food service as if this were fine dining, rather than a hospital. Kat is reading a get well card, this one signed by the whole senior class and class advisors.

There’s a thrumming in her veins, but that might be them weaning her off of the morphling.

Curtain rings scrape against metal, and she barely glances up, the nurse rounds due any minute now. Normally, though, the bubbly nurse who does the day-shift is already bustling with an overwhelming enthusiasm that makes Kat question how exhausted the nurse is at the end of the day.

Maybe it’s a different nurse or a doctor or mama, or- 

The blue eyes that are boring into hers are ones she has only seen in her dreams; she can finally see blonde curls framing them, familiar thick, strong hands brushing through the curls. 

“Pete?” she croaks, certain she’s finally lost her damn mind.

His eyes widen at the sound of his name, lips parting. 

“I found you.” 

A tone of surprise, as if he’d driven all this way, but in expectation of disappointment.

“Peeta,” he introduces himself, edging closer. His hand carefully takes hold of her own. “And… I’ve waited a long time to meet you, Katniss.”

(Her name has never been spoken as sweetly, and her heart has never felt so full.)

[thefinalcinderella]

Kaze ga Tsuyoku Fuiteiru Chapter 8 - Winter Comes Again (Part 3)

I like how Kakeru seems like your typical “uwu I have a dark past and now I’m emo” sports anime protagonist but has a completely personality change when it comes to running

Full list of translations here

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After Chikusei-sou was introduced on the news, Kakeru and the others were frequently called out to on campus and in the shopping district, ranging from a casual “I saw you on TV!” or “Do your best!” to offers of “I’ll help out if you need a hand.”

However, there were no more applicants wanting to join the team, as expected; the rumor that Kiyose kept turning everyone away had probably spread through the school. Kakeru couldn’t help but hope that they wouldn’t give up and would come back to Chikusei-sou next spring.

The administrative preparations for the actual race were also underway, with Kiyose and Shindou taking the lead in making arrangements for the day.

In the Hakone Ekiden, each school placed people along the route. In addition to the people who handed out water at the fifteen-kilometer mark, it was advantageous to have someone relay information to the runners; it would be best if they could inform the athletes at each key point of the time differences with the schools running in front and behind them, and whether they should increase or decrease their pace.

The water providers had to run alongside the runners in order to hand out water. A complete novice would not be able to keep up with the runners' speed, so a certain level of running ability was desirable, and the short-distance runners of Kansei University’s track and field team graciously agreed to take on this role.

Kiyose and Shindou also discussed the personnel to be placed along the route. From among the students who had offered to help out, they picked those who lived near the course; they couldn’t put too much of a burden on them, since they had to round them up on New Year’s Day.

Even if they told the people of the shopping district not to come, they would probably rush over to support them, so they didn’t hesitate to include them in the number of people who would pass on information from the roadside.

In the leadup to the day of the Hakone Ekiden, Kiyose worked tirelessly on the details, not just for running but also for other tasks. Shindou assisted in negotiations with the university as well as communication with the Inter-University Athletic Union of Kanto, the organizer of the event. Hanako stood between the shopping district and the Kansei student volunteers; she efficiently gathered up people and informed the volunteers of their roles and the schedule on the day.

Kakeru was shocked at Hanako’s ability to handle the paperwork—he couldn’t have listened to the needs of that many people and coordinated everyone so that things ran smoothly. It seemed that she was even cutting down on her sleep to manage everything by herself so that Kakeru and the others could run the Hakone Ekiden without any problems.

It might have started with the fact that she liked the twins, but now Hanako seemed to be fascinated by the sport of track and field itself. She had become an indispensable asset to Chikusei-sou and frequently came by to discuss various matters.

“Hana-chan hangs out with us all the time. I wonder if she has any girl friends,” King suddenly said when Hanako wasn’t there, as though it had just occurred to him.

“She does,” Kakeru answered. For some reason, his voice was low.

Just the day before, Kakeru had seen Hanako in the school cafeteria: she had been laughing brightly as she ate lunch with a friend of the same sex.

Isn’t Katsuta-san putting off hanging out with her friends because she’s working for our sake? Kakeru felt irritated by King’s words, which were insensitive even though they weren’t meant to be offensive. And then he thought, “Huh?” Why am I getting so angry? Kakeru thought about it for a while and decided that it was because he was tired from training.

One night in early November, while eating dinner at Chikusei-sou, Hanako was reading out a report on the number and placement of the volunteers. Kiyose and Shindou mainly gave their opinions, which Hanako wrote down in a notebook.

I wonder if her feelings have gotten through to the twins, Kakeru wondered. The twins were busy shoveling dinner into their mouths, taking little notice of Hanako enthusiastically preparing for the Hakone Ekiden.

When they had finished the necessary discussions, Kiyose spoke.

“The Sunday after next, we’re participating in the Ageo City Half Marathon.”

“Where is this Ageo?” Musa asked.

“It’s in Saitama Prefecture. It’s a relatively big race with many citizens taking part as runners, and the schools participating in the Hakone Ekiden are invited. It’s good because we can join for free and it’s also a good way to practice on the road—we can get a good spot right behind the start line and experience running through a cheering crowd. It’s perfect, isn’t it?”

With the exception of Kakeru and Kiyose, none of them had participated in a race on a public road during their high school years. As a rehearsal for the Hakone Ekiden, the Ageo City Half Marathon was the perfect race, both in distance and date. Most of the schools that had been selected to participate in Hakone were also participating in Ageo.

It was the first time he would be running more than twenty kilometers on the road in a proper event. Given the chance to see the results of his training, Kakeru suddenly felt motivated; he was fine with laboriously training by himself, but Kakeru liked races where he could compete with other runners.

The twins, however, objected.

“The Sunday after next? We already have plans.”

“We’re forming an amateur soccer team with friends from our language class. We finally found someone to play against, so we’re going to the Tama riverside area to play.”

“Say you can’t do it,” Kiyose said.

“Then there won’t be enough people.”

“There’s still time to find a couple more people. Also, you’re playing soccer at a time when you have to train? What if you get injured? You’ve been slacking off lately.”

Kiyose too must have been steadily getting frustrated by the awkward atmosphere; he was condemning the twins in a harsh tone that he never used. Kakeru, not knowing what to do, raised and lowered his chopsticks in midair for no reason.

“Training this, training that, what’s the point in training so much?” Jouji roughly slammed down his bowl of miso soup. “It’s just like that Sakaki guy said: no matter how hard we work in Hakone, we won’t have enough members when spring comes.”

“He’s right,” Jouta said. “We’ve all been tricked by Haiji-san. We’ve been training our asses off every single day, like idiots.”

“Tricked?” Kiyose clacked his chopsticks. “When did I trick you?”

“You said it at the beginning, didn’t you! ‘With the power of all ten of us, we’ll reach the top of the sports world!’” Jouta shouted. “But that’s impossible. I did my research—no matter how much we try, we can’t beat Rikudou. We can’t win Hakone!”

Yeah, what they said, King blindly followed the twins’ lead. Kiyose seemed like he was going through his memories for a while.

“It’s true that I said we’re going to the top,” he nodded.

“See, Haiji-san’s a liar!” Jouji denounced him. There was an uproar around the dining table.

Musa asked Kakeru in a whisper, “Is it true that we cannot win no matter how hard we work?”

“Well…”

Kakeru was evasive, but Yuki, who valued theory, was merciless in that regard.

“To put it bluntly, it’s impossible. Our times prove that.”

“Good grief.” Nico-chan, sitting in his chair, gave a big stretch.

“It’s easy to guess how the race will unfold and which team will win if you look at the runners’ personal best times, and it’s impossible for that to be overturned unless something extreme happens. That might be one of the boring things about long-distance.”

“Hmm,” Prince said, reaching for the salad bowl with his chopsticks. “In baseball, soccer, basketball, or any other team sport, unless there is a huge difference in ability, you don’t know which team is going to win unless you try it. Is there that big a difference in ability between us and Rikudou?”

“There is.” Yuki, who seemed to have analyzed the data, flatly vouched for that once again. “Almost all the regulars at Rikudou are good enough to become aces at any other school. In addition, they have a big lineup of runners, and even the reserve runners who aren’t entered in Hakone—in other words, the second-string runners—would be very likely to rank higher than us if they were to run.”

“So, what you’re saying is that Rikudou University is a group of elite runners, and the best among them are our opponents?” Shindou said gloomily, his shoulders drooping.

“But depending on how you think about it, aren’t we lucky?” Prince said, chewing on lettuce. “Even though Rikudou’s second-strings are fast, they can’t participate in Hakone. We’re weak, but we can run in Hakone because we passed the qualifiers. Even if we don’t win, I think it’s worth more to be able to just be in Hakone.”

“There’s no point if we don’t win,” Jouji said.

“It’s a sport where the results are obvious, so what are we doing it for?” Jouta stared up at the ceiling.

Kakeru was indignant. “If you want to win, then this isn’t the time to be playing soccer,” he said, finally snapping at the twins. “You should train more and be in Ageo.”

“Ah, there goes Kakeru and his idealism again.”

“Didn’t we tell you that even if we wanted to train, we couldn’t bring ourselves to do it?” the twins counter-attacked together.

“So if you can’t win, you can’t run? So are you two gonna stop living just because you’re gonna die eventually?”

“We didn’t say that.”

“It’s the same thing—the same logic.”

“It's completely different. And don’t call that logic, you don’t even know what that means.”

“I do!”

“You don’t, you’re an animal who only knows how to run!”

“Let’s take this outside!”

“Why don’t we!?”

“Stop this now,” Kiyose said, but they didn’t listen.

Kakeru and the twins kicked their chairs away and stood, glaring at each other across the table. Musa pulled on the hem of Kakeru’s shirt, but Kakeru shook him off. It was a child’s quarrel, with the reason already forgotten and the argument confused. Yuki and Nico-chan watched the events unfold, grinning. Prince muttered in admiration, “Kakeru’s words about life and death earlier were an unusually clever expression.” King might have been close to the twins on an emotional level, but he pretended not to see, probably not wanting to get punched.

“Wait a minute, wait a minute!” Hanako put her hands out to desperately restrain Kakeru and twins, who looked like they were about to leave the kitchen at any second. “Calm down! Look, every Rikudou runner might come down with food poisoning on the day of the race, you know?”

The people of Chikusei-sou turned their attention to Hanako, who had raised her voice, but deflated at what she said.

“I don’t think that’s possible…” Musa said reservedly.

“Ultimately, we still can’t beat Rikudou in terms of ability, right?”

That’s not a good follow-up, Shindou sighed. However, thanks to Hanako, the tension between Kakeru and the twins, which had been about to burst, had nowhere else to go.

“Thanks for the food.”

The twins put their bowls in the sink. As they were about to return to their rooms, Kiyose called out to their backs.

“I did say that we’re going to the top. But by that, I didn’t mean winning. It might sound like an excuse, but…”

“We’re over it,” Jouji said, and the twins went upstairs. His voice held a mixture of rejection and resignation, which could be taken to mean that he didn’t want to hear Kiyose’s words, or that he wanted to stop fighting and practice as usual. Kakeru didn’t know what to do with his will to fight that had ended up not going anywhere, and he sullenly sank down into his chair.

“Umm, I’m going home now.” Perhaps unable to stand the awkward atmosphere, Hanako quickly stood. “Thank you for the meal.”

Kiyose stopped Hanako as she was about to put away the dishes and called to Kakeru, “Send Katsuta-san home.” Normally, the twins would walk Hanako back to Yaokatsu, but they were unlikely to come down again tonight. “It would be good for you to get some night air and cool your head.”

“I can go home by myself,” Hanako declined, but Kakeru said, “I’ll do it,” then stood up and went to put on his sneakers at the door.

In the kitchen, Yuki and Nico-chan were gossiping.

“Alone with Katsuta-san at night.”

“I hope the blood doesn’t rush to Kakeru’s head, if you know what I mean.”

“They are correct. What if Kakeru and the twins get into another fight over Hanako-san?” Musa criticized Kiyose.

“I’m sure it’ll be fine,” Kiyose fended him off easily. “Just as he looks, Kakeru is a man who honors friendship deeply.”

Kakeru, of course, had no idea he was the topic of conversation, and he matched Hanako’s pace as they made their way towards the shopping district.

Kakeru almost never walked—if it was within walking distance, he preferred to run. Going to school and going to the shopping district were all part of jogging for him. Normally, he passed by these places so quickly that he never really took a look around.

It was so slow walking with Hanako that he didn’t know what to do with all the time on his hands, so his gaze roamed around, reading the nameplates illuminated by the street lights, looking at the fruit-covered mandarin tree branches sticking out into the road. Hanako was wearing a thin coat and a light purple scarf. It’s the color of akebia, Kakeru thought. He used to eat them a lot when he ran around and played in the hills and fields. His tongue recalled their taste, like very diluted sugar water.

“I was a bit surprised,” Hanako said. Her white breath spilled out of her mouth. Kakeru looked away.

“About what?”

“Even you guys fight.”

“Well, of course. We live together in a small apartment and we’re always running together. Someone’s always fighting about leaving hot water in the bucket for the bath, or smelling the socks that have been taken off after training.”

“Smelling socks?” Hanako laughed a little. “Who would do something like that?”

Jouji did. But Kakeru felt it was wrong to throw cold water on her feelings of love.

“I can’t tell you that,” he answered. Would this make it seem like I’m projecting? He worried, but there was no helping it.

“For some reason, I thought most long-distance runners were untalkative and patient.”

“I don’t know about that. I lose my temper easily, and the twins and King are pretty annoying.”

“Kurahara-kun, you’re one of the more mature ones, but I think everyone at Chikusei-sou is gentle and kind. I guess a patient personality really is suited for running long distances every day.” Hanako kicked a pebble that had been lying on the white line. “That’s why I was surprised that you guys were fighting, but also relieved. You can run twenty kilometers or so at a fast speed, and now you’re going to be in the Hakone Ekiden, and I keep thinking you're going further and further.”

