#Give em the old sideways blink that always works

[the1stexperiment]

[no-droids]

The Sun on Both Sides

Summary: Cassian Andor is your very close companion.  He says best friend, you say pain in your ass—neither one of you are entirely wrong.  But then one night you smoke some unfamiliar spice with him, and everything you once thought you knew goes sideways.

Rating: Explicit

Pairing: Cassian Andor/fem!Reader

Word Count: 11.2K

Warnings: SMUT, sex pollen (therefore DUB-CON by default), recreational drug use, best friends to lovers, mutual pining, dirty talk, oral sex (both male and female receiving), penetrative sex, me just making so much shit up honestly

A/N: All phrases in Festan are taken from other Star Wars conlangs.  I don’t even know if that’s the name of the language people from Fest speak tbh.  Probably not.  None of this is real.  Anyways this is Cassian as a young rebel pilot long before the events of Rogue One.  This oneshot will likely be deemed obsolete by Cassian’s new Disney+ show but whoooooooops~

—knock knock knock knock knock—

You know that knock.  It’s too quick, too rapid and annoying to be anyone else.

“I’m sleeping,” you huff with your mouth full, sitting on top of your mattress in a hoodie and sweatpants, legs crossed.

“I have gifts,” Cassian’s muffled voice asserts from the other side of the door.

“I don’t care,” you return, swallowing and shoveling more slop together with your tiny little biodegradable spork.  “S’the middle of the night.”

—knock knock knock knock knock—

“Stop it.”

“Knock knock,” he beckons vocally, as if you didn’t hear it the first ten times.  “Come, open the door.  Please—I will get into trouble.”

It’s exhausting being Cassian’s friend.  Truly exhausting.  It doesn’t matter what Maker-forsaken time it is, as soon as he comes back to base from patrols, he’s at your door.  You don’t know why he chose you as his sole victim to personally inflict this torture upon, but regardless of reason, he’s called you his close friend ever since you first offered to help the lanky, dark-haired six year old with his Basic and his best friend ever since your junior year of flight training.  Apparently with the promotion came the lingering, severe misfortune of his present company, almost always.

“Can I put in for a transfer?”  He also technically outranks you.

“Open the door and we will talk,” Cassian bargains.  Bantha shit, you and him both know it.  He’ll rip the papers in half before you can even finish filling them out.

You let out a dramatic groan just loud enough for him to hear, dragging yourself off the bed and padding over to the door.  “If I accept your gift, will you leave?”

“Maybe.”  No.

“If I accept your gift and trade it for the rest of this, uh,” you look at the MRE packet in your hands, “rice and shredded tauntaun meat in glockaw sauce, will you leave?”

“Maybe.”  No.

“Good call, not as great as it sounds.  What if I—”

He says your name impatiently, accented and sharp.  You roll your eyes as his knuckles rap on the door once more.  “Quickly, quickly—before someone sees.”

“It’s the residential quarters and it’s two in the fucking morning, Cass, nobody’s going t—”

He cuts you off once more.  “Open the door and I will submit for your transfer work, yes?”

You throw your spork prong-down into the beige pouch in your hands and pop your hip, narrowing your eyebrows at the thick slab of metal separating the two of you skeptically.  “No, you won’t.”

“No, I will not,” the voice behind it concedes immediately.  “But for you, I will pretend.”

As soon as you the door slides open and disappears up into the ceiling with a quiet shhhft sound, his dark silhouette quickly slips past you and sneaks into your room, immediately bouncing his bony little butt down on top of your sizable but thin box-spring mattress without a word.  You press the button to close the door behind him with a long, drawn out sigh, turning around and resting your back against the wall panel.

Cassian meets your tired, expectant gaze head-on and wide awake, perched on your bed and huddled around something hidden in his thick jacket.  “First.  You cannot tell anyone.  Understand?”

You raise an eyebrow at him, unimpressed.  “Are we children, Cass?”

“Secondly.”  He blinks up at you.  Maker, his eyes are so… wide.  Dark and warm and bright, framed with thick, long lashes.  “If you do not want it, just say.  Okay?”

Your expression suddenly narrows.  This is new.  It’s… still bantha shit, but it’s… new.  New bantha shit.

“Because the word ‘no’ holds so much meaning for you,” you tilt your head to gesture at the door to your right, “clearly.”

“Come.  Sit here,” he ignores you, patting the space next to him as if that isn’t your own fucking bed he’s inviting you to join him on.  “We will look together.”

“I will literally murder you,” you tell him genuinely, though you push off the wall to move toward him all the same.  “If that’s not a cute little mini-lothcat in your arms you got me for my birthday, Andor, I will literally murder you.”

“Today is your birthday?”  He glances up at you in surprise just as you’re lowering yourself down onto the mattress next to him.

“Two weeks ago, but you were off-base.”  You dig around inside the pouch for your handy little spork, not looking at him.  “Quit avoiding the subject, my death threat still stands.  Where’s my cat, asshole?  Who do I have to tolerate in my bed this late at night to push that kind of paperwor—oof—”

The second you catch the hard little end piece of it between your fingers is the second he reaches around you and pulls you into a tight, one-armed hug.  You fumble with the packet of food as you’re abruptly jerked forward, trying not to let it get squished it between you.

Stars, he smells good.  His parka smells just like him, the fur lining its hood so warm and fluffy and soft as it tickles your nose.  It’s still slightly damp from the wet sleet outside, but it smells so good.  The smallest undercurrent of clove and spice hidden beneath the sharp, clean scent of fresh snow.

“Happy Year-Over, caraya,” Cassian says next to your ear, quiet and fond.  “I know it is late, but I have your gift now.”

“‘Caraya’ better be Festan for ‘here’s your cute little lothcat, birthday girl’,” you warn him, moving to rest your chin on top of his padded shoulder and trying not to sound as breathless or affected by his sweet talking as you feel.  He’s never called you that before.  Caraya.  What does it mean?

It’s… it’s bantha shit, you remind yourself, trying not to close your eyes or lean into his half-embrace.  It’s all bantha shit.

“No,” Cassian acknowledges with a small head tilt, pulling his shoulder back but still keeping his long arm wrapped tight around you.  “No.  Not a… a cat, but…”  He slowly opens his other hand between the two of you, finally showing you.

You blink down at the thing in his palm, cradled carefully in thick gloves from the sub-zero temperatures outside.  It’s.  No, he’s right, it’s not a cat.  It’s a… a stick.  Reddish-pink, ground up plant matter wrapped in a semi-transparent binding.  Rolled up in a nice, even cylinder, a filter secured around one of its ends.

Spice.  Hand-rolled.  Expensive.  Probably swiped off a supply raid, whether by Cassian himself or another rebel fighter he bought it off of.  Ludicrous he got his hands on it, much less brought it on base.  Here, to your fucking quarters.

“I was wrong,” you eventually say, taking the joint from his open palm and holding it up to examine its strange color in the dim light.  “You don’t think we’re children.  You think we’re teenagers.”

“I think we are adults,” he corrects, swiping the MRE from your other hand, “with a reason to celebrate.”  He releases you and takes his arm back, sitting on your bed and digging two fingers around in your half-finished packet for your spork.

“You’re a bold pilot, Cass,” you tell him, studying the spice.  You’ve never seen any strain even similar to this before.  “It was one thing to do this during flight training, but now?  What happens if we have a piss test tomorrow?  Or, well—today, actually?”

“Different kind from before.”  He doesn’t sound bothered by the thought, though his mouth is currently full of tauntaun and rice in glockaw sauce.  “Only five hours high, not detectable after.  Piss tests are expensive, the rebellion has no money.”

“X-wings are expensive, too,” you counter, turning to look at him.  “You crash one of ‘em ‘cause you smoked this shit and your ass will be dead before you can even survive.”

“You hurt me.”  He uses the utensil to dig around the bottom corners of the packet for more slop, not looking hurt in the least.  “Also—you were right.  This one is… horrible.”

“Not to mention I have a oh-nine-hundred call.”  You both watch each other with matching looks of distaste as he continues to eat your food, clearly neither one of you enjoying it.  “You’re giving me barely two hours to come down before I got orange jumpsuits crawling all over me.”

“You did not hear?”  Cassian swallows.  “Reassigned Dreis during debriefing.  I will be leading red squadron tomorrow.  Or, today.”

You blink at him.  “You’re kidding.”

“No,” he shakes his head exactly once, throwing the spork into the empty packet and flattening it.  “No, I would not do that to you.”

“Course not,” you agree diplomatically.  “You’d just barge into my room at two in the morning, eat my food, offer me drugs, and then tell me I’ll be taking orders from you tomorrow.”

��Today,” he corrects.  “But I could not get our call changed, and for that I am sorry.”  He lifts an eyebrow at you, quirking the side of his mouth up and pushing the empty MRE pouch into your hands to throw away.  “But only for that.  Happy birthday?”

“We’re going to lose this war,” you tell him honestly, sliding off your mattress with a sigh to trash it.  “We’re all going to die horribly, and painfully.  The Rebellion is fucking doomed.  You and I will be but a mere footnote in the Empire’s endless reign of terror, you realize.  A footnote.  Our names at the very, very bottom of the page, in tiny little six point font, and it’ll link to a one sentence obituary for the both of us.  Died horribly and in pain.  Did you bring a lighter?”

“Here,” Cassian shifts to one buttcheek and pulls an arc lighter from his back pocket, offering it to you when you come back.  “Okay?  You will start it then?  Birthday girl.”

“You said five hours for one person, right?  So that’s two and a half each if we split it,” you reason with a shrug, putting the filter to your lips and talking through the side of your mouth.  “Two o’clock right now, nine-hundred call.  At least four hours to come down, and thirty minutes to shower if we’re both lucky.”

“We will be fine.”  He waves your careful calculations away with his hand as you flick the lighter.  “Because we are lucky feetnotes, yes?”

***

You’re not fine.

It’s fucking boiling in here.  Maker, you’re on fucking Hoth; why the fuck are you boiling?  It’s never even been warm in your quarters before, much less this hot.  You feel like you’re sweating buckets through your hoodie, your hair sticking to your neck in thin little curls.

And… and Cassian.

He’s sitting so unbelievably straight on the bed across from you, parka and gloves long abandoned on the floor.  His dark eyes flick over to you occasionally, though it looks like he’s trying really hard not to move a single muscle other than that.  His hands are clamped tightly between his thighs and he just… holds there.  A compact, rigid statue perched upright on the mattress, looking far too still and tense to fit the comfort of his surroundings.

“Are you okay?”  You ask him, blinking at how hoarse your voice comes out sounding.  Holy fuck, your mouth feels like a desert.  

Cassian stares at you, and for some reason, his large, expressive eyes seem even wider now.  They’re glassy and a bit red, but also so big and lovely and framed with long, dark lashes.

“This is not.”  His accent sounds thicker, words coming out deeper in his throat.  It settles down inside you just right and you feel a spark of heat at the base of your spine.  He blinks twice.  “This is not how it usually feels.”

“Should we stop?”  You look down at the half-finished joint in your hand, tilting your head thoughtfully as you consider the drug pulsing through your veins.  “It’s… it’s different, but I think it feels good.”

“Yes—I…”  He closes his eyes.  “Th-that is the problem, I think.”

He shifts a bit on the mattress and bites down on his bottom lip, and you must look so fucking dumb as you stare at him with your jaw slack, watching his lithe body stretch and handle the spice.  He’s fucking gorgeous.  Stars, you always thought he was gorgeous, but this is something else.  He flutters his eyes open to look at you through his lashes, and—

—oh.  Oh.  You see now.  You see what he meant.  Warmth pools deep down in your tummy as he looks at you with impossibly dark eyes, slowly drags his glassy gaze down your body.  Fuck, you’re getting turned on.  You go red and blink softly at him while he stares at you, trying to control your breathing.

“You need to—” your voice jumps, trying to remember the right cadence.  How do you speak to him normally?  “You can… take—take my pillow, if you want.  Lay down.  You’re too tall, your eyes are too big.  Look like a… like a Kaminoan.  Heal any—heal any clones recently?”

Bad joke.  Maker, he’s so beautiful.  Rich, dark features taking you in, blinking slowly at you and clearly not hearing a single word you said.

You shift your weight and throw him the cushion you’re partially sitting on without waiting for an answer.  You both need to calm the fuck down.  Hopefully the pillow will help.  Even if it’s squished and warm from your butt.  “It’s warm ‘cause I was sitting on it, m’sorry.  Fuck, it’s warm in here.  Do you think it’s warm in here?”

It’s like he still doesn’t hear you.  Cassian just takes your flattened pillow in his lap and looks at it for way too long, slowly rubs the fabric on the corner between his fingers and examines it, like if he tries hard enough he’ll be able to see through it.

“Cass,” you eventually call his name in reminder.  “Lay down, put that under your head—”

“Do you feel turned on?”  He asks quite suddenly, whipping his head to the side to look at you.  You almost drop the spice.

“No,” you say immediately, acting on impulse alone and trying to rearrange your face into something… something negative.  Something just generally negative, because you can’t even think of a negative emotion specific enough with the way your heart is pounding at the thought of something like this actually happening right now.  Holy fuck, you’re sweating.  What the fuck is in this shit?  “No, of course not.”

“Of course not,” he nods, turning back to look at your pillow.  “Me too.  Not.”  He shakes his head.  “Neither.  Either?”

“Lay down,” you tell him once more, desperately needing something else to do now, something to distract yourself from the way your lower muscles are starting to cramp up with heat and arousal.  “I’ll get us some water.  We need water.”

You’re off the bed and setting the smoldering spice on the small metal counter without another word, grabbing two empty cups and beginning to fill them up in the tiny little sink with your back to him. 

Stars, he was right.  It’s not supposed to feel like this.  It feels… it feels like everything is burning inside you, but such a good burn.  Like your mind is being seduced by your own body right now instead of the other way around, and the paradoxical sensation is manifesting itself in an unprecedentedly strong urge to jump your best friend’s bones.  The urge has always been there, granted, but it’s never been this shameless before.  Never arced and pulsed so brilliantly in your veins before, never been steadily fed by such a tempting outside source.  Not the drugs—but him.  The tangible fuck-me vibes Cassian is radiating towards you right now, staring at your back with those big, gorgeous brown eyes of his, silent and unmoving behind you as he watches you from your bed.  He’s never done anything to encourage your desire for him like this before.  He’s never wanted anything more than just platonic companionship and playful banter in the midst of war zones from you, and yet you can feel the heat burning from him too, feel it start to intensify your own high.

It’s bantha shit, you have to realize.  This whole Maker-forsaken situation—it’s forced; none of it’s real.  Cassian is your best friend, and he’s only looking at you like this because spice is chemically altering his hormones right now.  You can feel it doing the same to you, just steadily stirring deep in your floor muscles and amplifying your baser desires, but you need to snap yourself the fuck out of it and be the levelheaded one here.  Despite the arousal burning hot in your tummy, at least you know your thoughts are still fundamentally sound—in contrast, you have no fucking clue what’s going on in that hard head of his right now.  At least one of you needs to buck up, handle your drugs, and be the adult before things get out of hand.  If it falls to you, then so be it.

You focus on your breathing and do as much as you can to mentally will the tingling sensation down deep.  Taking a second to put a comfortable expression on, you finally turn around and start walking back to him.

When you raise your head and make eye contact with Cassian again though, the look in his eyes almost immediately threatens to undo everything you just decided.  Fuck, he looks like he just had an internal pep talk of his own, but in the entirely wrong direction you went.  He’s a bit more relaxed now, same as you, but his gaze is now searing hot on your body, tangible enough to stop you dead in your tracks in front of him.  It burns through you, and you literally feel the sweat drip down your back as a shiver rolls down your spine.

No.  Hold strong.  Maker, irresponsibility has always been appealing but never so fucking seductive as this is, has it?  Taking such a gorgeous fucking form.  You take a few more steps forward, quickly trying to gather composure.

“Should we stop?”  You ask him once more and stars, you were aiming for calmer and gentler and with more lung support—not this breathless scrape of a sound that feels like sandpaper in your throat.  He hasn’t said a fucking word and your resolve is already wavering.  You try not to make eye contact as you carefully hand him one of the cups.  “We’re only twenty minutes in, barely halfway through it.  We can stop and coast, it’s not a big deal.”

Cassian takes the water from your outstretched hand, letting the tips of his fingers brush lightly across yours in the process.  Your heart skips in your chest.  “Do you want to stop?”

You absolutely should fucking stop.  Just standing here and handing him water without ripping your clothes off is a challenge; you’ve still got half a joint left and you’re not even sure you’ve reached the come-up yet.  What if this is just the beginning?  What if this is just laying the foundation?  What happens when you actually peak on this shit?

“It’s not a big deal,” you repeat instead, keeping your answer as ambiguous as possible and taking a sip of the blessedly cold liquid.  At least the water is responding correctly to the frigid environment on this horrible fucking planet.  You feel ready to burn up.  “Just wanna make sure you’re cool.”

Cassian flicks his eyes over to the joint still cherried and smoking on the metal counter behind you.  “We can keep going.”

Your breathing picks up slightly.  Does he know what he’s really asking right now?  He has to have figured out what that spice does by now, right?  But no, he’s so steadfast in the way he looks at you, blinking up at you confidently.  Fuck, you should stop.  You should stop.

You should… compromise?

“If we keep going, no more of this,” you tell him, gesturing to the way he still hasn’t moved or drank any of the water in his cup.  “You need to.  Chill out, alright.  Act normal.”

Fuck, you’re normally so blunt and outspoken with him, so why is it that everything happening here is so fucking unsaid?  Everything is transpiring right below the surface, a conversation taking place within another conversation.  You’re telling him to cut the heart eyes, lay back on the bed and spend some rare quality time with his best friend.  Regardless of the weird side effects, this spice is still giving you an incredibly strong body high.  If he could just stop looking at you like that so you can stop rhythmically clenching and pulsing between your legs, you’d probably be incredibly relaxed right now.

“I will lay down,” he finally agrees, breaking eye contact with you and grabbing the pillow from his lap so he can throw it down next to him.  “Go, get the rest of it.”

“Drink.”  You stay rooted to your spot.

He gulps down the entire cup of water right in front of you, and something about how sassy and exaggerated it is makes you unwind just a bit and head back for the spice.

This is better, you think.  Butting heads with your strong personalities is better than whatever mind games you two were playing before, more familiar and grounding.  Cassian sets down his empty cup on the floor as you pick up the joint, and then you sit on the edge of the mattress across from him when you come back.

“So how were patrols?”  You ask him, taking another hit of it and studying the strange color it burns as you hold the smoke in your lungs, almost a light pink.

“Not bad,” he says, scooting back to lay lengthwise across the back of the bed.  His long legs stick off the end but he looks way more comfortable now, settling back into the pillow and watching you with a calmer, more easy-going look in his eyes.

“Where’d you get sent this time?”  You have to lean forward quite a bit to hand him the spice.

“The Lothal Sector,” Cassian responds casually, taking it from you.

“Oh, fuck off,” you snap, already unamused before he’s even started to mess with you.  “I will shoot down red leader tomorrow, Cass, don’t you dare fucking test m—”

“A local was trying to sell kittens to the pilots,” he goes on, completely ignoring you and relaxing back down into the mattress with the joint between his fingers.  “They were very cute.  But then I tell him no, because I did not know of anyone who could care for one.”

“That’s not fucking funny.” Cassian smiles slowly at you as you glare back at him very, very sternly.  “This is a no lothcat joking zone, I’m sensitive about this.”

He keeps smiling even as he takes his hit, gentle and fond and lovely on his face, but his eyes eventually go softer and a bit melancholy on the exhale.  

“I am sorry I missed your birthday, caraya,” he says to you truthfully, something sincere and tender in the way he looks at you.  “But I will get you something better than a cat.”

“What does that mean?”  You lean forward and grab the spice from him when he holds it out for you.

“No idea,” he admits during the careful exchange.  “Maybe something with less claws and teeth, I think.”

“No,” you shake your head, settling back on your butt once more.  “Caraya.  What does that mean?”

Cassian quickly opens his mouth to reply, but then pauses and takes a second.  As if he’s debating on what exactly he wants to tell you.  You inhale from the spice held between your fingers and wait patiently for him.  Probably something to do with birthdays, right?  Since he only started calling you that after you told him he missed yours.

You end up waiting for his answer so long, you actually feel like you should take another hit.  But when Cassian does eventually speak, it’s incredibly calculated and slow, like he’s actively trying to find the correct words to translate its exact meaning into Basic.

“Fest is part of a binary star system,” he finally tells you, breaking the silence.  “It is… it is what my people call the times when… when one of the stars sets while the other is rising on the opposite horizon.”

You pause with the joint halfway to your mouth, staring dumbly at him.

“It is rare.  I have seen it only twice.  Each time, for less than a minute.  It is very rare for them to match up perfectly, but when they do.”  His eyes go a bit softer, losing himself in his memories instead of concentrating so much on the words.  “The sky shines with every color.  Reds, yellows, and pinks to the west; blues, indigos, and violets to the east.  It is… it is also… something we call the ones close to us,” he continues, blinking his gaze slowly back to you.  “Caraya na cotâ vi zas iz’búsdari.  To care and be cared for is to feel the sun on both sides.”

You… you just keep staring at him.  Blank, unmoving, not really even breathing.  Your chest suddenly feels incredibly tight.  He looks back at you and stars, he looks so fucking gorgeous; long lashes dusting over his cheekbones at this angle, one hand resting lazily over his abdomen as he relaxes on your bed.

“It sounds…”  You sound winded.  “Lovely.”

“Yes,” Cassian returns softly, tilting his head on your pillow and blinking at you.  “It is.”

You don’t know why the fuck you thought this would be okay, honestly.  This whole thing was such a horrendous fucking idea right from the start.  You’re surprised you haven’t set the both of you on fire by dropping the lit spice between your fingers.  You were a fucking idiot to think you could resist him.  You were overconfident, underestimating him the way you did.  It’s like… like he’s approaching this in surges, almost.  Lulling you into a false sense of security for a bit, and then carefully pushes forward, toeing the line between best friend and person he wants to fuck and seeing how much you’ll let him get away with.

You’re… you’re a weak, spineless little thing.

“Is it—is it your turn?” You eventually ask him, looking down at the joint in your hands.  It’s barely above a whisper and it’s vaguely squeaky and it’s probably one of the dumbest fucking things you’ve ever asked in your life.  Of course it’s his turn, who the fuck else’s turn would it be?  

Cassian would normally rip into you for being such an idiot, but he doesn’t.  He just blinks softly at you, pupils dilated and glassy as they take you in.

“Would you like to…”  He sounds equally breathless now, swallowing thickly before he speaks again.  “You can… come closer, if you want.  Here.  With me.”  He pats his belly.  “No more reaching.”

What is… what is happening right now?  Is Cassian Andor actually, like—for real making a move on you?  His best friend?  The one he’s never looked twice at?

“You want me to…?”  Your cunt clenches.  Stars, you’re so wet already.  You can feel it, dampening your underwear as his eyes flutter slightly at the rasp in your voice.

“Come,” he pats his stomach once more.  “Lay down with me.”

You slowly begin to shuffle over to him on shaky knees, trying to move normally as he watches you.  He stretches out across the back of the bed, giving you a perfect spot along his open torso to relax into.  Your heart pounds as you carefully hand the spice to him before settling yourself on your back with your head on his tummy, making a little perpendicular t-shape with him on the mattress, vision slightly blurry but pulsing at the same time.

Maker, he smells so fucking good.  He smells like fresh snow and something warm at the same time, so lean and long above you.  You’re almost panting now, burning up in your thick layers as you try to get comfortable.

“Maker, it’s so fucking hot in here,” you whisper, using your sleeve to wipe the sweat gathering at your temples.  “Fuck.”

“Take off your shirt,” Cassian suggests quietly, and your mouth instantly goes bone dry, your chest forgetting to rise again after it collapses with a quick whoosh of breath.  “You have something on underneath, yes?”  He adds quickly before you can completely ignite in flames.  “Take off the top one.”

You… you have a thin undershirt on, but nothing underneath that.  It’s nearing three in the morning, of course you don’t have a bra on right now.  And the undershirt is white, and you’re sweating buckets, which means—

“It… it might show some…”  You have no clue how to phrase this, but Cassian quickly responds.

“It is just me,” he reassures, carefully reaching his arm around your head to hold the joint up to your lips for you.  You inhale the drug deeply, watching the pink light illuminate the tips of his fingers.  “We are best friends, and this is your room.  You should relax.”

Maker, this is… this is dangerous.  He’s dangerous.  He’s smart, choosing to go at it from this angle.  He’s not toeing the line anymore, he’s just… blurring it until it doesn’t exist anymore.  Or better yet, just walking over it and pretending it doesn’t exist at all.  Pretending nothing at all is happening between you right now.  Trying to see whether you’ll be more willing to give in if he comes at you from the side like this, not necessarily catching you off guard but refusing to outright confront you about it either.

Apparently precedent rules.  You’re a weak, spineless little thing, especially when presented with such a compelling out.  He’s… he’s totally right.  You are best friends, this is your room, and you should relax.  Nothing sexual about it at all, right?  Furthermore, relaxing trumps overheating any fucking day of the week, so… so that’s why you tell yourself it’s okay to sit up and immediately reach behind your head, grabbing the hoodie and beginning to pull the thick fabric off.  

Only, it’s damp and clings to your thin undershirt, dragging both of them up the length of your back as it goes.  You stop when the lower hem pulls up just below your breasts, trying to reach back behind your head even further and separate the two materials but struggling with the angle.

“Cass,” you eventually prompt, trying not to flush.  Not like he’d be able to tell, though; you’ve been unbearably warm and fidgety this entire time, your embarrassment conceals itself without your assistance.  “You wanna help me?  Or you just wanna keep watching?”

“Do not ask me such stupid questions,” he tells you plainly, unmoving.  “What did I say?  We are best friends.  Of course I am not going to help you.  You are…” he trails off when you lift your shoulders upright just a bit to see if the angle will work better that way.  It does, but the fabric drags further up your ribcage from the shift, “…You are nice to watch.”

Your heart pounds, and you’re even clumsier knowing he’s staring at your exposed tummy right now.  Maker, this should not be as difficult as it is.  You swing your arms back around behind you, arching outwards and trying to separate them from the bottom this time, but gravity doesn’t appear to work in your favor.  

Maybe you can do like, some sort of weird, half-and-half thing to get them apart?  Maybe?  Where you hold the undershirt from the bottom with one hand and pull the hoodie from the top with the other?

Yes, okay—that could possibly work.  Cassian inhales more spice as he lazes behind you, getting a front row seat to watch this subsequent genius unfold.

You get into your monkey-like position, beginning to pry the two materials apart from behind like you planned.  But then—oh, your undershirt still sticks to your hoodie at the front, pulling up a few inches with it and flashing the lower curve of your breasts to the room before you immediately halt and switch tactics, reaching back down and trying to pull them apart from the front withou—

A large, warm palm comes up to settle on your bare spine, right in the middle of your shoulder blades.

You freeze.  But Cassian doesn’t say anything, doesn’t do anything more than that.  He just holds his hand there, steady and solid against your upper back.

Neither one of you move.  It’s like… it’s like you’re both trying so hard to get a read on each other that your reactions are equally stunted.  Is he doing this to bring you to a still so he can help you?  Is he simply as blazed as you are right now and not thinking about things before he does them?  Is he—

But then Cassian starts slowly dragging his hand down your spine, carefully riding the gentle curve of it downwards as your breathing subtly picks up.  Your arms are halfway caught in the fabric, not able to stop him unless you untangle them and reach behind you.  So you just hold there statuesquely as his palm inches down the sweat-slick muscles of your lower back, thumb just barely brushing the hemline of your sweatpants.  

Fuck, you feel like you’re about to vibrate out of your skin.  Heat pools deep in your tummy, spidering outwards and sending pulsing shocks down your legs when he keeps his hand there for just a second.

Until… until he traces all the way back up and carefully hooks a finger around your undershirt.  

Your heart pounds as Cassian gradually pulls it over the top of your head with your hoodie, guiding you to bring both of them around your arms.  He pushes against your shoulder wordlessly, urging you to lie back down with your head on his stomach once more, the fabric stretched tight over your upper-body and the entire length of your spine now fully exposed as it touches the mattress.

“C-Cassian,” you breathe, fluttering your eyes up at the ceiling.

“Yes, caraya?”  He murmurs, and you completely forget what you’re going to say when he continues to pull the hoodie and undershirt down over your arms, exposing your naked breasts to the open air.

Your cunt pulses between your legs and you hear him throw the thick bulk of fabric carelessly on the floor.  “I—I-I don’t—”

“You will stay like this?”  Cassian tells you softly, brushing your damp hair back from your shoulder so that your bare chest is completely unobstructed as it faces the ceiling.  Your nipples are hard, a thin sheen of sweat covering your entire body, and you can feel his gaze drag down your naked skin, even if he doesn’t actually touch you.  No, he just takes another slow drag from the spice in his hand and tilts his head back to rest on your pillow, relaxing into the mattress with a gentle shuffle of his shoulder blades.  “If you are too warm, you will stay like this, okay?  Be comfortable.”

Is it possible to die from arousal?  Your clit is fucking pounding; everything from the waist down is unbearably tight and cramped.  Stars, you feel like you’ll cum if you even move wrong right now.  He told you to be comfortable, but you’re not—you’re boiling from the sensation, topless on your bed, trying not to close your eyes or squeeze your legs together.  It’s too fucking casual and unacknowledged, how he’s going about this.  You feel like you’re going to explode.

Cassian gently taps your bare shoulder to get your attention and shifts his head slightly to look down at you.  You bite your bottom lip and flutter your gaze sideways to meet his after a second, hoping you don’t look as flushed and tight with burning arousal as you feel.  Deep brown eyes look back at you, hazy and dilated.  He takes a second to slowly drag his gaze down the length of your half-naked body once more, now that he knows you’re watching him.  Your breath comes audibly now, quicker and shallower than it should be after laying flat on a bed for this long.

“Here,” Cassian prompts, holding the smoldering joint out for you to take.  His voice sounds raspier now, but still so… casual.  Like he’s out here talking about the weather with a mildly sore throat, not because your tits are out while you stare at each other and neither one of you is saying a damn thing about it.  It’s like he’s determined to hold onto the splitting tension, drag it out between you as long as he can.  “Want more?”

You know what he’s really asking, and it cramps your lower muscles up even harder.  He’s asking if you want more of this spice that’s currently getting you naked in front of him.  More of this madness, twisting up your insides with need and jumbling your thoughts.  More of him treating you like this, like there’s not a damn thing out of place in the universe right now, like you’re still just best friends so that’s why it’s okay you’re both doing this together.

Stars, do you want more?  Do you want him to keep winding you up like this?  More of this torture, this agonizing foreplay, wondering when he’ll finally give in and touch you?  Pretending like this is still completely platonic, like what’s happening here isn’t wildly unprecedented, insanely inappropriate, and so fucking hot?

You can feel your eyebrows pull up in the middle as you look at him, almost pleading with him to… something.  To stop, maybe?  Stop altogether, or just stop�� fuck, stop ignoring the way your cunt feels clamped around itself tighter than a vice between your legs?  Stop neglecting your burning desire for him, even when it’s right in front of his face.  Stop refusing to acknowledge the way you’re just letting him look at you right now, how you haven’t once stopped playing along with this fever dream just in case you aren’t imagining it?  Fuck, but Cassian just looks back at you, his expression completely blank except for the smallest little glimmer in his eyes.  A silent, heated glint as he just barely quirks an eyebrow at you.

So you make the decision all at once.  You carefully reach over for the spice with your far hand, feeling your breasts shift towards him slightly with the slow movement.  Cassian doesn’t even feel like he’s breathing as you gently take it from him.  He just stares down at your naked chest and swallows thickly, eyelids dipping slightly as he moves to meet you halfway.

You let your nipple brush up against his knuckles just slightly with the exchange.

When you face back towards the ceiling again and readjust your shoulders flat on the bed, he lets out a slow, shaky breath under your head as it rests on his tummy.  The tension rockets up to eleven, weighing heavy and unspoken and ready to snap.  

But then like that, the moment passes—it’s just another invisible spark igniting between the two of you, just another thing buried beneath the silence and yet ringing so unbelievably loud because of it.  You’re both emitting and absorbing the same buzzing energy, amplifying it back to one another in a slow, endless feedback loop of rising pressure.

The spice comes up to your lips, and Cassian’s fingertips carefully trail along your other arm as it rests by your side.

“This is better, no?”  He asks you quietly, the rough tips of his fingers just barely gliding across your skin in small, mindless patterns.  They dance down your skin like feathers, tracing a small arch over the ridge of your elbow so lightly you almost feel like you might be imagining it.  Your eyes flutter when he gradually skims down the length of your forearm and brushes his thumb in a smooth circle around the bone in your wrist.  “Or you are still too warm?”

You bite your bottom lip when one of his fingers carefully stretches all the way up to your hip, running along the hem of your sweatpants.  

“Yeah, m’still a little—” you gasp, trying not to stutter when Cassian starts to draw up the length of your waistline, pausing right when his fingers reach your drawstrings.  “Little w-warm,” you finish hoarsely, painfully aware of how fucking wet you are, how your nipples are peaked and glistening with sweat as they move with your soft, shallow breathing.

He slowly dips one finger below the elastic wrapping across your hips, dragging it back and forth under the damp waistband.

“This fabric is heavy,” Cassian remarks, just the slightest husk in his voice.  “You… you will take this off, too?”

“I-I don’t—”  You’re about to say have anything on underneath except you immediately go quiet, because he’s suddenly slithering his entire hand down into your sweatpants and brushing his knuckles along the gentle slope of you.

He pauses once more when his longest finger reaches the very top of your slit.

But then he just holds it there for a second, tracing small arches back and forth along gentle give of it, the slight dip that separates your soft curls from your soaking heat.  You tighten up and wait in breathless anticipation for it, before the tip of Cassian’s finger finally comes to a rest over the soft split of flesh.

And then he’s suddenly pushing in, and down—

—fuckfuckfuckfuck—don’tcumdon’tcum—don’t—

You make a soft, vulnerable sound in bliss as he slowly slides his finger through the hot, slick cleft of your pussy.

“You are warm down here, too,” Cassian murmurs quietly.  Your eyes roll back when he drags the entire length of it up against your clit, letting you feel each individual ridge and joint and crevice across the swollen bit of flesh.  “Is it the spice?”  He asks, sinking his finger back down into you once more.  “Or are you always this wet between your legs?”

Neither.  Both, maybe?  Mostly it’s just him.  Cassian, whispering softly to you through the hazy darkness, lazily dipping his fingers into your cunt and letting it drench and engulf his skin in its heat.

“Tell me,” he prompts when you don’t say a word.  His finger pulls up and begins tracing slow, gentle circles around your clit.