Oh, Kakeru thought. She really does like the twins.

He secretly touched his chest. What is this? There was a shrieking pain in his chest, like when a cold drink soaked into your teeth—a pain like it was gradually swelling up around him, and heating up.

They turned the corner at the park and entered the shopping district, where fake autumn leaves hung from the street lights at both ends of the road, swaying in the wind. The day’s work had finished, and most of the stores had their shutters down.

From out of a half-shuttered small bookstore, three men who looked like high school students came bursting out, each of them carrying a large sports bag over their shoulder. All at once, they ran towards Soshigaya-Okura Station. After them, an old lady who was working as the shopkeeper ran into the street.

“Stop, thieves!” the old lady shouted and tried to run after them, but her slip-on sandals were no match for the legs of young men. The old lady looked at Kakeru and Hanako, who were standing stock still from surprise. Her eyes were filled with expectation.

Hanako seemed to come back to her senses.

“Kurahara-kun, go catch them.”

“Huh, me?”

“Go, go!”

The high schoolers were about fifty meters ahead of him, but he could still see them clearly because the shopping district was a straight line. Kakeru dashed off.

The high schoolers must have been relieved, knowing that the old lady would not chase after them, so they slowed down, but when they noticed Kakeru’s footsteps approaching, they shouted “Crap!” and began running with all their strength again.

However, they were carrying heavy bags and they were amateurs after all, and Kakeru was soon in range of them. Observing their running from behind, he thought, “I could catch them at any point if I feel like it.”

But, there were three of them. If he jumped at them alone, some of them would probably escape. Even if he hit them, it would be a bad idea to get into a violent situation right then.

The best thing to do would be to get them to give up running. Kakeru decided that and followed the three closely.

“Hey, you guys!” he called out to them as he ran. The three turned back with a start and sped up, panicked. But for Kakeru, it was like turtles going faster.

“I can easily chase you guys for thirty more kilometers at this pace, you know!” Kakeru said, not even out of breath.

“Who are you?” one of the high schoolers said, scared. Kakeru didn’t answer his question and tried to persuade them.

“Just stop this. Apologize and ask the old lady at the bookstore to forgive you.”

The station came into view. At the same time, he saw two uniformed police officers running towards them from the police box in front of the station.

“Stop right there!” the policemen shouted. They caught two of the high schoolers, holding them from the front. Kakeru had no choice but to grab the remaining one’s arm.

“Open your bags.”

The high schoolers seemed to have given up and meekly followed the policeman’s instructions, revealing a large number of stolen manga in their sports bags. They probably stole them to sell, not to read. Prince would be furious if he saw this, Kakeru thought.

“You did a good job. Come with us to the police box over there," the young policeman said, smiling from under his hat.

“No, I…” Kakeru said, but there were two officers and three shoplifters. He had no choice but to follow, still grabbing the high schooler’s arm.

“Kurahara-kuuun!”

He turned around and saw Hanako pedalling furiously on her bicycle, the old lady from the bookstore sitting on the back. It seemed that Hanako had called the police on her cellphone, and her message had been relayed to the police box. Kakeru thought it was problematic to have two people ride on the same bike, but the policemen pretended not to see.

The old lady climbed off the back of the bike.

“I heard that you’re a runner in the Hakone Ekiden. You have been a great help, thank you," she thanked Kakeru.

The high schoolers were going to be taken to the local police station in a police car. The old lady was going to accompany them to make her witness statement.

“You should come to the station too. You might get a certificate of thanks.”

It was a horrifying thing to be told, and Kakeru desperately declined. The policemen seemed disappointed, but Kakeru left without telling them his name. Hanako pushed her bike and followed.

“That was amazing, Kurahara-kun. The old lady at the bookstore was having a lot of trouble because there were so many shoplifters. She was very grateful that you chased after them for her.”

Kakeru walked, looking down. He hadn’t intended on doing a good deed, it was just that he was good at running—he only chased them because Hanako told him to catch them. It was the same reflex as a dog chasing a frisbee.

Hanako was delighted by Kakeru’s good deed like it was her own. Kakeru couldn’t breathe.

“I don’t know about that kind of thing,” Kakeru finally said to Hanako in a low voice. “I’ve shoplifted too. I don’t think it’s good or bad. I don’t really get it.”

Kakeru felt Hanako looking up at his profile in surprise.

“I don’t care about anything other than running. If I’m hungry, I shoplift. If I’m angry, I hit someone. You said Haiji-san and the others are gentle and kind, but I’m different, at the very least. Just as the twins said, I’m an animal who…”

“Animals don’t worry over not knowing right from wrong,” Hanako said quietly. “You’re too hard on yourself, Kurahara-kun. The old lady from the bookstore was grateful to you. Everyone at Chikusei-sou always has high hopes and trusts in your running. Why don’t you trust in that more?”

When they reached the front of Yaokatsu, Hanako waved her hand with a smile. “Thanks for sending me home. See you.” Kakeru watched Hanako disappear into the service entrance of Yaokatsu. His ears turned hot as he realized that he had raised his hand, as though drawn in by Hanako.

Trust the people around you, Katsuta-san said. Come to think of it, Haiji-san once told me to believe in myself more. I feel like what the two of them wanted to tell me was the same thing, in the end.

I fought with the twins again, Kakeru thought. He had clashed violently with TSU’s Sakaki and his high school track coach because they couldn’t understand each other. Kakeru got angry easily—running was an important act for him, and he spent almost all his time running. That was why he overreacted when his opinions clashed with others on the topic of running; it felt like his very existence was being denied.

But that’s no good, Kakeru thought. Anger was the flip side of fear and a lack of self-confidence.

He thought Kiyose and Hanako were telling him to “accept without fear” when they told him to “believe.” Accept himself as well as others.

Just running doesn’t make me strong. I have to control myself. Convey my heart with words, just like Haiji-san and Katsuta-san. Once again, Kakeru resolved to do just that.

Kakeru ran the whole way back to Chikusei-sou.

The next afternoon, a reporter from the local news section of the Yomiuri Shimbun came. Apparently, the old lady from the bookstore was so moved by what Kakeru did that she had called them. The newspaper decided that it would also serve as promotion for the Hakone Ekiden and decided to devote space on a page for it as a “nice little story.”

The twins forgot about their fight and were happy for him, saying, “That’s great, Kakeru.” Prince also praised Kakeru’s achievement, saying, “Shoplifting in bookstores is a crime that must be eradicated.” Yuki teased him, saying, “And you were finally alone with Katsuta-san too. Didn’t you have something to do before catching shoplifters?”

Kakeru didn’t turn the interview down. The article was published with the headline of “Kansei U Runner in Hakone Ekiden Catches Shoplifters” and a photo of Kakeru’s face.

Previous | Next

[sammystep]

No One Lives Forever- CH7

(AO3 link)

Stardust Crusader Wolf Pack AU

[From the beginning- CH1]

<Previous Chapter   Next Chapter>

It took Polnareff some time to cool off from the implications that the mysterious and frankly frightening man he met all those years ago was now behind some other shady business involving wolves, but by the time he reached the vehicles abandoned on the side of the road he was able to focus on the task at hand. Both were unlocked so it was easy to take a look inside the white van first. Opening the back door revealed the cargo area had been partitioned with metal cage sections like those in the backs of police cruisers.

Other gear was scattered around the back near the rear doors for easy access. Some more guns and ammo boxes and an overturned bin of the collar devices that they found on the bodies. Nothing really caught his eye but he took pictures on his phone for future reference. The keys were still in the ignition so he started up the vehicle and moved it off the main road to not draw unwanted attention.

It felt rude to go sniffing through your car, so after a brief look through the windows to confirm the hunters left no surprises, he opened the door and put it in neutral. With a few strong shoves he was able to rescue it from the shallow ditch it had been driven into. Your keys were also still in the ignition and luckily it started, but a few lights on the dash lit up- probably more internal damage than he first assumed from the crash. Driving slow and steady he was able to get it back to the cabin.

The slamming of the car door must have alerted the rest of the pack to his return, he saw Avdol peek through the window as he made his way to the door. Inside he was glad to see you moving about mostly unaided on your own, your wounds must be healing well thanks to Avdol’s expert care. Producing your car keys, he hands them over, “I was able to drive it back, but I don’t think it’s up for any longer distances without repairs. I thought you would want your things back though.”

You sigh as you realize you really are stuck with this pack, not that you mind them but the sudden loss of freedom is disheartening. You thank him as you take back your keys.

“Pol, did you find anything else? Any link to who sent them?” Jotaro asks as everyone stares intently at him, the rest of the pack must have already been brought up to speed on the situation.

“Just more of the same gear. I moved their van off the road so no nosey troopers get involved, at least not right now. Took some pictures of the inside in case you guys see anything I missed.” Polnareff hands over his phone to Jotaro who scrolls through the images before handing it to Avdol. Walking over to the table where the hunters’ things are still laid out Polnareff absently fiddles with the extra ammo before picking one up to examine more closely. “Hmm, that’s odd. There are no makers marks on this?”

“What do you mean?” Joseph scratches his beard as he holds one up as well.

“It’s weird that there’s no markings whatsoever. Silver bullets are always homemade but the quality of these, they look mass produced but have no manufacture marks.” Polnareff’s face is grim as he makes the connection.

“What does that mean? Is that unusual?” You ask as you try to understand the significance.

Jotaro sighs as Polnareff hands him the piece he was holding. “It means this group of hunters is experienced enough not to leave evidence linking to them. And their operation is probably much more complex and much bigger than the group we encountered here. The tech, the mass manufacture of silver ammo…”

“And the van was modified for prisoners.” Polnareff shakes his head and sighs.

“Polnareff, you said before you recognized the smell of one of the hunters.” Jotaro rolls his eyes as Joseph lets out a fake cough that sounds a lot like ‘DIO’. “Ignoring who it may or may not be for now, how do you know that scent?”

“I don’t know how else to describe it other than it smells like magic. It’s like nothing else I’ve ever smelled. There was only one person I’ve ever encountered that smelled like that.” Polnareff sits heavily in the nearest chair as the pack reconvenes at the table. “It was about five years ago now, before I met you Mr. Joestar. I was in New York City for the first time, trying to follow a lead on a case but having no luck. I heard rumors of a man who knew what had really happened to… in the case.” Polnareff gets a little choked up but controls himself and continues. “I was able to set up a meeting, but when I went to the spot, everything kind of… shifted? It felt like I was in a dream: it was hard to move, like weights on my feet. Everything looked just slightly wrong too, hazy like in a fog. I remember there was some sort of party going on, a lot of people everywhere like a medieval banquet or something. That’s where I met him. He introduced himself as Dio and I could tell he wasn’t human but couldn’t place what he actually was. He claimed he had the information I needed, but it would come at a price.”

“What do you mean by ‘investigation?” you tilt your head in confusion as you try to analyze his story so far.

“Ah, you wouldn’t know yet chérie but I’m one of the best private investigators in New York, probably the whole east coast!” Polnareff brags, jabbing his chest with his thumb.

“Focus Pol! What was his ‘price’?” Joseph groans out, exasperated with the younger man’s need to show off. “And why did you even need supernatural help? Not to inflate your ego any more than it is, but you are a good investigator.”

Polnareff looks down to the table, all sense of cheerfulness gone from his face. “The case had gone cold. It’s actually the reason I became a PI in the first place. My family, the whole town… they were murdered!” He slams his fists on the table as he shouts. “And not by just some maniac in the night! It was something inhuman! That’s the reason why I needed his help or whatever info he had on who did such a terrible act.”

You are frozen to your chair in shock with this new information. It seems to have taken the younger members of the pack by surprise too, Joseph and Avdol only nodding along in understanding. “The whole town murdered? You don’t mean…The one north of Quebec City, that was your home?” you say quietly.

Polnareff’s eyes shoot to yours, “Oui! Do you know of it?”

You swallow nervously as all the attention turns on you, “I heard of it, that was about seven or eight years ago right?” Polnareff nods and you continue, “That was about time I left my parent’s territory to try and find or start my own pack. They made me promise to not go that far north to Quebec, they were afraid whatever did that would get me too. They say the whole town was… torn apart.”

Polnareff hangs his head and you can see tears gather in his blue eyes. “Yes. It’s been years now but the pain… I wasn’t there when it happened, I was off in Quebec City partying while my family… When I got back, I was the one who found them. It wasn’t just a burglary gone bad or even ‘normal’ murder. Whatever killed them had used silver to do it. All of them, the whole town,” he chokes on his words trying to get the next ones out, “some of the bodies were eaten. Not by animals, by something almost human. I didn’t rest for days afterward. I swore I would hunt down the thing, the demon that did this to them. Unfortunately, I was not as good a tracker then as I am now, and the trail grew cold fast. So, I became a PI to try and keep looking and hone my skills.”

“That Dio guy, did he help at all? You said his help came at a price.” Jotaro directs the conversation back to the mysterious encounter.

“His price was too steep. He wanted information about other supernatural beings, to keep tabs and report to him directly.”

“Do you think he really did have the information though?” Kakyoin questions as he steeples his fingers together in front of him while he considers the information of Polnareff’s story.

Polnareff shakes his head, “It’s impossible to know now. He was so confident, about everything. I think I surprised him when I refused though. For a moment, it was like I saw his true face through the fog, he was suddenly terrifying and not at all charming. But I figured if he knew something, with all the people he had surrounded himself with someone else was bound to know as well. Whatever secret knowledge he had, it wouldn’t be secret for long. And why pay such a price for something that I could get for free later?”

“Did you ever find out his secret?” Avdol leans in as he asks, enraptured by Polnareff’s tale.

“Non, I don’t even remember leaving the place he brought me to. The next thing I remember after turning down his offer is, I suddenly found myself sitting in my car ready to head back to my motel.” He clasps his hands together and you can see his knuckles turn white from the tension. “I tried to find him again to, I don’t know… stop him? His intentions for the info on other creatures… It couldn’t have been good. And the slip of his façade I saw. The man, that creature is bad news. But he might have well been a ghost. I haven’t seen hide nor hair of him since.”

Polnareff turns to you, “A few years later I got hired by Mr. Joestar to keep an eye on a shady landlord working for him, and I guess the rest is history.” He shakes his head, “Who would have thought joining your pack would lead back to Dio again. Non- this is fate.”

Avdol gives Polnareff a pat on the shoulder before turning to Joseph. “Mr. Joestar, I think you should tell us what you know about Dio, or at least the person you know as Dio. I think it’s time the younger ones hear this.” Avdol says as he leans back in his chair and crosses his arms.

Joseph nods and runs his hand through his hair before he begins, “Right. Ahh, well,” he pauses to gather his thoughts for a second, “I know this is going to sound crazy but I guess there is no way around it. When I was young, I lived with my granny Erina, my parents were either dead or missing and her husband Jonathan had been dead since before my father was even born. Now’s not the time to get into the details of that but Granny used to tell me all kinds of stories from when Jonathan was alive. And most importantly- the majority of them involved an evil man named DIO! My grandfather’s adopted brother!” Joseph doesn’t control his volume in his excitement and ends up shouting his last sentence.

“Being an adopted son in a werewolf pack was strange enough, but Granny could tell there was something ‘other’ about Dio as well. Then one night, his schemes and plans finally came to fruition! There was a massive fight at the house, Granny said Jonathan would not speak of it except that his father George had died saving him from Dio’s magic and in the fight the manor was set on fire and burned down. Jonathan made it his life’s mission to find and destroy Dio, not for revenge but for the safety of England and the world!” Joseph turns his attention to look directly at Jotaro, “Dio was a changeling child. His actions confirmed it that night. He was one of the last remaining Fae on earth. And apparently not of the good and benevolent kind. So, you see why it could be possible that this man may be the same one my grandpa tried to destroy more than a hundred years ago.”

“That… that’s impossible! The Fae, they all disappeared long before that to Avalon.” Kakyoin is wide eyed as he tries to process the information. “I know some humans still believe in them, but…”

“I know! I know! I thought they were just stories from my granny too!” Joseph exclaims and puts his hand to his eyes, “But one time… I don’t think I was supposed to see it, but I found an old photo album. There was a family photo of my grandfather, his father, and Dio.” He turns to Polnareff, “Pol, the man you met. Did he have blond hair, angry eyes and three moles on his left ear?”

It’s Polnareff’s turn to go pale as he slowly nods.

Jotaro growls as he tilts his hat to hide his eyes before snapping his head up to face the pack. “As impossible as this all sounds, it doesn’t change the fact that someone is hunting down wolves. I don’t give a shit if it is Dio or not, or an extinct Fae or not. We are going to put an end to this.” He looks around the table for a second and you can tell his eyes linger on yours longer than the others. “If anyone has an objection to this say it now. There will be no opportunity later.”

Joseph slams his hand to the table palm down, “I’m in! lets show this bastard who he’s messing with!”

Joseph’s enthusiasm is contagious and you and Polnareff slam your hands to the table as well, surprising the group with the fire they can see burning in your eyes. “Hell yeah! They think they can just take me? No way! I’m going to help tear this guy to pieces! I’m with you all the way!” You say as you look directly at Jotaro. You’re not sure but you think that’s a look of pride on his face as you make your declaration.

Avdol and Kakyoin keep their cool but you can see the determination in their eyes as they nod and place their hands on the table as well. Joseph is grinning like a feral maniac and you suddenly believe his stories about saving the world with how excited he looks to do it all over again. “Then it’s settled! I’ll call Caesar and let him know to gather the Zeppeli pack too.” Joseph pauses as he stands and looks at you, “Oh, and (Y/N)?” you tilt your head at him to continue. “Welcome to the Joestar pack.”

 <Previous Chapter  Next Chapter>

Author’s Note:

Sorry for the slow update! Guess who’s not good at regulating her personal time? This gal! I had to change up the process of how I’m writing this cause just trying to type on my computer had too many distractions and next thing I know I’ve been playing Stardew Valley for  3 hours.

Anyway, I have a favor to ask- I need a name for one of the dead bad guys. So leave a comment with a first name for the guy from Jersey, can be a bad ex, terrible boss, friend you want to embarrass by getting their name in a fanfic (first names only please- no doxing!)

[daydreamingfics]

Pairing: Johnny x Reader

Genre: Fluff 

Word Count: 712

[4:15pm] - Two weeks ago, you and your boyfriend, Johnny, finally moved in together. Two unbelievable weeks of waking up next to and falling asleep in the arms of the boy who owned your heart had come and gone just like that. Indeed, everything was blissful, and you couldn't think of a time when you felt more content and at peace. Though you were at peace, the same sentiment didn't translate throughout your and Johnny's shared abode. To put it simply, one could assume that no one even lived in the apartment, given the total lack of furnishings and personal touches. The minimal decor that you did have scattered about made no sense and had zero cohesiveness. Your apartment resembled a storage unit more than that of a young couple living in the heart of Seoul. 

Every wall was barren, overturned boxes served as tables, and your mattress was still on the floor. The meticulously crafted Pinterest board that the two of you had obsessed over before the move long forgotten as the reality of daily life unfolded. Johnny, being an Idol, meant that his schedule was often busy and predetermined. At the same time, you were still adjusting to living in South Korea while actively job hunting. With all wheels spinning at once, purchasing furniture and making your house a home, had yet to see the light of day which you were determined to change today. 

"We moved in two weeks ago, and our apartment still looks vacant!" you wryly remarked while scampering over to your boyfriend, Johnny. His long limbs wholly occupying the bean bag chair that currently served as the only seating option. His arms wound around your frame the moment you sat on his lap as yours snaked around his neck. 

"Whoa wait, Y/N,  do you mean that we're not going for the minimalist half boy's dorm half storage unit look? Shocked, I am shocked," Johnny uttered playfully as he squeezed you tighter, his head tipping back as he erupted with laughter. You adored his laugh and soon found yourself chuckling along with him, which happened to be a very usual occurrence. Once you both caught your breath from the unexpected fit of giggles, you smacked your hand against his arm softly to regain his attention. 

"J, there's minimalism, and then there's this," you began, raising one arm and swirling it in the air to emphasize your point before you placed it back around his neck. "We both have some time today, surprisingly, so what do you say we finally get this place looking all snazzy, huh?" you continued, wiggling your eyebrows dramatically, which caused Johnny to reach up and lightly bop your nose. 

"Say no more, let's do it! IKEA, here we come," Johnny shouted as you both hurried to get ready for the shopping adventure.

[IN IKEA]

"Johnny Seo, stay the course! One of us has to be the responsible one here, or we'll need a bigger apartment to accommodate all this stuff," you chuckled as Johnny threw yet another stuffed snake into the cart. 

"Don't go holding back on me now, Y/N. Go wild! Throw pillows that I'm sure will be just for decoration, coasters that I'll try my best to use, those fancy little soap dishes that no one actually needs, we are getting it all, and then some. Our apartment will be empty no more, " Johnny responded while pulling you closer and placing a delicate kiss to your forehead as you clung to one another in the middle of the aisle. 

"I'll never get tired of hearing you say our apartment," you whispered as you gazed at one another with mirroring smiles and erratic heartbeats. 

"Oh yeah? In that case, our apartment, our apartment, our apartment," Johnny whispered before leaning in and placing a peck to your lips. 

As you and Johnny embraced in the center of Ikea with a shopping cart packed with a little of everything, your heart thudded against your rib cage. For soon, those items would be in the apartment that you got to share with Johnny. The apartment that would always be the first significant element that you two shared. The apartment that would see you two create new memories: the apartment that you two called, home. 

[hailbop1701]

Welcome back to Prompt Wednesday everyone! We have prompt #42 chosen by @fandoms-and-sunshine!

Fandom: Almost Human

Type: John Kennex X Reader

Whiskey Business

Word Count: 2,424

Okay so this was supposed to be crack-ish but it ended being pure angst. 👀😅 I hope ya'll like it and please don't mind the typos I have no beta for these! Please note the reader is a paramedic in this and I don't know what they do day in and out. So if I got things wrong or it sounds a little off I'm sorry! I also wanted to say thank you to those who are Paramedics/EMS and firefighters. You guys do so much and I feel you should be recognized more often!

-H❤🖖

The day had been long and exhausting both emotionally and physically. Huffing out a frustrated breath still pent up on adrenaline and anger you took another big swig of whiskey. The bottle was half gone and you gave up on using a glass a while ago. Lifting the bottle you took another swig hoping to wash out the nasty taste that day’s events left you with. 

Your day started out like any other. It was rather dull until a call came in for a bad car accident downtown. You and your partner took the call and made it record time, 

“Traffic laws don’t apply to us,” your partner Jinnie tried to convince you as she hopped over the median strip. The rig jangled and bucked but was otherwise unharmed, you couldn’t help but laugh at her insanity and roll your eyes. 

“Marcus is going to kill you one of these days!” you chuckled thinking about your boss who wore a permanent scowl. Jinnie smirked and winked like she knew a funny joke and couldn’t wait to tell you the punch line, “Marcus and I have an understanding!” she giggled. You wrinkled your nose and shook your head, “Nasty Jin, just no,” 

She cackled as she made a sharp left turn; outside the rig, horns blared and honked, curses were thrown at you from afternoon commuters out hunting for a quick lunch. “Hey don’t knock it until you’ve tried it,” Jinnie said wickedly. You let out a pained groan and made a dramatic gagging sound, 

“Never gonna go there Jin, Marcus reminds me of my uncle Artie, who by the way is one pill away from the nuthouse, “ you said bracing your hands against the dash as the ambulance screeched to a halt at the call. The intersection held four smoking damaged beyond repair cars. One of which was overturned with blood coloring the windshield. Jinnie threw open her door tossing a “Call for backup” over her shoulder. 

Picking up the radio you made the call ordering more ambulancs and for police to hurry their collective asses up. Looking up you saw Jinnie climbing into the overturned car with her kit. Cursing you saw the crowd getting bigger and pushing their way closer to the scene. Tossing your radio to the side you kicked open your door the rest of the way-

The doorbell rang bringing you back to your dingy apartment. Safe, alive, and curled up on the couch clutching onto a now almost empty bottle like it was a lifeline. The doorbell rang again repeatedly like the person in the hall was trying to play chopsticks with the ringer; hissing in annoyance you set the whiskey bottle down noisily on the glass coffee table and stumbled toward the door. Blinking away the cotton and shaking the blurriness away you reached your front door without too much incident. Staring at the doorknob intently for a few seconds you waited until there were at least three of them, only then you decided to guess which one was the real one. 

Swinging the door open you blinked and glared at the moronic soul who dared disturb your grief-induced drinking binge. There stood John Kennex holding two large bags in his hands; you knew John easily enough. The two of you would run across each other often at scenes, whether they were accidents or not so much. You were actually one of the ones who kept John alive on the way to the hospital after the raid. That had been a bad day, just as bad as this one was. He contacted you again sometime after he woke up from his coma, the two of you have been hanging out and getting closer ever since. 

John pressed his lips into a thin line the both of you silent and appraising each other, 

“Are you sober?” 

you scoffed at the dumbass question, with a roll of your eyes you responded like any other time he’s asked you something dumb. You gave him the most smart-ass reply your whiskey drenched brain could come up with at that moment.

“I’m moderately functional,” 

John breathed out a heavy sigh catching the strong whiff of alcohol and depression coming from you. “I’ll take that as a no,” he muttered pushing his way into your apartment, you scowled at his back as he disappeared into your kitchen. 

“Please come right in,” you slurred dramatically bowing, gesturing for your imaginary friends in the hallway to join you. Slamming the door shut you carefully work your way to where John was rummaging around in your cupboards, you mumbled obscenities under your breath and made your way back to the living room where your bottle sat waiting for you. 

It was gone, “John what the actual fuck!” you whined stomping your taco slipper-clad foot down angrily. John shot you a grimace from the kitchen as he pulled down plates and grabbed forks, “You don’t need anymore, besides there was like a sip left so I drank it,” 

“Dick move Kennex,” you growled flopping down on the couch. The offending man gave you a sad smile, he walked in holding two plates piled high with Chinese food and balanced two bottles of soda under his arms. Pitying the poor struggling man you took the sodas from him so he could set down the plates. Sighing John flopped into the couch next to giving you a cheeky smile, 

“You brought me food,” you mumbled looking at the takeout confused. John hummed cracking open your soda and forcing it into your hands so you get something else in you other than cheap whiskey. Taking an automatic swig of the sugary beverage you winced at the change of pace. 

“Why?” 

Your question threw him off guard a little; fork half-way to his mouth with noodles hanging off of it he looked at you like he was choosing his words carefully. John set his plate down and turned to face you, “Because you’re my friend (Y/N) and you’ve lost somebody. You shouldn’t have to be alone and I’m pretty sure you’re not supposed to be drinking with a concussion,” he said adding the last part offhandedly.  

Your ears still rang and the pounding in your head -now that he’s reminded you- hurt like hell. But that’s not what made you flinch; what you’ve spent hours working to forget was flooding all back. 

The smell of gas unmistakable, your eyes searched the ground and around the other cars as you worked to stabilize a teen girl in an old Prius at the front of the pack. “Is everything okay?” the girl moaned out watching your darkening face, her own expression melting into one of panic. Turning back to her you give her a shaky reassuring smile, 

“Yeah, I just need you to hold still for me, okay?” The girl returned the shaky smile, her lips trembling, tears streamed down her face. You shushed her gently as you put a neck brace on her, “What’s your name sweetheart?” 