“No,” you breathe haggardly, arching your hips up just slightly as he touches you.  “N-No, this is…”

“This is different,” Cassian confirms when you don’t finish your sentence.  He keeps circling your clit, and it’s like he’s just casually, carelessly stirring a pot that’s about to boil over and set everything on fucking fire.  You pulse threateningly under the tip of his finger, swollen and tight and just trying your best to control your breathing.  “So it is the spice.  Why you are this hot, this… this soaking.”

“It’s…”  Don’t you say it.  Don’t you fucking say it.  Don’t you turn this into something it isn’t.  “Yeah.  It’s—it’s the sp-spice.”

His finger follows the hard curve of you down to where you give, where you’re leaking wetness and heat from the source, before he’s suddenly shifting his wrist and pushing the entire thing into you down to his knuckle.

Now you do arch your hips, spreading your legs and helping him go deeper even as Cassian hums, stretching his finger and feeling you clench hot and tight around him.  He says something softly, something in a language you don’t understand.

And then he’s pulling out and rubbing circles around your clit again, the tip of his finger steady and firm as he steadily drags the pleasure out of you.

“We need to finish it soon,” he eventually reminds you, and it takes a remarkable delay for you to realize he’s talking about the lingering quarter of the joint still clenched tightly between your fingers.  “Take your hit.  We have a nine-hundred call, remember.”

Fuck, you bring the spice up to your lips with a shaky hand, trying to remember whether you should inhale or exhale first.  Cassian’s finger just keeps circling your clit, winding you up tighter and tighter.  His motions are so repetitive and predictable, but they’re somehow still lighting you on fire from the inside, slowing you down spectacularly as you try to take a steady breath in through the filter.

“Stars, you are so wet,” he remarks after a moment.  “Are you going to cum soon?  You feel like you are so close already.”

You are close.  Everything is swollen and slippery and tight, and hearing him say it out loud like that makes the pleasure rocket up even tighter inside you.  You don’t even feel him reach around with his other hand and take the spice from you.  You just lose yourself in the mindless sensation of Cassian’s finger on your clit, rolling your eyes back and reaching your hands down to fisting the sheets at your sides as he touches you.

“Does this feel good, caraya?”  He whispers quietly to you, inhaling deeply from the spice.  “You are usually so… mouthy with me.  Is this helping?  Do I need to rub your clit like this more often?”

“Fuck—Cassian, I’m gonna cum,” you tell the ceiling raggedly, chest beginning to arch up and hips bearing down.

“Do it,” he murmurs, reaching his thumb through your slick lips to pinch and roll the pulsing bud between his fingers.  “Right here.  All you can.”

And then wild, painful bliss stabs through you, launching you headfirst into a blinding orgasm.  A desperate sound tears from your throat as you cum hard all over your best friend’s hand, agonizing pleasure shredding mindless rapture through your veins.  It rings white noise through your ears and rips you apart from the inside out, arcing lightning down your spine more bright and explosive than ever before.  Fuck, it’s unprecedentedly powerful.  You’re drenched but your clit is hard and pulsing and swollen, and he’s able to keep it between his fingers the entire time your hips writhe desperately on the mattress.

Cassian inhales from the spice once more and massages your clit through the torturous, blazing hot aftershocks.  He drags the pleasure out of you until you’re a trembling mess, exhausted from the spasms wreaking havoc on your body.

But then… but then you’re still so hot.  It’s like your limbs have no energy left but your cunt is still pulsing and wanting more from him.  You feel your wetness coating his hand, your inner thighs, probably soaking through your sweatpants, but fuck, you want him to keep touching you like this—you want him to keep doing this.

It’s the spice, something tells you in the very back of your mind.  It almost made you black out with a wild orgasm and now it’s quickly preparing your overheated body for another one.  Your feet come up to brace against the mattress and your eyes close, jaw going slack as you grind feverishly against Cassian’s hand.

“Again?”  He whispers to you, fingers continuing to pinch and roll your clit and then—and then another debilitating wave of euphoria is suddenly slamming through you, pulling your chest up and flooding his hand with another series of wet, powerful contractions.  Cassian rasps something in his native tongue and rides you through the second one just as steady as the first, your pussy spasming uncontrollably as he slowly wrings the pleasure from you.

Fuck, it feels so good.  You’re worked up and trembling and trying not to whimper for him, desperately wanting him to keep his hand right here forever, buried right between your legs like this.  But you also—you also want Cassian to feel it too, feel the way the unrestrained hedonism practically burns you alive when you cum.

So you carefully turn over on your side and shuffle forwards a bit, resting your head on his lower stomach, right in front of the mouthwatering bulge in his trousers.  His fingers can’t fully reach your cunt from this angle, but Cassian is resilient.  He just drags his hand over your hip and slithers his fingers into your pussy from behind while you start unbuckling his pants with shaky fingers.

He’s unbelievably hard and throbbing and leaking when you pull his cock out of his underwear, the pulsing urgency of his erection not lining up with the way he’s still relaxing on your mattress, still hasn’t moved under you.  So you just hold his length up to your lips and open them, slowly sliding your tongue around the tip of him three times before taking his curved head into the hot cavern of your mouth.

Cassian takes a deep, shaky breath as you suck softly on the head of his cock, fluttering your tongue along a bead of precum he leaks from the slit.  He drags his fingers through your drenched pussy lips from behind as you carefully move your head down his tummy, opening your jaw wider and letting him fill your mouth deeper.

“Fuck,” he breathes, and you hum softly and lift your back palate slightly, sliding your tongue drift down his shaft and taking him a bit deeper still.  He shudders under you and pushes the tip of his finger up against your clit.

And then you shudder because Cassian completely bypasses your hood at this angle, bumping into the swollen bit of flesh without any resistance or protection and just… holding it there.  Barely moving an inch while you begin to slowly bob up and down just slightly around his cock, just keeping his fingertip right up against your clit and sparking heat down through your legs.

You move your hand down to cup his balls and start to roll your hips against his fingers.  Cassian’s breathing stutters as you lazily suck his cock, rubbing a tight little circle on your clit in silent encouragement.

“We should—” his voice is hoarse now, now that you’ve got his dick in your mouth and you’re gently swirling your tongue around it, almost as unhurried and casual about the act as he was bringing you to your first orgasm.  “We should do this.  More.”

You slowly pull off him, kissing the tip of his cock and mouthing at the way he’s steadily releasing thick drops of precum for you.  Cassian’s finger rolls firmly against your clit in response.

“You just want your dick sucked every time you come back to base,” you counter breathlessly, brushing your lips against him while talking with his cockhead resting on the edge of your tongue.

His hand shifts, and then he’s suddenly pushing two thick fingers deep inside you.  You moan around his tip and prop one leg up on the mattress so he can fill you easier, going back to sucking and swiping your tongue over his frenulum.

“I would not mind it,” he admits with a shaky exhale.  “You are.  Very g-good.  Fuck.  And wa—” he gasps, feeling you clench tight around his fingers, “—warm.  Fuck, every… everywhere.”

Fuck, it feels so good like this.  Laying here, topless and being penetrated two different ways by Cassian, feeling him throb in your mouth while you rest your head on his tummy, feeling him stretch your cunt walls with his fingers while you hold your legs open for him.

You pull off him to drag your slick tongue over your palm, coating your fingers in saliva.  Cassian groans when you wrap your hand around the thick base of him, and then he lifts his hips slightly as you start to slowly jerk him off into you mouth.

“Fuck—caraya, if you keep doing that, I will—” he whispers after a moment, curling his fingers inside you in warning.  You just tighten your grip and add just the slightest twist to your wrist and “Wait—wait—” Cassian grunts, starting to pull his fingers out of you—

You pull off him just enough to murmur the words against his throbbing head.  “You’ll want more than one, okay.  Trust me.  Cum like this, okay?  Cum just like this, right in my mouth.”

You wrap your lips around his cock once more and keep jerking him off slow and tight into the heat of your mouth, and Cassian’s abdominal muscles go incredibly tense under your head.  And then you squeeeeze your lower muscles around his fingers, and all the tension suddenly snaps.

His cock goes rock hard on your tongue and starts pulsing steadily as he groans out your name like it hurts, fingers stuffed deep in your cunt.  You swallow around him and moan, clenching rhymically around his fingers and letting him slowly empty himself into your mouth.  Fuck, he takes forever with it, shuddering and gasping and pumping cum down your throat, his orgasm clearly as powerful as yours was.  The spice drags it out, makes you both lose yourself in the raw heaven of release for far longer than normal.

The spice also prevents him from softening when Cassian finally stops spurting hot cum in your mouth.  You suspected as much—which is why you keep sucking his cock even as he stops throbbing, you keep him in your hot mouth even when he’s laying trembling and exhausted under you.  And he still stays rock solid on your tongue, swollen and needing more.

Cassian’s voice sounds shredded when he finally speaks.  “I—I am going to crash my x-wing tomorrow,” he tells you hoarsely, fingers finally slipping out of your channel with a vulgar, slick sound.  “You were right.”

You pull off him and kiss the tip of his cock one final time, making sure you’ve cleaned up the mess completely.  “Today.”

“Fuck.  Today,” he acknowledges tightly, adjusting his hips when you lift your head off his stomach.  “Fuck.  In a few hours.  You will make me crash, just thinking about this.”

“Why is it,” you turn around and blink at him, “that after literal decades of my friendship, you only acknowledge my perpetual rightness after I make you cum for the first time?”

Cassian just smiles softly at you, and his fingers are drenched as they rest lazily against your thigh.  “Caraya.  Two suns.  Twice the illumination, no?”

You bite your lip and try not to smile back at him, wanting to blush and roll your eyes in equal parts.  Stars, why is he so… so lovely?  Speaking to you so sweetly, looking back up at you from your pillow like you’re every single color in his sky.  Your heart seizes in your chest, staring at him with the same kind of fondness and admiration his beautiful eyes are shining with.  Fuck, you want… you want to…

“Can we… can we have sex now?”  You whisper.  Not really shy, but… but it almost sounds shy in its quiet, breathless hope.  

“You do not want me to taste you?”  Cassian immediately asks, reaching out with one hand to offer you what’s left of the spice while the other stays firmly wedged between your legs.  “I want to.  I have…”

You bite down on your bottom lip and take the nearly finished joint from him, feeling his fingers curl against your pussy lips at the same time and knowing you’re going to regret letting him finish his sentence.  He swallows thickly.

“I have thought about it,” Cassian eventually tells you, carefully admitting the words like he never expected he’d ever say them aloud and is completely unprepared.  “Sometimes.  Sometimes when… when I am about to sleep.  I think of… of you.  What you taste like.  Right here.”  He barely slips the tip of his finger back between your folds, fluttering his eyelashes at the way you’re still dripping in his hand.  “I bet you are so sweet.  Will you let me find out?”

Except.  Except you’re suddenly blanking.

He’s… he’s thought about you before?  Like this?  Fuck, he isn’t just… just saying that, right?  Just telling you what you want to hear?  Because fuck, it’s almost too good to be true; like everything out of his mouth since you first put his cock in yours has somehow sounded even better than the last.  You feel like you’re dreaming, and it.  It makes you almost frantic with need, overcome with the desire to solidify your connection with him before it can be ripped away like it always is.

You don’t respond to him.  You just quickly wiggle out of your sweatpants and get on top of him, swinging one of your legs around Cassian’s hips.  The spice is held in one hand while the other reaches down and aligns his cock right up against your opening.

Cassian grabs your thighs tightly and takes a long, shuddery breath under you.  Fuck, he really is a dream, isn’t he?  Long and lithe and beautiful, still throbbing and pulsing and ready for you after you already swallowed his first load.  You straighten your back and slowly sit down on his cock, letting the thick, hard length of it break you open slowly.

His hands trace up to your hips and then slide along the gentle curves of your sides, measuring the size of your ribcage before eventually grasping both of your tits in his palms.  You breathe through the pleasure and the stretch, letting Cassian pinch and roll your nipples between his fingers as you gradually slide down him and come to a rest flush against his pelvis.

Fuck he feels spectacular.  You can feel him pulsing inside of you, fitting and stretching the contours of your slick cunt perfectly.  You shiver and clench around him, finishing off the last hit of spice as you roll your hips slightly to adjust to the tight fit of his cock.

You twist your shoulders to carefully toss the smoldering roach into the sink when it’s done, really taking your time with aiming it to make sure you don’t miss.  The second it lands in the metal basin is the second Cassian grinds his hips up into yours while giving both of your nipples a gentle tug, and a jolt of pleasure rocks its way down your spine.

“Im-impatient,” you whisper, trying to scold him but it comes out sounding all wrong, far more needy and breathy than you wanted.

“I wanted my tongue in your pussy,” he whispers back in reminder, squeezing your tits as you start to circle and grind against him, letting you both enjoy the sensation of each other without any solid aim at the moment.  “You could not wait.”

“Later,” you gasp, tipping your head back and just—fuck, just enjoying his cock.  Enjoying how it feels, pressing up deliciously tight against something inside you that just absolutely loves the pressure.  You scoot yourself back just a bit, just so he is really shoved up hard against that spot as you grind and roll your body.  It ignites sparks deep in your floor muscles, makes you clamp tighter around him as you slowly ride your best friend’s cock.

And stars, Cassian just watches you.  He drags his hands over your naked body as it swells and rocks back over his hips like waves in the ocean.  He’s still completely clothed, and while something inside you wants you to get him as naked as your are, rub your exposed skin against his and make sure he never forgets how you feel against him, most of you is just fucking burning at the eroticism of being so bare and tall above him while he looks at you.

“Later,” he eventually repeats after you, definitively confirming what you said.  Cassian’s voice is somehow soft and rough at the same time, quiet but tight and hoarse in his throat.  “I will taste you later.”

You jerk a nod in agreement, starting to gain just a little bit of a rhythm on top of him.  Your eyes flutter closed as you lean your weight back slightly and begin to pull up when your hips twist in towards him, and then sinking back down on his cock when your hips circle back around again.

“Fuck,” you hear Cassian grit as you keep doing that, relaxing your lower muscles as he’s thrusted into you and then clamping down on his length as it’s slowly dragged out.  “Fuck, you are—a-amazing, caraya.  You are.  You are—fuck—”

A sinful heat starts simmering deep inside you as Cassian cuts himself off with a gasp and squeezes his eyes shut, starts rocking his pelvis up in time with your slow, sensual rotations.  Both of his hands clamp down hard over your hips as they continue to undulate in slow circles around his cock.

“Maker,” you whisper, trying to focus on your rhythm instead of the terrifying, building sensation inside of you.  Fuck, you can literally feel the threat of your orgasm start to carefully wind itself around the base of your spine, simmering and sparking with dark pleasure as it gradually spreads its electric claws outwards.  It’s huge.  You can already feel it gathering together inside you, culminating into something monstrous and fierce.

Cassian says your name, and you suddenly blink your eyes open at the unexpected urgency and tightness in his voice.  Your vision takes a second to focus on his gorgeous face, and when you immediately see the same exact storm of swirling desperation in his eyes, your jaw goes slack as you speed up, trying to chase him as Cassian all but hurtles towards the blinding explosion nearing its detonation.

“Fuck, I—” he gasps, and then he’s suddenly going rigid under you and cumming deep in your slick heat with a desperate sound, shuddering and gasping for you as his thumbs dig into your thighs.  Fuck, you grind harder, trying to find and focus on your favorite angle now as Cassian whimpers through the bliss and writhes under you, throbbing and pumping in steady, helpless jolts.

You whimper, too—fuck, you’re almost there, you’re gasping and trying to surrender to the swelling sensation, but it’s so intense and overwhelming and you’re close to tears because you’re fighting it just as much as you’re seeking it out, and—

And then the breath is suddenly knocked out of you when Cassian reaches up to grab you and flip the both of you over, your back coming down hard against the mattress.  He kneels between your legs, hooks both of your calves over his shoulders, props his arms next to your head, and then he starts thrusting.

You sob brokenly, slapping an open palm against his chest.  Fuck, his cock is still so hard and it shreds up achingly deep against that blinding spot so perfectly, you can’t focus on anything anymore.  The dark, evasive build immediately twists up sharp and impending as Cassian fucks you steady and deep, and you start to muffle your cries and gasps into the back of your hand.

But then, oh—words are coming, too.  Oh Maker, you can feel the urge to say them rise up along with the ferocious stirrings of your orgasm, clawing its way out of your throat before you can do anything to stop it.

“Fuck—” you tear your hand away to sob brokenly, not being able to stop yourself as the tsunami begins to peak, “oh, fuck—I love you.  Oh, fuck, I—I love you, Cassian—I love you, I—IloveyouIloveyouIloveyou—”

His cock splinters up against sheer euphoria inside you as you cum with a desperate wail of his name, pussy clamping down hard as it erupts into searing hot ecstasy around him.

—and then suddenly Cassian is lurching against you and bringing his lips down to yours, licking into your mouth and cumming deep inside you once more.  Maker, you nearly scream at the sensation, your tight cunt milking the throbbing length of him with endlessly wet, hot contractions as he grinds you both through the aching bliss.  He kisses you like he’s wanted to do it for years, bites your bottom lip as you whimper and spasm wildly around him.

Fuck, you can hear the mess you’re both making.  It’s obscene, filling the room with the slick sound of your desperate coupling.  Cassian eventually pulls his mouth away to look down at where he’s rocking into your drenched cunt, the evidence of his own pleasure slicking up hard lines of his erection.

Your eyes roll back when he doesn’t stop thrusting.

***

You lose track of everything.

Time, direction, responsibility—nothing matters, because Cassian goes on like that.  For hours, taking you apart every single way you can imagine.  You fuck the effects of the spice out of your body until nothing exists but him—Cassian’s cock stretching you, his tongue gliding along your skin, his whispered words of broken praise murmured against your neck.

Strangely, your body feels absolutely amazing when you finally manage to gain the slightest bit of awareness of your obligations again.  You feel like you’re floating above everything, almost dreamlike in how unbelievably satisfied you feel.  

You slowly blink up at the ceiling, and then suddenly remember the nine-hundred call you have to make.  You’re both naked, sprawled out on top of your mattress, and Cassian—

“Cass—” you rasp, pulling on the thick waves of hair tangled between your fingers and feeling his hot tongue slip out of your pussy.  It’s still slightly dark in your room, but that could just be the horrendous weather blocking the sun.  “What—what time is it?  Did we miss—?”

“Almost eight,” Cassian rumbles low against your thigh.  “We still have some time before we need to get up.”

You lurch into startled awareness, getting go of him to prop yourself you on your elbows.  “But that’s—no, we have to shower, and—”

“A ten minute walk to the hangar from here, yes?”  Cassian reasons, pressing a lazy kiss to your thigh and not sounding bothered in the slightest.  “Twenty minutes to shower together, ten minutes to get dressed.  We have at least ten more minutes before we need to think about getting up.”

You shudder and blink down at him, naked and relaxed as he mouths over your skin.  Maker, how can everything change and yet still be so familiar at the same time?

“I think I might crash my x-wing today,” you finally breathe out, dropping your shoulders back down to the mattress once again.

“No,” he returns, turning his head to kiss your other thigh.  “You will not.  Because I checked my holopad earlier, and they sent the coordinates for red squadron’s patrols.”

You narrow your eyebrows at the ceiling.  What does that have to do with anyth—?

And then you suddenly go shock-still under him, trying not to let the blind, overwhelming hope surge up inside you.

“Bring extra credits, caraya,” Cassian murmurs, lowering his head back down between your legs.  “We are going to Lothal.”

[clumsyclifford]

OKAY. how about "This wasn’t meant to be a date, but we’ve had such a good time and now it’s 2 a.m. and I should really go home…" with ur teacher alex/ambiguous office job jack? (or any version of jalex) (we just love jalex in this house)

well hello, she said casually, nine months later. thank you for the excellent prompt, sorry it took me so long to get to it, but you can thank yourself for that too considering going to ssf is what inspired me to finally write this one. bellawritess clumsyclifford pictures is proud to present: the tshirt jalex meet-cute :)

read here on ao3

-

Later, Alex learns that the boy at the barricade who’d elbowed Alex in the face trying to snatch the thrown guitar pick out of the air is named Jack.

“I’m so sorry,” Jack says for the millionth time, even though Alex has laughed it off every other time. He laughs it off this time, too.

“Seriously, it’s fine. And hey, you caught it.”

Jack holds up the guitar pick, triumphant. “I did catch it,” he says. The blink-182 logo flashes its dead and frozen smile at Alex. Alex finds himself smiling back, though not so much at the pick.

The leaving crowd parts around the two of them. Headlights flood the night, filling the street before them with light and noise. There’s a line of cars backed up further than Alex cares to imagine. Those at the front must have left the show significantly before the set was over. Quitters.

“What I didn’t catch was your name,” Jack adds. His lips quirk, like he’s proud of such a smooth line.

“Alex,” says Alex. “We should probably get out of everyone’s way. Are you waiting for someone, or…?”

“No, no, I came alone.”

“Yeah, me too. Was supposed to have a friend but he bailed on me last-minute.”

“Seriously? Bailed on a blink concert?”

“I know, right?” Alex grins. “Eh, whatever. If he’d been here you probably never would have elbowed me in the face and then we’d never have met.”

“But I would’ve never elbowed you in the face,” Jack says. “Don’t you think you’d have preferred that?”

“Not if it means we’d have never met.”

Jack’s smile slowly grows. “Fair enough. Did you know there’s a 24-hour diner literally five minutes from here?”

“Oh, man, I like the way you think,” Alex says, shoving his hands into his pockets to protect them from the cool late-night breeze. “I didn’t want to sit in this traffic anyway.”

“And I don’t blame you.”

“Well, lead the way,” Alex says, nodding down the sidewalk, and he falls into step with Jack as they both start to walk.

-

The Tastee Diner is charmingly diner-y — neon lights, stools at the bar, the whole nine yards — and, more attractively, it’s mostly empty at this hour. It’s past midnight, later even than Alex’s usual bedtime, but between the buzz from the concert and Jack the attractive stranger across from him, he’s not really feeling tired. If he’s going to flush his sleep schedule down the drain, a post-concert Friday night seems like the best time to do it.

And Jack is really cute. So that helps.

“Breakfast,” Alex says reverently when they’re seated. “Oh my God, a fucking giant waffle.”

“Wow, everything you say makes me like you more,” Jack says, leaning his elbows on the table. Alex glances over the top of his menu but Jack’s eyes are focused on his own menu on the tabletop. He’s smiling a little. So is Alex.

“It’s a giant waffle, Jack! How the fuck do I say no to that?”

“You don’t. This table is pro-giant waffle. At the exclusion of anything else.”

“You’re damn right it is,” Alex says. “Do we also happen to be pro-chocolate milkshake?”

“We’re pro-vanilla milkshake.”

“Ew, seriously?”

Jack rolls his eyes. “Yeah, yeah, I know, how can I like vanilla when chocolate is right there—”

“Yeah, how can you?” Alex reaches over the table and covers Jack’s hand with his own. Their eyes meet. Very seriously, Alex says, “How do you look at yourself in the mirror, you monster?”

A beat. Jack chews his lip, clearly trying not to smile. “With great difficulty,” he says. He’s humoring Alex, but sincerity sparkles in his deep brown eyes. His earnest gaze holds Alex’s and he doesn’t pull his hand away. After a moment, Alex does.

“Well, if I looked like you I’d never stop looking in the mirror,” he says instead, and brings his gaze back to the menu. A laugh escapes Jack.

“You can’t turn it off, can you?”

“Turn what off?”

“Your flirty brain-to-mouth pipeline?”

“I could,” Alex says breezily. “I choose not to.” It feels like a subtle rejection, a quiet dig, but it’s hard to be sure. Jack’s smirk seems to suggest otherwise.

The waitress comes by to take their orders of two giant waffles and two milkshakes — chocolate for Alex, vanilla for Jack, though Alex is sure to give Jack a judgmental look as he’s ordering. When she goes, Jack laces his fingers together and leans back in the booth. “So,” he says. “Your name is Alex, you’ve got fantastic music taste, and you seem to be more or less my age, but that’s about all I know about you. Are you from around here? What do you do? Likes, dislikes?”

“Are you trying to build me a dating profile?”

“That wouldn’t be very opportunistic of me, would it?” Jack smiles innocently. Alex’s heart gives a little leap. “I’m trying to get to know you. You know, like any normal stranger would if they found themself at a diner with another stranger.”

That’s fair. They are effectively strangers, although Alex can think of a shorter word to describe what they’re doing right now. He glances around at the jukebox-esque machine bolted to the wall next to their booth, at the empty swivel stools at the bar, at the marble tabletop where Jack is absently tapping his fingers. The decor of the diner is very classic, and he and Jack, both dressed in blink merch and black jeans like the perpetual emo teens they’re no doubt trying to emulate, stick out like sore thumbs.

However unintentional, it sure as hell feels like a date to him.

“I’m from Baltimore,” he starts. Jack lights up.

“No shit! Me too.”

“Really? Whereabouts?”

“Well, I work by the harbor.”

“No shit, I work in Highlandtown,” Alex says excitedly. “Highlandtown Middle. I’m a teacher.”

Jack whistles lowly. “That’s fucking awesome. What do you teach?”

“Music,” Alex says, and Jack groans, although he’s smiling as his hands move to cover his face.

“Of course you do,” he says.

Alex tilts his head. “What, are you not a fan of music teachers? That’s insane.”

“No, no, it’s not that, it’s just.” Jack laughs. “Of course the hot guy I meet at a blink-182 concert is a middle school music teacher. I feel like God is punishing me for refusing to play anything but bad drums in middle school band.”

Alex also laughs. Being called a hot guy by a hot guy is making his stomach do gymnastics. He’s too old for his stomach to be doing things like that, but his stomach clearly doesn’t care. “Well, if I’d been your teacher, trust me, you’d have been playing solidly mediocre drums. But I’m sorry you feel that way.”

Jack’s hands fall to his lap. “I’m sure I’ll get over it,” he says with a slanted smile.

Alex swallows and grins. “So did you look up surrounding diners before you came, or are you just…inexplicably familiar with Silver Spring geography?”

“I come to a lot of concerts here,” Jack says, nodding in the general direction of the venue they’d just vacated. “Venue’s awesome.”

“Yeah, it really is. Honestly, I’m still amazed that you caught that pick.”

“I have a lot of practice. From aforementioned many concerts.”

“I can see that.”

“Trust me, it’s a very specific skill. I’ve got awful hand-eye coordination,” Jack says with a chuckle. “My dream of being the youngest Oriole inducted into the Hall of Fame was crushed at a young age.”

Fizzy champagne fills Alex’s chest. He can’t stop smiling. “Fuck yes, you’re an Orioles fan?”

“That’s my team,” Jack says, looking excited. Possibly at the prospect of meeting another person who’s equally interested in both music and baseball. That’s why Alex is excited, anyway.

“It’s my team,” he says enthusiastically. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, they fucking suck—”

“Oh, no, yeah, they’re the worst—”

“But I’d take a bullet for them. I happily go down with ‘em every year.”

“Yeah, they’re my boys,” Jack agrees. “Here’s hoping this season is better than every single other one.”

“Yeah, all my fingers are crossed, but between you and me I don’t have a lot of faith.”

Jack shrugs and nods. “It’s good for my ego to be so loyal to such a bad team. Keeps me humble.”

“That’s the best attitude I’ve ever heard,” Alex says, and Jack’s smile is so radiant Alex could swear he can feel the glare off the shiny marble tabletop.

-

“Between ‘All The Small Things’ and ‘Going Away To College’ how the fuck am I going to choose ‘Small Things’?”

“Yeah, but it’s such a classic! ‘College’ is, like, emo and…emo.”

“No more emo than ‘I Miss You’ —”

“That one is a classic—”

“I’m not saying it’s not, I’m just saying ‘College’ is their best song and it deserves its spotlight.”

“That’s ‘Feeling This’ erasure and you know it.”

“Besides ‘Feeling This,’ but they always play ‘Feeling This.’ I stand by what I said. I’d swap ‘Small Things’ for ‘College.’ Deal with it.” Alex tongues his milkshake straw into his mouth. “Your turn.”

Jack glares at him for another long moment, like he has to properly make his point about it. “Fine,” he finally huffs. His gaze shifts sideways, off into the distance like he’s thinking, and he swirls his own straw around his milkshake cup. Alex can kind of see his reflection in it. While Jack is thinking, Alex quickly checks his phone.

(21:47) Rian Dawson: How’s the concert? Fuckin bummed I couldn’t make it :/

(21:48) Rian Dawson: Hope you’re having a good time anyway. Text me whenever you get home so I know you didn’t die or get trampled by a mosh pit or whatever the case may be.

Alex smiles and turns off his phone again.

“I feel like I can’t choose a song off Enema now that you did,” Jack mumbles.

“You can,” Alex says. “It would just be kind of a lot of Enema.”

“No, but Enema is a legendary album. I’d go to a show that was literally just all of Enema.”

“Why were you complaining about ‘College’ then!”

“I’m not complaining about ‘College’ itself, I just would never trade it for ‘Small Things’!”

Alex scoffs. “They play ‘Small Things’ all the time. I’ve never seen ‘College’ live. I’d literally kill.”

“Oh my God, I know what I’d do,” Jack says. “‘Shut Up’ instead of ‘Down.’ That’s the only thing that could make this set list more perfect.”

“Ohhh,” Alex says, “that would be fucking sick. Imagine two thousand people just shouting ‘shut the fuck up, she said’ at the top of their lungs.”

“I cannot think of anything cooler than that.”

Alex hums thoughtfully. “So you went with Take Off Your Pants instead of Enema in the end.”

“Alright, don’t get it twisted. If I could add the entirety of Enema to the set list, I would. But if I only get one song, it has to be ‘Shut Up.’ More Enema is never a bad thing.”

“Why wouldn’t you trade ‘College’ for ‘Down’ then?”

“Because that was your set list move, and this is mine,” Jack says. He slaps the table. “Yeah. This is the answer. Someone get Mark Hoppus on the line, stat. I have to tell him I’ve figured out the formula for the perfect set list.”

“‘Shut Up’ live would be awesome,” Alex concedes. “Good move.”

“What can I say, I have extremely good taste,” Jack says airily.

Alex snorts. “Okay, Vanilla Milkshake.”

“You’re just afraid to taste it because you know deep down that it will be better than your chocolate one,” Jack says, pointing his straw accusingly at Alex. Drops of milkshake fall onto the table. Alex sweeps a napkin over the mess.

“You had an advantage over me, though,” he observes. “You said your favorite blink song is ‘Feeling This,’ which was already on the set list. My favorite song wasn’t, so my hands were kind of tied.”

“It’s among my favorite blink songs,” Jack says. “I have many. Most of which are set list staples, yeah. But that’s on you for only having one favorite song.”

“Wait, what? You can’t have many favorites, that defeats the whole point of having a favorite.”

“I can have multiple favorites, what the fuck are you talking about?”

“No way, man. You only get to have one favorite. You can have second-favorites or close favorites but there’s always one that’s better than the rest.”

“Sorry to burst you bubble, Al, but I have more than one favorite blink song,” Jack says, shrugging. “I also have more than one favorite color and more than one favorite food and more than one favorite song.”

Alex shakes his head through Jack’s speech. “I reject this out of hand.”

“You can’t.”

“Well, Clearly Enema is your favorite blink album.”

“Tied with Take Off.”

“Seriously?” Alex narrows his eyes. “Come on, there must be one thing you have just one favorite of.”

“Yeah, there is,” Jack says. “My favorite movie is Home Alone. No other movie comes anywhere close.”

Of course it is. Alex grins and inclines his head in accordance. “That…is extremely good taste.”

“Thank you,” Jack says graciously, and slurps loudly from his milkshake.

-

The next time Alex checks his phone, his brain takes a moment to catch up. “Holy shit, it’s already one a.m.?”

“Oh shit,” Jack says, checking his phone as well. “Time flies when you’re having fun.”

That adage has never felt more true. Slowly working through giant waffles and milkshakes while exchanging questions and random conversational topics with Jack has been the most fun Alex has had in a long time. Diners, he muses. There’s something about diners. Time feels frozen within these walls, and Alex kind of wants to stay in the time bubble forever, laughing with Jack until the sun comes up.

He could do it. Tomorrow’s a Saturday. Nobody works on Saturday, not even Jack at his “boring office job” (his words).

But he knows there’s a reason that nothing gold can stay. It wouldn’t be valuable if it lasted forever. The night will crystallize as something special in Alex’s memory, but it can’t do that until it ends. And it has to end eventually.

“We should probably go,” Alex says reluctantly. Jack nods once.

“Yeah,” he says. He signals for the check and looks back at Alex. “My treat.”

“Uh, no way. I’m paying.”

“Nope, not happening. I will elbow you in the face again if I have to. I’m paying this check.”

“Jack—” Alex wavers. Jack looks so insistent, eyebrows raised like he’s daring Alex to argue, and there’s nothing to do but smile. “Okay. If you insist. We’ll call it even for you assaulting me earlier.”

“Exactly,” Jack says, and he happily accepts the check when the waitress hands it to him.

“Did you guys get everything you need?” she asks the two of them.

Alex glances at Jack, but Jack’s scanning the check. “Pretty much, yeah,” he tells the waitress. She leaves them with the check, and they vacate their table to go pay it at the front.

Alex wonders what someone might think if they saw this table. Whether anyone could even begin to illustrate the story of the night using only two empty milkshake cups and two plates that formerly held waffles. It would be impossible. Not even Sherlock Holmes could work this one out.

Alex smiles. They’re a fossil in amber, preserved in memory. Even if it turns out not to be a date, Alex knows he’ll look back on tonight fondly, and he can count on this exact same smile every time he does.

Jack finishes paying and turns to face Alex. One arm outstretched, he says, “Shall we?”

Alex links their arms. “After you, good sir.”

They’re laughing as they leave in a glow of neon light.

-

“This is me,” Alex says, gesturing half-heartedly at his car. They both stop short behind it.

“Ah,” Jack says, nodding. “So I guess this is where I leave you.”

Alex swallows. “I’m glad you elbowed me in the face,” he admits, which sounds strange to say out of the blue. “I had a good time tonight.”

“What, at the concert?”

Jack is obviously teasing, but Alex doesn’t mind being more clear. “Actually, I think I had more fun after the concert,” he says, smiling a little. “You’re good company, JB.”

Jack smiles, and if Alex isn’t mistaken, he’s also blushing. “Same to you,” he says. “Despite your wrong opinions about the set list.”

“I hate sounding like a cliché,” Alex says, ruffling a hand through his hair. Jack cocks his head. “But, um, I’d like to see you again. If that’s okay.”

“So okay,” Jack says. “And totally plausible, considering we apparently live within twenty minutes of each other.”