“Gwen, my-my name is Gwen,” she croaked, sniffing trying to put on a brave face. You gave her another smile trying to keep the apprehension from your voice. The smell of gas was getting stronger by the second. 

“It’s nice to meet you, Gwen, my name is (Y/N),” 

“I can’t move my legs,” Gwen whimpered struggling, you immediately stopped her. 

“Gwen I’m gonna need you to hold still for me hun,” 

The girl whimpered again in both fear and pain, “I just want to go home,” she cried tears flowing again. You nodded, “I know sweetheart, I know. We’ll get you out soon,” you promised and internally winced. Never make promises. 

Looking over your shoulder you saw Jinnie loading up your rig’s gurney. She looked at you and gestured to your surroundings in question. The lack of other ambulances and police were getting tiresome. You shook your head and gave a shrug; Jinnie huffed and talked into the comm that was on her vest. 

“(Y/N) I can smell gas, is that bad? That’s bad, right?” Gwen sobbed struggling against the steering wheel again. Her legs were pinned and you were going to need the fire department to get her out. Feeling helpless you tapped your comm. 

“Jin, where’s the FD? We’re going to need sand ASAP,” you kept your voice even and without the panic you were feeling. Gwen started breathing hard; the beginnings of an anxiety attack. 

“Gwen I need you to breathe, I can’t have you passing out on me now,” your voice seemed to soothe the girl so you kept going. Taking her hand you talked about anything and everything until her breathing was under control again. The sound of screeching tires and sirens pulled you from a story about your older brother, some firecrackers, and a little too much hooch. You heard Jinnie in the background berating anyone who would stop and listen to her, 

“Where in hell have you been?” her voice carried over the chaos. Looking in the side mirror you saw your best friend and partner shouting at another paramedic, who was shrinking back from the small woman. A firefighter was jogging up to you holding his helmet in place, 

“What do you need?” he asked breathlessly, giving you a flirty smile. Any other time you would have been flattered but right now you were just pissed off. “Sand and her legs are pinned,” 

At your tone of voice, the firefighter shrunk back a little and cleared his throat nervously. Hastily he spoke a few orders into his comm. Peering into the car the man muttered to Gwen that he was going to get her out of there by supper time. ‘Should have been earlier than that,’ you thought sourly. 

“(Y/N) I need your help over here!” Jinnie called waving a hand wildly. Biting your lip you tuned back to Gwen, “I’ll be right back okay Gwen? I’m going to be right over there,” you pointed in the direction of a group of ambulances. Gwen sniffed and nodded watching the firefighter work on pulling the driver’s side door open. 

You were a good twenty feet away when you heard a startled scream. Whipping around you saw Gwen’s car on fire; the firefighter struggled and fought with the car door trying to desperately get it open. 

“(Y/N)!” the girl screamed and before you knew it the fire spread to the cab. Gwen screamed in terror and pain as the fire engulfed the vehicle. You surged forward without thinking to try and help but a pair of arms stopped you from doing any further. Screaming out the girl’s name you elbowed the person who had a hold of you. Before you could run forward you were pushed back by an explosion. 

Landing on your back you looked up at the cloudless blue sky in a daze, someone was calling your name repeatedly but they seemed too far away to understand. 

“-(Y/N), I need you to calm down for me, okay?” 

The touch and sound of John pulled you back gasping. His hand held yours to his chest over his heart, it fluttered but beat steadily under your touch, his breathing even. “That’s it, sweetheart,” he encouraged softly as your own breathing slowed to match his. He rattled on about this, that, and the other thing. Your mind started to function almost normally again as he talked about how Dorian kept tuning into Korean radio. 

Tears streamed down your cheeks making him stop mid-sentence, scooting closer to you he slowly wrapped his arms around you. You stiffened in his for the briefest moment before breaking down. 

It was quite sometime later when you finally sat up and rubbed away any traces of tears and snot. “I’m sorry,” you whispered embarrassedly, eyeing the wet patch on his shirt. John waved it away his eyes searching your for any sign of panic or distress, 

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” he murmured gruffly, grabbing your discarded soda from the coffee table. You frowned at the offering, ‘When did I put that down?’ you questioned taking the beverage. Uncapping the soda you took a decent swig, the bubbles cleared your head a bit more. John stood and grabbed both of your still full plates and headed to the kitchen. You watched as he put them in the microwave one at a time. His gaze would flit to you every few seconds or so just to make sure you were still okay. 

Getting up you wandered over to him, pulling your sweatshirt tighter around yourself you give him a sad grateful smile. “Thank you,” you had said it so softly that he almost didn’t catch it. 

John pushed off the counter wrapping you into another hug, this one you fully returned. You both swayed to the hum of the microwave the smell of Chinese drifting through the air. John rested his chin on the crown of your head humming softly. “Tiny Dancer,” by Elton John you guessed by the tune. 

You couldn’t help but chuckle at how out of tune he was. “Don’t ruin the song, John,”  you murmured into his neck. His chest vibrated as he laughed, his fingers gently carding through your hair. “I’m not that bad,” he defends half-heartedly. You shook your head and pulled back just a little to raise an eyebrow. Upon seeing your expression John huffed and nodded, 

“I’m that bad,” he agreed. 

The microwave beeped signaling that the food was finally heated up and ready to eat. But neither of you wanted to pull away. Grumbling you glared at the offending machine mentally willing your food to float across the kitchen to where you were standing. When nothing happened you cursed at it instead, 

“Damn, the struggle is fucking real,” you sighed stepping away from John to retrieve your food. Picking up his plate John followed you back into the living room, he grabbed the remote for your TV and flicked it on to an old classic movie. The Jurassic Park theme echoing throughout the room made you smile in nostalgia. 

Sitting down you easily molded yourself into John’s side and for the rest of the night that’s where you stayed. You knew everything was going to be alright, even if your heart still ached for Gwen and the firefighter who you never knew. You accepted that you were going to be upset for a long time because of what happened but you were at least not going to be alone. 

   

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[llfreude]

Freude - extract

Under the cut you will find the first 3 pages of the story, for those who'd be curious, since I have seen, against all odds, a few notes popping around. Uncanny. Who are you, people? If, by some sort of twisted miracle you'd be interested in more, there's 300 more pages where those come from. Contact me if you like. We'll find a way.

It began, of course, with music.

Music in itself isn’t much of a surprise for my ears. Every single thing in the universe, in fact, breathing or not, growing or not, visible or not, has its own tune, its own melody. Music is, to my opinion, the most underrated constant of the world. Even here, down below, in the ever-moving darkness of Hell, it pervades my mind without rest, without hitch, coming from every particle of matter around and the void in between them.

Music is the perpetual heartbeat of creation, it is no surprise to me at all.

What was extraordinary with this one, though, was where it came from and where it went.

-“Do you hear that?” I asked the Mazikeen standing next to my throne, but she only frowned.

-“What ish it wi’h you again?” She spat, shaking her beautiful head.

I smiled. I didn’t want to trouble her with music she obviously wasn’t meant to hear. So I only had a soft gesture upwards.

-“You see my dear,” I explained, “sound, as the human world is made, always goes up. Songs, melodies, prayers, don't they fly to the skies, aren't they addressed to higher places? The surface of the Earth leaves nothing for the underground to absorb but drilling noise, stomping feet and thumping echoes of its collapse.”

She rolled her eyes at me, turning away, and I didn't mention those forceful, magnificent, appealing chords again.

A first I am sure, and no doubt an only.

Human music pushed down to Hell.

I grinned, enthralled, slouching back in my seat, yes, this sound was unique.

It wasn’t exquisite, it wasn’t humble, it wasn’t even nice. It wasn’t a song, a melody or a prayer, it wasn’t meant for skies above, no, dear me, it was a scream. A storm, a fire, a curse, a threat. It was mighty, it was furious, it was desperate, it was perfect.

I closed my eyes. I took my time. Perhaps I was willing to pretend I do not take decisions so quickly, but I was only fooling myself. The music was a landslide of riot, and I dared not deny it was pulling strings in the very core of my being.

This stirring in me, I had felt it many times before, though never twice with the same scent, taste or tone. When was the last time, I couldn’t remember. Time is a flickering thing. The names, however, always remain with me, carved in the black stone of my heart, for an eternity none of them could ever endure, and to this day still I cherish them all.

I was glad, truly, and quite a bit relieved to be able to feel it once more.

-“You fhound some’hing.” Mazikeen hissed, and my eyes snapped open to glance at her intrigued face, looming above me, inspecting me close.

There was no point in arguing. I do not lie, she does know me.

-“Something found me, I’d rather say.” I chimed with another vague wave of my hand, but it did nothing to smoothen her pointed stare.

-“You wanth to gho up t’ere again…” she mumbled with a disdainful nod towards the above, “…you know ith means throuble.”

-“Yes.” I conceded. “But I think it’s worth it.”

She narrowed her eyes at me, one of flesh, one of void, and weighed my words for a while, but the trust between us had stretched over eons already. There was no need for vows or promises. She sighed, throwing her hands above her head and stepped aside to let me go.

-“To Hell wi’h you.” She simply snarled.

I was still laughing when I appeared at the surface of the Earth.

***

I didn’t need to search for long. The calling was clear, the music imperious. I saw a small village under the mountains, a carriage waiting outside a rusty gate and a humble house near a river where lived a physician. The good doctor had been called outside for a difficult childbirth, but inside the lodge there was still a patient of his. A patient who had, for hours and hours, destroyed everything within his reach, as if he couldn’t stand anything around him being left intact anymore. Tables were broken, chairs thrown into windows, shelves overturned, dishes breached and glass shattered. I found him sitting on the floor upon a heap of his own disaster, the rage and the despair enclosed within his skin burning higher than I ever thought humans capable of.

That agony, that wrath, it felt wonderful, it felt familiar.

I didn’t make myself visible to him straight away. I took time, again, to contemplate, deceiving myself into believing I wasn’t conquered already.

Because if indeed the music was a thrill, the man, by the stars, was something more.

His hair was unkept and wild, damp strands of greying ebony falling on his troubled brow. His eyes were intense, enraged, fixed into the void as if they could set fire to reality itself. He was trembling, broken, exhausted, worn-out, sickly, dead drunk, magnificent.

Bloody magnificent.

His both hands were soaked in blood, cut open by the vigour of his rampage. One of his fists was clenching a long shard, some fragment of the destroyed cupboard behind his back I supposed, tapping it rhythmically on the parquet. His other hand was pressed against the nearest wall, shaking, no, not exactly shaking.

Writing.

Writing notes, one on top of another with bloodied fingers, incredibly fast, until it left nothing else than a vengeful red stain on the smooth stucco, the cadenza of the shard dictating measure to frantic, intricate chords, and there it was, that unique, enraged music.

Blazing, rumbling, shouting in his mind.

I had never heard anything so sublime.

I narrowed my eyes and listened to what the house around had to say. The physician tried, the walls told me. The doctor tried all he could, he tried for days, he tried his best. There is nothing to be done, he eventually said, the sickness will be unstoppable. The pain will keep getting worse, he said, and within years all sound will be lost to you.

For a moment, his patient didn’t move an inch, his lovely grey eyes lost in the distance. Only minutes after the physician left, fury exploded and the riot began. It lasted for so long his body could barely keep on, and truth be told I don't think he wanted it to. But before self-destruction, as often with this man, pain abruptly turned into music, and he fell down right there, eyes blind, chest heaving. Shaken by the effort of taming the sounds in his head more than by agony itself, he only sat there unmoving for a while. Then soon enough as he forcefully battled discord into harmony, he grabbed this shard and his other hand started writing.

The birthing of his art was leaving him drained, worn out, boneless, but he barely felt it. His anger was commandeering the entirety of his soul, insistent, overbearing, and I had never seen a more beautiful ire. Righteous, vibrant, aflame and above all, justified.

How monstrous indeed for Creation to grant him that spark, that miracle, that one in a billion souls equation, only to make him pay the price later on, slowly, inexorably shutting him away from the marvel of sound.

Demanding pain in exchange for a gift you never asked for has definitely always been Heaven's trade.

How cruel, how vile a twist of fate.

Wasn't his fury only virtuous, how could it not call to my heart?

There was no need to wait any further, I was ensnared already.

So I made myself seen to gladly kneel at his side, giving him my best face, clothes of his time, an open palm and a soft smile. While he stared, breath hitching, he let the back of my hand brush blood and sweat off his tortured temple. He was handsome. He was intense. He was terrifying.

Echoes of his symphony were still blooming on their own will in his aching, exhausted mind as he inspected me warily, and in an eternity, I had never heard anything as glorious.

Wounded yet fighting. Abused yet powerful.

Desperate yet ominous.

-"Wie wirst du sie nennen?" I gently asked him, passing fingertips in his wild, tousled hair.

-"Eroica." He whispered without thinking before he blinked, his eyes focusing on me. "Warte. Wie lange bist du schon hier?"

-"Schon immer." I soothed, and though he deliciously snarled, frowning in threat, I am not sure he was really surprised.

-"Schon immer." He echoed with a thunderstorm rumbling in his throat, oh I couldn’t wait to bite him there. "Was bist du?"

-"Can't you guess, Ludwig, my dear?" I murmured, seductive, sliding my hand down his arm to his wrist, gently unlocking the shard from his grip and bringing his knuckles to my mouth. "You have spent these last hours calling to me with such force, now don't you know who I am?"

His eyes widened. How breathtaking.

[bxthharmon]

Through the Ages || JJ Maybank x Routledge!Reader

Words: 1870

Warnings: Super toxic relationship, underage drinking, smoking, weed

Summary: The development of your relationship with JJ, from when your first met aged eight to adult life, MAJOR ANGST

A/N: okay i know i havent written anything in WEEKS but im watching obx and im obsessed... i really wasn’t expecting this to take such a dark turn?? contact me if you wanna request anything or make friends :)

masterlist

8 years

You’re eight and when you meet John in front of the school to walk home, he has a friend. You know your brother’s friends - most of them, at least - but this boy is new. He is tanned and blonde and tall for his age, and a girl in your class had told you about how he’s always getting into small playground scraps. You eye each other warily on the way home, your brother between you, oblivious to the hostility. 

It wasn’t that you didn’t like him - how could you dislike someone you knew nothing about? - it was that John had promised to stop bringing his friends on the way home, because he would end up ignoring you, and now there was a friend walking with them. 

When the boy finally leaves, John looks at you as if he forgot you were there. You watch as the boy goes through the front door, catching a glimpse of a dark, cluttered house. You wonder where his parents are. 

John coaxes you into a race - who can get home first - and he wins. He always wins. A year older, stronger, faster. Your dad greets you, asking about your days, and laughing as you complain about how John ignored you on the way home.

The next week, the boy walks with you again. His name is JJ, and he’s funny. He gives you a twinkie as a peace offering, saying that he wants to walk with you and John from now on. You shrugged, and took the twinkie, telling him it was for the food, and only the food.

11 years

You’re eleven, in your first year of middle school, and you and John ride home from school everyday on your bikes. On the days when you’re not surfing or hanging out with friends, you cycle home with John, JJ and a new member of the gang, Pope. You and JJ, while still at a twinkie-incited truce, are growing more competitive and show-offish around each other. You race your bikes to his, and if you stop at the corner store on the way home, you see who can chug their cola faster. John fights with you when you get home because they’re “his friends, not yours!”

You have your own friends, and sometimes you cross with your brother’s friends in town, sass thrown between the groups like a tennis rally, the twinkie-truce fading into the past. You can’t stand the tall blonde surfer, but you can’t wait to argue with him on your way home from school.

14 years

You’re fourteen, and after a year long break from your brother’s friends, you’re, once again, at the same school. You’ve changed, filled out more over the last year, puberty having hit you like a tonne of bricks since you last hung out. The three pogues now have one female friend, Kiara, and you become fast friends. You can tell your brother has a thing for her, and you wonder if he’ll ever bring her home to meet your dad. 

JJ sees you differently now. You seem less like the eight year old he met six years ago, but you’re still very much yourself. He pulls your ponytail as you pass him in the hallways at school, and you flip him off in return. You sometimes go to the same parties, and your drinking races have switched from cola to beer. John hates you being at parties, claiming your too young to drink or party, as if he wasn’t the year before. John can see how JJ looks at you, and he hates it. He hates seeing how guys look at you now, how they flirt, hit on and catcall his baby sister. He also hates how in your efforts to compete with JJ, you get into fights and run your mouth. He hates how JJ shows off around you, and vice versa. 

Despite his frustrations with JJ, he’s also the only guy who’ll stand up for you when you or John can’t do it yourselves. He hopes you don’t grow up too quickly, and he knows that his friends will always have your back, so he’s not worried. 

15 years

You’re fifteen, and you go to a kegger for the first time. You get drunk quickly, flirting with too many guys and giggling at every little thing. You share a blunt with JJ, and the pair of you practically piss yourselves with laughter when John tries to reprimand you. The night is fun, and you can’t wait for the next one. 

The next one is much worse. You’re one or two drinks in when you see JJ flirting with a touron. In retrospect, that’s probably when you first noticed your feelings, but at the time you have no idea why you’re so angry about it. By the end of the night, you’ve had half a bottle of vodka and two spliffs, and you’re way far gone. You might even have blacked out - but all you remember is the pure rage, and how you spent ten minutes throwing up by the front porch when you got home. 

You saw JJ the next day, and you’re both hungover. He checks on you, and neither of you really understand why you’re so cold towards him, but he leaves pretty quickly.

You cry that night.

16 years

You’re sixteen, and your dad is missing. You lost all your friends when you fell into a depression after it. Nine months later, and you feel happy again. You’re the final member of pogue crew, and you spend the summer surfing and swimming and settle into the routine of summer. You surf first thing in the morning, as dawn breaks, often with JJ, competing over who’s a better surfer (he is). You spend your afternoons on the HMS Pogue, competing with JJ over who’s the better swimmer (you are). The group of you drink and smoke and live your best lives. On the days where you’re not on the boat, you work. 

You know you love JJ, and you flirt constantly. He kisses you at a kegger, barely twenty minutes before he pulls the gun on Topper. You have your first serious argument that night, and it ends with him kissing you.

You wear your heart on your sleeve, and assure him you love him. He doesn’t say it back, but he shows it. You learn about his Dad and his work and how he learnt to surf. You sneak around, and, miraculously, don’t get caught. 

16 ½ years

You’re sixteen and a half when John and Sarah go missing. Kie and Pope try to help, but you don’t pay them any attention. You and JJ struggle, with yourselves, each other, and your relationship. You’re on the rocks, you’re up against the wall. You don’t think you’ll last, and you fight constantly.

Your relationship is toxic, taking your own angers out on each other, fighting and screaming in each others faces only to make up for a honeymoon period that lasts a week, max, and the cycle repeats. You’re both miserable. 

17 years

You’re seventeen, and he breaks up with you. You were too alike - both too impulsive, angry, broken for it to ever work. You apply to out-of state colleges, hoping to escape the islands you used to love.

You wait for an acceptance letter, and watch as the people you call family try to rebuild their lives.

18 years

You’re eighteen, and you get the letter. UCLA, on the other side of the country. You say your goodbyes to Kie and Pope, and eventually, JJ.

He looks broken, when you tell him. He asks you what you’d do if John came back and you weren’t around, but you had resigned yourself to John’s death long ago. You fight one last time. You fuck one last time. You love one last time.

You wonder if you’ll ever return.

22 years

You’re twenty two, and you’ve got a degree. You fly home the day after graduation, and everything has changed.

Kie runs the Wreck now, and she gives you a free meal and you talk for hours when you first arrive. She invited you to her and Pope’s place. 

They have a nice place. Not on Figure Eight, but on that side of the island - Pope’s got a high earning job in marine biology research. They’re happy.

You smoke a blunt with Pope, for old time’s sake. He tells you to see JJ, and gives you a slip of paper with the address. You don’t know if you want to throw it into the ocean or treasure it forever. You do neither.

It takes you a week to psych yourself up to it, and then you knock on his door.

His house is small, but not tiny, not like his childhood home. He welcomes you in, a light in his eyes you hadn’t seen in years. He sits you down at the dinner table, and you take in the pictures on the mantel shelf, and the mementos stuck to the fridge. 

You see the ring on his finger.

You enter a state of stasis. You were sure he was it for you, but the circumstances were wrong and you were too immature. Right person, wrong time, or something along those lines. No, apparently not. He moved on, he built a life without you, a happier, healthier life.

His wife is lovely, everything you’re not. She’s patient and kind and soft-spoken, the opposite to him, bringing balance. She stabilises him, and gives him what he needs.

You think of how you would argue with him, the screaming, shouting, throwing plates and vases. Your love was so naive, but so passionate. Everything that happened while you were together, everything that went wrong, happened because your tempers and stubborn natures and impulsivity was destructive.

You fly back to California a week later. 

You sit on the plane and reminisce. The night you and JJ broke up, the house got wrecked. You had been standing inches apart, but screaming at the top of your lungs. You had lost your temper and overturned a table, smashing all the crockery left on it. He had thrown a vase at the wall, and you had fought until your voices broke and you were too tired and sore to keep throwing shit at walls and each other. You had sat next to each other, leaning on the wall by the front door, an uncharacteristic calm washing over you. 

You had looked at him, heart aching, and told him that you needed to split up. He had nodded, and eventually, the pair of you had drifted off to sleep, dreaming of a world where you could be together without all the hate in the way.

When you woke up in the morning, he was gone, but the mess had stayed. You had had to tiptoe over thousands of shards of broken crockery and glass to get to your room, a reminder of how you were destined to self-destruct. 

You watched out the window as the plane landed, and vowed never to return again. 

Outer Banks was no longer your home.

[theonetheycallhannah]

The Treatment of Captain Syverson-Prologue: Onset of Injury (Sy)

Characters: Captain Syverson, various OMCs

Summary: Sy’s POV, the night and the mission that ended his military career and set him unknowingly on a path to true love.

Catch up on all chapters right here!

Word Count: 1.9k

Warnings:  Language, violence, attempted military talk, feels…

Author’s Note: Okay friends, most of what I know about military ops I learned from watching movies…so, this may not all be accurate. But I think most of the terms and jargon are in line, even if this mission wouldn’t necessarily go down like this.

Disclaimer: Unfortunately for me, Henry is not mine, le sigh, and all mention of him, his characters, any characters from his films, or his precious doggy, Kal, are strictly for transformative and recreational use. I neither ask for, nor accept payment for the work I post on Tumblr or AO3. Unbeta’d because this is for fun and escapism.

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X@X@X@X@X@X@X@X@X@X@X@

Captain Logan “Sy” Syverson had done a hundred briefings like this one. They were going into a compound with some low level goons, mid-level players, and one big boss. Two teams. Two entrances. One exit. The roof. Air extraction. Minimal undesirable casualties. Five or six mid to high level prisoners.

“Alright ladies, here’s the plan. The compound is central city. Alpha team, we’ll get dropped off by transpo two blocks south of the front entrance, Bravo team, same for you, two blocks north of the back entrance. Bravo, you head east and down once inside, Alpha will go west and up. Standard flanking formation. Stay frosty in there. These guys aren’t cub scouts. They will shoot on sight. Do your best not to be seen. Once the lower levels are cleared, we work our way to the top where we should find the big Kahuna. Do your best not to kill anyone in a suit. Tac gear only, unless it’s your life or theirs. These guys have intel the brass wants. Supposedly.”

Heads were nodding. Lopez raised his hand. The other guys laughed, but Sy appreciated the respect.

“Ricky?” He pointed at him to accept the question.

“Sir, what about evac?” He stood tall and sharp. He was new to the team, but Sy liked him already.

“That’s a great question, and thank you for raising your hand. Take notes on teacher’s pet here, class.” Everyone including Lopez laughed.

“There’s a stairwell to the roof in the master bedroom. That’s the LZ for our helo. They should be less than five mikes out, so we shouldn’t have time to order pizzas or anything after we clear the compound. So once the call is made, you won’t have long to get up the stairs. The helo can’t stay grounded for too long without drawing attention. We will need to keep an eye out for unfriendlies off compound being warned about our presence, and for survivors. Listen, I can’t stress this enough. I know it’s not easy to kill. And I don’t encourage it if it’s not necessary.  But these are bad people and they would kill you, the man next to ya, your sister, your parents, or your dog if they could.”

Aika, Sy’s German Shepherd whimpered in the corner but was ignored.

“Kill them for your brothers. For your neighbors. For the children you don’t even have yet. Because what do we do?”

“We embrace the darkness and the suffering.” His teammates that had been there for a while repeated the first part of the sin-eater credo.

“And why do we do it?”

“So that our fellow man is free to live in peace.” they finished the mantra as they had so many times before.