“True,” Alex says. “The universe really wanted us to meet, I guess.”

“Thank you, Universe, for putting Alex in harm’s way,” Jack says solemnly, looking upwards. Alex laughs. “Can I have your number?”

“Yeah, yes, of course.”

Alex recites his phone number for Jack to enter into his contacts. “I promise I’ll call,” Jack says. His gaze flits around Alex’s face like it can’t find a good place to land. He drags his index finger diagonally over his chest. “Cross my heart and everything.”

“I have to ask,” Alex says, shifting on his feet. “Were you— was this supposed to be a date?” He hesitates; maybe that’s the wrong question. “Was it a date?”

“For the sake of anniversaries, let’s say yes,” Jack says. Immediately his face puckers in regret. “Pretend I didn’t say that. I’m— my brain gets ahead of me.”

“No, it’s all good.” It’s more than good; there’s a horde of butterflies in Alex’s ribcage that won’t fucking quit, not now that he knows Jack is thinking of anniversaries when this is only maybe their first date. A person who is not only anticipating a future for them but preparing to celebrate it. So far, so fucking good. “You’re a practical thinker. I can appreciate that.”

“And I appreciate that you aren’t deleting your number from my phone even after I just said that to you,” Jack says, grinning. His grin melts away when he sighs. “I should go. It’s late.”

“Yeah,” Alex echoes. “Late.”

“Please drive safe,” Jack says seriously. “If I’m the last person to see you before you die, that’ll make me look really bad.”

Alex laughs. He likes that Jack keeps making him laugh. His friends make him laugh, too, but Jack makes him laugh in a different way, like he can’t stop himself. Like the delight refuses to stay trapped.

“I promise to drive safe,” he vows. “I owe you a date. I would hate to lose the chance to impress you.”

“Oh, wait, that reminds me.” Jack reaches into his pocket and presses something into Alex’s hand. It’s the guitar pick, warm from Jack’s pocket. “You’ll probably use it more than me,” Jack explains, ducking his head. “You know, being a music teacher and all.”

“Oh,” Alex breathes, flipping the pick in his palm. “That’s, um…thank you. Thanks. I’m…”

“Yeah,” Jack says, licking his lips. “Of course. Um, okay, now I really should go. But like I said, I’ll call.”

Alex nods, still staring at the guitar pick in his hand. His head snaps up and he breaks from whatever trance he’d fallen into. “I’m counting on it,” he says, stepping closer to Jack. He hears Jack inhale as he leans closer, brushing his lips to Jack’s cheek.

When Jack speaks, it’s a hoarse whisper. “I had a good time too, you know.”

Alex leans away and starts walking backwards to the driver-side door. “Good,” he says, smiling warmly. He’s not really trying to smile so warmly but he can’t help it. “Get home safe, Jack.”

“Yeah,” Jack says. “You too, Alex.”

[raevenlywrites]

Dasi High, for really reals

Finally got a first chapter I actually like!

I walked an expanse of endless sand. The night desert air carried hints of spice and stone and worried at my exposed skin with cutting cold teeth. I shivered and rubbed my arms in annoyance. This part of the dream was getting old.

But I knew that just over that dune lay a fire, and around the fire, figures danced.

Their long shadows cast out like the tails of an inverse sun, snapping and cracking like dark twins to the flames they danced around. Music made of wind and whispers pulled at me, urged me to come down, come dance, become a shadow.

I’d never once made it down to the circle.

I didn’t dream this scene every night, but I’d dreamt it often enough to be annoyed with its tantalizing tease. If I didn't’ waste so much time on the stupid sands, I might finally get to see who danced in that circle. A figure always broke off, coming to meet me half way, and though I got a little closer every time--

“It’s the top of the hour, and you’re listening to WKSR!”

I smashed my hand against the alarm clock, wishing I could hurl it into the dreamscape’s flames.

Never make a song you love your alarm tone, unless you’re ready to hate that song forever. That goes double if its from show you used to really love, but now associate with rage and dreamus interruptus and can never watch again. I flopped forcefully back against my pillow, tempted as always to just go back to sleep. What was out here for me in this world of pop songs and overly enthusiastic radio announcers?

Plenty, was the answer, and after a while the ennui of waking left me, and I rolled out of bed to wash the sand of sleep from my eyes. - “Hey.”

I looked up to see Brass standing in front of my desk, something held to his chest. Since it was neither latte nor donut, it was hard to muster interest in it this early in the morning. When he set the crusty old book down on my desk like it was supposed to mean something, I just stared up at him.

“Since when do you read?” I teased. Picking on Brass was one of the constants in my world. Sky was blue, grass was green, Brass and I bickered and teased.

He gave me a half-hearted smirk, but I could tell he was distracted. I leaned back in my chair, cocking my head in what I hoped was a sympathetic manner. This was why we hadn’t worked as a couple. Teasing I got. Real emotions? They seemed weird between me and Brass. And it was way too early for it. Best to just let him get it off his chest and get it over with.

He drew a deep breath in through his nose, reminding me way to much of all the times he’d started “a talk”. It was hard not to get automatically defensive.

“So you know how my mom runs that homeopahtic shop or whatever?”

I nodded, biting my tongue to keep from interrupting him. We’d been friends since diapers. I knew his mom as well as I knew my own. Maybe better. “Aunt” Cynthia was way cooler than my stick in the mud mom. And her shop carried some of the coolest stuff. Suddenly this rusty crusty Giles-like book got a lot more interesting.

“What’s with the Necronomicon?”

“It’s not a--“

He cut off, his mouth twisting in that sideway grimace that made his nose scrunch. I hated that I still thought it was cute. I distracted myself from it by flipping open the tome. “Tome” had a lot better ring to it. Yeah, I was liking this tome more and more.

“Apparently it’s a grimoire. Mom likes to collect them for old recipes and stuff, but this one...”

His fidgeting was enough to ruin the mystical communion I was trying to have with my cool new book. I propped my face on a fist, giving him a sort of “spill it” gesture with my eyebrows. I did a lot of talking with my eyebrows. I had expressive eyebrows, worked hard to get ‘em that way. They were kind of my signature thing now. I hoped. Too cool to speak. Talk to the brows. Yeah.

Brass wilted under my killer gaze, reaching down to flip a page in the book. I felt weirdly protective of it, annoyed that he’d dared touch it--even though it was his book. Just because he’d put it on my desk didn’t mean he was giving it to me.

“I thought you should have it,” he said, seeming to echo my thoughts. I felt immediately embarrassed and empowered at the idea. Heck yeah, bow before my cool mind powers--but ick, stay out of my thoughts. Especially since I still kind of like you. Double ick.

“Brass, what about this crusty old book makes you think I should have it?”

When in doubt, pretend you don’t want it. Lessons learned from Sassy the Cat of Homeward Bound fame.

“Cause you’re crusty old news!”

Izzy wrapped her hands around Brass’s arm, giving me her “trying too hard to be cute” nose-wrinkled grin. Brass’s nose wrinkle was better. But hers was cute, I could admit. Much easier to admit since I knew her passes at Brass didn’t mean anything. Izzy didn’t want to date him any more than I had. She’d just been smart enough to say no when he’d asked. Which made him more fun to flirt with now, I guess. I dunno. The mind of an Izzy is a mystery.

“No,” Brass said tightly, trying on the new tactic of “ignore the PDA”. Good for him. The blushing had been cute, but it made him look easy to rile. More fun to tease. Stoic man, that was the way.

“I thought she should have it because--“

“The vibes!” Dani invited themself in our conversation and I tried not to sigh. I loved my friends, I really did. We were tight, tighter than family. But now they were going to chat all through homeroom and there would be no coffee, no book, no ten minute nap. My desk had become socializing central.

“It’s the vibes, right?” Dani insisted, helping themself to my book. I let out a protest as they picked it up, but too little too late. They turned the book over and over, as if looking for a review or pricetag or something. “This thing totally has spooky vibes, just like our Ki.”

“It’s because she’s a Scorpio.” Oh great. Landon had invited himself over too. Party and Kiesha’s desk. “Scorpio’s exude a mysterious energy. But they’re secretly big cry babies.”

I stuck my tongue out at Landon-the-know-it-all, but he ignored me.

“No,” Brass insisted, taking his book back once again. He spread it out over my desk again, opening it back to that same page. It looked like a family tree. He ran a finger over the lines, indicating a very familiar name.

“It’s because it’s literally got her name on it.”

Everyone leaned in, casting an actual shadow on the page they crowded so close. It made the age-faded ink even harder to parse, but the “Kiesha” Brass had indicated was plain enough.

My book.

The urge to close it up and clutch it to my chest nearly overwhelmed me. Instead I leaned away, ostensibly to let everyone else get a better look. In truth, I hated ever looking too interested in anything. I had always been so obnoxious with my interests as a child. I never let anyone see anymore when I was really into something. Always play it cool.

But the book called to me, and the more I held myself back from it, the more I wanted to pour through its pages, discover its secrets. It was my book. It had my name on it. Fate had sent it to me.

My friend’s chattered turned to white noise in my ear. Distantly, I caught snatches of “where did you get it?” and “that’s so cool!” but all I could really hear was the pounding of my own heart in my ears. It felt like drums, dusky and ancient, and more important than anything else that might happen that day. Damn you, Brass, for giving me something so cool at the start of the school day. This was going to taunt me all day, just like that stupid fire circle.

I swooned as the beat of my heart joined the whispers of smoke and song. A hand on my shoulder made me jump. I blinked up into Brass’s concerned face.

“Ki? You okay?”

I nodded, shaky and shaken. I needed some air.

“Skipped breakfast. Could one of you snag me something from the vending machines?”

Izzy nodded and hopped off, knowing Brass would be completely distracted by concern for my well-being now. He still hovered like a protective mother hen, even though we’d broken up months ago. Talk about your brooding hero. Dani pulled Landon away and I sent a silent thank you to them for wrangling their snotty boyfriend. Landon was a great study buddy, but he had the personality of Metamusil. Good for you, probably, when you were ancient. We were too young and cool for his old man routine.

Brass crouched down by my desk so I didn’t have to crane up at him.

“Are you really good?”

I nodded, letting myself rest my head on his shoulder. Brass was a constant, weird ex or not. He’d been childhood friend longer than he’d been my... whatever we’d been, and enough time had passed that I could let myself take comfort from him again.

“Sorry about the book thing. I can--“

“It’s great.”

I cut him off before he could finish whatever he’d been about to say. I wasn’t about to let my “be cool” rule part me from my book. I pulled back to better look at him.

“I do really like it, weirdness or not. Thanks for thinking of me.”

“Of course.”

He pressed a quick kiss to my forehead, then stood and beat a retreat to his side of the classroom. Izzy came back with a Coke and some donut sticks, and I slid the book into my bag before any sticky accidents could befall it.

[nanoland]

title: Compass Rose 

series: Lucifer (TV) 

pairings: Mazikeen/Eve

summary: In which Mazikeen exercises her renowned patience. 

warnings: Lucifer is kind of a dick in this. Not intentionally; he’s just young and colossally self-centered. 

 Also on Ao3! 

0 

“You. Demon. What’s your name?” asks the Morningstar, looking bored and depressed, as usual.

She straightens up, brimming with nerves and excitement, feeling her acidic blood bubble happily because he’s so handsome! And he’s talking to her! Her siblings will shriek with jealousy when they hear of this. “Mazikeen, my liege.”

“Mazikeen,” he repeats, mispronouncing it. “Great. Maze, do something about… all that, would you? It’s dreadfully grating.”

He gestures to the sea of damned, miserable human souls milling around the base of his throne, calling up to him for help or mercy.

“Yes, my liege,” she says, her bright mind already hard at work planning the next few millennia of punishment.

 0 

“Maze, is there a letter from Amenadiel?”

Mazikeen is now four hundred years old and in all that time, not a single letter has arrived in Hell, from Amenadiel or anyone else. Regardless, her handsome king asks every week.

It’s fine. She’s far too mature and cunning to feel even the slightest scrap of envy towards some pompous old angel she’s never even met, regardless of how obviously Lucifer loves him.

Regardless of how obvious it is that he loves no one in Hell half as much.

“No, my liege.”

“Hmm. Fine. Whatever. Fuck him, then. Brothers – who needs ‘em?”

She nods. She herself has many, many brothers, and sisters, and siblings who are neither or both, and she certainly doesn’t need them.

(Sometimes she longs for them, especially when she’s weary from the years and years dedicated to building and securing Lucifer’s kingdom, but she never needs. Needing is for the weak.)

It occurs to her that that king might be cheered by stories of Tradiusis, her most treasured and most useless brother, who is prone to chatting with the damned and asking them about all the silly human indulgences they enjoyed in life, like movies and theme parks and hot dogs. Fool that he is, the mere thought of him always brings a smile to her face.

But she decides against it, suspecting that if she were to begin telling Lucifer about her family, he’d get that same dull, faintly irritated expression she sees every time she reads him a report about the number of new arrivals and how various parts of Hell will need to be restructured to accommodate them all.

(She wonders what will happen when Hell is full – does he have a plan? Is she expected to have a plan?)

(How long, exactly, are they supposed to keep doing this?)

(Surely this can’t be all they were made for?)  

 0  

“Maze, get me a drink, would you?”

Mazikeen is Lucifer’s right hand, his bodyguard, the highest-ranked demon in Hell, named the Lady of Pain, the Whirlwind, and the Blood Dancer by her peers and underlings.

Pouring drinks is… new to her.

But this is what he wants; this club, this loud music, these inebriated humans constantly demanding attention and entertainment, constantly needing to be managed. And he’s her king.

She pours him his drink and listens to him play the piano, until some wretch attempts to grope her and loses two fingers.

 0 

Running a nightclub is, it turns out, complicated.

There are all sorts of rules and regulations regarding what can and cannot be done inside it.

At one point, Lucifer decides it would be fun to have white tigers roaming the dance floor. After a few days spent looking into that option, she has to explain that they may to have settle for waitresses dressed as tigers. He pouts like it’s her fault and goes back to the piano.

She’s also not allowed to kill anyone, which is, honestly, ridiculous. Mazikeen is an ancient being, a warrior nigh unparalleled, with centuries of experience contending with the worst the human race has to offer, and every single night she endures treatment from at least one of Lucifer’s guests that, even to her vast, reasonable, and patient mind, clearly warrants swift annihilation.

If murder is, indeed, illegal, how do all the mortal women in this city who serve drinks cope?

“You block it out, I guess,” says Suzy, a waitress with thick red hair and tired eyes, after Mazikeen has had to save her yet again from a patron with wandering hands (and now broken hands). “You know, just… don’t let it get to you. Grow a thick skin.”

Mazikeen considers the half of her body that has no skin whatsoever and snickers inappropriately. Then she gifts Suzy one of her knives.

 0 

Chloe gasps. “Maze! No! Absolutely not!”

“Why?” she asks, annoyed but also genuinely curious.

“I can’t just torture a suspect to get information, Maze. It’s wrong.”

Mazikeen considers saying: You already torture people. You lock them up in tiny boxes until their minds break and their lives are utterly ruined. How is that different? I don’t understand.

Mazikeen considers saying: You let Lucifer violate peoples’ innermost selves to obtain information. How is that better? I don’t understand.

Mazikeen considers saying: I don’t want to be good. I don’t care about being good. So why do I seem to put so much more thought into how to be good than you do? I don’t understand, I don’t, I don’t.

Instead, Mazikeen rolls her eyes and says nothing.

 0 

“Maze! No! What were you thinking?” cries Linda, rushing over to the cradle. “You can’t give that to a baby!”

She snatches away Mazikeen’s present; a blade, small and silver, just right for tiny hands, the same blade Mazikeen herself received from her favourite sister on her fourth birthday. It has tasted the blood of over a hundred enemies.

Charlie starts to cry and Linda puts the blade aside so she can pick him up and comfort him.

“Children need to be able to protect themselves,” Mazikeen insists.

“No, Maze. Children need to be protected.”

“No one protected me.”

Linda doesn’t say: Exactly. Why would I want my son to be anything like you?

Because Linda is kind.

But Mazikeen is perceptive and she sees it in her friend’s eyes all the same.

 0 

“So then, then it turns out that Jon Snow is actually Daenarys Targaryen’s cousin, right, which makes him – oh no! – a rival contender for the Iron Throne, and…”

“Ugh,” Mazikeen groans, cutting Ella off. “I thought this was a show about dragons! Why does it waste so much time on people either fucking or killing their relatives?”

She laughs at Mazikeen’s exaggerated annoyance. “It’s not just about dragons. There’s a lot of stuff about politics and war and, yeah, fucked-up family dynamics. Honestly, that’s one of the reasons it grips me so much. My own family’s always got a ton of drama going on, too. I mean – no incest. Not that I’m aware of. But you know all about my brothers.”

Mazikeen is about to ask what the dragons look like – whether the show’s version bears any resemblance to the beasts she’s ridden into battle – when Ella tilts her head sideways and squints at her. “Huh. Now that I think about it… I’ve told you all about my brothers but I’ve never asked anything about your family. That was shitty of me! Can I ask now? Or is it, like, one of those things you don’t talk about? Like where you’re from and how you met Lucifer?”

Fiddling with a lock of her hair – it’s straight and black today – Mazikeen says, “I don’t mind talking about it. Just… most people don’t care.”

Ella frowns, briefly (cutely, curse her). “Well, I wanna know! You got any brothers?”

“Yeah.”

“How many?”

“A lot. I’m not actually sure exactly how many there are now.”

“Oh, right. Gotcha. Are you close to any of them?”

“Not these days. But when we were young, we were pretty tight-knit. Didn’t really have anyone besides each other.”

Ella asks her more questions and though she has to keep her answers extremely vague, Mazikeen finds that she likes talking about her home and her childhood. Prolonged exposure to the human world has begun to make her feel insubstantial; a tool, a disguise, a thing without roots or history. Lucifer’s been no help with that, for he’s only ever known her as his servant (and, sometimes, when he’s in a good mood, his friend, by virtue of the fact that friendship with someone who works for you – who can do nothing but work for you – requires no tedious emotional labour whatsoever).

It’s nice to remember that she has, in fact, been other things. That she could, perhaps, be other things in the future.

 0 

“So,” Dan slurs, hunched over his beer. “You got whores… hordes… horns? Thought demons had horns.”

She’s busy applying a fresh coat of candy-pink lipstick to match her powder-blue bob. “Some do. I don’t.”

“Well, that sucks. That’s not fair! You deserve horns. You’re cool, Maze.”

Because that provokes a twinge of genuine affection, she says, “Wanna see what I have got?”

“Hell, yeah!”

He grins drunkenly.

“You need to promise not to scream.”

“Oh – oh, man, is it scary? Is it gross?”

She shows him her true face.

After a moment of owlish blinking, he shrugs and returns to his beer. “Eh. S’not that gross. Lucifer’s grosser. Wanna play pool?”

 0 

Amenadiel presents her with a beautiful black sheath. “I crafted it from my own feathers. It will keep the blade contained until he’s old enough to wield it safely.”

She slides Charlie’s knife into it. “Someone will need to teach him.”

“Who taught you?”

“Me? No one. They just threw us at one another and clapped for whoever survived. But… well. He’s not like me, is he?”

The angel places the sheathed blade down beside Charlie’s stuffed rabbit and plastic truck. “Maybe not now. With any luck, that will change.”

 0 

“Ma-aaze,” Lucifer groans, flopping back in his armchair with his long legs artfully folded and his hand over his eyes. “I’ve had such a tiresome morning. Pour me a drink, would you?”

“Pour it your damn self,” she suggests, standing on his penthouse’s balcony and admiring the view. His throne in Hell was about as tall as this building. From up here, all the little people down below look exactly the same.

He pouts and fetches a glass – and, to her surprise, one for her as well.

 0 

Mazikeen brings an abrupt, efficient end to the bar fight by slamming her palm into an assailant’s solar plexus.

He drops like a ton of bricks, joining the pile of groaning men, broken furniture, and smashed bottles. (Shit; it’s going to take ages to clean all this up. If Lucifer didn’t have infinite money, Lux would have gone bankrupt eight times by now.)

She turns to see Eve staring at her, beautiful mouth hanging open, and braces herself for the “Maze! No!”.

“That was so cool,” Eve breathes, and rushes over to leap into Mazikeen’s arms, only to draw back at the last second. “Oh no! You’re hurt!”

There is, indeed, a small cut on Mazikeen’s left hand.

“Don’t care, doesn’t matter,” says Mazikeen, reaching for her, wanting badly to be kissed.

But Eve drags her into a quiet back room where she applies disinfectant and bandaids with cartoon cats on them.

“I really wanna learn how you did that thing with your elbow,” she chatters, wiping away a few spots of blood with a white handkerchief. “The way his nose just went crunch! – man, it was fantastic.”

“I can teach you. If you like.”

Eve’s dark eyes are fond. “You’re always offering to do something for me – to teach me how to fight, or to carry something, or to protect me. It’s… like, I love it. But you know you don’t have to, right?”

“Yeah. I do.”

“I wanna do stuff for you sometimes. Oh! That reminds me. Lucifer was going to take Chloe to a wrestling match but then they had another fight and he’s back to being sad, sooo I stole the tickets out of his jacket. Wanna go?”

“I love you,” says Mazikeen, even though she’s said it five times today. She likes the way it sounds in her mouth. She likes the way it makes Eve’s whole face sparkle.

“I love you too, babe.”

[storytellingfandom]

It Had to be You ~ Part Nine

Summary: Of all the gin joints in all the towns in all the world she walked into hers.  Lin Beifong saw the world in two colors; black and white. That changes though when she meets the siren working with one of the largest gangs in Republic City.

Azami never had a choice. Didn’t have a way out. But she could destroy things from the inside. She could move information around. She could lie and smile with the best of them.

Neither needed anyone. Neither needed love. So what happens when fate ties them together? Can they save each other? Or will a smoking gun end something before it begins

A/N: A 1930s/40s LOK AU. Note that there will be themes that were present during this time including smoking, drinking, underlying homophobia, and potentially smut later on down the line. Writer’s views are not that of the characters.

Word count: 4613

They’d fallen asleep together, Lin’s head on the pillow, half on the bed and half kneeling between the chair and the ground. Azami’s face resting near her own, hand resting over Lin’s to keep her close and feel it when she got up or moved. Both exhausted from the conversation they’d had, from the emotions that both had worked through and processed. 

It was how Tapeesa found them when she came to get them for dinner. A soft smile crossed her features seeing the soft looks on both their faces. Walking towards them, she placed a gentle hand on Lin’s back first, watching the chief jump out of instinct but relax when she recognized the older woman. 

“Supper’s ready, and you’re going to want to get out of that position before you ruin your joints. See if she feels up to trying to get up at all.” Tapeesa murmured, patting the younger woman’s back. 

Nodding tiredly, Lin rubbed her face before turning to Azami. The worried lines that had been forming on the other had smoothed out in her sleep, dark hair fanning out across her pillow. Her hand clutching her own tightly, as if afraid she’d disappear. Bringing Azami’s hand up to her lips, Lin pressed kisses to each knuckle before shifting to sit on the bed. 

“Azami, darling, it’s time to get up.” Lin murmured, fingers reaching out to brush against her cheek, moving the strand of hair that had fallen there. “Tapeesa came in and said it was time for supper.”

Shifting in her sleep, Azami hummed and pulled Lin’s hand closer to herself. “I’m not really hungry.” 

“I know.” Leaning down, Lin pressed her lips to the other’s forehead. “But you need to eat, you’re still healing and need the strength. Come on, if I have to eat, you do too.”

Groaning gently, Azami’s eyes slowly opened to reveal the forest green eyes. Blinking a couple of times, she smiled slightly seeing Lin. “Alright...alright. You win.” 

“Good, now, Tapeesa wants to have you try to stand for a bit and come to the table. If you need to sit or can’t do it though, I want you to tell me immediately. Deal?” Lin asked, her stomach clenching at the idea of it but knew that if they wanted to get out of there, Azami was going to have to be able to move. Too many people helping them would attract attention. 

“Arlight.” Azami agreed, carefully moving to sit up. Once in that position, she took Lin’s offered hands and managed to sit on the edge of the bed. Closing her eyes, she waved away Lin’s fussing before getting herself slowly to her feet. 

Knees wobbled and collapsed to start with. Lin was there to catch her, holding her firmly and steadily against her chest. 

“That’s it, you’re getting back into bed. I’ll tell…” 

“No. I’m just light headed. I just need to stand here for a minute.” Azami murmured, leaning her head against Lin’s shoulder. “Just hold me here a minute.” 

She let Lin hold her a few minutes longer before taking her arm and managed to start walking towards the dining room table. A hand wrapped around her stomach, the pulling and sharp edge of pain still there to remind her of that injury. 

June noticed her first and was quick to her feet, hurrying over to wrap her arm around Azami’s other side. “We’ve got you, darlin’. Just lean into us.” 

Taking the full weight, both women helped her to sit, Lin moving in to gently dab at the sweat on her brow from the exertion. Tapeesa came into the room next with an easy noodle soup for Azami. She’d made it with just enough hen to give the woman some protein, and fortified the rest with different vegetables that would go down easy. She brought a pitcher of fruit juice over a moment later and poured some for the woman, something to bring her blood sugar back up again. 

“Here we are, dear. Let’s get this into you.” Tapeesa murmured, making sure she ate some before bringing the rest their dinner. 

June thanked her wife with a kiss to the cheek as she tucked into her dinner, turning to Lin. “We have a safe house for the two of you. Outside of the city, hiding you in plain sight. Takao will expect us to be moving her further into the mountains. We’re going to head west, wind around, then go east to the lake. We’ve got a place there for you.” 

“But what about you? You can’t stay here.” Azami asked, a frown crossing her features. 

“Don’t you worry your pretty head about us, you know I won’t let anything happen to Tapeesa.” June reassured her, reaching across to squeeze Azami’s hand. 

“We’ll go underground, back into the old bunker we used to hole up in when the gangs first started to move in. No one knows where they are, and only those who know us will know how to contact us.” Tapeesa said, smiling at her partner. “We’ll have a runner to check on the two of you though. And bring you supplies.”

“When do we leave?” Lin asked, one eye watching Azami to make sure she continued to eat, gently pushing the bread towards her. 

“Tonight. You’ll ride in the backseat of a truck. We have a crate we’ll put Azami in, line it with what we can to make sure she isn’t jostled too much.” June explained and reached for a map. “Go this route to get you out of town. Shouldn’t be too many checkpoints. You speak with your men?”

“Sent a code to someone I trust. I should be the one to ride in the crate though.” Lin frowned, setting her spoon down. 

“We need you out of the crate. You’re not injured and can handle a gun faster than most. If something goes sideways, they need you.” June answered, her tone firm and leaving no room for arguments. “We’ll make it as safe as we can for her. Need to trust me on this one, chief.” 

Azami reached out gently, hand resting on Lin’s reassuringly. “It’s alright, love. I’ll be fine.”

“There’s checkpoints to switch trucks along the way. You’ll be able to check on her while traveling to the location. I have a bag of medical supplies for her ready to go with you.” Tapeesa reassured Lin, offering her a smile. “I know it’s hard, I’ve been in your position one too many times myself. But it’s the safest option for both of you.” 

Nodding, Lin sighed, and brought Azami’s hand to her mouth to kiss. “How’d I let you drag me into this?”

“My winning personality.” Azami teased, a tired smile crossing her features. 

Rolling her eyes, Lin released her hand and turned back to her food, muttering about damn songstresses. 

Chuckling, June looked Azami over, assessing her strength before turning to her wife. “We should get her onto the couch to rest some before we pack her up.” 

“Put her back in the bed, they’ll both need sleep.” Tapeesa answered, eyes flitting over to Lin. If how she’d been acting the last few moments were any indicator, she wasn’t going to let Azami out of her sight while she was still in these early days of healing from her wounds. 

Inspecting the bowl, June nodded when she saw Azami had eaten a little over half of soup and a small portion of bread. Coming to her side, she waved for Lin to stay seated and finish her supper. The taller woman easily helping Azami up to her feet, a firm arm around her. 

“I’ve got you now, baby girl. Let’s get you to bed.” June murmured, taking slow steps towards the bedroom. 

Tapeesa waited until June was in the other room before turning back to Lin. “She’ll never admit how scared she was that night when they brought Azami in. She...we thought we lost her a few times on the table. She wants to get a new one when this blows over, won’t be able to sit at this one.” 

Lin watched the older woman’s fingers pick at the blood stain that had seeped into the wood. Azami’s blood. Reaching her own hand over, she touched the stain before she took Tapeesa’s hand in her own. “I’m not going to let anything else happen to her, I swear that to you both.” 

“I know, we both know.” Tapeesa squeezed Lin’s hand in her own. “But it’s hard, when you raise them and then see them dying in front of your eyes even when you’re doing everything you know to save them. That doesn’t go away quickly.”

Nodding her understanding, Lin looked over towards the door before turning back to Tapeesa. “Let me help with dishes. You’ve done enough.” 

“I’ll dry ‘em and put ‘em away for you. Spirits know June never puts anything away in the same place twice already.” Tapeesa answered, standing and followed after Lin into the kitchen. 

********

June helped Azami into the bedroom and sat her gently on the bed. For as large as the woman was, her touch had always been surprisingly tender when it came to those she cared about the most. The older woman walked into her bedroom and pulled out a dress of Tapeesa’s, it was a little old in style but a younger look than some of the others she wore these days. And the dark, burgundy red would always be a color that looked good on Azami. Coming back to the bedroom, she smiled. 

“Brought you something to wear for the ride over. I know you’d prefer those trousers, but you’re not going to be able to wear them while that incision on your stomach heals.” June announced, hanging the dress up. “You want chief to help you get dressed, or me?”

“You, I know she’ll see it taking care of me but if I could avoid the whole nurse part of her seeing me naked longer, that’d be great.” Azami answered, her voice betraying how tired she was. 

Nodding, June moved and helped Azami out of the nightgown they put her in, very carefully pulling it up and over her head. It was in those moments, the younger woman could really study the woman who had helped to raise her. Black hair had long faded into a dark, steel grey with streaks of white beginning to weave in as well. Wrinkles at the corner of her eyes, frown lines, smile lines, lines that told so many stories scattered across her face. A sharp jaw, a once straight nose that had been broken once or twice. What had always remained the same were the whiskey colored eyes that were watching her for any signs of pain or infection in the wound. Eyes that could warm you from the inside out, or cut you down where you stood without a second thought. 

Her tall form was just broad enough to make her imposing, but slender dips in her hips marked the femininity that she used to show off in high waisted trousers for her wife. And still would. Tall enough to intimidate any man that tried to get in either of their faces. Height that Azami could only wish she had. 

With the dress over her head, she carefully maneuvered her arms into the sleeves that sat comfortably at her elbows. The scoop neck of the dress offering a modest view of her neck and down to the tops of her breasts, hugging gently before flaring out into a skirt that would touch below her knees. Taking June’s hands, she stood and fixed the skirts around her before sitting back on the bed. 

“‘Peesa will hate that I’m having you sleep in this, but it’s going to be easier on all of us if we do it this way.” June murmured before helping her to lay back in the bed. 

“She can add it to the white hairs you’ve given her over the years.” Azami teased, sinking into the soft pillows. 

“Hate to give her more than I already have.” June answered, shrugging her shoulders. She didn’t deserve her wife, or everything she’d put up with over the years, but here they were. And there wasn’t a better woman she could ask for to be at her side. Some time alone together, even if both wished it could be different, would be cherished. “Besides, gotta keep her on her toes.” 

Chuckling gently, Azami took June’s larger hand in her own and squeezed it gently. “Thank you, for everything.”

Frowning gently, June sat in the chair that sat beside the bed. “Now don’t you go saying goodbye to me. This is just for a little while, we need to move Takao into our own trap before we can put this to bed. And we’ll set one, don’t you worry. You just use this time away from all of this to get to know that lady of yours, you hear? Make sure she’ll treat you right.” 

A smile crossed Azami’s features and she nodded. “She will, June.” 

“She better.” Was all she answered, brushing some of Azami’s hair back. “Only the best for my Nightingale. Now get some sleep. You both have a long night ahead of you.” 

**********

When Azami woke up next it was the middle of the night to Tapeesa’s gentle nudging. Lin was asleep next to her, hand on her stomach to feel for her breathing. 

“Easy darlin’, but it’s time to get moving.” Tapeesa murmured, seeing Azami’s eyes open. 

Nodding, she turned to Lin, reaching a hand out to gently touch the police chief. Watching her shift and wake after a few moments, she offered Lin a small smile. “Morning sleepy head.” 

“Morning to you too, how’d you feel?” Lin asked, moving to sit up. 

“Sore, but I’ll be fine.” Azami murmured, resting a hand over her injury as she sat up. 

Letting Lin help her to her feet again, the two of them walked to the living room where the older two women were waiting for them. Both were bundled up, Lin’s hair hidden under a cap and makeup dabbed over her scars to hide them. Lin dressed in some of June’s old clothes, rolling the sleeves and ends of the pants up just enough to get by. They could worry about it more later. Tapeesa gave Azami something for the pain, something strong enough to help her sleep through most of the ride they hoped. 

“You take care of yourself, do you hear me? I’ll be very upset with you if you let that wound get infected or push yourself too hard.” Tapeesa announced, cupping Azami’s cheeks. “You’re catching up with June in the white hairs you’re both giving me.” 

Smiling, Azami leaned into her touch, pressing a kiss into the deep brown of the older woman’s palm. “I will, I’ve got someone to make sure I do.”

Nodding, Tapeesa pulled the woman into her arms and held her close for a long moment. “I may not have given you life, but you’re still my sweet daughter. Do you understand? And I love you for it.” 

“I love you too, mama.” Azami murmured, pressing her neck against her neck. 

Clearing her throat to hide the tears that threatened, June wiped at her eyes and turned to Lin. “Take care of her for us. She’s the world to us.” 

“I will, I promise you that.” Lin answered, offering her hand. Surprised when June pulled her into a hug, she returned it stiffly at first before sinking into it. “Thank you for trusting me with her.” 

June nodded before letting Tapeesa hug Lin herself. “Take care of yourself too, you’ll need to so you can take care of her.” 

“I will.” Lin promised and looked over when a very specific knock sounded.

June moved to the door, answering it, she nodded to the man and motioned the women over. “This is your ride you two.” 

Lin was at Azami’s side, supporting her and helping her to the door. Letting the man get on the other side of her, both of them helped her down the stairs and to the truck. June followed after them, jumping into the crate, her seventy plus years not hindering her a bit, she helped Azami to where the bed had been laid out for her. Settling her there, she kissed the top of her head. 

“I love you, Azami.”

“I know, I love you to mama.” Azami answers, squeezing her hand. “Be safe, for me.”

“Always am. We’ll get word to you soon.” June promised, one last hug given before she forced herself to climb out of the crate again. Nodding to the other two, she slipped back into the apartment building, fading as if she’d never been there. 

*********

When you looked at the floor of the truck, it was covered in what would appear to be show gear: costumes, boxes of sheet music, the occasional instrument or two that were too fragile to write out in the bed of the trunk in the crate. No one noticed Lin’s form hidden amongst the rest of the clutter. Still, she hardly dared to breathe as they drove along. 

They’d been stopped once leaving the city and that had gone smoothly enough. No real questions and no one wanted to unload a crate full of drums and other heavy instruments just to peer inside. Still, she breathed easier once they were past the guard and headed into the winding roads. 

One had remained on the hilt of her revolver, ready to pull it and defend herself and Azami with it. The ride had been mostly silent except for the jazz playing on the radio until the man spoke up.

“Hey chief, what kind of car should we be worried about following us?” 

Lin’s heart stopped and she lifted her head up. “Describe it to me.” 

“Black, real fancy looking. One of those new sport--” 

The shots rang out a second later. The driver cursed, swerving in hopes to keep the flying bullets away from their tires. Lin was out of her spot in a flash, climbing to the window, she rolled it down and hung out of it just enough to get her own shots in. Jade eyes were sharp and her steady hand meant that one of her shots struck home on the car. The fluid now pouring the car proved it. Radiator had a leak. 

“They’re not letting up!” 

“Idiots will blow the damn car if they don’t.” Lin answered, climbing back inside the truck. Remembering Azami in the crate, she was looking behind at it and cursed. “We need to get off the road. Now.” 

“But--”

“Do it!” 

The driver cursed and turned the wheel sharply, heading into the woods. The other car was able to follow them to a point until the hill made a sharp turn and the incline was too much for the car. They left them behind and didn’t stop until they were far enough away, making enough turns to confuse anyone who tried to follow them. Jumping out of the truck once it was stopped, Lin took the crowbar and immediately busted the crate open. Finding Azami curled in the corner, she breathed a sigh of relief when the other woman looked up. 

“What’s going on?” Azami asked, waiting for Lin to come to her. 

“Takao, his men came after us. We lost them.” Lin answered, not bothering to get Azami to her feet and instead lifted her into her arms. 

Walking to the truck, Lin cursed when she saw the flat front tire. “Well now what…” 

“My friend will be waiting for you, two miles up the road. You get there, don’t you worry about me.” 

“We can’t just leave you here alone.” 

“Oh yes you can, get her to safety or Miss June will have my head. Now go.” 

Lin wanted to argue, but the look on the man’s face told her that it was going to be in vain. Nodding, she started out again on foot, following the path. The path led her to a cave where she saw another car waiting for them. 

“Who goes singing off in the treetops, and only in the mornings do they come call in the city?”

“The nightingale.” Azami answered without hesitation. 

Smiling, the older woman put her cigarette out. “Good to see you again. Let’s get you ladies out of here, heard the gunshots earlier.” 

“They won’t be going anywhere anytime soon.” Lin reassured the other, putting Azami in the back seat. 

“Good, because we’re not stopping anymore. Ain’t safe, word’s gotten out.” The woman answered and climbed into the driver’s side. 

*********

Both of the women in the front seats kept close eyes on the road. There were cars that followed them, but the woman seemed to know which roads to take to get them cleared of the men that tried to tail them. 

“Drove June’s cars for years.” She explained, backtracking a ways before moving forward again. “Know these woods and roads better than anyone else.” 

“I thought what she did was mostly legal.” Lin asked, watching one care for a moment before it turned off. 

“It was, but smuggling’s smuggling, darlin’. Not everyone’s gonna like what you do. Had to be able to get away fast.” She answered, handing Lin some coffee. 

The three of them drove further into the mountains, turning off when it was cresting to head towards the lake June had mentioned. The woman turned down a road that the car had no business being on, but she managed to ease it through, trying to be careful of the bumps along the way. Lin turned to look worriedly at Azami when a groan sounded from her. 

“Almost there, baby doll. Then your lady here can tend to you.” 

The house that they arrived at was small, a simple cottage that would house the two of them comfortably enough. Jumping out of the car, Lin hurried to the backseat and helped to ease Azami out of it. The woman came around with their bags and led the way into the house. Flicking the lights on, the small woman nodded to Lin. 

“Turned the water on for you, and the heat. Should be good to go for baths. Food’s in the cupboards and the ice box. Garden has some vegetables in it too. There’s some wood out back for you and you can chop more if you need it. I’ll be by in a few days to check on you and bring you more food. Clothes are in the closet for both of you. Take care of our nightingale, chief.” 

Once alone, Lin walked to the bedroom and placed Azami down on the bed. Hurrying to the bag with the medical supplies, she found the tablets on top to help with pain and hurried to the kitchen for water. Bringing both back to Azami, she helped her take some and eased her down onto the pillows. 

“There’s some sandwiches and fruit in the bags for us. I need you to eat some of that for me.” Lin murmured, brushing hair from Azami’s face. 

Nodding, Azami leaned heavily against the pillows. “Okay, and then can we just lay here?” 

“Of course we can.” Lin answered, going to retrieve their food. 

The sun was going down, and both would need sleep soon. She would light the fireplace in the bedroom first though once they ate and got out of these clothes. Removing the cap, she pulled the pins from her hair to let her hair down around her shoulders. Coming back with their food, she handed some to Azami before both ate their fill of it. 

“I’m going to get a fire going, and then we’ll get you changed into something more comfortable, okay?” Lin asked, smiling when Azami nodded struggling to stay awake. 

Moving to where the wood was, she brought it in and found old newspapers for kindling. Coming back to the bedroom, she knelt down and stacked the wood, slipping kindling in before lighting it. Blowing gently, it took a few attempts, spirits when had she become so rusty at this, before it finally caught and took off. 

Smiling, she looked back at Azami expecting a smart remark when she saw her asleep instead. Chuckling gently, she walked to the chest of drawers and pulled out a long flannel shirt. 

“Alright you, I need you to wake up so I can help you change.” Lin announced walking towards her. 

“Not how I imagined the first time you taking my clothes off would be going.” Azami answered, not opening her eyes, but a slow smile crossed her features. 

“Wasn’t how I imagined it either.” Lin answered, before realizing what she said. “I mean…”

“Oh ho, so you have imagined that have you?” Azami teased, taking Lin’s hands to sit up. “Which dress did it for you, chief? Or was it the pants?” 

Lin leaned in and kissed her to shut her up, groaning as she playfully as she tugged at Azami’s hair. “Shut up.” 

Helping her get the dress up and over her head, fingers skimmed over the skin, eyes drinking in the form but she forced herself to allow herself only a peek. There’d be time enough when Azami was healed. Pulling the shirt over her head, arms were in before Lin helped her to lay down again. 

Grabbing her own pajamas, Lin slipped into the bathroom to go through her nightly routine the best she could with not being at her apartment. Washing her face, she ran fingers through her hair before changing into the long shirt herself and made her way back to Azami. Gun was moved from its holster and placed on the bedside table next to her, just in case. Walking through the house, she made sure all the doors were locked, the windows were barred, and curtains drawn. She checked behind furniture, and looked inside cabinets. Assured they were alone and safe, she allowed herself to head back to the bedroom. 

Climbing into the bed, she laid on her side looking at Azami. The other couldn’t lay on her side at this point, but she did turn her head and smiled at the police chief.

“Are you going to come over here and hold me or just stare all night?” Azami asked, reaching a hand over for her. 

Smirking, Lin stayed put at first. “Thought I’d stay here and enjoy the view for a minute.” She answered, chuckling when Azami tugged on her night shirt and finally scooted over towards her. “Spirits, patience woman I’m coming.”

Carefully, Lin came up beside Azami and wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling her close so that she could bury her face in her hair. Pressing small kisses to the top of her head, she let out a contented sigh. 

“I’ve got you, beautiful. Try to get some sleep.” Lin murmured, fingers running up and down the length of her arm. 

“There’s no one else I’d rather be here with.” Azami answered, nuzzling closer the best she could laying on her back. Managing to get her head over Lin’s heart, she allowed the steady beat of it to lull her into sleep, her arms allowing her to feel the safest she had in more years than she cared to ever admit. 

Was it love for them? The songs would say it was. But their minds told them to wait, to see, and to simply exist in that moment together. And so, slipping off to sleep, they did. 

[pynkhues]

i know that the audacity of what im about to ask is off the charts bc you're already too good to us, writing fic left and right and updating a lot soon but im SO weak over the parenting group!AU that im right here to beg for a snippet of it, if you feel like sharing!

Haha, the audacity is not off the charts at all! I can give you a snippet! Sorry it’s coming a little later – when you sent this to me this morning, I was like ‘oh god, everything I have is too ugly to post’ haha, so it gave me an excuse to tidy up a scene I’d drafted already which is fun! 

I will say as just a heads up, I’m operating now on a one-out-one-in system for multi-chaptered WIPs. So when I finish CYF (which is basically done, just got to post the epilogue!), I’ll be starting to post the pirate au, and when I finish See You in the Light, I’ll be starting to post this parents group au, and then finally when I finish If It Wasn’t for All the Lights, I’ll start to post the BDSM au! It’s probably a deeply flawed system, but it’s the one I’m going ahead with, haha.

Anyway! 

A snippet of the parents group au!

“C’mon, pop,” Rio grunts, trying to get the tabs free on the side of the diaper as Marcus kicks out his legs, squirming up the back of the change mat like he’s trying to slip up on out of the thing, and shit, the last thing he needs is the kid to smear Rhea’s Earth Mama Angel Bottom Balm up the back of his new hoodie.

“I have spare diapers if you need to borrow one,” Beth says at the change table beside him, having apparently gotten Jane into her new one in record speed, and Rio lets his gaze stick for a second, watching as she makes even easier work of getting Jane’s thrashing legs back into her pink polka dot leggings, like it’s nothing at all. It’s enough to make his jaw rock, his attention twisting back to Marcus, trying to get the tab unstuck again, but his fingers are still oily with the diaper rash cream, and Marcus’ face is gettin’ redder, and he just can’t get his grip.

He tugs Marcus back towards him, dropping a hand to his son’s belly, tickling a little to try and calm him down, even as he levels Beth with an irritated look.

“Yeah, what part of this looks like the diaper’s the issue?”

Somewhere outside, he hears her friend laughing, the sound loud and warm over the pinging arcade machines and the banging of the bowling balls hitting the polished floor of the lanes, the crack of one hitting pins, and - - and he ain’t being fair.

Knows that.

It’s not her fault he doesn’t know what the fuck he’s doing.

Still, when he glances sideways at her again, she’s unbothered by his tone – not pissed like Rhea would be, or wounded like his ma – and something about that bothers him more than it should. Instead, Beth shrugs, fixing her gaze back down on her daughter.

“It just looks like it’s one of those organic ones, right?” she says, gently lifting Jane to put her onto her belly for a few minutes of tummy time – just like Nance had told ‘em to in class – before turning to better look at Rio, her eyes tired as she watches him yank again on the tab of Marcus’ diaper. “I tried those with Kenny, and I just find the tabs always - -”

Riiiiiiiip.

He can feel his pulse in his throat as his cream-covered fingers clench around a handful of torn diaper, can feel it even harder behind his eyes, his blood thrumming hot beneath his skin and damn, it ain’t anger, it’s just - -

Fuckin’ exhaustion.

He pulls the diaper out from underneath Marcus’ bare, wet-with-diaper-cream ass and stamps his foot hard down on the peddle of the bin beside the change table, tossing the whole damn thing in with more force than necessary, and he’s expecting Elizabeth to have that look on her face again – that one that’s some mix of pity and judgement or even worry at seein’ a guy like him snap – but it ain’t even really a look at all. She’s just magicked up one of her kids’ diapers from that Mary Poppins bag of hers, and holds it out to him.

“If you loosen the tabs and open it up a bit before you get it under him it’ll be easier too,” she offers, and Rio grunts, plucking it from her hand and fixing his attention back on Marcus’ flailing legs, sucking in a breath to calm his frayed nerves, before gently lifting his son again to get the diaper up underneath him, adjusting it to get it in the right spot, trying to avoid Marcus’ kicking feet, and it’s just - - sudden.

That’s the thing.

Because Marcus’ legs calm down right in time with Beth’s arm suddenly pressing into Rio’s, and Rio blinks up to see Beth reached over and her finger is curled in Marcus’ tiny fish, and Rio tears his confused gaze away from Beth to look up and see his son smiling, that one that makes him look like the whole damn sun, and he keeps smiling, even when he shoves his fist – still clutchin’ Beth’s finger – right up into his mouth.

And he’s gonna stop it – ain’t like he loves other people’s kids chewing on his knuckles – but he finally gets Marcus properly into the clean diaper, and before he can do anything else, Beth’s just started talking.

“That is a strong grip,” she whispers, so quiet it’s almost like she doesn’t want Rio to hear, and her voice is light and bright in a way he ain’t really used to hearing. “And very warm slobber, which is what you want from slobber. I mean, can you even imagine cold slobber? Like a ghost. I will say Billy from class has some weirdly cold slobber, so you stay away from him, mister.”

Rio just - - blinks, his brow furrows, his lips parting, but when he opens them all the way, no words come out. Instead he just stands there like a dumbass, watching this woman half-bent over her kid and his at the change table of a bowling alley, her strawberry blonde hair falling down, concealing her face so all Rio can see is his son’s, and how whatever it is she’s doing makes his son happy, and he can’t really explain any of it, but he just - -

“Oh my god, Paulie! Twins!”

“Amber, don’t - -”

Whatever Paulie was about to say is lost to the rest of the parents’ room as Rio spins to see a skinny, leggy blonde thrust a toddler with milkshake-vomit down his shirt at some guy with frosted tips like this is the fuckin’ 90s, and dart towards them in a wave of too-sweet perfume. She’s so fuckin’ quick (or maybe just - - y’know - - awake given her kid’s old enough to vomit milkshake instead of formula), instantly peering over at Marcus and Jane on the change tables, an easier feat now that Beth’s standing up again, her finger reclaimed, rolling Jane back onto her back on the mat.

Amber’s cooing is instant, and Rio sighs, grabbing Marcus’ pants from where he’d slung them over his shoulder and starting to shake them out.

“Oh my goooodddd, they’re like those ones you see on TV! Paulie!! Look!! Like, one’s just like mommy, and one’s just like daddy.”

Which - - Rio blinks, looking sideways at Beth, who just seems to be watching Amber with that same neutral, Stepford Wife-look she gets in class. Rio sets his jaw, shaking his head, as he starts to bunch the pants up in his hands, ready to put them on Marcus, opening his mouth to correct the other woman.

“Nah, they ain’t - -”

“You think so?”

The words are offered so suddenly, so sharply, that Rio’s head spins back around to look at Beth again, his eyebrows raised at her interruption, but she doesn’t look back at him, just keeps her gaze fixed on Amber. She wrinkles her nose a little, purses her lips, before dropping a hand back to the change table while leaning forwards a little, almost conspiratorially.

“We’ve been thinking about signing them up for auditions, but I don’t know,” she waves a hand suddenly at Rio, who only blinks at her. “James here thinks it might not be the best idea.”

And okay, for starters, fuckin’ James? She really wants to play him like that? But also - - just - - y’know. What the fuck? Rio stares at her, taking in her widening eyes and her baggy mama sweater that does exactly zero to hide the fact that she’s stacked, but also the fact that she’s holdin’ herself kinda different all of a sudden. Like she’s caught him looking, her gaze darts towards him, and it’s so quick he almost misses it, the way she just sort of - -

Shrugs.

Rio scoffs a little – a sound Amber clearly reads as about the audition and not about this whole damn show – and turns around, putting on a smile for Marcus as he finishes bunching up the pants and pushing them up over his tiny feet.

“Men are always weird about this stuff, but you guys should totally be auditioning them! Like, I could literally see them in commercials for formula. You know they always put the cutest ones in them, because they want to trick regular people into thinking that their product’s gonna like, magic you a better-looking baby.”

Which - - look, Rio can’t exactly say it’s a surprise. He’s pretty sure his sister changed her kids’ brand of juice because one of the ads had one of the little girl’s playin’ Daisy Doctor instead of Holly Housewife. His thoughts are interrupted though when Marcus sneezes, and Rio leans over enough to grab a tissue from Beth’s diaper bag, vaguely aware of Paulie rounding the change tables for the sink, and tugging off his own kids’ shirt and it’s really only then that Rio realises he hasn’t even blinked at the smell of vomit, which - -

Okay, actually, that could be the fifteen years working in a bar.

“You know, I think I’ve heard that,” Beth says, and the girl makes a humming noise, her bowling shoes tapping a little on the tiled floor.

“Well, that’s an insider secret for you. I lived in LA for like, ever. It was almost two years. I mean, closer to one, but that’s basically 40 Hollywood years. I even once auditioned to play a mom in a Baby’s Only commercial. I mean I didn’t get it, but I think it was because I was like, too in shape, y’know?”

Which - - shit, Rio coughs a little to cover a sound he doesn’t even know, a laugh? A scoff? Why the hell is she even talkin’ to this woman?

“Wow,” Beth says though, her voice loaded with concern. “That’s gotta be discrimination.”

“I know right?”

And it’s Jane who wobbles at least, her bottom lip quivering, her legs kicking, and Beth turns around instantly, humming softly back down at her daughter, and before Rio can help it, his gaze darts over to her, watching as her face softens, her eyes glaze over, like they do sometimes, and he thinks of saying somethin’ to her, but shit, what? He doesn’t know jack about her.

A wave of perfume hits them again, and the second he finishes getting Marcus’ pants on, picks him up, turns around at the same time Beth does with Jane, Amber’s right in front of them, her gaze darting between Jane and Marcus, like she’s not sure which one to look at first.

Finally, she just sighs, clutching a hand forlornly to her chest.

“Like, I’m not even kidding. You made two really nice babies. Like, Paulie, tell them I’m not kidding.”

Over at the sink, Paulie grunts again, holding the toddler’s shirt under a furious stream of water, and Rio stares for a minute, watching the guy morosely clean up toddler vomit while the kid licks the rim of the sink. Rio resists the urge to gag as he bounces Marcus a little on his hip.  

“How’d you two even meet anyway?”

And at least that much he should’ve expected. Rio shakes his head, gaze fixing back on Amber, the words ready on his tongue, but before he can say a damn thing, Beth’s cut him off again.

“It sounds so weird, but it was actually at an underwater research center.”

Which - - okay - - what?

His gaze flicks back to Beth, but she ain’t looking back at him. She’s just got Jane curled into her chest, nestling her face into her breast, while Beth hums a little, just - - blatantly fuckin’ lying.

“I was studying - - ” outside, a bowling ball hits the floor hard. “How sound affects  - -“ she fingers her pearl necklace with the hand not clutching Jane, “Oysters, because I am a scientist, and James here was researching - - ” Beth’s gaze darts around, fixing on Marcus in Rio’s arms. “Marco Polo.”

Before Rio’s even had time to catch up to that, Paulie blinks up, confused, from his spot at the sink.

“In Detroit?”

It’s enough to make Beth stutter, her eyes blinking rapidly, and he really should just leave her to fix this herself, should leave her there gaping like a fish, scrambling for the tail-end of her own lie, and get back out to the group, but - - Rio sucks in a breath - - Marcus would be bare-assed right now if it wasn’t for her.

“Nah, man, west coast. We just moved back here to be close to family with the twins,” he drawls with a shrug, and maybe that makes it worth it – how quickly Beth reels around to look at him, and  - - shit, have her eyes always been that blue? Rio blinks, jerks his head back around to Amber, rolling his shoulders back to undo the sudden knot in them. “One of those things, yeah? We met workin’ out there, but turned out we were both from here.”

He means to leave it at that. Should, really, but all he can think about is her in class – prim and proper and that look again, like she’s judging him, and she got them into this, right? Before he can think twice, he drops his free hand to her lower back, smoothing it around to hold the soft hip furthest from him, smiling toothlessly as Beth stiffens and then pointedly, deliberately, relaxes, while Amber holds her hand to her chest again, hums an: “Aww, that’s how you know it’s meant to be!”

“That’s right,” Rio replies, and he watches Beth turn her face up to meet him, her gaze darting across his face like she’s trying to figure something out, and shit, he’s just trying to match what she’s laying down. After a moment, Beth spins into him, her free arm dipping around his back, and something in him sparks hot and he just - - he hadn’t known how fucking small her hands were until one squeezes at his waist.

“Right, honey,” she says, voice high and too-sweet. “I was just so lucky. And speaking of our families, we should really get back to them.”

After that, it’s easy enough to pack up the last of the diaper bags, for Amber to dip down to help Paulie and the kid, and for them to slip out again under the distraction, and it’s just fuckin’ weird, he thinks, to watch that little character Beth had invented – all ease and charm – slip off her shoulders like a cloak, and he means to let it go, because what skin is it off his nose if she’s some sort of pathological liar? But as they duck between the groups of sprawling teenagers and middle America families ordering fries and picking bowling ball weights, guys shoving each other at arcade games, and kids feeding quarters into claw machines, he just - - itches.

So maybe he steps a little slower, matching her pace, maybe he looks at her, amused, a little goading as he says: “So you in some secret, new mama improv group, or what?”

And Beth just - -

Shrugs, and shit, she doesn’t even look at him when she says:

“You don’t ever get bored of just being you?”

Rio blinks, his step slowing all over again, taking in her tired look, the diaper bag slung over her shoulder, that shirt she’s wearing, stained with grubby children’s fingers and milk, that damn new mama smell that’s always up his nose with her, and he just thinks - - nah, not really, but before he has the chance to say it, it’s like she’s read it on his face. She hoists a snuffling Jane up a little higher and moves faster than she has any right to. Back across the bowling alley, back into their lane, nestled in the shelter between her friend and her sister, away from him.

[kineticallyanywhere]

Fourteen, and four thousand, years old

Summary: (Post volume five) Oscar and Ozpin pass out after the battle of Haven. Oscar wakes up and his thoughts are pretty scrambled. Qrow of all people figures out the right perspective. 

Wrote this mostly after volume 5 came out, forgot about it for like a year at a time, decided I liked it too much to sit on it, and then finally finished it because I stand by the descriptions I have (specifically about how merging with Oz affects Oscar, from Oscar’s perspective). It was a lot of fun writing the kind of thought-paradox that might come with sharing a brain, especially when the line between who’s thoughts belong to who should be clear, but isn’t. 

(not beta’d, not on ao3 yet)

---

Oscar’s pretty sure he at least gets out the word “Atlas”.

Then everything goes quiet. 

Blessedly quiet. 

“...dn’t…”

“...s he okay? It’s bee…”

“...sing his body for half the fight. Took out of ‘em both. Jus… ome time.”

Soft. Something's soft. 

“...at this rate. Are we gonna have to carry him to the train?”

Ow. Pain, something hurts. 

“It's not like he's very big.”

Everything hurts. Heavy. Why does he feel so heavy? 

“I mean, maybe if it was just Oscar, but ima… zpin around.”

“That’s…”

“If it comes to it, I'll carry ‘im. Big babies.”

Qrow. Lifting his head off the pillow to clear both eyes to open takes work. He feels it all the way down to his shoulder blade. He takes the inch he can get and tries to see who's next to him. It's all a blur. Has he even opened his eyes? “Qrow?" 

A hand rests on his shoulder. It kind of doesn't hurt. Oscar’s head hurts. Pounding behind the bridge of his nose. For a moment he thinks the red eyes he sees must be his own. No, his eyes are brown-- No. His eyes are hazel now. His eyes hurt, too. The room has gone silent. 

“Go back to sleep, kid,” Qrow says. Ozpin is silent; How can Qrow tell?

He is Ozpin though, and he is awake. He hurts. But that doesn't matter, what matters is, “Atlas…”

“We’re already on it.” Oh, good. Oscar did manage to say it before. 

“We’re gonna get you there in one piece, too,” a lighter voice says. Oscar’s head loses its inch from the pillow. His eyes - hazel, but so dry - slide to the person crouched next to him.”You’ve got nothing to worry about,” she promises. 

Promises… he's seen her faces a thousand times. She's a warrior. She has so many friends. She's alive and well. She's dead. Is that his fault, too? Probably. 

“Summer…” is all he can say, and Oscar has no idea (some idea) who that is. 

And then everything is quiet again. 

Blessedly quiet. 

Nothing hurts. 

...his hands sting. 

He's pretty sure he's sitting up now, leaning sideways against something. His clothes are soft. Not… not well worn soft, more like new soft. He's pretty sure Ozpin is the one who knows what that feels like. 

Opening his eyes is easier this time. He sees he's leaning on fabric that is folded around an arm shape. Green and black and a bit of pink. Hands folded in a lap. Legs on a couch, feet on the floor. The room is darker this time, and yet the air is lighter. There’s quiet laughter across the room and cricket chirping beyond a wall. 

Ozpin is silent. 

“Ren?” Oscar asks for instead. 

The shoulder he’s leaning on shifts a little, but Oscar doesn't want to lift his head from it. 

“Oscar?” Ren asks quietly in return. Whatever other conversation is in the room continues easily without him. He and Oscar go unnoticed. 

Oscar's eyes gravitate down towards his own hands, his own clothes. He’s wearing a clean white shirt and baggy grey pants that he doesn't recognize. His palms are stuck with bandaids -- his gloves are gone. The cane is different from a shovel, his own memory supplies. He runs his fingertips across the textured fabric pulling at his skin. He wiggles his toes and feels it there, too. Running up walls is different from rounding up chickens. 

Ren is wonderfully patient. 

“Did I wake up before?” Oscar asks. No depressed tones hang in this air. There's no worry or panic, if only for now. He recognizes the scent of a tea Oscar knows he's never encountered before. 

“A few times,” Ren tells him. He waits even more moments for Oscar to process what that means. Other than the idea that maybe he had changed his own clothes, he doesn't. Eventually Ren asks, “Are you hungry?”

Oscar feels very heavy. Something in his chest feels smaller, yet crowded, and something weaves across and around his skin like air but warmer. Heavier. Like more than it should be. It's not a bad feeling. He feels like more than he's been before, just a little. 

The band aids are lighter than his skin tone. Have they always been like that? 

Ren reaches a hand across himself to place over Oscar's. Oscar stops pressing at the bandaids. His hands sting. He misses when his cane was familiar to his hands. 

“You should sleep,” Ren suggests softly. He says most things softly. 

Oscar's eyes are already closed. “Okay…” he says. 

Everything is quiet. 

Quiet. And light. And heavy? Light and heavy. And hot. Oscar’s eyes are closed but his head is spinning but he feels like he's sinking. Like something intangible is contracting inside of him, pushing together and leaving him exposed. Cold. Hot. Tired. 

Oscar is so tired. 

There's a feeling on his shoulder. 

“...aura got really weak all of a sudden. I thought-- I thought maybe--”

“No, you're doing good, kid. Keep at it.”

Something falls over him, starting at his shoulder. Like a sheet of smooth water rolling over him and hugging him like a blanket. When he lifts his eyelids, he can see it. It's light green and feels cozy. It feels safe. Whatever was pushing inside Oscar’s chest decides to take a break for today and carefully releases. 

Tonight? This morning? Evening? What day is it? 

Qrow is there again. And Jaune, whose hands are glowing. Nora hovers behind them, swinging on her toes. She catches eyes with Oscar and gives a remarkably false smile. Oscar’s eyes slip shut without permission. 

“Take your time, ‘kay Os?” she says. 

Oscar makes a noise through his mouth which he doesn't open. 

And then it's quiet. 

It's still quiet when he becomes aware of himself. He's sitting up again, but leaning at an angle that he doesn't want to leave. Everything's quiet save for the sound of someone shuffling close by. Something ting-ting-tings softly. 

Oscar? 

It's not startling at all, as if he prepared the breath himself even though nothing was said out loud. 

Ozpin? 

Was that a question, or a confirmation? 

The voice that sounds like Ozpin says, Are we alright? 

His jaw feels stiff and his voice dry as he says, “Are we?”

Another dry voice says, from outside, “Kid?”

Oscar blinks his eyes and floats his head upright. He'd been leaning against the wings of a fluffy armchair. The room he finds himself in is unfamiliar, but the style still feels like Mistral, with long thin lines and dark, warm, tones. The other person in the room is much more familiar. Qrow has himself folded between the foot of Oscar's chair and the coffee table, where he's setting a spoon next to a warming plate with two mugs on top. Oscar’s chair isn't very tall, and Qrow is a small mountain even on the floor, so their difference in eye level isn't even that wide. 

Qrow is a mess of a human being, as far as Oscar can tell, but his presence is always assuring. The other children must be fine if they're not here and he is. 

“Hey,” Oscar greets. 

Qrow gives a small smile. “Hey there, Wizard. How ya feeling?" 

Oscar assesses. Slowly. He sits up properly and rubs his eyes. He's faintly sore. A blanket falls onto his lap. He remembers the fight for the relic, he remembers Ozpin going quiet, he remembers being safe, he remembers…

Ironwood will be upset. When isn’t he, nowadays? 

“A little blurry,” he decides. 

Qrow nods like that's a perfectly reasonable answer. He reaches for the mugs. “Coffee or hot chocolate?" he asks. 

“Hot chocolate?" The words feel new to his tongue. 

Qrow’s eyebrows raise. “You never have hot chocolate, kid?" 

“I…" No. They didn't have a lot for small, one-time, luxuries on the farm. “Not since Beacon.”

They both know Oscar’s never been to Beacon. The teacher's lounge always had a stash of cocoa powder. 

Qrow hands him one of the mugs without comment, for which Oscar is grateful, and takes a drink out of the other. The mug is warm, but the band aids on Oscar’s palms block the worst of the heat. 

Hot chocolate is Oscar's new favorite thing. Everything feels all warm inside. He feels his whole body slowly start waking up with him. He wiggles his toes and feels the rub of fabric between them. He pulls his feet onto the chair with him to get a look and finds several more band aids on the balls of his feet and one on the back of his left heel. 

“Looks like you've still got some work to do, farm boy,” Qrow tells him lightly. 

Oscar groans. Fighting… wasn't terrible. At least not until Ozpin took over and sent Oscar’s head spinning to understand how he could keep up with everything that was happening. Then Ozpin had let his grip slip off the controls and it had taken everything Oscar had to not black out on the spot. 

Qrow puts a hand on his knee and swings it back and forth. “It’ll get easier.”

That's what he's afraid of. 

“How long was I asleep?" Oscar asks. 

“It’s been a couple days since the battle,” Qrow answers. He lets Oscar’s knee go but keeps his arm leaning on the chair. “The kids have been pretty worried. You've woken up a handful of times. Do you remember?" 

Oscar humms uncertainty. “A couple times.” 

“Yeah I had the feeling you weren't quite with us. You remember changing clothes?”

Oscar shakes his head and picks at his shirt.

“You, uh… didn't miss much.”

That clearly wasn't true, but Oscar lets him have it, and a gulp of his coffee. Oscar turns his own attention to his hot chocolate. It's already half-empty. Figures he'd be thirsty, he guesses. 

“You spiked a fever last night, outta nowhere. Jaune super-boosted your aura and it came down, but the whole ordeal put some of the other kids on edge.”

That won't do. They'd all just had a major victory, the children need every reassurance they can get, not more aspects to worry over given by the very people they are just starting to put their trust in. 

Oscar is also a kid. Oscar would also like some reassurance. 

“You okay, Wizard?”

Oscar realizes he's been quiet for a while. “I just…” Oscar closes his eyes, which skews his sense of balance, but the simple loss of input spares him some focus to form a sentence. It feels like he has two lines of logic running at the same time, but each one alternates which one is making statements, so that every string of thought he forms in his brain ends up contradicting itself. Oscar’s been sick before, but nothing ever made him feel like this. This was familiar, though; something from a long time ago. Oscar hasn't lived a long time. Not yet. He will have. Soon. 

Oscar's head feels light and wobbly. He holds it in one hand, and it stops the world from swaying a little. The two lines of logic agree on one thing, at least. “I have a lot in my head.”

Qrow’s hand takes his ankle this time. It’s grounding. “Oz didn't give us all the gritty details about how this works, but from the way he talked about it - the whole merging thing - this is how it's supposed to go.”

That's what Oscar’s afraid of. 

“What I mean is: you’ll live. It'll get easier, and this phase’ll pass. You're gonna be okay. “

Oscar notices his hands shaking. He wishes he had more hot chocolate. Maybe some coffee. Oscar doesnt want coffee. He wants… he wants… 

A dark spot appears on the bandaid wrapped around the inside of his hand  

He can't get his voice to come out steady as he asks, “But will I still be me?" 

Oscar doesn't want to stop being himself. He doesn't want to turn into somebody else. He doesn't want to lose bits of who he is, one inch at a time, until someone else takes over. He doesn't want to disappear. 

Oh, Oscar… 

Oscar both wants to sink into whatever comfort Ozpin has to offer, and to push him away with everything he has. Not that any amount of pushing would get him very far. 

Then Qrow says, “Are you any less you than you were two months ago?”

Oscar looks up at him. He blinks some tears out of the way. “Huh?" is all he can process to say. 

“In the last two months, you got on a train, you’ve met huntsman and huntresses - hell, you've even fought most of ‘em. You've got new friends, new memories, new experiences; but you're still you, yeah? You just punch better and maybe know a few more things.”

“A few is an understatement.” Maidens, relics, gods, wizards, huntsmen, magic? Sure. A few things. “But I… yeah?” Or at least he didn't feel like he wasn't himself.

“You're gonna start remembering more and more as this goes. In a really, pretty short amount of time, you'll basically be experiencing everything that Oz - and whoever he was before that, and before that - experienced. You'll be gaining experiences, just like you have been these last two months. It's up to you--” Qrow poked him on the forehead “--whether or not you let those experiences change you. How they change you.”

Oscar’s vision gets blurry again, but his heart doesn’t pound quite so hard.

“I won't pad this for you, you will be different. But that doesn't mean you won't be you.”

Ozpin doesn't say anything, but there's no denial in that silence. No hidden corner or softened edge for Oscar's sake (there have been a few of those). Only reassurance. Wherever this goes, they'll go together  

Oscar rubs the back of his hand over his eyes. Sniffs self-consciously. "Thanks," he says. 

Qrow, mortifyingly, ruffles Oscar's hair, seriousness falling away again. "Any time, kiddo."

And then the door bursts open, ricocheting off the wall and nearly giving them both a heart attack. Nora stands in the doorway, the bottom of a cup still pressed to one ear. She makes determined and excited eye contact with him and shouts, "Oscar!" Then she leans back down the hall, door frame clutched in her fingers, to proclaim, "OSCAR'S AWAKE!"

A burst of red rose petals and then Ruby’s there. “Oh, thank goodness, are you okay?”