“Fuckin’ A. We roll in one hour.”

~~~~~~~~~

The drop and the entry had gone off without a hitch. Sy's Alpha team were like shadows, the very finger of death for the unjust and evil in the compound. Everyone they encountered was quietly subdued, whether by strategically placed blades, silenced firearms, or in some cases, the literal snapping of necks. Bravo team was just as successful. But Alpha team wasn't finding many prisoners.

The real problem came, though, when they reached the top floor where the big kahuna was supposed to be. Everything had gone dark, even though it had been lit up like Christmas, the Fourth of July, and the Super Bowl all in one when they were making their approach to the compound. Someone had squawked. Raised a silent alarm. Something.

"This…this doesn't smell right, captain." Harztler voiced what was running silently through Sy's mind. "This level was like Times Square when we got here. Now nothing? It stinks."

"I can smell it, Jake. I don't like it." he activated his comms. "Bravo team, we are sitting ducks up here, what is your twenty? Over."

"Sir, we are wrapping up down here, and getting the targets ready for evac. We should be on route in less than ten mikes. Over."

"Push it to five if ya can, private. We don't like the look of this bedroom. Over."

"Is this the moment to be questioning someone's taste in interior design, captain? Over."

"Shitcan that disrespect, private, or you'll be digging latrines alone next time we have survival drills. Over."

"Understood, sir. Will try to push to five mikes. Over."

"That'd be best. Over and out." He signed off with Lopez, amused at the inferior officer’s joke, even though he couldn’t show it openly.

Hartzler has just started to suggest possible reasons for their unease when the sound of rapid automatic firepower rang out from one of the floors below them.

“Fuck.” Both men said in unison followed immediately by frantic shouts from Sy’s radio.

“*crackle crackle* we are taking heavy fire! Kominski is down! Lopez is hit! Alpha team! Captain, do you copy? Over!"

"I'm on my way, Fuller. Hang tight. Over and out." Sy said and looked at the men on his team, "Hartzler, you and Goldberg signal the Helo for evac ASAP and get to the roof. Schmidt, Freeman, you two come with me to back up Bravo team. We meet at the LZ in five. That's not a big window, gentlemen, we'll radio if we hit any snags. Clear?"

"Clear." a round of nods and affirmations came from the rest of the team. Sy turned for the exit to the room, checking his clip, and putting one in the chamber. Stakes were higher than ever.

The last three steps to the ground floor were half blocked by a slumped corpse. Kominski. Sy fought the emotion building in him as he remembered David showing him photos of his two young daughters, Charlotte, who was seven, and Renee who had just turned five. And his gorgeous wife Sasha. His high school sweetheart. He was distracted enough  by thought of the soon to be grieving girls, that he missed the pool of blood, Kominski's blood, on the black tile steps. His knee twisted unnaturally. And he could almost feel the protest of his muscles and tendons.

"Fuck! Mind your footing on these last few, boys." he winced, limping on toward the firefight. He signaled the men behind him to stay against the wall and follow him quietly until he gave the signal to attack. There were three men in tactical gear firing from behind a bar in the corner, pinning what was left of Bravo team in their position behind an overturned dining table. It was just Fuller and Lopez now. Sy took the opportunity during a slow point in the enemy's fire to enter, managing to shoot all three immediately, single handedly ending things.

"Alpha team, secure the area. Fuller, Lopez, what is your status?" Sy asked the men.

"Lopez is hit pretty bad in the leg. We've got a tourniquet in place. I am…uninjured. But our prisoners have been…neutralized by friendly fire." Well, fuck. That was the mission blown.

"Ammo?" Sy asked, frustrated.

"Depleted, sir." they hadn't planned for this.

"Fuller, you and Schmidt get Kominski up the stairs, pronto. We ain't leavin' him in this hell hole. Freeman, you watch their backs. Keep 'em covered in case there are any more of these assholes lurkin' around the place. Lopez, I'm gonna help you up them stairs. Can you get up?"

"I'll try, sir."

"Okay, roll out." Sy went to help Lopez to his feet. The boy wasn't hardly 160 pounds soakin' wet.

It was slow going, with Kominski and Lopez in tow, but they made it back to the bedroom just as the sound of the helicopter began to grow, and the roof began to quiver from the wind kicked up by the blades.

Sy made Schmidt and Fuller go first, as they had the biggest burden. Then Freeman, in case they needed another hand getting Kominski's body into the hold. His knee burned after the four flights he'd already done supporting Lopez, but the private had lost so much blood. He thought he'd have to carry him up this last flight to the roof. The boy was pale as a…sheet. He didn't let himself think of an apparition.

When he felt safe enough, and ready, he told Lopez the plan and hoisted him over his shoulder on his uninjured side. His knee protested angrily, but he proceeded, ignoring the pain, forcing it down with those emotions about the Kominski family.

Relief washed over him as he made the last step and his boot crunched against the loose pea gravel of the roof top. They were almost out of the woods.

Until a massive explosion in the HVAC unit knocked him off balance and took him down to his knees, Lopez's added weight a contributing force in what he was certain was now a broken leg bone given a very clear and distinct pop he'd heard even over the noise of the fire and wind. He had heard it from the inside. He thought  it would be the tibia, but his knowledge of anatomy wasn't anything to write home about. He dropped the boy with an agonized howl. The heat from the blast bit at his back as he tried to find the strength to stand. But he couldn't. His team was charging toward him and the private. And for once, he was overjoyed to receive help. Fuller and Freeman got Lopez under each arm and dragged him the few yards to the open hold. Schmidt helped Sy up as best he could, but the Captain was in excruciating pain.

"Captain, we gotta go. These assholes are gonna blow up their own property to get us. Come on. It's not far. You can make it." Schmidt let his CO lean on him all the way to the helo.

Sy noticed tied up in one of the bucket seats of the hold, a man in maroon silk pajamas and brown leather loafers without socks. An Iraqi, early sixties, hair and beard still dark black. Their primary target. Mostafa Kassab.

"Where'd he come from?" Sy shouted at Hartzler.

"He was hunkered down in that corner over there when we came up to signal the chopper." the sergeant lit up with pride. "Fuller told me their prisoners didn't make it. I'm glad we found Kassab up here, or the mission would have been a total waste.

As they took off, Sy looked from the covered body of Kominski to the prone form of Lopez, who was paler than ever and glassy-eyed. It was hard in that moment to think that even ten of Mostafa Kassab could be worth one of these men he was lucky enough to call friends.

As he examined his knee, beginning to swell and looking a much different shape than he ever remembered, he thought about what this could mean for him, as a captain, as a soldier…as a man. If he could even call himself a man if he had to take away the title of captain and soldier. This was his calling. He wasn’t sure how he’d go on if…but, he’d wait to think about that when he got back to base and the medic’s tent. After all, what was the worst that could happen? It wasn’t like he was hurt bad enough to earn a discharge letter…was he?

Up Next: Chapter One: Evaluation

[lyssismagical]

anything for another run with you, i would do anything to be with you

Parkner Week Day Nine: “I’ll keep all my emotions right here, and then one day, I’ll die” / hanahaki / pining

Based on Anything by dodie, and on S4-S6 of Glee’s Klaine, specifically It’s Too Late in S6 ep1 

  There was a time in Harley’s life where he thought they were forever, where he believed nothing could tear them apart, where he was certain that they were going to make it forever.

Peter had always been so bright, so infinite in Harley’s mind. A beacon of hope for a future together, a family, something they’d never really had in permanence before.

There had never really been a doubt in his head that they’d last forever, that they’d get engaged and then married, live together, grow old together. Whenever he’d think about a future, he always imagined it with Peter at his side.

The reality, though, is far from what he’d imagined when he was young and naïve.

Relationships don’t always last forever.

Harley pushes open the apartment door, taking in the quiet and the emptiness. It’s been months since Peter moved out, nearly half a year, and Harley doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to the way the apartment feels like a black hole, dark and empty and sucking life out of him.

He drops his bag by the front door, hesitating because Peter used to hate it when he did that, but Peter isn’t here anymore.

It’s hard for him to let go of what had once been his entire life, his past, his present, and his future. The pictures of them are overturned, covered, flipped, but still out, still visible if he wants to see what once was. The things that Peter left behind like an old Midtown sweater, an older quilt, a few pairs of socks that were left in the laundry, are still there. Untouched, in plain sight, a painful reminder.

What was once Peter’s side of the bed is left properly made and unslept in, pillow still smelling like his cinnamon-scented shampoo. Harley’s side is a mess of rumpled sheets, unwashed because he doesn’t have the energy to do laundry most days anymore, and one of Peter’s old hoodies are under the pillow.

“We haven’t spoken in weeks, Harley!” Peter had shouted, throwing his hoodie at Harley in frustration. “I can’t keep doing this!”

New York’s a big place, fast-paced, filled to the brim with people, but New York was always Peter’s city. Peter is engrained into every piece of the city, no matter how far Harley tries to go, no matter how fast he moves. It’s impossible not to see Peter in everything.

The coffeeshops Peter used to study at, he went to nearly every single one in the area to try to find the best of the best. The parks, the tourist traps, the restaurants all remind Harley of their dates, of their excursions when they got too trapped in routine. The quiet alleys where Harley can remember them tumbling into, tipsy and giggling endlessly, mouths pressing against whatever surface they could reach, young and naïve and foolishly in love. The skyscrapers Peter used to swing him onto late at night, laughing and filled to the brim with adrenaline and warmth, kissing under the stars.

“What do you want me to do?” Harley shouted, just as angry after all the pent-up frustrations they couldn’t let out after all the time they’ve spent dancing around each other. “Between work and classes and extra-curriculars and you being gone every night superheroing. When do you expect us to have the time to talk?”

Harley sighs harshly, glaring at the ring that sits so harmlessly on his nightstand. He’d been thinking about proposing eventually, he’d bought the ring and everything, but things had started going bad and he hid the ring away. Now, it sits on his nightstand, box open and ring shining.

There’s a knock on his apartment door and he already knows who it is.

Out of the breakup, Peter got most of their friends because they were his before they were ever Harley’s. MJ, though, she refused to pick a side. She’s still friends with both of them.

When she gets into the apartment, she rolls her eyes dramatically at least six times at the state of his place before he can get a word in.

“This is just sad, Harley.”

“Fuck off.”

MJ rolls her eyes again. “Wow. I seriously thought you’d stop being an asshole to everybody after six months, but I want to remind you that I don’t have to be here. I don’t have to go out of my way and spend a few hours here every week, just for you. So if you wanna be a jerk, I’m going home.”

Harley slumps into one of the dining room chairs, sighing. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t pin this on everything else!” Peter said, crossing his arms over his chest. “Don’t pretend this is just scheduling conflicts. This is on us! We’re not putting in the effort we used to. When was our last date night? We missed our five year anniversary a few weeks ago. We’ve been skipping our Friday Night Movies. When did we stop caring? When did we stop putting effort into our relationship?”

“You wanna talk? Fine, let’s talk. You stopped caring when Flash happened. You started pinning everything on me like I had owed you more than I could ever possibly give you. You stopped putting effort in when you felt like I had to put in all the effort to make up for what happened. I stopped caring when I realized I’d never be able to make it up to you, so there was no point in bothering.”

MJ sits down across from him, offering a sad smile. She reaches across the table to take his hand, squeezing it reassuringly. “He still cares about you, you know.”

He shrugs, trying to pass off as nonchalant. It’s been six months, he shouldn’t hang onto every piece of news he hears about Peter. He hates that he never goes a day without thinking about Peter. One hundred and seventy-three days and Harley hasn’t gone one of those without thinking about his ex.

They’re not together anymore, Harley’s seen Peter exactly once after they called it off and it was when Peter cleared out his things from the apartment. Harley had cried that day, helped Peter carry some boxes down to his car, nearly falling down the stairs when his vision blurred. Peter cried too, tried not to make it obvious, keeping his head ducked and rubbing his eyes whenever he thought Harley wasn’t looking. But they’d been together for five years, Harley knew Peter better than he knew himself.

“You cheated on me last year!” Peter had cried, tears filling his eyes. “With Flash of all people! And you’re mad at me for being upset with you?”

Harley rolled his eyes, guilt still washing over him like it had been since it had happened the year before. “It’s been a year. I’ve done everything I could to make up for what happened, I’ve said I’m sorry, I’ve given you everything you’ve asked for. You said we could move past it but you’re still holding it over me.”

MJ rolls her eyes again, grabbing her phone and opening the photos. She shows him the most recent photo on her phone which is one of Peter. He’s standing on the balcony of his new apartment in the city, laughing at something somebody had said. He’s wearing a hoodie that Harley knows doesn’t belong to him, a college hoodie. He looks happy and well-rested and full of life.

“Who’s hoodie is that?” Harley sounds almost accusatory.

She hesitates. “Harley-”

“Is he seeing somebody?”

“Harley-”

MJ sighs, shutting off her phone. She stands and moves into the kitchen, grabbing the bottle of wine from the fridge and pouring it into two of his wine glasses. (Wine glasses he bought with Peter.)

He accepts the glass and takes a nice swig before waiting for an answer.

“Yes, he’s seeing somebody,” MJ admits. “I dragged him to a party with Ned and he met this nice guy there. He goes to NYU, double majoring in business and engineering. He’s a good guy and Peter really likes him. They’ve been on a handful of dates so far.”

Harley nods. He doesn’t like it, he doesn’t really have a choice but to find it in him to be okay with it. Him and Peter aren’t together anymore. That’s just the way it is.

“This is going to sound downright pathetic, but do you think I’d ever have another chance with him?” Harley asks, voice soft and quiet, scared of what the answer might be.

MJ shrugs. “Honestly, I don’t know. Peter still loves you, I think he always will. It’s impossible to throw a five-year relationship down the drain without a second thought, but I also know that Peter’s happy where he is now.”

“And he wasn’t happy with me,” Harley finishes.

“If you can’t let this go, then I don’t know how we’re supposed to keep going!” Harley shouted, heartbroken and angry and confused, but mostly scared of what he’s implying. “I can’t keep spending all my time apologizing for one mistake, and you can’t keep hating me for it. Either we find a way to work this out or we’re going to have to call quits. I hate doing this. Pretending things are fine when they’re not. I don’t want to continue on like this when neither of us are happy.”

Peter, crying and just as angry and scared, nodded. “Fine then. I’m done. I can’t do this anymore. I don’t know how to fix this, I don’t think we can.”

Cheating on Peter with Flash had been a mistake, he knew that the moment it happened, despite it not getting further than kissing. He’d been drunk and they’d been fighting, and he wanted to get back at Peter.

He spent a year apologizing, buying things for Peter, doing anything he was asked to do, slaving over their relationship because he’d made a mistake.

“I know this sucks for you, Harley, I know how torn up you’ve been about all of this for months, but Peter’s moved on,” MJ says, not unkindly. “He’s found a new guy and I think they’re planning on making it serious. You’re still living in guilt and beating yourself up over it. You’re living like Peter’s just going to show up again one day and things will go back to the way you once were.”

“They’re making it serious?”

MJ scoffs, draining her glass of wine. “That wasn’t the point. The point is that you’re miserable and you’re beating yourself up for something that was only half on you.”

“But they’re making it serious?” Harley repeats.

“Fuck, I don’t know! Yes, I think they’re going to make it official, boyfriends and all, very soon. They really like each other.”

Harley lets out a harsh sigh, head falling into his heads. “I’m not beating myself up, I just- I still love him. I love him. I don’t know how to move on from him when he was the only thing that ever mattered to me, when I thought we were going to be forever. I want him back, I want us again. I don’t know how to move on from something that felt like everything to me.”

But the truth is that he doesn’t want to move on. He loves Peter, and he wants what they had back again. He doesn’t want to try to date somebody new or move away or try to restart on his own. He doesn’t want that, not when he knows where his happily ever after lies.

“I think you should call him and get closure. I think that would help you start moving on without him. Either way, I should get going. I have an early start in the morning.”

They say their goodbyes and pleasantries.

As soon as the door shuts behind her, Harley scrambles for his phone.

“Hello?”

“Peter,” Harley breathes, just hearing his exes voice makes the guilt in his chest wash away. “It’s, uh, it’s me.”

There’s a moment of silence, filled with tension and confusion and obvious worry. “It’s been six months of radio silence on your end… Is everything okay?”

“MJ said you were seeing somebody,” Harley blurts, voice shaking and blinking back tears. “I just- I don’t know. I know I screwed up, I know I made so many mistakes, I just- I always thought we were-”

“It wasn’t all your fault. I don’t want you feeling guilty over what happened forever. It was my fault we fought that night, it was my fault you never felt like you could be forgiven for kissing Flash. If I was holding that much resentment against you, I should’ve called it quits a long time before we did. Maybe then we could’ve worked things out a lot sooner.”

Harley sniffles, feeling awfully pathetic in an apartment that used to be theirs but is now only his, talking to Peter again. He wants Peter back so badly it hurts, it makes his chest tighten and his hands shake and his head ache. He wants everything they had back. “I know you’re seeing someone but I still love you, Peter. I don’t know what to do with myself anymore. I still love you. And I still want you back.”

“Me and Harry are happy,” Peter murmurs. “I do love you and I really think we can make being friends work, but… I don’t think I can handle that kind of heartbreak again. I think we both need time apart before we even consider coming back to this.”

“Tell me about him. About Harry.”

Peter hesitates. “You really want to know?”

“I’m still your best friend, Peter. I know things have been awful between us for the past year, but I think it’s worse being apart. I wanna know about Harry.”

Peter rambles about his new relationship, one Harry Osborn who’s nearly finished at NYU, who’s smart and funny and sarcastic and pretty, who makes Peter happy, who has money and takes Peter on expensive, extravagant dates.

“I want to meet him,” Harley says, as confidently as he can for somebody who’s crumbling under the knowingness that he’s lost the love of his life. “We should all have dinner together. Maybe MJ and Ned can come too. We’ll make it a thing. I wanna be in your life, Peter, even if it’s not the way I want to be.”

“Good. Because I want you there too.”

When they finish talking, saying quiet, scared goodbyes because their relationship is brittle and broken, and they never know what would be the wrong thing to say, and Harley nearly says I love you before he says goodbye, Harley makes himself useful. He finally takes down all the memorabilia of a relationship that’s over, he puts Peter’s hoodies in the back of his closet, he throws out the bottle of half-used cologne that’s been sitting untouched on their desk for six months.

He stops when he picks up the ring on his nightstand.

There’s a part of him that thinks he should get rid of it, sell it, maybe, or send it to Abbie for whatever use she might have for it, but there’s a part of him, a bigger part, that’s too attached. Even if he never gets the chance to propose to Peter, he’s still hopeful he’ll find his happily ever after one day. Even if it means pining from a distance over a boy he lost his chances with, even if it means watching him be happy with another man, even if it means playing the part of the best friend. He’ll be okay.

(Two years later, after long conversations and careful trepidation when things were finally piecing back together in a way that made more sense than it ever had, Harley buys a second ring and proposes to his two boyfriends. Harry and Peter both say yes.)

 Taglist:  @littlemissagrafina  @spidey-reids-2003 @romeoandjulietyouwish @c-artara @shadedrose01 @likeaphoenix13 @pj-hermes-tonystark-obsessed  @you-get-killed-walk-it-off @kitkatwinchester  @emo-girl10 @justme--emily  @hold-our-destiny @imalivebecauseirondad @spiderman-peterman @dykeragee @maryserrao @heeeyitskay @parknerandirondad @lilacsandlilies4 {Let me know if you wanna be added or removed}

[iamtheempress]

A Vegeta x OC Fanfiction (part 5) ¤ ¤ ¤

With this holo map lain out in front of them it was time to plan a first attack. A city not 70 miles away was perfect. 

"You remember what i told you right?" Vegeta asks first, exiting the ship, and moving hair from his face. "Yes Vegeta. When does the moon rise?" He beeps the scouter on his face and looks to the ominous twilight sky. "About 3 hours. I wouldn’t suggest you look to the moon seeing as though you haven't changed into a Great Ape yet.. hideous being but it does its job and it does it well." He comments closing up the holo map and strides right past her

 “Cant wait to actually see it!” Vegeta chuckles “That’s depending on the  and crosses his arms over his chest looking at the slightly shorter Saiyan with an uncurled tail. Excited. Ready for action. Her blood was already pumping!

"We go there. Clear the area. Scout for food or signs of lifeforms and return back. This planet is enormous so i don't see this being a problem for you. As long as you follow my orders." His tone of voice really started to grate her nerves… “Lighten up Vegeta! Were going to be fine! I promise ill listen to you.” She punched his shoulder making him look back at her with an almost annoyed look on his face. It really made her feel a little wary, then she did beforehand.. if that were even feasibly possible..

 "Do you plan on turning into your Great Ape form yet?" He rolled his eyes and squinted a bit, deep in thought, taking in some fresh air before doing anything yet. “You'll see.” He watched her tail winding around her tight waist as she adjusted the suit to fit her more comfortably.  Vegeta scoffed. "Can't believe they made you wear that here…" he grumbled beneath his breath tightening his fist as he blasted from the entryway of the ship. Calamatta followed close behind after closing up shop.

It was now that she noticed the way the sun shone through the atmosphere made it perpetually twilight, it was beautiful and picturesque scenery of a brand new landscape giving way to rolling hills and mountains that looked untouched by anything even closely resembling a bipedal intelligent lifeform. A herd of animals ran beneath them as they made their way to this dystopian cityscape, shrouded in fog and lit up in a bright light.

SHe wondered to herself if this is the type of scenery they would see before terraforming a planet, it was romantic even in a sick and twisted sort of way.

The city came into focus and the time was nigh. To lay waste and do a job. Lives, alive or dead….or otherwise meant nothing. Vegeta landed in a city center. Void of life and anything at all. Overturned vehicles and blown out buildings stretched the alien metropolis. Vegeta turned to Calamatta and nodded.

 "Do the honors, Calamatta.. if we get no action soon ill fall asleep standing up." He told her as he crossed his arms and stood close to her.

The small Saiyan smirked and flicked her wrist pointing up at the sky blowing out the city surrounding them in a hellscape beyond measure. This eruption caused the city to crumble into cinders beneath their feet. Flattening it to molten slag… the hiss of the hot ash settling on the ground earned her a slow clap from Vegeta. "Well done." 

"Learned from the best." She bumped him with her hip, playfully. 

All playfulness flew out the window when she locked eyes with the prince staring out at his scouter, beeping rapidly. 

She looked in that direction and saw 6 lanky arms protruding out of the ground and pulling out a large bipedal creature.. mold colored and large eyes staring back at them opened its maw and croaked like a frog. "Oh hell…" Vegeta cursed and shot up into the air out of reach as it lunged like a spider  to Calamatta earning a loud shriek from the saiyan and a panicked ki beam to the face blowing it to meaty chunky smithereens.  Laying the field with snapped bones and limbs. 

"What the hell was that???" She screamed up at Vegeta pointing at what's left of that thing. "Get the hell off the ground and up here before more come! They croak as a way to communicate!" She gasped and started to fly off the ground. Only to be grabbed by skeletal arms beneath her. Gripping her ankle and leg pulling her hard to the ground beneath, Vegetas look of blind shock was brief but he managed to slice these skeletal hands away as quickly as they clamped onto her meaty thigh. The 7 finger like appendages wrapped fully around her ankle and thigh causing a bruise to take its place. "This is worse then i imagined.. we cant remain on the ground! Stay up here woman i dont need you dying already!" He shouted and two more of those things came from behind a scalded rock, Burnt and mangled but still charging for them.

They ascended further and watched them leap aggressively for their legs. The two Saiyans look at eachother and blast these mindless monsters to smithereens. Their entire bodies turning to ash and flying away in the wind. “Those… are the inhabitants?” “What's left of them.. They’re zombified. Its that virus that took them over and reanimated them.” Vegeta warns turning to the perplexed female saiyan, she simply gulped and met the princes eyes.

 “We wont be reaching any form of diplomacy.. Were only going to have to take them out the old fashioned way…” He growls and cracks his knuckles, his scouter beeps and a small smirk spreads on his face.

 “The moon is almost up and I'm becoming already impatient.” He turns directly to her and places a hand on his hip, puffing his chest up. “We need to speed up this extinction event abit. Don't get in my way and watch your prince in action..” With that he blasts in a direction opposite her, she whips around and shouts after him “Hey!” She charges in the direction of the prince, keeping distance and just all over confused, miles upon miles later Vegeta comes to an incredibly large city. A grin growing on his face when he lands upon the highest building, “Calamatta!” He calls out to her though the scouters mic, she looks to the prince silhouetted against the rising moon and questions out of complete confusion and frustration. 

“Vegeta what the hell are you upto! Didnt you just give me the third degree about 3 hours ago about doing anything drastic..?” She nags in his com, only earning a bark of laughter. 

“Silly woman! You are not yet skilled enough to control your Great Ape form! It would be absolutely idiodic of you to do that! So do yourself a favor and relax and watch the best of your race in action.” He barked harshly at her, his words started to sting more and more and goddamn did she hate it. She crossed her arms and kept her distance as Vegeta turned his entire head to the sky and drank in the power of the full moon beaming down upon him. Igniting the great Oozaru that dwells inside of him like a match in a house full of open gas tanks.

He cranes his head back and roars loudly his entire body morphing from his original height into a massive ape. Calamatta was impressed.. terrified even, by the sheer magnitude of an untamable beast.

Upon hearing his roar of the Saiyan Prince made Great Ape came a cacophony of croaks rapidly approaching and thunderously loud approaching of feet, scuttling rapidly. The Ape turned his head and looked upon the small Saiyan pointing a thumb to himself. “Observe, Woman.” Vegeta boasted and turned back to the city scape back handing the sky scraper over, crushing smaller buildings beneath his boot. Devastating crush for smash the buildings came down and these creatures were being crushed like bugs. Scaling his boots only sealed their fates when he would kick buildings. His maw would open and a beam of chi would explode forth devastating everything within its path. He looked like he was having the time of his life. Leveling city block for sky scraper with a thwip of his tail. 

Everything seemed so simple. Like these creatures only needed the touch of some Saiyans to get the job done. With this thought came that cocky demeanor yet again. Calamatta lowered herself to the roof top of a lower building and marveled at the Saiyan princes destructive wake. His roar enraptured her and made her feel alive… Something small within her that made her start to see what being a Saiyan meant. She hoped she could be exactly like him. Maybe stronger. She considered herself just as strong but didnt fully grasp the sheer magnitude of power she has within her little Saiyan body.

Unbeknownst to her and Vegeta she was being crept upon by an even larger zombie, a loud croak spooked her from her  seated position and she was grasped tightly by this creature around her waist. A shout comes from her throat as she fires a beam of ki into his face only angering it as it smashes her against the side of a building, gaining Vegeta’s attention. He snarls and took one solid leap into the air to come down hard onto its back arms and dead legs. 

“Goddammit you cant stay out of trouble cant you?” He snarls at her as he snaps the arm holding onto her like a pencil in his hands. With his free hand he grabs the croaking monster by the face and crushes it hard in his grip, holding the caged saiyan in his other hand. Giving her full attention with a disappointed face. “C-Can you get me out.” She asked him struggling to pull the fingers from her torso and leg. “Youll only cause more trouble if i do so i will keep you like this till we return back to base.” His booming voice reverberated sounding more and more condescending by the second. 

Calamatta pouted and retorted “This isnt remotely fair!” Vegeta snapped, tired of being back talked. “Its not fair i have to watch over you like an unruly infant so remain still in my hand or ill leave you to die and I will do this goddamned planet on my own!” His teeth bare and foam spills forth from his teeth. The prince is fuming, if his bright red eyes had blood vessels they would have been long burst now. 

Calamatta had heard enough. That one sentence struck a chord in her. It stabbed her right to the core. Vegeta just stared at her merciless in his words. He meant that. She knew it. Theres no question.. She took a breath and nodded, only to earn a single growl and a flash of his canines, as he turned back to the city to continue his onslaught. 

Over 3 hours and the city was leveled entirely. Vegeta had been quiet as well as Calamatta. Her eyes remained fixed upon Vegeta as he finishes his onslaught. 

Not a croak for miles. Not a peep from Calamatta’s pretty lips. “Hear that Calamatta…” 

He says flatly in his godlike deep voice. She listens to the wind and raises a brow confused “No i dont hear any-” “Exactly… Silence. Sweet silence… Now i would like to hear it the entire trip back… and ill release you.” “B-But Vegeta!” “Not a word from you.. This is your punishment for being caught, woman.” She goes quiet and slumps into his hand. “Fine…” Her voice cracks and keeps her head turned away from him Quiet. Solemn. Forfeit…

¤ ¤ ¤

Tags: @memevember @dragonblobz @lizardhipsdontlie @nikabriefs @gonuclear @msgreenverse @fallen--lilith @lilhemmo @supremeleadershitlord @thotful-writing @dragonball-hcs-or-sum-shit @solidsock @jimbobslurpnchug

[concealeddarkness13]

WHG Post Games Nesri Part 4