Oscar barely gets the words, “I’ll be fine,” out of his mouth before Ruby sags all the way to the floor in relief. 

“That is the least stressful thing I’ve heard all day. You would not believe the things Blake has been telling us about Menagerie and her house catching fire and-- oh!” Just like that, she’s on her feet again. “Oh my gosh! You have to meet Blake! I’ll--”

Before she can finish the next sentence, Nora has body-checked her across the room and taken her place. 

Seriously, she says, “Be straight with me, Oscar. Where does it hurt? Did you pull any muscles? What’s the weirdest dream you had? How many fingers am I holding up?”

Oscar looks nervously between her and her hand. “That’s a fist,” he tells her. 

Now Nora sighs with relief. “Phew.” Towards the hall, she shouts, “Looks like we don’t need the defibrillator, Ren!”

Just like that, Ren is in the doorway. “No one thought we’d need a defibrillator.” 

Then Jaune pokes his head in the doorway. He’s got his scroll up to one ear and a hand over the receiver. “We’re sure?”

He hasn’t called paramedics, has he?

Qrow asks him, “Who are you on the scroll with?”

“The pizza place down the street, you want any?” Jaune says. 

They get more pizza than they can eat in a day. Nora compensates for their weaknesses. Weiss makes more hot cocoa. Yang tells excellent sleepover stories. Blake has a very broad taste in book genres. They have a calm night. An easy night. They all know what’s coming, but until the sun rises again, the air is light. 

Oscar’s mind is quiet, the rest of that day. He’s not sure when his thoughts straightened out or the fog cleared away for a while. For a while he, unrealizng, makes the mistake of thinking himself alone in his own head. For a short time, he is only Oscar, and only a kid. 

Later, on a cold street in Argus, he suddenly understands why he’s known this feeling before. Why he recognizes that feeling--of single-mindedness, of solitude--and can articulate what it is. He is only Oscar, and only a kid. (But he won’t be, not forever.) 

It’s horribly quiet.  

[eeveevie]

loose lips

Rosie just wants to have a quiet night of studying, but that changes when she learns Butch is causing a ruckus at Moriarty's Saloon. After collecting him and taking him home, he says a lot more than he intended while under the influence.

Unprompted, but I’ve been sitting on this idea for a long while. I make reference to this in a few of my other one-shots since I go back and forth between pre-relationship and developing-relationship fics for these two. 

Butch DeLoria x Rosie Sheridan (Lone Wanderer)

3200 words | [read on Ao3]

Sitting upstairs in Craterside Supply, Rosie was immersed in her research, reading over the extensive notes she had taken after investigating the colony of mirelurks in the Anchorage Memorial. The work on the Wasteland Survival Guide was a welcome distraction, allowing her to keep her mind busy until the Brotherhood provided her with a solid lead on where to find a G.E.C.K. Moira had set up the private sanctuary in her shop a few months ago, more than happy to give the vault-dweller a quiet place to study. Even though Rosie had her own residence within Megaton, it was difficult to get any work done when she had Butch DeLoria as a housemate.

Ever since finding him in Rivet City, he’d been her constant companion—annoying and distracting at first, but gradually became someone she could rely on. He made an effort to be less of a jerk, owning up to the mistakes of his youth, and performing thoughtful gestures of kindness for her unprompted. Rosie wouldn’t admit it aloud, but it was nice having him around. The more she got to know him as her friend, the more she realized they had a lot in common. Unexpected from the boy who used to stick gum in her hair. Now, he watched her six with a loaded pistol and cooked her breakfast (sometimes—when he remembered to set an alarm, that is). She liked him—a lot more than she wanted to.

Rosie could hear Moira teasing her about the redness in her cheeks—little red potatoes—all dreamy-voiced as she expressed desires for the two to ‘circle up’ and have babies. Assuming by the order of things, it had to be Wasteland slang for marriage, which was horrifying for so many reasons. Maybe it was a bad idea to confide in her shopkeeper friend about her potential feelings for Butch. Now she’d never hear the end of it when all she wanted was peace and quiet.

Just as Rosie refocused on the lines in her journal, the metal door to the shop creaked open, disrupting her train of thought—descended from local crabs, I’d call them…

Moira’s chipper voice echoed downstairs. “You’re back so soon?”

Rosie glanced to her Pip-Boy to confirm it was past store hours. She grumbled to herself, wondering if Butch had gotten bored and decided to come collect her for a more fun activity—it wouldn’t be the first time. Distracting, she reminded herself, for completely different reasons than before. She didn’t want to parade around town with his arm slung around her shoulder—or did she?

“Ugh,” she groaned, hand sliding across her face and smudging her glasses. Rosie stood and leaned over the railing, prepared to reprimand her companion when she realized Butch wasn’t even the one standing in the doorway.

Mitch, Craterside Supply’s mercenary was disgruntled as ever, leaning against the far wall with his arms crossed. Moira paused from cleaning the countertop to look at him, giving him the full attention she gave anyone she talked to.

“It’s your night off, Mitch! Shouldn’t you be enjoying it instead of standing there like you always do?” she ended her sentence with an easy sounding laugh, something Rosie wished she could emulate.

The merc muttered something incoherently, lips set in a fine line when he regarded his employer. How the two got along was anybody’s guess. Rosie imagined it had something to do with the frequent exchange of caps—though, Moira’s glowing personality seemed to melt even the coldest of hearts.

“There’s a problem at Moriarty’s,” Mitch explained, briefly.

“Oh no!” the redhead exclaimed, more intensely than the mercenary expected. “Is everybody alright?”

Mitch let out a deep sigh and let his eyes roam to where Rosie was perched, silently eavesdropping on their conversation in clear view. She sheepishly backed away before stepping back, realizing it was a little late to pretend she hadn’t been listening. He gestured to her with a jutted-out thumb.

“It’s that other vault-kid you like so much,” he said, with just enough distain in his voice it verged on resentment. Rosie wanted to smile, thinking the mercenary was jealous of Moira’s affections towards the younger visitors. Her mind was preoccupied, however, when she realized he was talking about Butch. “That boy can’t hold his liquor. He’s no Jericho, but he’s still a rowdy drunk.”  

Rosie felt a rush of disappointment at the information. She had hoped that Butch would stop spending so much of his free time at the Megaton saloon, wasting his caps on alcohol. This behavior seemed like a step back in the wrong direction, backsliding into his old, rebellious ways. Maybe she was wrong to think that people could change—that Butch could change. Regardless of how tumultuous she felt at the moment, Rosie knew she couldn’t sit idly by. So much for staying in and studying.

“I’ll go,” she said as she descended the stairs. “Before something worse happens.”

Mitch smirked. “Moriarty already had him drink the moonshine, and we all know what’s in that.”

“Oh, my poor sweet potato,” Moira cooed, tilting her head to the side in a sympathetic gesture. Rosie pressed a hand to her mouth, trying not to retch at the thought—she’d heard the rumors—and sent a silent prayer, hoping they weren’t true on Butch’s behalf. Her shopkeeper friend looked at her. “Do you need any help?”

Rosie shook her head, doubting that either of them would be of any real assistance. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Moira. Thank you again.”

“You’re very welcome,” she replied with a bright grin. “Take care of widdle Butch, now, okay?”

Rosie could only nod and fled from the building before her friend could embarrass her with any suggestive comments or innuendo. The last thing she needed was for the mercenary to know about her unrequited crush.

Moriarty stood outside his establishment as Rosie approached, smoke in hand as he overlooked the night sky. He noticed her just as she made to slip by to the entrance, in no mood to want to speak to the surly man.

“Aye, if it isn’t Miss Sheridan,” he crooned, feigning pleasantries. “Here to collect yer loverboy?”  

She huffed, clenching her fingers into fists before relaxing. Better to kill him with kindness, she reminded herself. “I hope he hasn’t been too disruptive,” she said, forcing a smile.

“The boys’ entertaining, I’ll give ‘em that,” Moriarty replied. “See for yerself. May haf to hire ‘em for the bar—”

Rosie turned on her heel, tuning out his accented words as she pushed through the sturdy metal door to the bar. She rarely visited the saloon, and the stench of booze and nicotine overwhelmed her as soon as she crossed the threshold. Immediately she found who she was looking for, sitting at the bar with his back to her so all she could see was the Tunnel Snakes embroidery. Butch. He was hunched over the counter, empty beer bottles and glasses surrounding his frame. It had only been a few hours since she’d last seen him, but apparently he’d been busy.

“One—one mrr,” he slurred at Gob, who stared at him with a mix of pity and annoyance. “Jus one!”

The ghoul bartender sighed, shaking his head. “Kid, you ever hear of alcohol poisoning?”

“Wha-uh?”

Gob noticed Rosie standing in the entranceway and relaxed, though his expression became much more sympathetic. “Better sober up, unless you want to disappoint your best gal.”

Butch perked up, swiveling around in the barstool so fast that he nearly toppled out of the seat altogether. She rushed to steady him, wincing at how much heavier he seemed—maybe it was all the beer and whiskey. With one arm wrapped around his torso, she held him upright against the bar.

“Stitches!” he greeted, awkwardly slinging an arm around her shoulder and dragging her close for a sideways hug. “Here!”

She nodded, choosing to ignore him for the moment and glanced to Gob who was studying their exchange. “Did he drink all these?” she asked, pointing to the display bottles.

“Sure did,” Gob answered. “Would not stop talking about growing up in the vault, and then leaving the vault. Talked a lot about you, actually.”

Rosie blinked, her heartrate steadily increasing. “What?”

The bartender gave a dismissive shrug. “But then he started singing, which soured the mood.”

Despite herself, Rosie smiled, amused by the thought. Plus, he’d been talking about her—she didn’t know what about, and he’d been drinking—but that certainly made her emotions aflutter.

“You’re cute when you smile, Stitches,” Butch mumbled, head titled to the side as he stared up at her with a sideways, dreamy smile.

Rosie instantly felt her face flood with heat. Gob smirked at the two and all she desperately wanted was to get out of sight from him and Butch. Speechless, she fumbled through her skirt pockets for a handful of caps, placing them on the counter, implying it was for the mess and for any unpaid drinks. She tightened her hold around Butch’s waist, holding onto the arm wrapped around her shoulder as counter-balance as she hoisted him from the barstool.

Gob watched the two. “Got him?”

“Ssshe’s got me!” Butch answered for the both of them with a beaming grin.

Rosie clenched her teeth, sucking in a breath as she adjusted him again, nudging at his feet so he’d support the weight of his own legs. It was a futile effort, but she’d helped carry heavier people with her father down in the vault. She could help an inebriated Butch walk back to her house across town…maybe. Gob still moved from behind the bar to push open the front door to make her exit easier. Caught up in the moment, she offered him a passing remark.

“If you hear a loud crash, we’ve fallen from the rafters. Please send our bodies to Moira,” she instructed sardonically. “For science.” 

x ------- x

Butch was of no help in the journey across town. Rosie would’ve guessed he had fallen asleep if it weren’t for the occasional drag of his feet and giggle, followed by an incoherent stream of words. All the while, she couldn’t help but wonder what had led to his sorry state—why’d he chosen to drink so much in the first place. Rosie knew he had the penchant for it—a bad habit learned from his mother—she was naïve to think the pattern would drop now that he was on the surface. Thinking back to her medical training and knowledge on addictive personalities, it wasn’t always so easy. The best thing she could do was to be there for him—he had done the same for her when she went through the paces of the emotional trauma of her father’s death—maybe the Wasteland was finally getting to him. Regardless, she could be a supportive friend. Friends—that’s what they wanted to be, right?

What if she wanted more?

“Ugh.”

“Huh?”

Rosie ignored Butch’s confusion and pushed open the front door, nearly tripping over her own feet in the process.

“Good evening, Miss Sheridan,” Wadsworth greeted as soon as they entered her Megaton home. “Oh, and Mr. DeLoria, he appears to be incapacitated. Do you require assistance?”

Rosie nodded as she continued dragging his body along side hers towards the stairs. The robot-butler instantly floated over, gently sliding a metal appendage under his other arm to assist in carrying him up to the second floor.

“Do you need the bathroom?” Rosie asked him, repeating the question when Butch shook his head too quickly. “Are you sure?”

“I ain’t gonna hurl,” he assured, a whine in his voice.

She was more worried about him pissing his pants but wasn’t about to embarrass him (or herself) by stating the fact out loud. Wadsworth continued to help carry him to the smaller bedroom, depositing him on the edge of the mattress where he promptly flopped backwards, arms flung to the side.

“I shall fetch you some water!” the Mister Handy exclaimed, whizzing away to perform his task.

Rosie exhaled like she had been holding her breath since leaving Moriarty’s, wondering if her pulse would ever settle. She glanced over her shoulder to find Butch sprawled out on his bed, legs dangling off the edge and boots twitching against the metal flooring. It would’ve been an amusing sight, if he weren’t so intoxicated. With another sigh she approached, quietly sitting down next to him.

“I’m taking your boots off,” she explained, looking up at his face to see his eyes were closed.

He hummed in response. “Oh-kay.”

One, two clunky black combat boots fell to the floor with a clang, and Wadsworth returned with a bottle of purified water. After another whirl of his robotic arms, he left the room, leaving the two alone. Rosie tapped Butch on the knee with the bottle.

“Sit up,” she instructed, shaking him harder when he didn’t move. “You need to drink some water.”

Slowly, he lifted himself onto his elbows, head rolling like it contained bricks instead of a squishy brain—she wondered sometimes if that were actually the case. He pushed himself up and swayed close, lips quirked up in a smirk.

“He-llo.”

Rosie bit her tongue at the foul stench emanating from his mouth, wishing Wadsworth had brought bubblegum as well. Oh well—Butch could worry about his hygiene in the morning—no doubt his hair would be a mess too. She pushed the purified water into his hand and guided it to his mouth, sliding away only when he started to drink on his own. When it was empty and sitting on the nightstand, he began wriggling out of his leather jacket, only to get the sleeve stuck on his Pip-Boy, as expected. Rosie shifted around to help him, half-standing, half-kneeling on the bed as he almost resisted her help, until he noticed their compromising position. As soon as his Tunnel Snakes jacket and Pip-Boy laid discarded on the foot of the bed, he wrapped an arm around her waist, nearly knocking their heads together.

“If ya’ wanna get closer to me, that’s all you gotta say, girl,” he muttered, sending sparks across her skin.  

Impulsively, she pushed away, standing upright, almost falling backwards from how dizzy she felt. Butch looked up at her, steely eyes glazed over in mild confusion. She needed to set the situation straight immediately, before boundaries were crossed and feelings were hurt. Her feelings.

“That’s not what’s happening right now,” she spoke quickly, waving her hands.

He followed the movement of her fingers, and she wasn’t sure if he understood. The silence stretched on for too long, Butch staring at her with doe-eyes, the softest hint of a smile. Why wasn’t he saying anything? And why couldn’t she say anything back? Rosie thought about forfeiting and leaving him as he was when there was the most subtle change to his expression, brows furrowing as his eyes flickered across her face.

“I—I don’t feel so good,” he mumbled before falling backwards.

Rosie jumped into action, shifting his body so he was laying properly along the bed, repeatedly checking his vital signs to ensure he was only passing out from exhaustion and not acute liver poisoning. Eventually, she moved his jacket and Pip-Boy aside, pulling the blanket over his body so she could better tuck him in—if he got chills during the night, he’d appreciate the warmth. Just as she was pushing herself off the bed, Butch’s finger’s tightened around her wrist.

“Hey, don’t,” he murmured into the pillow, one eye peeked open. “Stay?”

Rosie was about to protest when he smiled, and her chest tightened with a kind of yearning she was only recently familiar with. She didn’t want to leave him, not now, not ever. Through the good, the bad and the drunkenly. Even if he didn’t feel the same way about her, romantically—she’d find a way to get over it—just as she’d done before in the vault. Without offering him an answer, she scooted towards the headboard, leaning her back against it and stretching her legs along the sheets next to his body. Butch eyed her, but he surprisingly didn’t make a snarky remark about her choosing not to snuggle up close. Instead, he lifted his head and plopped it right into her lap, hooking his arm loose around her legs.

More silence fell over them, more quiet that Rosie didn’t know what to do with. She didn’t know where to put her hands, wringing them awkwardly by her chest as she studied Butch’s profile. His eyes were closed, usually coifed hair now a wavy mess hanging down his forehead. Hesitantly, she rested her fingers there, pushing back the black strands, studying the faint constellation of freckles she’d never noticed before dotted across his skin. When she noticed his smile increase she repeated her movements, steadily combing her fingers through his hair and across his scalp in a calming motion that reminded her of being cradled as a toddler in her father’s arms. This was far more intimate, however.

“Love you Rosie,” he mumbled into the fabric of her skirt.

She froze immediately, staring at his face wide-eyed and frantic. What? What? Her heart seized to beat for a second before fluttering to life so rapidly, it felt like she was going to have a stroke. He had to be drunk still, or she had to be dreaming. Or both. Maybe she was inebriated. As the thoughts swirled in her head, sending her into a panic, Butch continued, unaware of her stunned reaction.

“You’re my best friend.”

Oh.

Rosie swallowed the lump in her throat, but only found herself conflicted. So it wasn’t romantic love, but…platonic? That was still one hell of a confession, coming from Butch, but she would be lying if she said she wasn’t letdown. Even with all the sudden fear that settled over her, it didn’t compare to the disappointment she felt now. Though, it wasn’t the first time she’d had unrequited feelings, and she was sure it wouldn’t be the last. That didn’t mean she was about to throw away a friendship forged from a rocky past.

Butch hugged her knees a little tighter. “You’re all I got left, ya’ know? The only one who’d take care of a sad sack like me.”

Rosie smiled, brushing her thumb across his forehead in an affectionate sweep. Completely unsure of what to say, or how to respond, she hoped it was enough. She was sure that he would’ve never said these things to her sober, anyways. If she said anything now, he wouldn’t remember, so it was better to enjoy the moment while it lasted. As soon as he was asleep, she would sneak away and decompress in her own room, try to sort through the emotional weight of it all. She decided that if he didn’t recall tonight in the morning, she’d not bother with bringing it up to him again—no need to embarrass him—even if she’d remember it forever. Rosie thought about what he said, realizing it was true. Butch was all she had.

Maybe one day, she’d tell him too.  

[mathmusicred]

Recovery Part 2 of 2

Inspiration for Timballisto’s part comes from this post by the great @theredwallrecorder.

~2.6k words

Part 1

Read on AO3

Martin leaned heavily on Gonff’s paw as they shuffled slowly to the dining hall. Most of the bandages had finally been removed a few days earlier, but the muscles in Martin’s limbs had wasted away after nearly a season of disuse. Each day he grew a little stronger, though there were still some days he was too sore to move. Luckily, today was a good day, physically and mentally. Still, Gonff was running through their usual memory checklist they had come up with, just to be sure.

“Where’d we go after we escaped Kotir?” Gonff asked.

“Skipper took us to Camp Willow,” Martin answered easily. “I’d thought you’d drowned for a second, but you were fine, as always.”

Not only was the checklist good for his memory, it helped Martin get his mind off how slow and weak he felt—they were often passed by some creature or other on an errand, and Martin watched their fluid movements with no small degree of envy.

Thankfully, Gonff quickly distracted him. “Who found the first clue to Salamandastron?”

“I did,” Martin recalled. “That hidden drawer knocked the breath out of me right quick.”

“Better you than me!” Gonff snickered.

Martin shook his head and patted Gonff’s belly. “But you’d hardly have felt it, you great gluttonous lardbarrel.”

Gonff sniffed and twitched his whiskers in indignation “Lardbarrel? Gluttonous? Me? You’ve got this all wrong-side-out and sideways, matey! Last I checked, yore the one who’s enjoyed his breakfast in bed for the past season, spoon-fed half the time, too, when you couldn’t be bothered to lift yore own paw!”

“Aye, and who was is that ate two spoonfuls for every bite he fed me?”

“Surely you mean she, Martin ol fellow. Abbess Germaine is a sneak and a thief, an’ that’s what I’ve always said!”

Martin’s stoic demeanor cracked, and soon he was laughing so hard, he had to sit down right there in the hallway.

Gonff, however, was prepared to drag the joke on a bit further. He eased Martin down and then crouched at his side, feigning confusion. “Aww, c’mon, matey, what’re you sittin’ on the floor for? The chairs in the dining hall ain’t good ‘nuff for you anymore?”

“Gonff, please, I—hahahaha! Oh, heeheehee, I can’t, I can’t!” Martin gasped out. At least it didn’t hurt to laugh anymore, even if it did take his strength away when he couldn’t breathe.

With a chuckle, Gonff shook his head. “Alright, alright, I’ll stop—at least ‘til we get you in a proper seat. Up you come, hup! Steady now, Martin, lean up against the wall a moment ‘til your legs catch up with you. There we are! Now, what can you tell me about our first day on the trail to Salamandastron, eh?”

Resuming their slow shuffle, Martin finally caught hold of his giggles and reigned them in. Casting his mind back on that first day of their journey, he smiled wistfully. “That was the day we rescued Chugger, wasn’t it?”

Gonff looked at him strangely. “Who?”

Martin gave him a longsuffering look. “Chugger, the young squirrel we saved from being eaten from the Flitchaye?”

“The what?”

“Runty weasels with knockout smoking herbs? Ring any bells?” Martin prompted, smiling, sure that Gonff was just teasing him again.

There was a beat of silence, however, and Martin noticed an uncharacteristic droop in Gonff’s whiskers. The little mousethief took in a deep breath. “Martin, I have no idea what you’re talking about. The only thing that happened our first day was when we saw those three vermin following us. I suppose one of them was a weasel—was his name Flitchaye? I don’t remember myself.”

Martin shook his head, confused and dispirited. “No. I don’t think I would remember his name, either. Perhaps my mind is making up memories to fill in the gaps. Isn’t that something Abbess Germaine said could happen?”

Gonff didn’t like the new dour mood, so he poked Martin in the ribs. “Aye, ‘s a good thing y’have me as yore matey, matey, or I’d be giving those flying pink toadstools another run!”

Martin offered a brief smile, and Gonff wasn’t satisfied.

“Hey now, once I get you settled to lunch, I’ll go find the Abbess and we’ll figure this out. Now c’mon, give me a big whopper of a smile, or I’ll pull out all yore whiskers and use ‘em for shoelaces!”

That did it. Martin was smiling again, and Gonff talked quickly to keep it that way, breaking into song a moment later, and they managed to arrive at the table without any more memory issues. True to his word, after he got Martin set up with a cheese and leek pasty, October ale, and blackberry flan, Gonff slipped away to find Abbess Germaine.

She was easy enough to find, dozing in the midafternoon autumn sunlight just outside Brockhall, watching over the children who were playing nearby. Gonff took off his hat and wrung it fretfully as he cleared his throat. Germaine came awake and took in his worried hovering with a small frown. “Gonff? Is something wrong?” she asked, pulling herself to her feet.

Gonff popped his hat back on his head and stooped to assist her, naturally allowing her to lean on his paw the same way he had with Martin. “It’s nothing terribly urgent, marm, just a concernin’ conversation I just had with Martin.”

Germaine grasped his paw and pulled him to a stop in the quiet entryway of Brockhall. “Concerning in what way?” she prompted.

Taking his hat in his claws once more, Gonff shuffled his footpaws anxiously. “We were running through our memory check, as usual, but then he started spoutin’ off names of creatures I’ve never heard of, marm. He was downright convinced of ‘em, too. Thought y’might want to speak with him.”

Germaine patted Gonff’s paw. “Indeed I do. Thank you for fetching me. Where is Martin now?”

“In the dining hall,” Gonff said, offering his paw once more.

“Hm, no, that won’t do,” Germaine decided, leaving Gonff’s side and shuffling down the opposite direction from the dining hall. “Ask Bella to carry him to her study. I’d like to talk with our warrior in private. And you, Gonff, will go to the kitchen and eat until we are finished. I’ll wager a pine nut to an acorn that you’ve not had a decent meal yet today, given the hour you arrived this morning. Shame on you, leaving your pretty wife before breakfast! You go eat now, or she’ll come wailing that we’re working the fat right off your bones keeping our dear warrior alive. And I can walk myself down a hallway, thank you! Go on, now, shoo!”

Gonff grinned ruefully. She may be old, but Germaine’s wits were still as quick as a whip. “Yes, marm.”

Germaine had not been sitting at Bela’s desk for very long before she heard the telltale sounds of an undignified warrior mouse being carried by a badger to the study.

“At least let me walk in myself, Bella, please—”

“And wait five seasons for you to crawl across the study? I think not. Gonff said Germaine would like to see you now, so I will deliver you to your destination.”

“This is so humiliating—”

“Martin, you weren’t able to hold a spoon a few weeks ago. You have come a long way, yes, but it’s going to take a great deal of time until you regain your so-called dignity, young mouse.”

Whatever argument Martin might’ve come back with was left unspoken as Bella walked into the study with him cradled in her arms. He set his jaw firmly and didn’t say a word while she set him in her own overstuffed chair.

Once Martin was settled, Bella dusted her paws off and turned to her old friend. “There. Now then, is there anything else you need?”

“No, that’s all. Thank you kindly for delivering my patient,” Germaine said with that bright, smirky smile of hers. “I will call for you when we’re finished.”

“Very good,” Bella nodded, and she took her leave.

Germaine looked Martin over, smiling at his stiff upright posture. “I do apologize for any discomfort you may have felt, Martin, but I was eager to speak to you.”

Martin nodded and relaxed a touch. “Gonff told you what happened?”

The old Abbess folded her paws on the desk and leaned forward. “He said you spoke of creatures he did not know, but I would like you to give me the details, please.”

With a nod, Martin explained the scene he saw in full—he was travelling with Gonff and Dinny, but they heard the telltale sounds of Flitchaye drums, and upon investigation, they found a male squirrelbabe tied to a post in their camp. Martin described the scene and the rescue effort in great detail, clear up to their own rescue by an otter clan, and Germaine listened. At some point she began asking pointed questions, and it soon became clear that there was a fourth member of their party, even before they’d found the squirrel—a hedgehog maid named Trimp.

“But that doesn’t make sense,” Martin said, clenching his paws into fists anxiously. “There was only Gonff, Dinny, and myself who went to Salamandastron.”

“That’s right,” Germaine agreed. “That’s because you were not going to Salamandastron when you found the squirrel.”

Martin’s ears twitched. “What?”

Germaine sat back in her seat and folded her paws into her habit sleeves. “You are not remembering what has happened. No, you are Seeing what will happen, in a future season.”

There was a beat of silence, and then Martin reeled back in his seat for a moment. “I don’t understand. How is that possible?”

“I don’t know,” Germaine shrugged. “But it is. You may not remember this vision tomorrow, or it may haunt you until it comes to fruition. I do not understand how or why these visions come to somebeasts, but I know that they do.”

Blinking rapidly, Martin shook his head. “I don’t understand. ‘Tis impossible to . . . to see the future! You said before that the mind can make up memories in place of old ones!”

“Yes. But that is not what this is.”

They sat in silence for a few moments as it fully sank in for the young warrior. He sat just as stiffly as before, resting his paws on his knees, but now his head bowed and he shook with silent tears. It was rare that Germaine considered Martin a youngbeast, but here, in this moment, she suddenly remembered that he was scarcely a few seasons into maturity. He had an old head on young shoulders, and he seemed to fully understand the weight of what Germaine had told him.

When Martin spoke, his voice was heavy with emotion. “I don’t want this.”

Germaine sighed, “It may not be for you to decide.”

In a surge of energy, Martin shot to his feet. “I am not some magic fox, Germaine! I am a mouse! A silly, injured little mouse who can barely remember his own friends’ names! Stop making me out to be some—some mystic and let me live my life in peace!”

He turned to the door and made it two steps before his knees buckled and dropped him to the floor. Abbess Germaine rushed to his side, calling, “Martin, Martin you listen to me! You are still weak, and it would be very unwise to strain yourself right now!”

Germaine knelt in front of Martin and helped him sit up, and then she took his face in her paws and lectured him sternly. “I know it’s a shock, I know you don’t want this, but if you suffer from the warrior’s bloodwrath—and you have every symptom indicating that you do—then cultivating this gift of sight may be your best hope of living a peaceful life. Do you understand?”

“No,” Martin breathed, eyes misting with tears. “I don’t understand at all, Mother Abbess. I don’t understand why I’m still living. What more must I do before I may rest?”

Germaine wiped the tears from his face with the gentleness of a true mother. “Because, Martin, someday there will be a squirrelbabe named Chugger, and he will die if you are not there to save him. There may be countless others counting on you, but the fates have decided to show you this one child whose life hangs in the balance with your own. Live, Martin. Live and grow strong again. Save him.”

Martin grasped her wrists and closed his eyes. Then, taking in a deep breath, looked up at her. “I will, Mother Abbess. I will save him.”

“Thank you, Martin. I know you will.” Germaine pulled herself to her feet and dragged Martin up with her, shouldering his arm, and helping him back to Bella’s chair. One she had deposited him there, she gathered up a nearby blanket and tucked it around the young warrior. “Now, you may rest.”

Too physically and emotionally exhausted to protest, Martin snuggled into the chair and closed his eyes.

Germaine shuffled back to Bella’s desk, where she located some ink and parchment which she hoped Bella would not miss, and she began to write the scene from the future that Martin had described.

Poor Martin. He just wanted to be done with all the attention and the idolizing, to live a quiet, peaceful life. Although Germaine herself foresaw this very wish fulfilled in the distant future, there was much yet to do.

After Martin calmed down a bit over the next few days, he and Germaine spoke again and agreed to keep it all quiet. His foresight of the squirrelbabe faded from his memory shortly thereafter. Most of his visions only stayed with him a few days, they came to find out in time, and Germaine quietly kept a record of everything he told her. It became quite useful when construction on the new abbey began in earnest, since Martin had seen it many times by then, and his visions provided details that helped speed the work along quite quickly.

The warrior’s memory of the past, however, remained a quagmire. Speaking with Timballisto helped, but within a few days Martin would forget the entire conversation. Germaine urged Martin to write it all down while he could remember it, but the warrior flatly refused. He always kept his conversations with TB very private, and never spoke a word of his past to his friends. Germaine didn’t understand it.

After TB passed that winter, there was none to help him—by spring, Marin had no recollection of his childhood whatsoever. At times, particularly after he had regained his full strength, Martin forgot he had memory problems at all.

Gonff was his rock during this time. The little thief always seemed to know when to work the memory back up or when to let it slide, and a full year after Martin’s brush with death, his memories became more stable and lasting. His foresight began to diminish at this point, but Germaine thought that was perhaps a great mercy. The sheer amount of wars, bloodshed, and intrigue that would come to their abbey in future seasons was astounding, and it weighed heavily on Martin when he saw it. Thus it was that when Martin inevitably forgot each vision, Germaine decided not to show him her record if it. She alone shouldered the burden of knowing their future, but it was a small price to pay to allow him to live a few seasons of peace.

[seokiloquy]

Metallic - Hinata Shoyo

AU: Avengers

Revamp

GN! Reader, This is just fluff with hardly any plot.

Word Count: 2.8k+

"They've gone rogue!" Men and women in robes ran ragged around the dark metal room. Dark masks clung to their faces, muffling their angered voices as they yelled at each other. 

"Tie 'em down!"

"Trying!"

Your body was strapped down into a metal table as you struggled to set yourself free. The men around you spoke in a different language but once they spoke in English, it was with a heavy accent. You tugged on the leather belts around your wrists, stretching them.

"Let me go!" You yelled as one of the men forced your head down. Your muscles tightened under the restraints as your limbs forced themselves upward. A man came to your left side placing a hand on your forearm he loosened the strap in hopes to readjust it, only to send your fighting arm free. With all your strength behind the movement, your arm shot up hitting the man beneath his chin. His head flung backwards with a resounding crack.

"Stupid metal arm."

Another man ran to your side. Using the upward momentum of your punch he rotated your arm back down on the table. A woman came in to secure a clamp around it. You continued to fight against the now tightened restraints, Unrelenting as you yelled at the man that stared down at you.

"Everything ready?!"

"All set!"

The man who fastened your head down looked down at you with a smirk. He leaned down and pushed your jaw upward, bending your neck awkwardly. You growled at him. He pushed down on the soft space at the crook of your neck and jaw, forcing your tongue to push upward, making it difficult to speak. He smirked at your discomfort.

"Don't worry. This will hurt."

He dropped your head with a thud, quickly tightening the brace that held your head down one last time. With a harsh pat on your cheek exited the room to stand behind a glass wall to your left. The others in the room quickly followed him.

"Ready." His voice was monotone, but you could see the joyful grin that he wore through the glass

You glared out of the corner of your eye, "No way in hell am I do-"

"Go."

"Mission report." 

You sat staring forward at the man that stood in front of you. He flipped through a series of computer screens as he waited for your response. Your eyes followed his arm movements.

"Mission successful. Infiltrators terminated. 15 total." 

The man nodded, adjusting the glasses that sat on his nose. His hand moved, opening another screen, "Good, good. Now for your next target. You must take down Iron-Man and his little posse of mutants."

"Actually sir. A majority of them are human."

Turning his head to the assistant he snapped, "Shut up or I'll shoot you."

The man looked back at you with a scowl, ignoring his assistant’s shuffle in discomfort. You paid the younger man no mind, continuing to watch the man before you as he took a step forward. With his head tilted down and he began to lean over your form as it sat in a still position. You didn’t move, staring into the man’s stomach.

"Any words?" he snarled.

"Hail Hydra."

"Tsukki what's the problem?"

Standing around the kitchen table the group listened as their leader as he told them about the recent activity that had been tracked. Tsukishima had a hologram pulled up displaying images taken from security cameras. Using an open hand, he used his connected index and middle finger to point to specific portions of the screen.

"Terrorists. One in particular has been spotted at each site. The only problem is that their face is never visible, it’s always a side or back view. They also appear to wear a mask, which doesn't help. But they do seem to have (H/L) (H/C) hair and are always wearing black, typically a sweater and sweatpants. For the most part, they seem rather indifferent. The only concerning thing..."  swiping his finger across the screen, he made the image become zoomed in and enhanced.

"Hydra." Kiyoko sighed.

"Yes. It seems they have sent out an assassin to do who knows what. But they’ve caught our attention and they have to be taken down."

Hinata sat up in his seat leaning his weight over his knees. His brow furrowed and his head tilted sideways. He yawned slightly, "No clue on who they are?"

Tsukishima shook his head, leaning on the table next to him. Crossing his arms, he let out a disappointed sigh, "None. At least of who they are personally. But they're called the Winter Soldier."

You watched as your fellow assassins walked around, blending in with the locals. The wind was blowing against your head as you leaned over the ledge of the building. But the calming silence was short-lived when a loud thump was heard from behind you. You didn’t flinch, continuing to watch the crowd below you.

"Winter Soldier."

Turning around you saw a man with orange hair carrying a shield on his arm. Slowly, he brought the shield clad arm over his shoulder, hooking the metal plate onto his back. He took a slow step towards you, hands in front of him in silent surrender. You, on the other hand, quickly pulled out a gun and leaned farther off the ledge. You didn’t blink, flicking off the safety.

"Slow down there, bud. I don't want to fight you." he stopped but kept his hands up, taking another step, "My name's Hinata. I won't hurt you."

He took a sudden step closer.

You threw yourself off the ledge, mask untying and falling off in the process. 

Hinata, not expecting the sudden launch, looked over the ledge trying to reach for you.

"(Y/N)?!"

Your head tilted as you fell backwards.

(Y/N)?

Flinging your arm upwards you shot the gun but missed as Hinata ducked away, out of sight.

Yamaguchi and Tsukishima were in the lab when Hinata rushed in the door. He, despite being in perfect form, was breathing heavily as he gripped the edge of the work table. The two scientists sent the other a confused look in his direction. To which he responded with a yell.

"We can't kill them Tsukki!"

The two turned to fully face the hyperactive redhead and sighed. 

Tsukishima pushed up the rim of his glasses and let out an exasperated sigh. "Of course not,” he said, making Hinata jump up with a smile. Tsukishima took a quick sip of his coffee before placing the mug down on the table, “We interrogate them first. Then we kill them."

"No no no! They're my old friend. My very old friend now that I think about it...." Hinata raced around the table, latching onto Tsukishima’s sleeve. The taller one began flicking his arm, desperate to get the other off.

Yamaguchi tilted his head as he took off his goggles, "Are you talking about (Y/N)? The one in the museum?"

Hinata nodded and rushed for Yamaguchi. He held his hands in tight fists, desperately bouncing back and forth on his toes as he pleaded.

"Please, this isn't like them. They never acted like this, something’s wrong. Please, let me help them."

Tsukki sighed tilting his glasses downward. He pinched the bridge of his nose. Yamaguchi held his hands up and looked towards the tall scientist. Seeing his friend’s pleading look over the shoulder of the shorter redhead, Tsukishima spoke tiredly, "I'll give you a month. After that well see how it goes. But if you can't get them under control by then. They're going to S.H.I.E.L.D and staying in a holding cell."

"Unchain me."

From behind a wall of thick glass, a casually dressed man stared at you, watching. So sat perfectly still, not letting the chains that sat at your side make a noise. He scrutinized you, crossing his arms with a dissatisfied huff, "No can do. Not until you calm down."

You growled at the blond man, “I am calm.”

He scoffed, keeping his feet planted square beneath him, arms crossed. The square-shaped glasses that sat on his nose seemed to twinkle as the corners of his mouth lifted into a condescending smirk. The blonde seemed too comfortable on that side of the glass. You glared.

"Where am I?"

"In my building," monotone but amused, he was definitely happy with your capture.

You groaned as you shifted in your seat. This was all too familiar. "Who is Hinata?"

"An old friend," The aforementioned carrot-top now stood in the doorway, looking at the man who stood between you. He sent you a sheepish smile before turning his attention to the taller man, "Tsuki, Kageyama wants your help designing more advanced arrows, Sugawara's wings need some oiling, Nishinoya's suit is malfunctioning he keeps becoming small instead of big, Daichi wants more abilities in his suit, and Tanaka wants Asahi to stop plowing through his walls when he's nervous." Hinata listed.

Tsukishima sighed, dropping his arms to put them on his hip, "Anything else?"

"Ugh... Kiyoko wants a new gun, Kinoshita and Narita are on a mission, Ennoshita wants a suit check up... Oh and Takeda called earlier, Ukai is in a bad mood,” He responded, fiddling with his fingers.

"Great," Tsukishima sneered as he walked past Hinata and through the door.

You, on the other hand, were still tied down in the glass bottle, glaring at the redhead. He gave you a strange look.

“Do you need anything?” He asked.

You lifted your chained wrists up for him to notice. He shuffled closer and opened the large glass door. He held his hands up in a silent surrender as he took cautionary steps toward you. "Okay, I get it. I'll free you. Just don't punch me that'll hurt.” He sighed, “Tsuki’s gonna kill me for this.”

As he undid the chain he could still feel your glare burning into his skull. You remained perfectly still. He shivered and looked away from the chains to make eye contact with you. His hand’s stopped, gently pulling the restraint off your wrists. You let your hands fall into your lap.

"(Y/N)?" he asked.

"Who's (Y/N)?"

Hinata set down the chains with a sad sigh and sat in front of you, eyes squinted together as if in pain. His eyes became glossy, brows furrowed, and tears began to slip down his face ending at his chin where they dropped off and landed at your feet. His hands went to his chest and neck, choking down a sob that made his throat burn. 

"You, my best friend. But you don't remember. Please, (Y/N), remember, please."

Your nose burnt, and your chest hurt with every pulse. Each beat sending painful aches from your chest to the palm of your hand. You wanted to hit something. Punch something.

"(Y/N)," his voice cracked as another sob was forced down. You flinched back, not sure how to continue. "I will keep you safe from Hydra. Bring back your memories. Anything to get you back."

Hinata looked up, eyes and nose red. The pain in your chest increased. You held up a fist, digging your nails into your palm, creating crescent marks in your skin. Letting the muscles relax, you reached your hand forward and placed it on his head.

"Okay."

"Tie them down."

Suddenly waking up from a nightmare you had begun to thrash around. Tsukishima, who had been in his lab when he heard the noise from the security cameras, called Hinata, who was just finished with his training, to help him calm you down. Your arms and legs were flailing about with force that would carry your torso along with them. Way too much force for someone who was freely laying on a soft bed.

"No, that's not a good idea." Hinata held your shoulders, pushing them towards each other and into the mattress. “That could cause more damage.”

Your arm flung out in a fist and Hinata just managed to catch your metal prosthetic before it hit him in the neck. He forced your hand down against the bed to be sure it won't swing again, holding it as gently as he could without risking his own physical well-being. Tsukishima was just barely able to hold your legs, needing to put all his weight into forcing them into the bed.

After a couple minutes of the two holding your body down, your muscles froze up. They stayed still for a moment, tensing and pulling to their fullest possible reach before completely relaxing. With that, the two tired men were able to let go.

"I'll stay here, make sure it doesn't happen again. You still have a list to finish." Hinata said as he climbed off the bed and onto a large chair in the corner of the room. He yawned and shifted so his legs were propped up on the push arm of the seat.

"Ya ya. Everyone here is needy for upgrades. Keep them asleep, I don’t have time to come back with restraints. See you tomorrow," Tsukishima panted as he brushed his hair, heading for the door. "Jeez, they're a real piece of work."

With that, the door shut gently behind the drained man, letting off a light click, closing out the night.

The next day, Hinata sat you down at the kitchen table and brought out different slices of layered bread, setting them on the table for both of you to eat. He grinned shakily as he set the plate and fork down in front of you.

"Are you not going to eat the cake?"

"That's cake?" you asked, pointing at the glob on the plate. Whatever kind of cake it was, it was horribly misshapen and mushed to the point of being more likely acknowledged as scrambled eggs.

Hinata sighed as he took your fork, cutting the dessert, before holding it out to you in zippy waving motions. "Here comes their Choo Choo Train Choo choo!"

Raising an eyebrow you glared at Hinata as his smile dimmed to a cringe.

"Right..... Too soon?" he spun the fork for you to take from his hold.

You sighed as Hinata looked away and grabbed the fork for yourself. Hesitantly shoving the food into your mouth. Your tongue curled at the feeling of the food rolling over it. "I don't like it," you swallowed.

Hinata laughed and took your plate, eating the cake himself, opting to start with a big shovel that made his voice come out muffled as he talked, "Why am I not surprised?"

"Did I not like cake?" you asked, holding your hand underneath the table.

Hinata nodded a bit, finishing off the last small slice and carrying everything to the sink. "Not really. You said it was too dry."

You nodded rubbing the metal of your arm. Hinata walked around you, making you turn your head to follow until he stopped and dropped the dishes into the sink and began to clean them.

You looked at the back of his hair and sighed, imagining an old-time steel helmet wrapping around his head. The flash of a poorly lit memory made your head hurt. "Whatever happened to Yachi?" you asked, digging your nails into the palm of your skin covered hand.

Hinata froze slightly before continuing to wash, keeping his clenched hands hidden underneath the soapy water, "She died of old age a few months ago."

"Hinata-"

"It's alright. She lived a good life and that's what matters."

As Hinata dried the last of the dishes before putting them away and turning to you.

Your heart hurt on the news that Yachi died. But you were never there. You didn't know her well enough to feel sad for her. No, you felt sad for the pain Hinata must have gone through and the fact that you couldn't have been there for him. You wanted to get out of these hazy memories.

"Cheesecake?"

Hinata tilted his head, "what about it?"

"It's not dry, right? Wouldn't I like it better? I mean, I guess it’s sort of a pie? I don’t really know."

Hinata nodded and sat down on the stool next to you, drying his hands in a towel that had been hanging off the fridge. "I guess, maybe."

"Then let's go get cheesecake."

You stood up and walked to the elevator, grabbing your sweater and hat as you walked. Desperately wanting to get out of the stuffy situation, your walk was more of a run.

"But, (Y/N), we just tried multiple-"

"No, cheesecake, let's go."

Sighing, Hinata grabbed his jacket and followed you out. He smiled when you fumbled with the sleeve of your sweater and helped you get it on over your metal arm. "Okay,” he laughed, following you through the elevator doors.

Your head shot up, “One last thing."

"What is it?" he asked, pulling a glove out of his pocket before dragging it over your metal fingers and palm.

"Can they make it with plums?"

Despite liking the Avengers I feel like I hardly know anything about the story… -Bacon

Posted: 03/08/2020

[fritzllang]

103 with Larry and Freddy pleaaase you're absolutely amazing akdhakhka

Taco date time you said? Taco date time it is.

thank you for the prompt! I wanted to give the story the feel of a scene from the movie; it took a lot of reading the script to get a hold of White’s talking, some research and youtube watching, and a bit of brazenly stealing someone else’s anecdotes (more about that at the end). enjoy!

103. “Sharing is caring. Now give me your fries.” + Freddy/Larry

“I'm hungry. Let's get a taco.”

White starts the ignition and drives off the curb, and Freddy has to laugh because who the fuck talks about smashing noses and cutting off fingers and the next second thinks about eating tacos. But the truth is Freddy has met a lot of guys like that, who feed on violence and live off it, guys who will pick up a black guy on the street just because he looked at them funny, carry him to the station with some bullshit excuse and beat him up in the interrogation room; guys who won't take a woman's domestic violence claim just because her husband's a cop too. He doesn't have to think too hard about it for White to seem tender in comparison. And the thing is, he is. White is one of the gentlest men he's ever known, with his perfect manners and his soft smiles and his lighter out every time Freddy puts a cigarette on his lips. He's tough too, Freddy knows, because he's seen him talking with Joe and has heard his stories, and he hasn't seen him angry (doesn't want to) but he knows you've got to be tough if you want to survive as a career criminal. But never with Freddy, and that's more than most people have done for him.

“Now, everybody reacts differently to finding themselves in a robbery,” White’s using that same educational tone again, gesturing with the hand that holds his cigarette. “Some people scream, some people laugh, some cry, some curse you out… you gotta learn to read people, you know? Be aware at all times of the situation around you, know who’s gonna try to give you any trouble. And not only do you gotta control the people, you gotta control yourself. Robbing a place will get your adrenaline off the charts, so you gotta control your emotions, learn how to act so when you come into the place they don’t think ‘Hey, what’s this guy up to?’”

Freddy’s staring at White while he drives, his mouth hanging slightly open. The more the man talks, the more entranced he feels. He’s eager to listen because he doesn’t want to fuck up the job, true, and he wants to learn as much as he can from White because Holdaway’s told him to pick up anything that might be useful, but there’s something else. Something about the way he talks, the way he looks at him sideways to catch Freddy’s reaction to his words, that makes Freddy unable to stop looking. It might have something to do with the fact that he’s gotta be the most attractive man he’s seen in a while.

“Here we are.” White stops the car in front of a small, shabby-looking Mexican place, with sun-bleached paint coming off the colorful sign (La tasca del Frijolito, it says) and a few metal chairs and tables under a parasol in the sidewalk in front of it. They walk inside and the old Mexican woman behind the bar greets White with a huge grin and a few words in Spanish.

“Hola guapetón, ¿otra vez por aquí? Y vienes bien acompañado...” She looks over at Freddy without losing her smile. White laughs and nods.

“Hola, Carmen.” He gives the dirty laminated menu a look. “Uuuh… I think I'll have a taco Salvaje.” He tries to give it a Mexican accent.

“Muy bien. ¿Y el cuate?”

White turns to him. “What'll you have, kid?”

Freddy shrugs. “Same as you.”

“You sure about that? It's spicy.”

Freddy gives him an easy smile and leans on the counter. “I think I'll handle myself.”

White laughs and shakes his head. “Suit yourself. And you want fries with that?”

“Nah, I'm good.”

“Yeah?” White lifts a brow. “I won't share mine if you want fries later.”

Freddy shakes his head and casually taps the bar with his hands. “I'm not that hungry.”

“Okay. So… two tacos Salvajes and fries for one. To go”

“Marchando.” The lady turns around and starts shouting in Spanish at an impossible speed through the kitchen window behind the counter.

“To go? Where are we going?”

“We're going back to the store, kid. We're casing the place, we don't have time to go on dates.”

Freddy turns his head away trying to compose a scowl, but he's a little embarrassed, pretty sure he could be blushing right now. From the corner of his eye he can see White is smirking.

The lady comes back a few minutes later with a brown paper bag that smells amazingly, and as Freddy reaches for his wallet White lifts an arm to stop him. “Don't worry kid, it's on me.” Damn fucking gallant crook.

“At least let me get the tip.”

“Nah. It’s taken care of.” He leaves a big tip too.

They go back to the car and drive away, and Freddy feels the need to ask a question just so he can keep hearing White talking. “So what happens if someone wants to come in?”

“Well, since you're already outside, you tell ‘em it’s closed, turn that son of a bitch right away, As I said, you always gotta be in control of the situation. If we didn't have you outside that'd be another thing. You know, I got a funny story about that.” While White drives he reaches over and puts a hand down the bag that's resting in Freddy's lap, takes the fries out of it. Freddy gets a nervous rush out of it. White puts the fries in the drink holder between the two seats, starts munching on them as he speaks.

“So... jewelry store in Florida, right near the beach, very busy place, right? People coming and going all the time. But I cased the place and found out the least busy hours, so when the time’s right I come into the store, tie the clerks down, get my partner in, got a guy in the back door of the place waiting with a car, all good. We're cleaning the place out when an old couple comes in, rings the door buzzer. Now, what can I do? They've already seen there's people inside.”

Seeing the fries has made Freddy hungry, so he takes his taco out and takes a big bite. White wasn't lying when he said it was spicy, but he doesn't want him to say 'I told you', so he has to fight back the tears. And while he's busy speaking, he takes his chance and casually takes a fry or two.

“So I let them in, go over there and open my jacket to show them my gun.” They're stopped in a red light so White opens one side of his jacket with one hand and makes a gun with the fingers of the other, gestures like he's showing his hidden gun under there. Freddy eats a few more fries in between bites of his taco.

“And I say to 'em, 'Hey, you're in on a robbery' and they go 'Oh, oh no, were gonna-'” White puts his right hand on the air defensively and looks comically terrified. “And I said 'No, no, no, no,'” he shakes his hand in an assuring way. “I tell them 'Just come over here, sit over here. Look at that wall. Yes ma'am, look at that wall. Don't move, and when I leave you have to wait ten minutes. I'm gonna check! So just don't move.' Didn't tie them or anything...”

They're back in front of the diamond's place and White looks over at Freddy with raised brows as he kills the engine.

“Now, kid, you think you're being subtle or something? I'm not blind, so stop eating my fries.”

White puts a menacing finger up, but he's smiling when he takes the brown bag from Freddy and takes out his own taco. Freddy smiles trying to mirror the man's charm. “Sorry.”

White hums with delight after the first bite.

“Hmm, this shit's delicious. So anyway, we do the robbery, and I go to the back to give my partner the signal. But the son of a bitch doesn't come around right away! I don't know if he saw someone or what, but when me and my partner come out of the store with our bags full of jewels the car isn't there. So now I have to go back into the place, and when I pass by I tell the old couple, ‘I’m just checking you!’, and it was so funny, they go…” White puts again on the comically scared face. “‘No, no, we’re not moving!”

Freddy starts smirking amused, and that gets a smile out of White too. He takes another fry.

“So I go in the back again, give my guy another call (‘C’mon, you asshole!’), he comes around, picks me up and we’re outta there in a flash. And listen to this: the next day the old couple are interviewed in the paper, and it said: ‘Oh, he was a nice man!’ I’d just stolen seventy grand and they thought I was a nice man! Because I knew how to deal with the situation.”

By the end of the story Freddy's grinning and giggling like an idiot, not only because it is a funny story, but because Larry told it with such enthusiasm, like he's trying to impress him. And he is impressed, because he never thought a robber could be so charming. One more fry goes into his mouth.

Larry tries to sound serious as he talks next, but he’s also laughing:

“I’m warning you boy; I like you,” he likes me, “but if you don’t stop eating my fries…”

“What do you care? You’ve got a lot of fries.”

White takes the paper basket away and puts it close to his chest. “They’re my fries, so I care a lot.”

“Well…” Freddy’s got a shit-eating grin on his face, and he’s pronouncing the words slowly, blinking, trying to work up his appeal. “Sharing is caring. Now give me your fries.”

Next thing he’s stretching himself across the seats to snatch the fries, as White laughs and tries to push him away.

***

Notes:

I’m not nearly imaginative enough to have come up with that great “Nice robber” story. It was shamelessly robbed borrowed (as well as some of White's tips) from Larry Lawton. He is an ex-career criminal who turned FBI advisor after doing 12 years in jail. He’s got a youtube channel where he talks about his life and crimes.

Dialogue in Spanish:

“Hola guapetón, ¿otra vez por aquí? Y vienes bien acompañado...” - “Hello handsome, here again? And with good company…”

“Muy bien. ¿Y el cuate?” - “Very good, and your friend?”

“Marchando.” - “Coming.”

[thegc4life]

Oh my, I wasn't expecting a quick response! You honestly made my day ☺️ & I would LOVE to hear the ideas you've got cooking for your FFXV story! (Also, the starlight reader tag under my first ask made my heart flutter. Thank you so much, my long shift suddenly seems bearable now ❤️)

I’m glad I could make your day a little better, it sounds like you needed it. You are now dubbed the starlight Anon. Cause you’re a bright little spot of starlight!

I went back into my doc (so MUCH) and wow, I was really close to being down with the next chapter. I’ll put it under the cut for you, love. If anyone else is interested this was going to be the majority of the next chapter of the fic “Last Chance” for FFXV. Where Umbra and Pryna take matters into their own hands.

Libertus knocked on the door, ignoring the side-eyes the guards were giving him.

“...Come in.”

He frowned at the heavy rasp. It sounded worse than usual. Twisting the doorknob he strolled in, nudging the door closed behind him. “You sound like crap.”

“Thank you, Libertus,” Umbra smiled at him from where he was curled up in his bed with a book. 

“Welcome,” Libertus grinned.

Umbra huffed, lips twitching a bit higher. “Did you need something?”

He shrugged, plopping himself down in the chair next to the bed. “Not really. Nyx is busy, Selena is helpin’ out in the kitchens today I think since she wasn’t in ‘er room, and I don’t have anything to do.”

“So you are bored.”

“Pretty much.”

Umbra nodded, closing the book and setting it on his nightstand. Libertus glanced at the headache medicine next to the glass of water also resting there.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you sick before.”

Umbra blinked at him. “...I have a strong immune system. It doesn’t happen often.”

“That sucks,” he stretched out, propping his feet up on the bed next to him. “You can’t see the little princeling til’ you’re better right?”

“Yes,” he sighed. “I am not contagious but no one wants to risk his or mother’s health.”

He looked genuinely regretful. Libertus got it. His little brother had just been born yesterday and, with how hard it looked for him to let go of the baby when it was time for checkups, it probably really sucked to have to stay away from him.

“When Selena was born Nyx wouldn’t let go of her for days,” Libertus shared. “Even when his mom made him go to bed she’d wake up and find him curled up in her crib with her.”

Umbra leaned back into his pillows, eyes warm. “He loves her very much.”

“Oh yeah,” he agreed. “We both do. She’s an awesome kid, you know? This one time, after Nyx’s mom died and we were alone, we needed a way ta’ make money. Nyx kept tryn’ to get small jobs from the market but no one would hire him on for longer than a day. I kept tryn’ to get construction stuff cause that paid pretty well but I was too small back then so no one even gave me a second glance. We came back with nothin’, just like usual, and Selena wasn’t there.” He laughed suddenly, putting his foot down and leaning forwards. “You know how Nyx is always the one tellin’ me to calm down?”

“He is a very calming influence on you,” Umbra nodded.

“Uh,” Libertus paused, processing. “Yeah? Yeah, that. Anyways, he was not when she disappeared like that. I seriously thought was gonna kill someone, he was so mad.”

Umbra brought his knees up to his chest so he could rest his chin on them, smiling warmly. “Where did you find her?”

“Oh, we didn’t find shit,” Libertus laughed. He was glad Nyx wasn’t there to get mad at him for using ‘inappropriate language’ around the Prince. “She strolled right back home when she was good an’ ready. An’ Nyx was about to have a heart attack, he was runnin’ around like his head had been cut off!”

“And I’m sure you were very calm yourself,” Umbra said, the corners of his eyes crinkling.

Libertus squinted at him. “I mighta been a little worried, sure, but the town was pretty calm back then. I figured wherever she was, someone in town was watchin’ out for her. Nyx wouldn’t hear it though. He was bangin’ on doors, demandin’ if people had seen her anywhere. Then, right before he damn near broke through old man Relis’ door she came skippin’ down the street with her little basket Nyx had woven for her. It was full of food and some cloth to make new clothes. Nyx and I damn near lost our minds.”

Umbra blinked slowly, his face relaxed as he curled in further over his legs. “How did she get all of that?”

“By being a little shit, that’s how!” Libertus laughed, leaning back. “She went around to all the market stores and houses with people that had more work than they had hands, offerin’ her own for just a little of what they had to spare, and when they tried to turn her down she guilted the hell out of em’! Told em’ that if they didn’t even try to help out the kids of Galahd then they’d end up with a town full of old folk and no one else until the whole place just fell apart. And that if the kids didn’t starve they’d up and leave for a place that took care of their own better than our shit hole.”

Umbra huffed, blinking less and less because his eyes were staying closed more and more. “I doubt they took that very well.”

Libertus smiled even wider, his heart going all warm and tingly. Because Umbra was right, Selena had pissed everyone off saying stuff like that. Galahd was huge on making sure everyone was cared for and looked after, as best they could be with what they had, so when Selena had told them otherwise they’d all felt insulted to their cores. Not a lot of people had anything to offer back then, even less as the years went on, but Selena made sure that their people stuck to their codes with a backbone of steel and the mouth of an Imp. It was hard, looking out for people when you needed looking out for, but that’s just how Galahd people were. They just needed some reminding from time to time, and Selena took to that job like a fish to water.

It was nice to see that Umbra knew that. Not a lot of city folk did.

“They were pissed,” Libertus nodded, scooting forwards when Umbra swayed a bit to the side. “Gave her all these odd an’ end kind of jobs just to shut her up and then gave her whatever they could spare in return. I don’t know anyone else that can get people to pay em’ out of pure spite like Selena can. They started givin’ Nyx and I some of those small jobs too, and even the other kids started helpin’ out. It made everyone come together again after everything. Selena is the meanest hero I’ve ever met.”

Umbra hummed, low and soft. His eyes were still closed. “...I’d love to meet her.”

“You will,” Libertus assured him. “Don’t know how you two haven’t met yet, honestly. With how much time Nyx and I spend with you and how often she hears about you I’m surprised she hasn’t kicked down your door just to know who the hell we’re talking about.”

Selena’s job in the kitchens always kept her busy (but she never complained, a spring in her step when she would come back with flour stains on her hands and crumbs in her hair) and the Glaive schedule was a ‘round-the-clock’ kind of thing so besides bedtime they never really had time to hang out with all three of them. Nyx would hang out with Selena in the kitchens in the mornings and Libertus would sneak her away for lunch, but other than that they were just too busy. 

Umbra blinked blearily, his eyes a muted dark yellow. “...Next time you have training. Invite her.”

“Sure,” Libertus said even though he knew Selena was always hard at work when they trained and Umbra was usually doing his own training with the Queen. Umbra said stuff like that sometimes. Things that wouldn’t normally work but always somehow did when he said so. “Did I ever tell you about the time Nyx and I got lost in the gardens and this bird tried to eat my ear?”

Umbra breathed out softly from his nose, an approximation of a very tired laugh. “No.”

“Okay,” Libertus said, raring up for another story. “So we had the afternoon off cause you were doin’ somethin’ with your Dad, I don’t remember but it sounded boring, and Captain Drautos was in some meeting so Pelna told us to go enjoy ourselves. So Nyx, of course, picks the gardens cause they’re gods damned beautiful and we don’t even realize when one wall of plants starts looking like the next.”

As he talks he can’t quite help the slight laughter in his voice when Umbra turns sideways into his pillows and drops straight into a dead sleep. He really was a little kid. Talking someone to sleep was exactly what he had to do to Selena whenever she got sick and Nyx wasn’t around to sing to her.

Libertus kept talking, even as he pulled the blankets up around the boy’s shoulders. Nyx had mentioned that Umbra didn’t seem to be sleeping even though he was sick. Umbra was usually real good about doing what needed to be done to keep his body in tip-top shape so he wasn’t quite sure why the brat would fight sleep now of all times, but germs made you think weird so it didn’t really matter.

Libertus placed the back of his hand on Umbra’s forehead, frowning a bit at the heat. Luckily it looked like everything he needed was on the bedside table so he wouldn’t have to leave until dinner time. He’d seen one of the ladies in charge of cleaning and stuff on the way in so they’d probably be back a little before then to give Umbra whatever medicine he needed. It would be just like looking after Selena, only quieter and less likely to give him a heart attack cause Umbra knew not to sneak out of the room to work if Libertus just so happened to doze off. 

Hopefully.

Wringing out a washcloth that had been soaking in the little metal bowl of iced water Libertus set it on Umbra’s head and chattered on. Background noise and a familiar voice calmed Nyx down when he was having problems falling asleep, and judging by the peaceful expression on Umbra’s face it was helping him too.

“The last time Nyx got sick I almost knocked him out just to keep him down. Selena nearly pulled out all her hair too. Nyx is such a pain in the ass when he’s sick cause he refuses to believe he’s actually sick! Even when he’s passin’ out or throwing up his entire stomach he’s all ‘I’m not sick, you two are just paranoid’. Paranoid my ass. I could sneeze and he’d have me strapped to my bed with no escape but he coughs up his own damned lung and it’s all ‘oh no Libertus, this is normal. I always cough up organs, haven’t you noticed’?”

Umbra burrowed further into his blankets.

Libertus took that as an agreement.

--00—

“Ughhh,” Pryna groaned miserably. She flopped to the side for what had to be the fiftieth time before rolling back to her original position. Why was it so hard to get comfortable? 

“I warned you there would be consequences,” Umbra told her, sounding perfectly fine. “With physical bodies, we can not just push the fluctuating Time to the side, it will affect us more strongly now.”

Pryna blinked around her room blearily, making sure she was actually alone because it was so hard to focus and Luna had tried to sneak in multiple times now. 

“Why didn’t you tell me that sooner?” she said, pressing her palms to her eyes in an attempt to relieve the pressure built there. Her face burned beneath her hands. She could talk to him in her head, but the effort to transfer her thoughts just felt like too much. She missed the connection they had when they had full access to their core. She didn’t have to think so much to talk to him, she just had to feel and he would know. Human bodies were stupid.

“Because you learn better through experience. It won’t last long, half a day at most, but let this teach you to always keep in mind the result of our interference.”

“Will this happen every time we change things?” Pryna whined. She didn’t like the sound of that. They had big plans, they couldn’t get laid out like this (or worse) every time they needed to make a move.

“No, only when we use our magic too much. I know it feels like we are drastically weaker now due to our fractional magical supply, but what we have now is still a great strain on our physical forms. Simple things such as pausing or Seeing will not harm us in moderation, but focused skills and spacial creation will drastically affect our bodies. Freezing and slowing Aulea’s Time is simple enough, but our bodies will need the adjustment period all the same.”

Pryna frowned. She prodded at their shared magical core. It was like a giant wall was placed between them and it, only small amounts filtering to them in order not to overload them. The amount filtered to Umbra was a bit bigger. “But… you never actually stop Seeing. Won’t that make you sick all the time?”

“It would, if I were in your shoes. The Fleuret family is very magically gifted, but not nearly to the same degree as the line of Lucis. It is why your illness is so much more poignant than mine. I tried to separate the recoil as best I could but with sharing the same magic it is nearly impossible to split so definitely.”

“So that’s why we’re filling flasks,” Pryna realized. She had thought it was a little odd, placing small fractions of their magic into little magical flasks and storing them in a pocket dimension, but she had just thought it was a way Umbra had made up for her to practice her control. She shattered the vials often enough, putting too much into them, so it had made sense. “So we can use that magic instead of our main reserves.”

Umbra hummed in response. “For the most part. The flasks have many potential uses but by separating them from ourselves it makes them a little more volatile. We can’t use them for things that need absolute focus to maintain.”

“Like helping Aulea.”

“Yes.”

Pryna crossed her arms, before realizing that made her shoulders ache even more. She flopped them back to her sides, glaring at the ceiling. “I want to be able to do more too.”

“I know,” he sounded amused. “But with your control, the less is better for now. As you grow your body will be able to withstand more and you will be able to utilize it better as well.”

Pryna used to think it was unfair that she had to be limited in what she could do and try when Umbra had started out with no limiters whatsoever. She’d complained about it a lot, when she was first exploring their magic. Then, when she snapped at him for stopping her again, he had looked so sad and hurt she’d apologized on instinct. He’d said that the mistakes he made when he wasn’t even aware of what he was truly doing were irrevocable and he refused to let her make the same. She’d still felt a little cheated, but the more she learned the less angry she was.

Time could be scary sometimes.

The door creaked open and Pryna groaned.

Umbra laughed. “Try to get some rest. We’ll talk later.”

He was one to talk. Pryna knew he felt just as nervous as her, falling asleep in these weaker forms. They could still See, when they were asleep, but they could never See themselves. It made them feel vulnerable, and now that they were sick the feeling was multiplied tenfold.

Reikin walked in with a tray in his hands.

“Dad,” Pryna croaked, smiling up at him. She perked up even more when Ravus walked in and closed the door behind them. A small thump told her that Luna was on the other side, probably upset that she’d been locked out. “Ravus! Are you supposed to be in here?”

“Just for a bit,” Reikin answered for his son, voice soft and quiet. “I thought you’d like a bit of company. Can’t be too much fun, all cooped up in here.”

“It’s awful,” Pryna sniffed. “I hate being sick. I don’t know how you all handle it.”

Ravus rolled his eyes, rolling her around gently to get the blankets out from under her. “I can’t believe this is the first time you’ve ever gotten sick.”

Pryna stuck her tongue at him. It was probably thanks to Umbra. He was always telling her when to stop using their magic and how much to use. Which was only fair seeing as how he hadn't told her about it making them feel horrible if they used too much!

“Hmmm,” Reikin brushed her bangs back, resting his hand on her head while balancing the tray in his other arm. Pryna leaned into the cool touch, closing her eyes. “Your fever has gone down a bit. That’s good. Do you feel up to eating?”

She definitely did not but Umbra would get all huffy if she didn’t. It was kind of hard to remember to eat all the time (until her stomach clenched and yelled at her, that was so weird) but he always told her it was important. That rule probably still stood even if her stomach already felt like it was full of rocks.

“I guess,” she said, pushing herself up. Ravus helped her stuff the pillows behind her back, crawling up next to her and letting her rest her head on his shoulder. “...I love you Ravus.”

He snorted, tucking all of her hair behind her and out of the way. “I love you too. Now eat.”

Reikin sat on the edge next to them, helping her with the bowl of soup. They all hung their heads when the door swung open and tiny feet barreled towards the bed.

“Luna,” Reikin sighed, reaching down to scoop her up. “You can’t be in here my little moon, you’ll get sick.”

Luna looked like she wanted to cry, which made Pryna want to cry.

“I want to help,” Luna clasped her hands together, looking towards Pryna with wide, watery eyes. “You’re hurting.”

“Not anymore!” Pryna pumped her fist in the air, grinning through the aches and pains. “I feel better every time you smile, I think it’s magic!”

Luna, never one to call Pryna out for being a liar, smiled immediately.

“Ohhh,” Pryna looked at her arms in wonder. “How did you do that? I feel so much better!”

Ravus tapped her head. “Stop moving, you’ll make yourself worse.”

“You’re right,” Pryna nodded, settling back against him. “I shouldn’t waste Luna’s healing magic. Right, Luna?”

“Right,” she beamed.

A heavy, exasperated sigh drew their eyes back to the door for the fourth time. Sylva looked unimpressed.

“You three,” she narrowed her eyes at the ones that were not currently bedridden. “I explicitly told you not to come in here.”

“Darling,” Reikin stood, Luna still cradled in his arms. “I was just bringing Pryna her food and-”

“No,” she held up a finger to stop him, stepping in so she could shoo them all out. “The three of you have terrible immune systems. I told you I would handle her food, you need to go wash your hands.”

“Sylva-” 

“Out,” she commanded, lifting Ravus straight out of the bed (Pryna giggled at the startled squeaking sound he made) and readjusting the pillow so Pryna could sit back again. Three pairs of sad eyes stared at her when the door closed in their faces. “Honestly, I turn my back for one second.”

Pryna laughed.

Sylva turned to her, one eyebrow raised. “And you are no better. I know you do not want them to worry, but if you push yourself this will only last longer.”

“Okay mom.”

Sylva’s face softened. She took Reikin’s spot at the side of the bed, settling the bowl of soup into her own hands.

“How are you feeling sweetie?”

Pryna smiled, feeling warm in the best way all the way down to her toes. “Better.”

“Good,” Sylva offered her the spoon. “Let’s keep it that way.”

Pryna was eventually able to doze off with Sylva’s fingers carding through her hair and a lullaby in the air. 

She guessed sleeping wasn’t so bad. Not when there was someone nearby to watch over them.