I had to break this one up. I was already over 3,000 words, and we weren’t done, so I took the spar and made it its own part. I’ll only mention the characters that have speaking parts in this (sorry, Nesri focused too much during the fight to hear Elvira’s comments). Tagging: @ratracechronicler (also thanks for Rebecca!), @maple-writes (also thanks for Cirrus!), @nightskywriter, @rhikasa, @pen-of-roses, @aeslin-writes, @the-moving-finger-writes, @knmartinshouldbewriting, @makeitmonstrous, and @timefirewrites!

I leaned against the wall across from the door to Cirrus’s room. It was a couple days after the Capitol showed off Lynne, and it was the day of the big announcement. I had to figure out how to spend the time before that.

So, here I was, waiting for Cirrus to emerge so I could pester him again. He finally did open his door, and I stood up straight with a smirk playing on my lips. “So, remember how you agreed to a spar two days ago?”

He took his time opening the door all the way, and he groaned. “You really don’t give up, do you?”

I grinned. “I’ve been told it’s both a positive and negative trait of mine. So, about that spar?”

“Why do you want to do this so much?” He leaned against the doorway, but he only looked half-annoyed. “You don’t have any other hobbies?”

“Fighting is one of the few joys of my life. I have to have some kind of excitement to release this pent up energy. I can’t just take up knitting. I’d probably break the needle in frustration.”

He shrugged. “I don’t know, those things are pretty strong. I think they make some in aluminum or something.” He sighed, and I could see the defeat in his expression. “I’m not going to change your mind, am I?”

I shook my head. “Nope! I’ll just bug you until you give in.”

“Fine.” He groaned and made a big show of rolling back his head. “I’ll do it.”

“Wonderful!” I started running toward the living room. “Zenith, move the furniture! And you owe me money! I told you I’d make him give in! You have to be referee!” Zenith groaned somewhere else in the apartment.

Cirrus sounded astounded. “You bet on this?”

I laughed. “Bets are one of the other joys of my life!”

I started pushing the furniture out of the way, and Zenith helped after handing over some money.

Somewhere else in the apartment, Rebecca shouted, “Ooh, friendly violence is important!” And soon, she was there sitting on the overturned couch (there wasn’t enough room in this small living room to put the couch off to the side right side up). Rowan had slid in with a cup of tea, and the smell of coffee was wafting from the kitchen. Asher was sitting next to Rowan. And Cirrus was looking exasperated about the whole spectacle.

Zenith stood off to the side to make sure we followed the rules. Which I hadn’t explained yet. I snapped at Cirrus to get his attention. “So, this spar is just hand-to-hand, no weapons. And no magic. It’s a fair, normal human being spar. Even though neither of us are normal human beings, are we?” I winked at him.

He crossed his arms. “Don’t snap at me.” He huffed but nodded with a mischievous smile. “Ready?”

“The question is, are you ready?” I rushed him but at the last second, I slipped behind him. Time to test how good his reaction time was.

He swore. How ungentlemanly in front of a lady! He swung at me, but I just dodged and exaggerated a yawn. “Ugh. I thought you’d be faster than that.”

“I thought you wanted a fight.” He watched me, standing up straight and looking down on me. Ooh! The intimidation factor!

I winked. “This is a fight. You’re just monumentally bad at it.” I knew this wouldn’t work, but I kicked out at his legs anyway.

Wow, it actually connected! He stumbled, but backed away before I could knock him over. He grabbed at my arm, but I slipped my arm out of my jacket sleeve so he just grabbed that. I flung my jacket at his face. “Sloppy.” I stayed still, rocking on my feet. “You’re looking a little red in the face. Are you sure you’re feeling well?”

Oh, now I made him really mad. Good. He gripped the jacket. “You little shit!” He grabbed both sleeves of the jacket and threw it forward, looking like he was going for my neck.

I smirked and ducked under the jacket. This was my chance. I kicked at his legs again, and he stumbled. “How ungentlemanly, cursing in front of a lady!” I slipped behind him and kicked at his legs again, and he fell. I tried to pounce, but he kicked at me, and I couldn’t get away fast enough. I rolled but landed on my feet.

I laughed. “Now, that was finally a good hit! What were you going easy on me before this?”

Cirrus got back up. “You know, if you wanted to talk, you could have just said so.”

“Nah. It’s much more fun to talk while I fight! Anyway, I couldn’t have secured such a handsome or entertaining partner any other way.” I winked and then glanced at everyone else. “No offense to anyone else here.”

He froze. Ah. His weakness. He blinked and stared. It was as if he didn’t know how to respond. So, instead, he tried the jacket move again.

“Aw! You’re so cute when you’re flustered!” I grinned and dodged the jacket, but I made sure to get close so that our faces were inches apart, and I winked. He really was handsome. Maybe later, we could talk more.

He froze, but then he recovered and grabbed my hair. Sloppy on my part. He elbowed me in the ribs before I could try anything, but he looked clumsier than before. But I couldn’t capitalize on that. I gasped in a breath. He could hit hard. “So, what’re your plans later?”

He didn’t get distracted and pause. Shit. He swung for my head, but I dodged. Just slower than normal. “Why, bored?”

“Just trying to make small talk.” I tried to elbow him in the stomach.

It connected, but not enough. He gasped, but grabbed me by the back of my shirt and shoved me down.

I had to gasp for breath before I could even speak. I was done. But still, I laughed. It was a fun battle. “Best two out of three?”

Cirrus was catching his breath as well. At least I had gotten him too. He grinned. “That wasn’t part of the deal, right Zenith?”

Zenith just shrugged, muttering something about not crossing me. I sat up and held out a hand for Cirrus to shake. “It was an honor sparring with you. And I wasn’t lying about you being handsome and entertaining.” I winked.

He shook my hand and helped me stand up, and he was blushing. “I, thanks. You’re not bad yourself.” He grabbed my jacket and handed it back to me, but I didn’t put it on yet. It was too warm now that I had exercised. Now, we just had to wait for the Capitol’s special announcement.

[imagineclaireandjamie]

Squeeee my Deep Within prompt was answered twice 😱😱😱 Throwing all the love your way today for this wonderful story ❤️ John and Claire’s relationship is lovely and I’m here for it!

Deep Within The Darkness Peering. Part I; Chapter Four:

True to his word, John worked tirelessly during his free time to try and build Jamie a case for review. He did it quietly at home, calling Claire to update her on any new information he’d been privy to without alerting any of his partners. When the date came for the hearing, he kept quiet. Claire had been working back to back shifts, she was exhausted and he worried that if it didn’t go in Jamie’s favour she might just crack under the weight of it.

The odds weren’t in their favour. His crime was serious, if and when he did find himself free that kind of record wasn’t going to just disappear. Even with Claire’s support, John worried it might red-flag Jamie’s case rather than quosh any misgivings the parole board might have over releasing him early. In front of him sat the list of board members who had the potential to be reading through his appeal right now and he’d already placed a large cross by the side of the people he hoped it *wouldn’t* be. Anyone else was certainly a bonus.

It was the sound of his email pinging that bought him back to earth. A decision this fast didn’t seem positive but he tried to eliminate those negative thoughts as he clicked to open the new unread message.

He almost knocked the phone off its cradle as he tried to dial Claire’s number from memory. It only rang out twice and he felt bad for waking her as her sleepy voice echoed down the line.

“They accepted it, Claire. They only just bloody accepted my appeal!” He was flabbergasted, his voice going from barely audible to shouting as he tried to contain himself. “We have to wait for them to process the paperwork and you’ll have to go to the prison to collect him and sign some release forms but it should be completed by the end of the week.”

On the other end of the line, Claire sat up in bed, her hair standing on end from where she’d fallen asleep with it damp, her heart dancing madly in her chest. “Just let me know the date he’ll be free and I’ll swap my shifts.” Suddenly her mouth was dry at the prospect. “Does he know yet?”

“I spoke with one of the wardens and she told me he’s still being kept in the hospital wing, there’s nothing to worry about but he was a bit under the weather…”

“Did you make that happen?”

“No,” John chuckled, “though once they knew I was involved I think they had a change of heart about Mr Fraser and his care.”

“Ah, so your name has some pull then?”

There was a moment of silence as a grateful calm washed over them both, neither had given themselves time to come to term with their small win but now Claire had to prepare herself for her guest.

“I’m sure he will know by the time it’s all official, so don’t concern yourself with that and he’ll be off the ward before it comes time for you to sign for his release. And hey, if things get dicey,” he joked, his tone finally lightening, “at least he’s in the care of a good doctor.”

Before she had time to correct him, he’d hung up, leaving her to ponder how she was going to make her flat suitable enough for Jamie. A few cans of paint later, she’d added a statement wall to her spare room as well as some new, clean bedsheets and a throw for the double bed. In fairness to her decorating skills it hadn’t really needed much, just a spruce up here and there, a hoover and a dust. With John living so close by, she rarely had anyone to stay but now she was glad she’d opted for a three bed instead of just two.

In the end it was a rainy Tuesday afternoon when Claire found herself standing in front of the rather demure looking building. There was a fence with chain links hovering ominously over the top, but the newbuild reception looked small and harmless.

Passing her ID through the small bank teller like hole she smiled shyly at the desk sergeant. “Claire Beauchamp,” she said quietly, trying her best not to disturb the silence, “here to collect--”

“James Fraser, yes?” Without waiting for her to confirm, he passed her a clipboard and a pen while his colleague phoned through. She couldn’t make out what he was saying, but neither seemed friendly so she signed where she needed and pushed the papers back through without another word.

“Take a seat, he has to collect his belongings but he shouldn’t be too much longer.” Hearing Rupert Mackenzie’s voice made Claire smile and she turned to watch as he slipped through the vast security system before taking hold of her hand and shaking it brusquely. “How have ye been, lass?”

“All the better for seeing you, how is he?”

“He’ll be all the better for seeing you.” He quipped back. “But first I think you and I should go through some of the conditions of his parole.”

Sitting around a small table, Rupert pulled the documents from his pockets. He’d carefully highlighted the portions that he needed to discuss and Claire had already guessed some of the details before he started talking through them.

“Since Jamie’s sentence involves violence when drinking, he canna imbibe any alcohol whilst under the jurisdiction of the courts, it doesna explicitly forbid him from entering establishments that serve but if I were you, I’d advise he stays away - as much as is humanly possible. He’ll have to submit to random drug and alcohol checks and they can be requested at any time. As well as that he’ll have a support worker assigned, he’ll have to meet with them. I dinna ken how often it’ll be, but it’s usually quite frequent in the first month and then it’ll settle into a routine like once a month or once every three months. He’ll be free to travel, but they’re still deciding if they’ll impose a radius on that so he’ll find out during his first probation meeting. He canna go out of the country, though. Is there any questions you have?”

“Other than sanctuary,” taking a peek over at the exit, she pulled her cardigan tighter around her chest, “is there anything that I have to do for him at home? Or, conversely, anything I shouldn’t do?”

“I dinna think there’s any tips I can give to ye that ye dinna already know, lass.” He reassured her, their heads turning just in time to see Jamie approaching, a clear bag of his belongings held tightly between his fingers.

Standing, Claire waved coquettishly over at him. All of a sudden she felt nervous. He looked pale, skinny even, but not too unhealthy. She was grateful for the full fridge she had at home and the cabinet full of lotions that would help reduce the scarring on his back. As he waved back the butterflies in her stomach dissipated. If she’d worried about the repercussions of her decision beforehand, they’d have been invalid now upon seeing him again. The fear and uncertainty had been replaced with a pleasant sort of trepidation. He was nervous too, but happy as well and relaxed.

“I really dinna know what to say…” he whispered when they finally came face to face. “I’ve had a few hours to think about it and I thought I’d planned it all out. But seeing you now, they’ve evaporated.”

“You don’t have to say anything, honestly.” Placing her hands out, she took the small package from his arms and nudged him softly with her elbow.

“Ye’ve risked an awful lot for me, I’m a stranger, I could be anyone.”

“But you’re not and the words you didn’t say spoke more about you than the ones you did. Something told me you were worth the risk. Maybe one day I’ll talk you through it....when I know you won’t laugh at me.” They were shy with one another, quiet and calm as Claire led the way to her car after saying goodbye to Rupert and handing back his copy of the probation paperwork.

He was tall standing up, she realised, so tall that he had to duck to climb into her small Polo, pulling his legs up a little and bowing his head so that he didn’t thwack it on the roof of the vehicle. She could already tell that he was overwhelmed by it all. Getting into the car was part of it, but he’d been hunched over, his shoulders bent inwards and his head downcast the moment they’d left the confines of the reception.

“I wanted to call ahead and ask if there was anything you really disliked -food wise- but then time just seemed to disappear.” She confessed as they drove away.

“I dinna think you could make me a dish I’d turn my nose up at after eating the food in the prison canteen.”

She laughed at his comment, watching out of the corner of her eye as he slowly began to uncurl himself. With his shoulders straightened, his cheeks slightly pinked and his gaze captivated by the road as it fell away behind them, he seemed to be more at ease the further they travelled into the city.

“I’m sure it’s on a par with the horrors the chef presses upon us in the hospital canteen - though I won’t torture you with details.”

He visibly flinched and it took her a moment to comprehend why.

“Sorry.” Apologising quickly, the vision of him, small and curled up on the A&E mattress, sprung immediately to mind. Triggers were something unavoidable and scarily common and though she had prepared herself for the care she’d need to pay to his physical health, shockingly, she had, in the fray, forgotten about the mental scars left by his ordeal.

“Please...it’s alright, honestly.” He replied once he’d managed to catch his breath.

“I guess we both have a lot to learn about one another.” Pressing the break, she pulled the car to a slow stop as the traffic light changed from green to red. The silence continued on, even after she’d started the car and pulled off the main road and onto the side streets leading to her apartment but it wasn’t uncomfortable or strange.

“Thank ye…” he said eventually, a calm quiet acceptance lacing his tone as the street lamps flickered on around them in the growing storm. “It must have taken some doing for ye to get my hearing overturned and I canna tell you how grateful I am for that.”

Pulling into her assigned space, she let the engine continue to roll beneath them as a stillness surrounded them both. Taking hold of his hand, she turned it effortlessly so that her palm rested neatly against his and smiled softly across the small expanse of space between them in the front seats of the car. “Hello,” she began, clear and confident as she tried to quell the nerves as they steadily lapped beneath her warm flesh, “I’m Claire...and it’s lovely to meet you.”

Erasing the past from the present, she made it clear with a slight tip of her head and a small shrug of her shoulders what she was doing and Jamie fought not to collapse in her arms as he took one long healing breath. “Hello, Claire,” he returned slowly, “I’m Jamie and it’s sae good to meet ye too.”