--00—

One of the best things about the birth of the youngest Lucian Prince was that it made Nyx’s job much, much easier. In the Citadel it wasn’t like there was a lot he really needed to watch out for, and being surrounded by a hefty amount of both Crownsguard and Kings Glaives meant the chances of anything happening were low. The only thing Nyx really had to worry about was finding Umbra and then keeping it that way. Which, admittedly, also wasn’t very hard because for some reason while Umbra would often disappear on most of his guards (the stories shared at mealtimes were both ridiculous and a bit unbelievable) he rarely, if ever, ditched out on Nyx or Libertus. He wasn’t sure about the reasons but looking at the faces of any guard that wasn’t Alec (who Libertus was convinced had a tracking device placed on the Prince) he decided it was best not to look a gift horse in the mouth. 

It was still a trial and a half to find Umbra though. 

At least, it was until Prince Noctis was born. As soon as Umbra’s fever had broken he had been in the medical wing with the Queen and his new little brother. Then, when Noctis was moved to his own nursery room, Umbra trailed after. Wherever the newborn was, Umbra was sure to be there too.

The shared looks of relief between Guards and Glaives when they realized they now had a sure-fire way to track the eldest son was both hilarious and relieving (who knew that one of the best ways to bring two very different types of people together was to make them watch a child with so much wanderlust it was like he was trying to float right out of his own body). 

Nyx counted off in his head the four different locations Umbra was most likely to be. It was after lunch so he wouldn’t be with the Queen. She was still recovering from giving birth so she was typically only awake around meal times. He was pretty sure the King had a Council Meeting so neither Prince would be with him (even though Umbra seemed pretty intent on getting involved in those). He’d already checked Umbra’s room and found it empty, so the only other likely place for him to be was the nursery.

Hopping from ledge to ledge Nyx flipped his way to the eastern wing. When he landed on the ground outside the nursery door Alec waved at him in greeting. The other Guard was a tall, stone-faced woman Nyx had seen around a few times. She didn’t talk much. Or ever. Libertus thought she was a mech.

“Hey Nyx,” Alec smiled, tired and warm. “Here to switch with Libertus?”

“Yeah,” Nyx said. “You look tired.”

Alec scratched at the scruff along his face, blinking slowly. “That obvious? My sister’s been real sick lately. I’ve been trying to help out with her kid whenever I’m off.”

Nyx frowned. Hadn’t his sister gotten sick over a week ago? “...She okay?”

Alec shrugged, his face blank. “Hope so. I’m off soon actually, they got that new kid taking over for me. You’ve met Morgan Dires, right?”

Nyx held back a snort. “Yeah. He’s…”

“Nervous?” Alec smiled teasingly. “He’s a good kid. Just thinks too much. Mind keeping an eye on him for me?”

“Thought I was here to watch the Prince,” Nyx joked.

“Tell the Prince that,” Alec rolled his eyes fondly. “He’s been pretty lazy today though. Hasn’t left this room since noon.”

Nyx glanced at his watch (standard issue and more expensive than anything he had ever owned before). It was a little after 3.

“Before you leave,” Nyx looked up at the tall man, “stop by the kitchens and ask for Selena. Tell her I sent you and she’ll make you some Galahd soup. It clears up just about anything and it shouldn’t take too long.”

“Yeah?” Alec smiled, reaching out to ruffle his hair. Nyx resisted the urge to bat the hand away. Alec had been one of the few people that treated him and Libertus like normal people when they first arrived, and he never cared that they weren’t from the Crown City. He always listened to Libertus and showed interest in their culture in ways none of the other Guards did. He was a good man.

“Yeah, she’ll help you out. Might talk your ear off though. Her mouth is worse than Libertus’ so you’ve been warned.”

“Thanks,” Alec smiled.

Nyx shrugged. It was a kindness done for a kindness.

Nodding to Alec and the Guardswoman (who stared straight ahead, unblinking as always) he opened the door. 

Libertus was in his face, patting his arm and out the door before he could so much as say hello.

“Gotta pee, have fun, he’s super boring today!” Libertus shouted all the way down the hall.

Nyx pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. One day, one day Libertus would be aware of the people around him. One day.

Umbra was sprawled out over a collection of pillows and blankets, leaned back so that Noctis could rest on his chest with one hand on his back protectively and the other holding a book against his knee.

“Hello Nyx,” Umbra greeted, not looking up.

“Hey. You planning on letting him go anytime soon?” Nyx smirked.

Umbra looked up from his book, thumb absentmindedly rubbing soothing circles into the baby’s back. “He can’t do much right now anyway.”

“Yeah,” Nyx conceded, “but you’ve been here for about three hours now and I bet you haven’t put him down once.”

Umbra rested his head on Noctis’, closing his eyes. “My tutor mentioned that babies have a particular scent that evokes protective instincts and emotional attachment in the people around them. I wasn’t prepared for how strong it would be.”

Nyx snorted. “I can see that.”

Noctis sniffed, giving one soft yawn before turning even further into Umbra’s chest. Nyx watched Umbra melt even further into the pillows and thought about Selena. 

“There’s some coloring books over there,” Umbra murmured into the light tufts of Noctis’ hair, eyes blinking open and glancing to the table against the wall near the crib. “Libertus was bored.”

Of course he was. Nyx walked over to the desk, smiling down at the half-colored pages of fish and animals.

“He didn’t even finish one,” Nyx thumbed through the top book. It was clearly designed for young children. The first ten pages were randomly colored.

“He doesn’t seem to like hobbies that make him sit,” Umbra said. “Perhaps something that uses his hands more.”

“He likes knitting,” Nyx said, tearing out one of the pictures of a Chocobo and tucking it carefully into his jacket for Selena. “And carving.”

“Mh,” Umbra hummed. Nyx glanced over at him. He was curled on his side now, Noctis resting on a large pillow next to him. Umbra had his arm wrapped around the youngest Prince to keep him in place. “What do you enjoy?”

“Not sure,” Nyx shrugged, walking to the window and leaning against the wall. He pulled out one of his daggers and practiced flipping it from one hand to the other. “I never really had time to relax and figure that kind of thing out. Libertus took up things to help me and Selena out after Mom died, and Selena only got into cooking to keep us alive. I did a lot of the grunt work so anything that required a ‘finer touch’ I left to them.”

“You have time now,” Umbra said, sighing contentedly. “You should find something before that changes.”

Nyx frowned a bit. “...Things gonna change a lot?”

One yellow eye peered open, staring at him for a moment before closing again. “The older we get the busier you will be.”

Nyx turned back to the window. That was true. Now that Umbra had completed the Crystal’s Ceremony he would be recognized by the Council and King as a true member of the royal family. With how eager Umbra was to jump into everything Nyx was sure his days would become a lot more hectic.

If Umbra was hard to keep track of in the Citadel what would it be like when he had access to the city as well?

...He didn’t want to think about that.

Nyx sighed. He’d been here for less than thirty minutes and he was already feeling restless. One look at Umbra told him that both Princes were sleeping soundly now and would be for the foreseeable future. He was used to roaming the Citadel all the time, or at least listening in on Umbra’s lessons. Umbra never napped until Noctis was born. What was he supposed to do? He couldn’t go talk to Alec (or Dires) because of their guard set up so he had to stay in the room, he wasn’t big on coloring, and flipping his knives around would only keep him mentally active for so long. 

Nyx paced around the room, picking up the few toys that had been lying around. The little Princeling already had more toys than Selena had ever seen in her life but it made sense. He couldn’t get mad at the kid for being born into a better life than others. That’s just how life was sometimes.

Another half-hour passed and Nyx was debating on borrowing Umbra’s book while he slept.

Noctis whined.

Nyx ambled over, looking down at the pair.

Tiny blue eyes looked up at him curiously.

“Hey there,” Nyx whispered, crouching down. “You done napping?”

Noctis yawned, showing off his gums. He started to wiggle a bit, one hand nearly punching Umbra in the eye.

“Careful there Highness,” Nyx pushed the little arms away gently. He jumped when Umbra’s hand clamped around his wrist.

Eight-year-olds are not intimidating. 

The eight-year-old holding his wrist like he was about to snap it, glaring up at him with eyes too slitted to be normal, was. 

Umbra blinked. His face relaxed, pupils widening. “...Nyx.”

“Yeah?” Nyx said, trying not to sound like his heart had just jumped into his throat.

Umbra released his wrist, yawning into his shoulder. Noctis batted at his face and he smiled. “It’s time for him to eat. Let’s go to the kitchens, they should have everything ready.”

“Okay.”

Nyx stepped back to let Umbra stretch and get ready to go. He tapped slowly along the side of his leg, forcing his heart to calm down and match the steadier tempo. That had been… startling. Libertus sometimes woke up swinging because he didn’t know where he was or what was going on. Selena would shake awake from her nightmares and stare at him blankly until her brain processed what was around her. Those made his heart race too, but not like this.

“Shall we?” Umbra tilted his head towards the door, polite smile in place and Noctis cradled in his arms with a soft blanket. The baby Prince was making short, burbling sounds that had Umbra humming in response. It was like the last few seconds hadn’t happened at all.

Nyx opened the door for them.

“Prince Umbra!” Morgan saluted sharply, twitching at the sudden appearance. “And young Prince Noctis! Are we going somewhere?”

“Hello Guardsman Dires,” Umbra greeted, shifting Noctis more comfortably in his arms. Nyx wondered how often he’d shooed away the nursemaids throughout the day, seeing as how he hadn’t ever really seen them around when Umbra was with the princeling. “I offer my gratitude for taking over Guardsman Nollan’s duties.”

Morgan flushed to his ears. “I-It was no trouble at all Your Highness, I am always happy to serve.”

Nyx snorted, drawing the anxiety-ridden guard’s attention to him.

“Ulric,” Morgan scowled.

“Dires,” Nyx tipped his head.

“Your Highness,” the female guard from before cut in. Both Nyx and Morgan jumped a bit at the sound of her voice. “Prince Noctis is not to leave this room unless escorted by the King or Queen.”

Umbra smiled up at her. “Father is in a meeting and Mother is ill. I’m afraid there isn’t much choice if Noctis is to eat, Guardswoman Nelia.”

“The food can be brought up here.”

“It will be safer if we go ourselves.”

The lightest crease of a frown on Nelia’s face (it had taken far too long for Nyx to learn her name) was the most expression Nyx had ever seen from her. “Safer, Your Highness?”

Umbra nodded, still smiling. “The servant in charge of delivering Noctis’ food has been feeling under the weather lately. I would hate to accidentally expose Noctis to any illnesses while his immune system is still so weak.”

Nelia stared down at him, unbending. “Another servant can be requested.”

“Yes,” Umbra agreed, “but they are short-staffed today. By the time they found someone Noctis would be very upset.”

“The needs of the royal family is our top priority, a servant would prioritize that above all else.”

“Which is why it would be best for us to go to them. They would put a simple meal first and foremost and then their tasks for the day would be even more behind schedule. I would hate for a bottle for Noctis to come in the way of my Father eating on time.”

Nelia’s eyes narrowed. 

Nyx and Morgan shared a look. There was no way to know if asking one servant to do something would actually make the King’s meal late, but there was also no way she was going to call Umbra a liar to his face. 

“...As you wish Prince Umbra.”

It was a good thing Libertus wasn’t here. He wouldn’t have been able to hide his snickers like Nyx could. You really didn’t argue with Umbra. It never ended well.

As they started walking down the hall Nyx hopped up onto the ceiling ledges. He rolled his eyes at the doe-eyed look Morgan was giving Umbra. That kid had a serious case of hero-worship. It made poking fun at him way to easy.

“Nyx?”

He looked down. 

Umbra smiled up at him. “Would you mind going ahead and letting the staff know we’ll be there soon? It should make our trip a little faster.”

Nyx pursed his lips a bit to stop the knowing smile growing there. “Sure.”

Flipping out the window he warped his way down to the kitchens. Hopping down next to the door he waved at the head cook.

“What’re you doing here Ulric?” the robust man asked, pressing deeply into the dough laid out in front of him. “You’re on Prince duty, aren’t you?”

“The littlest Princeling is hungry,” he said.

The chef’s eyes brightened with understanding. He nodded to the fridge behind him. “In there. Warm it up for a bit and it’s set to go.”

Nyx nodded, feeling a little odd at being trusted to handle the food for a royal. Perks of having a sister that stole the hearts of the people around her with sarcasm and dedication he guessed.

When the milk was warmed (and double-checked by the chef) Nyx walked out to see Umbra waiting for him.

“You got down here quick,” Nyx smirked. Neither Morgan or Nelia were with him.

Umbra smiled, teeth bright. “I took a shortcut.”

“Of course you did,” Nyx handed the bottle over. “Where to now?”

“I want to check if Mother is awake.”

“Alright.”

--00--

And that’s all I’ve got for that chapter. There’s a lot more stuff, in less chapter like format. let me know if you’re interested in reading more darling! Some of them are literally two sentences long like a summary of what I was planning to write but some are pretty long scenes. A lot is from when they are all older. I hope you liked it!

[saiilorstars]

The Beginning of Everything

Fandom: Doctor Who

Pairing: Female OC x 10th Doctor

(OC Renata’s Face claim: Marjorie de Sousa) (Gabby’s face claim: Victoria Moroles)

// Story Masterlist // 

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DISCLAIMER: This chapter’s plotline is from Doctor Who’s comic stories. Most of the dialogue is directly written from the comic. The plot is NOT mine.

Ch. 15: Art Butterflies

Chapter Summary: Renata struggles to find the right way to 'teach' Gabby on her first trip to an alien planet, so the Doctor naturally offers a way to help her. In the midst of a battle against art apprentices, Renata and Gabby come in contact with a force that gives them a glimpse of a never before seen energy.

When the Doctor found Renata, she was in the console room but...she was just standing there like a statue. Her back was to him so she didn't immediately see him but the closer the Doctor got to her, the more he could hear her mumbling to herself. Anyone else would've called her a crazy person, but the Doctor was no stranger to silent conversations with one's self in the console room. Half the time that's what he did when he was in the TARDIS.

"Renée?" his soft call still elicited a gasp from her, as well as her sudden whirl in his direction.

"You scared me!" she exclaimed, clearly irritated with his way of entrance. "Don't do that again!"

The Doctor raised both his hands to show he was coming in peace, but the growing smile on his face - which looked like he wanted to laugh at her - betrayed his intentions.

"It's not funny!" she huffed and once again turned away from him.

"What are you doing anyways?" he decided to skip his argument that he wasn't trying to make fun of her. "Just standing in the middle of the room talking to yourself? That's my job."

Renata almost snorted at him. She bit her lip and gave him a strange look instead, one akin to…

"Why do you look scared?" the Doctor quickly picked up on it.

"Because I did something bad."

"You?" now the Doctor nearly laughed. "What could you have possibly done, Renata?"

"I let some human come into the TARDIS with the idea that I'd be able to teach 'em something!" Renata exclaimed in a full blown panic. She'd been thinking about this ever since Gabby was invited yesterday. She hadn't slept wondering what the hell she would teach Gabby when she herself didn't know a lot of things.

"That's your problem?" the Doctor was about to comment how ridiculous it was but seeing Renata's worked over expression made him pause and think. "Renée... c'mon...Gabby's 19. She doesn't know a lot to begin with."

"Which is exactly why she expects to be taught about everything!"

The Doctor tilted his head at her. The expression on his face was the exact one he would give Renata back on Gallifrey when he claimed - he firmly believed- Renata (then Zuriah) was overreacting. Renata wanted nothing more than to snap at him and tell him that she wasn't overreacting. But of course doing that would out her.

"You should teach her," she instead decided. "Yes, that's the better idea. I don't have a clue of what goes on out there," she turned sideways to make a gesture at the doors. "And if Gabriella wants to know about the galaxies, then she should learn it from the smartest one of the two. You."

The Doctor just couldn't help the wide smirk that took over his face. "Oh, so you think I'm smart?" Renata rolled her eyes at him, but she did have to turn her head away to keep her blush a secret. "As much I truly accept the compliment, I must refuse." Now that made Renata's head snap back in his direction.

"What?" she frowned. "You refuse?"

"Yes," the Doctor nodded his head. "Because it's not true. You are intelligent beyond belief."

Renata scoffed. "Please. You already kidnapped me, you don't need to suck up."

Now it was the Doctor's turn to roll his eyes. "I'm just telling you the truth. Your intelligence does not stem from travels. Remember what you did back in the foundation you worked for? All that has made you so smart…"

"But I don't know humans!" the woman threw her hands into the air, giving the impression she might just self-combust in that moment.

"Yes you do," the Doctor nodded, his smile of amusement irritating the hell out of her. "You spent so many years living amongst them. You know humans."

"I don't know what to do with one!"

"You don't do anything with them. They're not pets, Renata."

Renata rolled her eyes. "I didn't say they were. I'm just...I'm not in my element. There's a 19 year old human who…"

"Looks up to you?" the Doctor finished for her with the same smile still on his face.

Renata groaned. "Why would she do that? She doesn't even know me!"

"You did save her," the Doctor swayed his head. "And then you did bring her along the city to save it."

"You are not helping!"

The Doctor grinned at her. "I think I am. You just don't want to admit it."

Renata sighed and leaned against the console. Alright, so maybe having someone looking up to her was a bit exciting but it was also scary. It meant that Gabby was going to watch her every move and what if she messed up in front of the girl? What would Gabby think then?

Renata scrunched her face when she realized how much thought she was putting into what Gabby would think of her. It was the expression that made the Doctor suddenly laugh. "Is my misery amusing to you?" Renata demanded from him.

"No, it's...you looked like you caught yourself or something. What'd you realize?"

It was moments like these that reminded Renata of how easily the Doctor could often read her emotions. Back then, it was almost impossible to hide her feelings no matter if they were good or bad. He always knew how she felt. And when he picked up on her bad feelings, he almost always endeavored to solve it with a great big hug.

Renata really loved his hugs. She could really use one right now.

"Morning!" the cheery voice of Gabby pulled Renata back to the present. Gabby was coming into the room with Donna, the former looking extremely excited. Gabby came directly to Renata with the biggest smile Renata had ever seen. "So, Donna says we start travelling today. Where are we going?"

Renata's mouth opened to answer until she realized she had no idea where to even bring Gabby. Her eyes flickered to the side in an attempt to come up with something fast.

"Actually," the Doctor suddenly spoke up, "Renée was just talking about visiting an art gallery in the 50th century."

Gabby's eyes nearly sparkled at the idea. "Really!?" she looked back to Renata, but the Time Lady was staring wide-eyed at the Doctor.

"I was?"

The Doctor nodded. "Yeah. You mentioned the Academia Stellaris on Sirius 5. I thought-" his hands went to his chest in what Renata would describe as dramatic, "-it was a brilliant idea. I told her, 'Gabby is going to love it!' and-"

"-I do! I so do!" Gabby exclaimed, unable to stop herself from squealing like a child. "Oh, thank you!" she hugged Renata so tight, and so unexpectedly, that all Renata did was just let the human sway her body side to side.

Donna noticed the way Renata was looking at the Doctor and had to describe it as gratitude? And the Doctor, being who he usually was, had a big grin on his face. Oh, those two were so complicated to read sometimes.

"Why don't you go grab a coat?" the Doctor suggested to Gabby then to Donna. "It's a bit chilly on Sirius 5, not quite adapted for humans yet."

"I'm getting my furry coat!" Donna quickly said when she remembered how freezing cold the Ood planet was. "C'mon Gabby, let's find you something in the wardrobe!"

"There's a wardrobe here?" Gabby blinked while Donna dragged her by the arm back into the corridors.

Soon as they were gone, Renata brought her hands to her face and groaned. "That was a disaster!"

"Seriously? Gabby's happy," the Doctor tried to remind but Renata shook her head.

"She's only happy because you thought of a place to bring her. I didn't. I'm terrible at this." Her shoulders slumped as her entire body fell against the console.

The Doctor stared at her for a few seconds as he convinced himself that this really was Renata. He hadn't ever seen her so confused and...feeble? Since she'd come with him - well, when he kidnapped her - all she'd been was authoritative, even when sometimes it was a pain in the ass because it deeply contrasted with his way of living. She always knew what to do, when to do it, and the best way to do it. But now Gabriella Gonzalez was the apparently the downfall of the Time Lady. And honestly, it was the closest the Doctor had felt to Renata since they'd started travelling together. Her cool walls were down and now he was meeting the real Renata, the part of her that was just as frazzled as he was; the part that showed him that she made mistakes and sometimes had no idea what to do. He liked both sides of her, but this side right now was the side that allowed him to get closer to her, even if it was just to aid her.

He stepped closer to her and gently pulled her hands off her face, though he then kept them in his hands. He met her fearful eyes and offered her a kind, soft smile. "I just gave you a start. Doesn't mean I'm better."

Renata shook her head. "No, it's always been a fact that you are better." She lowered her gaze as the repressed feelings started worming their way to the surface. It was his ideas that always gave her a moment of fun in her life, even when it was usually accompanied by nearly getting caught. It was his ideas that always ended up getting a smile from her, it was him that always had her feeling better in the end. "You've always been better," she whispered.

The Doctor wanted to believe that there was more meaning behind her words, but as much as he tried to think about it...he came up with nothing. He didn't know her. He didn't know what she could possibly be thinking about. And it irked him. Yes, it irked him.

Donna purposely cleared her throat when she and Gabby returned, both coated up. She raised an eyebrow at the questionable aliens and had quite an amusing time watching them quickly tear their hands from each other and move in opposite directions. "Did we...interrupt…?"

"Of course not," Renata immediately shot the idea down, even throwing a glare at Donna for the insinuation.

"Are you ready, Gabby?" the Doctor asked the young girl, perhaps as a way to move things along who knew.

"Aha!" Gabby nodded her head so fast the others thought she might get dizzy.

"Right then, let's go!" the Doctor went for the controls to get them to Sirius 5.

Donna brought Gabby up to the console with the warning that the trips were never easy, something that earned herself a hard 'Oi!' from the Doctor. He did his best! But Gabby couldn't be less bothered with the way the TARDIS jolted. All she knew was that as soon as the TARDIS stopped, it meant she was going to be on a foreign planet. She turned to run for the doors when Renata called her to wait.

"Oh, Renée," the Doctor moved around the console, throwing the Time Lady a smirk, "Let her go out and explore."

"I think not," Renata's authoritative hardness was back. "We need to know what's out there, hence the monitor." She moved up to the screen and ignored the Doctor rolling his eyes as he mumbled about how boring that was.

"Oh, that makes sense," Gabby quickly turned on her heels and returned to Renata's side. "Something could, I don't know, pop out and eat us."

"I doubt that would happen, but...it's always a good idea to check where you've landed," Renata pointed at her like a mother would when she was lecturing their child.

"Can she be my teacher?" Donna, smirking, looked to the Doctor. She knew very well the Doctor would never in a 100 years be this cautious. It didn't mean he was careless but...Renata just did it better when it came to this part.

"I'm just going to go," the Doctor resolved and turned for the doors.

"Fine, but when you get eaten I don't want to hear it," Renata calmly called while she gazed at the readings on the monitor. So far, everything did look okay but she wanted to be extra sure.

"When I get eaten," the Doctor mumbled under his breath and missed Renata's sharp look on him. Gabby brought a hand to her mouth to cover her giggle. They were a funny pair. "Oh, look at that," the Doctor pushed the doors open and stepped out. He looked back inside after a few seconds. "Nothing's eaten me yet." He made a show of walking a couple steps away then once again called back to say how he was still very much not eaten.

Renata scrunched her face and tilted her head. "I am this close-" she raised her hand with her index finger and thumb almost touching each other, "-to shutting the doors and leaving him here."

"Do it," Donna laughed at the idea. The Doctor's face would be priceless!

Renata's smile was close to turning into a laugh, but she knew better than to be this rude. "Let's just go Gabby. Everything seems in order." She led the way towards the open doors and stepped out first into a dark, blue sky planet. The Doctor was a few feet away, gazing at a collection of mountains not too far from where they were.

As soon as Renata heard a thud behind, she whirled around in a state of panic thinking Gabby had been hurt. It was only confirmed when she found Gabby on her knees and with a hand over her mouth. "Gabriella! What's wrong!?" Renata rushed up to the young woman.

Donna looked at the Doctor to see what he thought, but he didn't appear to be so concerned. He seemed to guess what was going on with Gabby.

"Gabriella?" Renata exclaimed. "Are you okay!? Please tell me what's happening!"

"Yes!" Gabby said through a teary-eyed laugh. She felt guilty fofr making Renata think she was hurt but she couldn't help it. "This place...it's just so beautiful!" Renata let Gabby go as the latter reached to scoop up some sand from the ground. "Even the sand feels different! More smooth, more…" she got up fast and rushed to a bush with blue leaves and curly vines. "The leaves are blue! And…" she leaned forwards to sniff it, "...they smell like lavender!"

"You think that's nice, come check out the pond," the Doctor nodded to the small lake ahead of them.

"Wait, Gabby!" Renata called just as Gabby dashed for the lake which meant she was running down the hillside. "Don't run or you'll fall!"

Gabby couldn't hear anything right now. She was ecstatic. She dropped to her knees and leaned closer to the water. She saw a creature resembling a seahorse but it was purple...and it had blue wings…

"Oh my God, look at that," Donna had come up beside Gabby and pointed at a pair of jellyfish that turned out to have iridescent, gangly tails.

"C'mon," the Doctor offered his arm to Renata so they could walk down the hill to join their companions. She rolled her eyes but accepted nonetheless. She curled her arm around his and allowed him to lead the way down. "It's quite nice to see their reactions, right?" he asked her quietly, but Gabby and Donna were too enthralled with the sea life to overhear them anyways.

Renata had to admit there was an indescribable feeling to it. "I guess this is why you tried so hard to impress Donna when you first took her to the Ood planet."

"Look at the waterfall!" Gabby laughed and pointed ahead.

There was a waterfall between two of the mountains the Doctor had seen earlier. But the water was so sparkly that it almost looked crystal clear. What really took Gabby away was the fact that part of the water seemed to be flowing from the sky, almost looking like Van Gogh's Starry Night.

"It's a pretty good place here," Donna remarked and looked back at the pair of aliens. She took notice of their closeness but kept it to herself for now. "Why haven't we come here before?"

"Because we were busy getting nearly killed somewhere else," Renata said so calmly and easily.

"You what?" Gabby turned around. She hadn't caught a word of their conversation and it showed because anyone else would've panicked at their track record.

"Nothing," Renata said instantly. "We were, um, we're going to head into the city."

Gabby's face lit up all over again. "Yes! Let's do that!"

The art gallery was at the very end of the city, which allowed the travelers to see pretty much everything in the streets. Of course once or twice, Renata had to remind Gabby that around here she was the alien. Gabby couldn't help but point out the fact that a lot of these people, aliens, had blue or green skin. Not to mention the fact many of the civilians had bulging eyes like one would see on a bug. She just couldn't help it!

"How do you guys do it, though?" Gabby soon started a round of questions when they turned the street that would lead them to the art gallery. "Be so at home even though you're on an alien planet, millions of galaxies away from Earth? Or even from your own home?"

"We're used to it. We tend to move a lot," the Doctor was the one to answer, despite now wearing a heavy expression on his face.

Gabby paused to really study both his and Renata's similar expressions. They seemed sad, but like..really sad. Almost grim. She said something she shouldn't have because even Donna was nervously biting on her index nail. But what did she say?

Then it clicked.

"Hey," she started again but in a quieter tone, "You never said...where are you from?" Neither Time Lord wanted to answer that, but Gabby noticed their expressions fell deeper towards a crestfallen path. She had asked the wrong question. "Sorry, I-I didn't mean-"

"Look, the art gallery!" Renata pointed out the building they were approaching. Once Gabby saw it's castle-esque style, she forgot all about her question.

"That's like royalty!" she gawked.

"The Pentaquoteque Gallery of Ouloumos," the Doctor presented, much happier than a few minutes ago. He was relieved Gabby was forgetting about her question because he certainly wasn't in the mood to go down that path with her yet, much less Renata.

They came up to the open gate which was several, and several, feet high. Gabby felt so small when she walked past them, even more so when she caught sight of the beautiful garden leading up to the gallery's front door.

"This is amazing!" she practically screeched and dashed to one of the many statues lining up the path.

"She really reminds me of a kid in a candy shop," Donna remarked. She looked at the Doctor and Renata and saw their agreeing looks. She was about to add that they resembled parents in that moment when she realized it would probably trigger memories of Jenny. Thank God she caught herself on time. "I'm going to stop her from touching something she shouldn't," Donna then said and hurried off before she said something she shouldn't. Too close!

"She does look happy," Renata said after the ginger had gone. "Thanks for that." Her warm smile meant everything for the Doctor, but he wasn't sure why. Still, he took it.

"Look, Renée," he moved to stand in front of her.

"That's not my name," she reminded, not that it mattered. The nickname had stuck despite her protests.

"I have an idea, I'm just not sure how you'd feel about it." And judging by the look on his face, it was quite an idea.

"What is it?" Renata admitted she was a little curious.

"Inside there's a lot of paintings and statues and other things Gabby's going to see. I imagine you'll want to explain what they are-"

"-naturally," Renata sighed. "But I won't be able to. I don't know what's inside."

"I do…"

"Surprise, surprise," Renata playfully rolled her eyes.

"There is a way for you to know it too," the Doctor said, though his tone had gone quiet and...a bit soft? Renata wasn't sure. "I can...share with you. My thoughts? The ones specific to this art gallery. I can share that with you telepathically."

Renata instantly knew what he wanted to propose. Her body shifted to the side, as did her gaze. "Doctor…"

"I know you've refused in the past to let us connect our minds telepathically but this is different," the Doctor promised fast before she would shut him down. "I could let you in and you would be able to know everything that's inside that gallery."

"But that's cheating," Renata bit her lower lip, her eyes flickering to Gabby excitedly babbling to Donna about a golden statue they'd discovered. "Not to mention lying. I'd be taking credit for something you learned. Something you know about."

"You wouldn't be because I'm letting you peek into my mind to answer a question Gabby might have."

"That's literally cheating."

"Renata," the Doctor rubbed his forehead. He knew this would be a complicated thing to run by her, so he just had to push through.

"Doctor I can't do it," Renata shook her head. "You're the one that knows everything. I shouldn't take credit. It's cheating, lying and stealing."

"Not if I'm letting you take it," the Doctor argued. "I'm teaching you, in a way...just a quicker way. I'm giving you access to an information bank."

"Your brain is not…" Renata paused when she realized that it was the perfect description of what his big old brain was. She had to laugh.

The Doctor grinned. If she was laughing then they were on the right track. "So, what do you say?"

Renata sobered from her laugh fast as she got to thinking. Sharing their thoughts was a gateway to letting each other into their respective minds that included other memories and feelings. What if she accidentally let one wrong memory slip from her grasp and he saw it? What if he saw she was Zuriah in the past? That's why she initially told him that she wasn't comfortable connecting telepathically.

It's not like you don't have a tight grasp on your memories, she berated herself. She wasn't stupid.

"Oh my God! Look at this!" Gabby's voice drifted to them. She now stood in front of an odd statue with a twisted body. "What do you think this is?" she asked Donna, but of course Donna had no idea.

The Doctor probably knows, Renata thought.

"I won't look into your head, Renata," the Doctor quietly said, presuming that's where her thoughts had gone to. "I would never do that."

"I know," Renata sadly smiled at him. "I do trust you, Doctor. You're not that type of person."

"So, what do you think?"

Renata drew in a deep breath before she nodded her head. "Okay. We can do that. But-" she raised a finger to point at him, "-in return I want you to actually teach me about the galaxies. I don't want to take credit for your experiences. That's not fair. If I'm going to teach Gabby, I want it to be from me."

"I would love that," the Doctor beamed. Someone who didn't mind hearing his babbles about his trips? Someone who would actually understand what he was talking about? How could he refuse!?

~0~

The inside of the art gallery was even more grand than the outside. There were dozens of hallways with dozens and dozens of artwork to admire. Gabby couldn't get enough of them! She'd visited museums before but they all paled in comparison to this one!

"Oh! Look at that one!" she practically seized Renata's wrist and yanked the Time Lady towards a podium with a see-through cube. Its inside had millions of small black and white particles floating in the air while golden waves floated from its corners. "What is that!" Gabby pointed at it.

Once Renata pried her wrist from Gabby, not that the human noticed with all her excitement, she took a look at the cube. "...it's a 3D pointlist painting. It's based on principles invented by George Seurat." Gabby audibly 'aaahd' as she circled the podium. "It changes depending on what angle you view it from."

"It's so cool!" Gabby felt like she was repeating the same thing over and over, but there was really no other way to put her thoughts into words. She was just speechless and that's what came out.

As they continued down the hallway, Gabby kept pointing at different artworks that Renata would then explain. It was honestly quite incredible the way the information just rolled off her tongue, least that's what Gabby remarked after leaving two portraits that mimicked her face and Renata's.

"Thank you," Renata would then whisper to the Doctor every time she had the chance. Everything she was saying was what the Doctor was telling her telepathically, as well as what Renata saw through his mind. He truly had been everywhere.

"Of course," the Doctor would say each time despite having to do it almost every 5 minutes. He liked watching her flushed face when Gabby would praise her.

The group reached an intersection a couple minutes later and since no one really knew where to go from there, the Doctor suggested they visit the room dedicated to an artist he was good friends with.

"Zhe Ikiyuyu is a phenomenal artist," he said as he took the group down a turn. "I think you'd love her block transfer sculptures."

"Block transfer sculptures?" Gabby repeated in confusion then looked at Renata for an explanation.

"Uhm...it's a method of creating solid objects from pure mathematics," the blonde elucidated then added, "It's usually done by chanting."

"What?" Gabby laughed at the absurd idea. How do you sing and create sculptures? That sounded more like magic than artwork.

Donna, on the other hand, was giving Renata a strange look from behind. She'd been quietly listening to everything Renata said and she couldn't help but feel that the way Renata was explaining...sounded familiar. She just couldn't place it yet.

"And Zhe's a skilled artist," the Doctor added. "She trained on Logopolis centuries ago! She sings things into existence!"

He stopped in front of the right room and poked his head inside, only to find it completely empty. Gabby and Donna looked inside and wore similar confused expressions.

"Is it supposed to be empty, spaceman?" Donna asked.

"Uh, no…" the Doctor turned as if to leave but then poked his head into the room one more time to make sure he really was seeing it empty. "That can't be right," he frowned and then finally walked away.

"Where are we going?" Renata was right behind him.

The Doctor took them directly to the gallery's curator, who turned out to be a green-skinned woman with a head shaped like a potato...least that's what Gabby whispered to Donna who then snickered.

"What do you mean Zhe's vanished?" the Doctor demanded from the curator, nonethewiser of the snickering going on between his companions.

"A hundred years ago," the curator leaned against her desk and took a look at her fingernails.

"You don't seem very concerned," remarked Renata.

"You know what artists can be like," the curator practically snapped. "Zhe was the most mercurial and sensitive of the lot."

"Still," Renata put her hands together, her face scrunching as sarcasm dripped in her next words, "If someone I knew vanished a hundred years ago, I would want to know where they went."

"Does her private space elevator still work?" the Doctor had gotten the same careless vibe from the curator as Renata had.

"Yeah," the curator shrugged. "Pushy art dealer tried visiting about seventy years ago and he came down in quite a hurry."

"Is that supposed to be a warning?"

"No, just a head's up."

The Doctor didn't give the curator another look. He left the office in a hurry, leaving the others to promptly follow.

"What are we doing?" Gabby asked Renata once they had left the building altogether.

"Something's up there that made an art dealer rush back down," Renata said and had Gabby soon staring up at the starry sky. "We need to see what it is."

"Yeah, but...where would that be?"

"A very long piece of string, basically, one end of which is held in geosynchronous orbit by a counterweight, in this case Zhe's private moon," the Doctor said with a wide grin on his face. He loved explaining that bit. "Used to be a creative retreat. She would invite other artists, writers, students...and the parties she'd host…" the Doctor's wolf whistler elicited a sharp glance from Renata.

"Please finish that sentence with what you would do at these parties," she said calmly, but that was a trick the Doctor learned quickly when she first arrived. He'd start saying something and it was usually the wrong thing that would get him in trouble.

Donna, in the meantime, had seemed ready to say something but caught herself again. Now her eyes were flickering between the Doctor and Renata, as if something had finally donned on her.

"But it's beautiful," Gabby had to circle the elevator before they would go inside. It was in a cylindrical shape made up of glass. "This will really take us into the sky?"

"Yeah, apparently," Renata answered and motioned the girl to go in first. Before she or the Doctor followed Gabby and Donna, she grabbed the Doctor's arm and quietly asked, "Are you sure this is safe?"

"The elevator? Of course," the Doctor almost laughed at the silly question as he walked inside.

"I meant the moon," Renata said through gritted teeth.

"Ooh," the Doctor turned to her with a thoughtful face. "One can only hope."

Renata's face was comical in his opinion. Her eyes were wide and half of her mouth had raised for quite an expression.

The way up to the 'moon' had been a quiet one, but even then the Doctor was still agitated. It was nothing like the last time he'd been there. Even the lovely friend who used to manage the elevator was now a dusty old robot in the corner that didn't speak. Something was definitely wrong. Once the elevator opened up, it let the travelers onto mushy grass. One wouldn't even think that this was a place in the sky. It looked just like the actual planet below them.

"Is that a sculpture garden?" Gabby spotted the millions of old-looking sculptures dispersed around the front garden. They weren't as pretty as the ones she'd seen down in the gallery. "They're all...stringy and…"

"Hey, just like him," Donna jerked a thumb at the Doctor. He didn't really approve of the comment.

"You two need to appreciate this artwork," he reprimanded. "The study of the living form is the basis for visual arts in billions of cultures across the universe! Well if you happen to have a living form that is...or eyes...or perception based on sensory input in a nervous system."

"I have no idea what you just said," Gabby gave him a strange glance.

"You get used to that too," Donna shrugged and went up ahead. "But you know what, I don't like these sculptures. Even though they're fake...it almost looks like their eyes follow you..." she circled one sculpture with a twisted, gangly body.

"Yeah, I don't quite like it either," Renata admitted. There was something in the air that felt terse to her, frightening…

"You three are over-reacting!" the Doctor opened his arms to gesture the sculptures on both sides of the path. "All these statues represent the artist's State of Mind. Her influences... Touch of Giacometti here and a little Henry Moore there! Zhe was always in search of the perfect subject. She could find beauty in any form - what an eye she had! Though she did love bipeds - the humanoid form. Changed her own gender willy-nilly to get different perspectives on it. She would jump forms to get a sense of what a biped looked like from the outside."

"She could change bodies just like that?" Gabby blinked.

"It's not that hard, trust me," Renata mumbled.

"Well, Zhe's case was more of body augmentation," the Doctor said. Zhe wouldn't have to die to change bodies. She would just think it and change in that moment!

"So, all the sculptures have been conjured into existence by your friends singing a bunch of numbers?" the more Gabby asked these questions, the more she wanted to disbelieve this was actually real.

"As crazy as it sounds," Renata shrugged.

"It takes a great concentration, skill, and awareness of quantum foam harmonics and, oh, I don't know, a nice voice?" the Doctor thought that should be enough to make these 'ugly' sculptures look better to the women.

"Sounds very complicated, though," Donna ducked to meet the face of another sculpture whose head seemed to be under one of their legs. "Did she really do it all by herself?"

"Right, like one of those fancy computer programs," Gabby thought of but the Doctor quickly shut that idea down.

"No, no," he shook his head. "She doesn't use computers or machines. It's a discipline that needs all the nuances and playfulness of living minds…"

Donna gasped when the sculpture she was staring at blinked at her. She stepped back and stared at it for another minute.

"What's wrong, Donna?" Renata noticed the way the ginger had suddenly froze in her spot.

"I, uh...I think that sculpture-" she pointed ahead, "-just…" She was about to finish when the sculpture raised its head and straightened its body. It grew twice as big and stomped a foot forwards. "Moved!" Donna whirled around and dashed towards the others.

"Is that supposed to happen!?" Gabby, wide-eyed, looked at Renata but she could guess the answer all on her own.

Now it was Renata's turn to seize Gabby's wrist and pull her forwards into a run. The statue chased them down the path and each time it stomped a foot, the ground rumbled like an earthquake which made it harder for the group to get away.

"What the hell kind of artwork is this!?" Donna shrieked at the Doctor who'd taken her wrist to run.

"Not artwork! Not Zhe's fault!" the Time Lord clarified before anything.

"Oooh of course it's not!"

"Would you two quit arguing and run!?" Renata actually passed the two with her own companion. "There's the gate!"

The building meant to be Zhe's personal workplace had a large silver gate barring them from going directly inside. As they neared it, the Doctor used his sonic to open the locks and was the last one to go through it before shutting it again.

"Are you okay?" Renata immediately turned to Gabby. She grabbed the girl's head and turned it both ways to examine her for any injuries.

"I've never felt so alive!" Gabby laughed and pushed Renata's hands form her face. "It's like every instinct, every cell in my body, just switched on!"

Renata incredulously stared at her.

"Doctor, that's not going to hold those things!" Donna was busy telling the Doctor. The creatures had reached the gate and were pulling and pushing against the bars.

"I have a feeling they're about to stop," the Doctor was staring at the creatures with a calm face. And not a minute later after he said that, the sculptures froze to become actual sculptures again.

"You're just showing off," Donna raised her hands and turned away from the man.

"How'd that happen?" Gabby asked him, but he had already turned for the building where a young boy was awaiting. "Oooh. Never mind."

The Doctor led the group towards the front steps and waved a hello at the boy who, upon closer look, was a young Asian man. "Hello! Is Zhe here? I'm an old friend of hers, the Doctor?"

The boy looked on with a straight face.

But that didn't stop the Doctor from trying to peek into the building's foyer.

Renata cleared her throat and pulled the Doctor back to stand with her. She offered the man a kind smile as she spoke up. "We're just looking for Zhe. I'm Renata, that's Donna and Gabriella."

"It's Gabby," the woman in question raised a hand to wave.

"I address you by your actual name," Renata shot the Doctor a look when she said that. "Because a nickname is not a name." Her words flew over his head.

"Gabby's an artist too," he said instead. "Just wanted her to meet Zhe."

"I am the ultimate apprentice," the young man finally spoke up. "There can only be one."

"That's a bit creepy," Donna muttered under her breath.

"Is Zhe around, then?" the Doctor moved on into the building, consequently pulling Renata with him since she'd been holding onto his arm again.

"You don't just come in like that!" she scolded.

"You seek to become an apprentice?" the young man followed the group inside.

"No, no, we just want to see Zhe's art as well as Zhe herself," Renata let go of the Doctor and turned back to the young man. "Would you be so kind to show us where she is, please?"

The young man nodded and moved around them to take lead. He brought them down a hallway, into a dark room where only a spotlight illuminated it. There was nothing but a sculpture of Zhe herself sitting cross-legged on an orange cushion over a table.

"She looks like an Egyptian goddess," Gabby remarked and eyed the sculpture's four arms positioned in the 'zen' manner. She curled her arm around Renata's and pulled the Time Lady forwards when suddenly Renata pulled her back. "What?"

"This isn't right," the Time Lady went again. She'd gotten the same vibe from before when they had entered the gallery. "That statue…"

But it was too late.

Before she finished that sentence, she felt a force pick her body and Gabby's to drop them somewhere else. It was quick, instantaneous that all took was a mere blink to find themselves in a different room.

"Uumm...what just happened?" Gabby tried to uncurl her arm from Renata's but now the Time Lady was holding on tight. "Where's the Doctor and Donna? And where are we?"

The room was now white, still empty, but they were also standing in front of the young man...who was now a girl.

"Where the hell did you put us?" Renata demanded from the girl.

"Weren't you just a boy a couple seconds ago?" Gabby tilted her head, very much confused.

"You can't fool me," the girl warned. "You want to be an apprentice," she raised a finger at Gabby. "But there can only be one and that's me! I am the ultimate apprentice!"

"Oh my God - this is all for a stupid job?" Renata now let go of Gabby's arm to rage at the apprentice. "Are you kidding me?"

The girl merely tilted her head as something seemed to be sprouting from the side of her neck. It turned out to be another head, the head of the boy they'd met outside.

"Gross," Gabby crinkled her nose.

"Focusing on the wrong part!" Renata whirled around to face Gabby.

"Right…"

"Go!" Renata ushered Gabby towards the door.

~ 0 ~

Donna was the first one to notice Renata and Gabby were gone from the room. The Doctor had been busy admiring the statue to notice it right away. But when he did, he turned to the apprentice - still a boy - and dropped his typical playful demeanor. "Where are they?" his voice had dropped to a low tone, dark too. "I'm not playing jokes. Where is Renata and Gabby?"

"I do not believe you dropped by only to see Zhe," the apprentice finally spoke up. "You brought the girl to become an apprentice but there is only one."

"He thinks we brought Gabby to steal his job?" Donna raised an eyebrow. "Listen here, buddy," her voice grew louder, "We don't care about some job! We just came to see some artwork!"

"Lies!" the apprentice raised a hand which quickly became claw like. It kept morphing until it appeared as if a pair of scissors had fused with his fingers.

"Seriously, I think you've got this all wrong!" the Doctor pulled Donna to run away together.

"No, Doctor," the apprentice chased after them. "I am exactly right! Time is running out for you!"

"That sneering, cleverer than thou attitude you have - this is my domain and I hear everything! I heard everything you said on the way up to the house! Your friends think the sculptures are frightening and wrong! You're worse than all of them! You think you know it all! You're not artist! Admit it!"

"If we admit it, do we get to leave alive?" Donna had to ask. She yelped when the Doctor pulled her towards a staircase.

"Not likely!" the Doctor told her. "C'mon! If this staircase follows the house's original layout, it'll lead to the roof terrace!"

True to his word, they came running into a lovely terrace full of flowers and unfinished work.

"Get the hell away from us!" they soon heard a familiar cry from below.

The Doctor dashed to the ledge and looked down to see Renata and Gabby fighting off another version of the apprentice. Donna did the same and was relieved to see them relatively okay.

Renata had just thrown a pot at its two heads and couldn't look more furious. Actually, she didn't even look scared. She was just incredibly mad. "Who do you think you are, huh? I demand to see Zhe and put in a formal complaint!"

"Really? Those are her threats?" Donna raised an eyebrow at the blonde, but the Doctor was just smiling.

"That's my girl," he said, or blurted. It might have been a blurt.

"Oh, really?" Donna's smirk was a red alert for him.

"I-I did not say that. Don't you dare tell her I said that!"

Donna's smirk widened.

"Donna!" the Doctor's yell pulled Renata's attention from below.

"Oh! Doctor! There you are!" she exclaimed.

The Doctor shook his head at Donna then quickly told Renata, "Find Zhe's studio! That way!" he pointed them to the left. "It's a glass wing building with big windows! Maybe she's there!"

"Okay!" Renata grabbed Gabby's arm and took off in the direction he'd pointed them to.

"So telling her you said that," Donna warned, much to the Doctor's dismay, but all was forgotten when they turned to leave and saw the apprentice under the threshold.

"Not you again," the Doctor groaned.

~ 0 ~

Renata and Gabby eventually found the building the Doctor was talking about. The big glass windows were the giveaway that they were in the right place. Renata brought Gabby inside, which turned out to be a regular workplace. Even as they dashed down the hallways, Gabby had to admire the artwork hanging on the walls.

"You know, you can stop to admire this when we're not being chased by a jealous, homicidal apprentice!" Renata yanked Gabby away from one canvas the latter had stopped by.

"I know but it's just so pretty!" Gabby looked over her shoulder and saw the apprentice still coming after them. Renata continued to run and Gabby seemed to be on the same plan...until she passed one room she just had to go back to.

"GABRIELLA!" Renata's scream wasn't enough to pull the human out of the room. With a groan, she darted back for the specific room.

It turned out to be a studio - Zhe's studio - which was completely cluttered with unfinished and some finished work. Bookshelves lined the four walls and were filled to the brim with art utensils, books, pieces of objects probably meant to be artwork.

"What a nice studio," Gabby gawked with a huge grin on her face.

"Hello!" Renata waved both her hands in the air, not that it mattered since Gabby was walking up to a desk. "Homicidal apprentice still after us! You remember that part, right?"

"How dare you touch those!" the apprentice appeared at the doorway, making Renata scream and jump back.

"Did you do these?" Gabby had taken hold of a pile of papers and turned to face the apprentice. Her eyes were full of wonder and fondness. "They are preliminary sketches for some of the sculptures outside, right? I love them!"

The apprentice paused. "Seriously?"

Renata's eyes flickered from Gabby to the apprentice.

"Seriously!" Gabby laughed. "This is kind of a strange thing to ask, seeing as you're trying to kill us but...would you mind showing me some more?"

"Are you kidding me?" Renata growled. "She's trying to kill us!" Gabby might turn out to be more like the Doctor and this was only her first trip! Renata dreaded to think what she might become after more time in the TARDIS.

"But she's an amazing artist!" Gabby thought that was a good enough reason, leading Renata to smack her own forehead. "Imagine what I could learn from her?"

"You really think all that?" the apprentice's female face had a small smile all of a sudden. "I...thought you were after an apprenticeship."

"With Zhe? Nah!" Gabby shook her head. "I've already got a teacher. Her." She pointed at Renata who was couldn't believe how this was going. "Could I see your work, though? I bet you're just as good. Who knows, I could even become your apprentice one day."

"No, no," Renata wagged a finger at her. "You will not become an apprentice to a homicidal apprentice."

"Maybe she won't be a homicidal apprentice anymore-"

"-stop!" Renata pointed a finger at Gabby, looking completely incredulous. "You are just as crazy as the Doctor!"

Gabby laughed. "No, I just really love artwork."

Well, at least Renata could say that Gabby had gotten the apprentice to lose the second head and revert back to her female version.

"Alright, I've never really shown this stuff to anybody ever," the apprentice motioned Gabby and Renata to follow her to a set of double doors at the end of the studio room.

"I get it," Gabby put the sketches back on the desk. "I like to draw but I'm never sure if I'm any good."

Her words seemed to make the apprentice a bit more confident as she led them into the adjoining room. Its walls were covered in papers of sketches and drawings.

"I'm not going to pretend you know the first thing about sculpture block transfer or otherwise...but I think these are beautiful. I love that you began just by drawing." Gabby hurried to the nearest wall to stare at the sketches.

"Drawing is one of the first and oldest technologies for many life-forms, humanoid and otherwise," the apprentice said. She raised a hand to create a hologram of a nude woman. "We learn to forage, to hunt, to communicate, to make fire...then we draw. As soon as our basic needs are met, we begin to make things. Drawing if the very beginning of that impulse." The one hologram turned into two, then three and suddenly the room was filled with different holograms of creations.

Gabby and Renata saw more humanoid figures forming a circle as if it was a ritual. Behind them swirled an orange fish-like creature that zipped behind Renata. The blonde shot it a look, still mighty suspicious that the apprentice might attack them when their guard was low.

"It is almost as old as we are. We draw to understand the world around us. It's the beginning of representational thinking," the apprentice was saying. "It's our way of assigning meaning to everything to see. It's the beginning of written language, of symbols and code of numbers. And once you have numbers, you begin to understand at the very stuff from which the universe itself is made of."

Soon, equations started flowing into the air. Gabby laughed melodically as it passed over her head and zoomed past her face.

"All this from drawing," the apprentice said.

"Alright, stop," Renata ordered and her voice was hard enough to put an end to everything that swirled in the room. The apprentice lowered her arms and looked at Renata. The Time Lady was furious again. "I have had enough of this."

"Renata," Gabby whispered, but Renata pointed a finger for her to stay quiet and so Gabby did. Renata was kind of scary when she was mad.

"You have chased us all around this place with the intent of killing us out of pure jealousy that was so misplaced! And I have no doubt that the other version of you is still chasing my friends," Renata stormed up to the short apprentice and glowered. "So I need you to take us to them. Or are you going to kill us now?"

"Renata, she's not evil," Gabby dared to speak again and it was still enough to earn her a glare.

"She just tried to kill us five minutes ago!"

"But she was just misunderstanding. I think we can trust her."

"In my experience, you can't even trust your own family," Renata's words held double meaning and Gabby knew it. There was no doubt in Renata's eyes. She firmly believed what she said.

"I am sorry," the apprentice suddenly said. Renata returned her gaze to the small girl. "I have misunderstood but...I can repair it. Let me impart some of my knowledge to you both."

"I don't need nor want to understand anything here," Renata snapped.

Gabby moved towards them and held one hand out for Renata and the other for the apprentice. "I'd love to."

"No," Renata looked away.

"Stop being stubborn," Gabby gently said, even smiling at the Time Lady despite the frown on her face. "We might even learn a way to find Zhe like this. Or do you already know everything?"

Renata slowly looked to Gabby. "Gabriella, this is just not a good idea. Even if the apprentice does mean well-" she shot a glare to the questionable girl, "-we don't know what might happen."

"Take a risk," Gabby wiggled her fingers at Renata, once again reminding the Time Lady too much of the Doctor.

'Take a risk', he would say to her back when they were on Gallifrey. She was too much of a stickler to have fun. Everyone always seemed to know how to have fun except for her. Why couldn't she be more like them? More carefree?

"C'mon," Gabby gently took Renata's hand. "It could be fun."

Renata sighed. "Okay, fine. If I die, what's another face? This life was useless anyways."

Gabby gave her a strange look for her words, but the apprentice cut in to commence.

~ 0 ~

The Doctor was so tired. He and Donna had been running for a good while now. One room changed into an endless pit that threatened to kill them...until he figured out it was just an illusion and that there was a rope for them to hang on (from which they got rope-burn). It brought them to another spiraling staircase which led them…

...back to the first room they'd come into earlier.

"That statue again," Donna crossed her arms at Zhe's statue. She was out of breath and if the Doctor didn't do something quick they were just going to die.

"Of course," the Doctor hummed. He moved towards the statue as he now took a better look at it. "That's why the apprentice distracted me...you're no sculpture…" he leaned closer to the face of the sculpture. "You're Zhe."

"Doctor! C'mon!" Donna wearily said. "What are we doing here?"

"Donna, we've been tricked. This isn't a statue, it's Zhe but...she's been trapped somehow."

"Okay, so what do we do?"

"I can maybe reach her telepathically. Keep an eye out for the apprentice, Donna."

"Keep an eye - how!?" Donna practically screamed, but by then the Doctor had joined hands with Zhe's (one pair anyways) and left her. "Oh, you're kidding me!"

~ 0 ~

The apprentice's room was covered in purple and golden butterflies. At least that's what the figures resembled. They swarmed to cover every inch of the room and yet Renata and Gabby didn't feel overwhelmed by it, nor like they would suffocate. It was as if they were a part of each other.

They were immersed into a different type of reality. At first, it was a series of incoherent images and noises that they saw. Renata presumed they were images of places they would perhaps see one day. She blinked as an image of a young woman with curly, ginger hair briefly appeared in front of them. Gabby's ears perked when the woman sang, in a beautiful voice, singing what seemed like a lullaby.

"A little fairy comes at night,

Her eyes are blue, her hair is brown'

with silver spots upon her wings,

And from the moon she flutters down."

The song and the woman disappeared altogether to continue the rush of images. Both Renata and Gabby screamed when they were sure that a blast of sharp icicles were about to hit them. A tall woman with a short, curly blonde hair seemed to be staring at them with glowing blue eyes. There was a clear, elegant-jeweled crown sitting on top of her head.

Then, just like before, she disappeared and from there the images that Renata and Gabby saw were from their past.

Gabby saw herself back in New York, fighting off the Cerebravores. Then there were Primavores and their beautiful butterfly wings flying around her. "This is incredible! I feel like I'm plugged into a new world! And that song…"

"It's everywhere," Renata drew in a deep breath. She could hear a song, a bloody song that made her feel...bad...but she didn't know where it was coming from.

But then she saw herself. Not this her right now but…

'Zuriah!' someone called. Her first incarnation turned her head and with her flipped her fiery orange hair. She was laughing - or rather she was laughing at someone, but it was a good-natured laugh.

It was the Doctor's first incarnation who was responsible for that laughter. He had tripped over one of her boxes in her foundation's library and brought down a stack of books with him.

'Doctor! I really can't leave you alone. What am I going to do with you?' Zuriah had come up to the man on the ground and squatted down next to him.

The Doctor pulled a book off his face and gave her a sly smile. 'I've got a few ideas.'

Renata blinked and immediately looked away. "NO!"

But then the song grew stronger. And it didn't have any words. It was just a tune - a melody that carried through.

"Oh, hello!" she heard Gabby say, and when Renata opened her eyes she saw an Ood very present in front of them.

The air around them had turned into a dozen colors swirling around the three.

"Is that you singing?" Gabby leaned forwards but Renata touched Gabby's arm to keep her from moving.

"Time Lady Renata, the Vortex Butterfly is coming," the Ood spoke up. "Be warned that if it rises - along with its companion, the Cosmic Butterfly - your song will end sooner."

"STOP!" Renata clapped her hands on her head. She screwed her eyes shut and fell to her knees. She didn't want to hear nor see more.

"I sense interference," the apprentice cut everything off and turned for the doorway where the other version stood.

Gabby, on the other hand, was more attentive to the Time Lady on the floor. "Renata, what happened? What did all that mean? I-I saw you and you didn't look like you! Neither did the Doctor! Plus that weird alien - what was that?"

The more she spoke, the more Renata wanted to yell at her to shut up. How could she have been so stupid to do this? Now Gabby knew more about Renata than Renata wanted anyone to know of her. And the Ood? She'd rather forget it all and just go home. She just wanted to go home.

'Home. I want to go home.'

Renata's head snapped up. She had not said that aloud.

"Woah, what's going on?" Gabby had heard too, but not only that…

'We're you, duh,' went her own voice against her.

Gold and purple butterflies flapped their wings around them. They weren't 'real' persay but they were real enough to be seen and heard.

"It's the Doctor trying to make contact," the male apprentice was telling the female on the side. Neither seemed to be that worried over the new butterflies.

"We must prevent it," the female apprentice said.

The two joined bodies, literally, and rushed out of the room.

"Wait!" Gabby called after them. "You can't just leave us here!"

'We have to stop them!' went her voice again.

"I was going to say that," Gabby frowned.

Renata pushed herself up to her feet and looked around. "What a mess."

'We know. What a mess indeed,' her voice agreed.

Renata balled her fists in the air and decided to go chase the Doctor first. He needed to be safe.

'Always keep him safe,' her voice said.

"Shut up!" she screamed frantically.

Gabby felt really guilty then. She'd been the one who convinced Renata to let the apprentice share her knowledge. She hoped the butterflies would disappear soon or Renata might just drop her off back on Earth.

~ 0 ~

Donna had picked up a piece of a table leg and was brandishing it at the two apprentices when Renata and Gabby ran into the room. "Nice of you two to show up!"

Renata rolled her eyes. "We were a bit busy, Donna! What's the Doctor doing!?" she saw the man standing in front of the sculpture - who was Zhe - and joined by the hands.

"Turns out that bloody sculpture isn't a sculpture! It's Zhe!" Donna swung the table leg at the male apprentice but missed. "And you two need to stay the hell away!"

"And he's gone off trying to contact her telepathically," Renata groaned.

'Doctor, Doctor, always doing the same stupid things!'

Donna froze for a second as she tried to decide whether or not she'd heard the echo of Renata's voice.

"It's a long story," Renata left it at that. She hurried towards the Doctor's body, not that he would know since he was deep in another realm. "Oh, you idiot, what have you gotten yourself into now?" she gently touched the side of his face, careful not to let her own telepathic abilities interfere with his trance.

'Just like always.'

Renata closed her eyes. This second voice was a truth teller, apparently.

"Okay, please stop!" Gabby put herself between Donna and the two apprentices. "You've really got all this wrong! The Doctor's not the bad guy. He doesn't mean any harm - none of us do."

"He's trying to connect to the originator and that can mean only one thing," the female apprentice scowled at her. She was back to being homicidal.

"He wants to be an apprentice," the male apprentice finished with the same frown on his face.

"No he bloody doesn't!" Donna snapped. "Doctor doesn't have the patience to sit still and draw! Ha! As if!"

"Please believe us," Gabby begged and looked to the female apprentice. "We had a connection, you must know that I'm not lying. And look," she gestured to Renata who was completely focused on the Doctor. "She's just trying to get him back. We're not lying."

The female apprentice studied Gabby then Renata for a minute. She slowly split from her male counterpart and raised her head. "She's right. I detect no deceit from them."

The male apprentice didn't seem to agree. "If you can't finish them, I will!"

"No!" the female apprentice raised her hand - which had turned into a shovel - and smacked the other apprentice's head. "We must weigh up the variables. This requires further information!"

"No!" the male apprentice argued back and raised his own hand, only instead of retaliating himself he brought the largest sculpture from the front yard and let it stomp through the wall.

Donna looked back at Renata and the Doctor. "We need him back or we're going to die!"

Renata couldn't argue with that logic. "I-I don't know…Doctor, can you hear me?"

~ 0 ~

Zhe was trapped in her own realm, out of her own accord. And as she was explaining to the Doctor how she came to be there, he heard the echoes of Renata's voice around him.

He looked around the blue realm and saw nothing but himself and Zhe. Still, Renata's voice kept calling to him.

"My artworks. The binary pair... They're in opposition... Not enough strength to keep them from destroying each other and us," Zhe brought one of her hands to her forehead. She seemed tired.

"Zhe, we have to go," the Doctor helped her stand straight with one arm around her waist. "My friends are in danger. I can hear one of them calling to me."

"I don't think I can make it," Zhe wearily said, letting her head hang.

"Oh yes we can!" the Doctor exclaimed. They just had to make it back to the origin of Zhe's force. It was so close, he could almost feel it.

Plus, Renata's voice got stronger and stronger. And that was only because on the other side, she was screaming as the sculpture tried to stomp on Donna and Gabby, She ultimately let the Doctor go to try and help them instead.

"C'mon!" she pulled Gabby and Donna towards a corner of the room.

"What are we going to do!?" Donna shrieked.

"I've no idea!" Renata shook her head. Even the apprentices were going at it against each other. And really, what did they have to fight against the big sculpture? Nothing, that's what.

But thankfully, a blinding light flashed from the Zhe's frozen body. It rocked the Doctor to the ground, but Zhe emerged from her trapped form and rose into the air.

"Enough! This little experiment ends here!" her voice roared. She swung one of her arms and captured the two apprentices in jets of white energy. "Binary Apprentice! Opposing aspects of my psyche - artists create! Never wanting to or knowingly destroy things!"

Zhe brought the two apprentices down and turned them back into what they had been originally: energy.

"Hello there," the Doctor had found his companions and Renata in the corner of the room. He looked completely fine with that big grin on his face. "You hear that? A block transfer artist in performance!"

It was very possible that one of Renata's eyes twitched. Her nose crinkled but more than it should have. She snatched Donna's table leg and threw it right at him.

Alright, so maybe he shouldn't have been so focused on that part. He should've focused on the homicidal situation they were in.

'Oh, it's the Doctor!' Gabby's echo filled the room. But out of her excitement, more thoughts started spilling out, including what she thought about him and the TARDIS.

"Oh, stop it!" Renata berated herself, but her own thoughts were spilling through...only hers included more of her past.

'Just like before!'

'The trouble follows!'

'Zuriah!'

"What?" the Doctor's eyes had widened to the brim at the last thing they heard.

~ 0 ~

Once everything was back to normal, Zhe invited the group for a nice cup of tea on the terrace with the promise of a good explanation for the frightening apprentices. As it turned out, they were created due to, ironically, a creative block. Zhe accidentally created a physical manifestation of her self doubt with all her powers. It split into two and went mad from there. As a result, she trapped herself in a voluntary stasis in an attempt to drain their powers.

"I need to go home," Renata had said as soon as Zhe finished her story. She got up from the table and walked away, of course with her new friendly echoes.

"How long is that going to last?" the Doctor quietly asked Zhe since both Renata's and Gabby's echoes were still very much active.

"It should fade as soon as you leave," Zhe said, offering her most apologetic smile.

"Very truthful echoes, mind you," Donna remarked as she sipped her own tea. "I had one of Gabby's tell me, in a spectacular manner, that I was much older than her."

"Is that why she hasn't come from over there?" the Doctor nodded to Gabby who had positioned herself by the balcony for some time now. Donna shrugged.

Renata had come to stand next to Gabby, not looking at the human but instead at the yard ahead of them.

"Renata...I'm sorry about this," Gabby made a gesture to their combined butterflies around them. She shouldn't have let the apprentice touch her and Renata because now they had all this foreign alien stuff on them. "I-I didn't think of what could happen...but you did. I should have listened to you."

"Don't worry about it, it'll fade away I imagine," Renata drew from the Doctor's mind. That link was still active, but not for long.

"And about what we saw...the images...that alien saying the thing about the song and the butterflies-"

Renata closed her eyes. She didn't want to think about her death prediction. "Let's never speak of that. I don't want to."

"But you look scared," Gabby pointed out. "Maybe we should tell the Doctor-"

"-no. I don't want to."

Gabby kept quiet for a moment, but there was just too much to ignore like Renata wanted her to. "But the connection...it showed us images from our past - least that's what I'm assuming since I saw myself back in New York. You weren't you. And neither was the Doctor. Were you on your planet? And were you and him-"

"-don't," Renata turned to face Gabby, her face hard and empty of any emotion. She wanted to look as scary as possible to keep Gabby from drawing conclusions and saying them aloud. "I don't ever want you to speak about what you saw, do you understand? Those are my memories. Memories you should have never seen. If you say anything about those memories to anyone I will personally drop you back on Earth in a snap of a finger. Understand?"

Gabby quickly nodded her head. "Aha. S-sorry."

Renata turned away from the girl and walked away. She wanted to find the TARDIS and refuge herself into her room.

~ 0 ~

"That was...I can't even describe what that trip was," Donna was very honest when the group had finally returned to the TARDIS.

"The usual, I suspect," the Doctor shrugged and turned to Gabby who was coming in last. "Whaddya think, Gabs? You want to keep going?"

Gabby bit her lower lip and looked at Renata. The Time Lady couldn't quite look at her right now. "I mean...I'd love to, but...Renata…"

The Doctor made a face and followed Gabby's gaze to Renata. "Renée, are you okay?"

"Yes," she snapped but went directly into the hallway without saying anything else.

"I think I angered her," Gabby hugged herself. "I-I should have just listened to her. She's the teacher. I'm...I'm the student." She went towards the hallway, like Renata, but she wasn't going to do any sleeping like a human should.

"What...just happened?" the Doctor scratched the top of his head.

"You're a dunce, you know that?" Donna remained by his side and leaned against the console.

"Maybe you should follow," the Doctor suggested and moved away from her. She rolled her eyes but let the comment go. She had something else she'd been wanting to say.

"Hey Doctor, I've got a question," she leaned off the console and turned around. She pressed her palms to the bottom of the control panel and smiled so innocently, it made the Doctor nervous. She had something up her sleeve. "Last time I heard, Renata didn't really know a lot about the world. I mean, she's smart cos she's from Gallifrey but...she never really traveled."

"So?"

"She never came to Sirus Star 5, did she?"

The Doctor blinked at the straightforwards question. "Excuse me?"

Donna folded her arms and gave him quite a look. It was unnerving, really. "I just kept wondering how Renata knew what every single thing in that art gallery was and then it hit me - her explanations sounded like you. And they were you!"

"Donna, what are you going on about?" the Doctor gave himself away by focusing completely on the console. He'd brought them off the planet and into the vortex, but for some reason his hands kept playing with the controls.

"What did you do, spaceman, that made Renata talk like you? And don't lie to me because I'll smack you."

The Doctor rolled his eyes. "Fine. I just let her into my mind. No big deal."

"Except it is," Donna said. "Do you just share your mind with anyone, then?"

"Well, no, but-"

"-you did with Renata-"

"-because she needed help and I wanted to help!"

"Doctor, it's just me now," Donna moved around the console until she standing next to him again. "You've been a little...closer...to Renata lately. And to be honest, that worries me a little bit."

The Doctor gave her a crazed look. "What?"

"Don't get me wrong, Renata seems kind and caring and...more put together than you but-"

"-oi!"

"But have you ever really asked yourself who she is?"

"What kind of question is that!?" the Doctor frowned.

"I'm saying...do you really know things about Renata?"

"Yes!" the Doctor answered a bit too fast to sound genuinely right. "I've talked to her and I know about her family and her job."

"Really?"

"Yes!"

"Do you know her sister's name?"

The Doctor opened his mouth to answer but...he didn't actually know the answer.

"Or what exactly was the nature of her job? And I'm not just saying what she did - I really mean, what was her job? Who did she help? What did she do?"

"Donna-" the Doctor shook his head. He couldn't believe she was actually trying to make Renata seem suspicious.

"How about where she lived on Gallifrey? Who her parents were?"

"Enough!" the Doctor's voice hardened and the look on his face was not one you wanted to be on the receiving end of.

Donna knew he was upset, but she just needed to get this out there for both their sake's. "I think there's a reason why she's so reclusive about her past. Don't you feel like she's hiding something?"

"I have no right to pry about her past lives, alright? And it doesn't matter because I like Renata now. I like her - who she is right now."

"But there could be more to her and you'd never know because she doesn't say."

"Donna…"

"Doctor, who was that 'Zuriah' name Renata's echoes named?" Donna folded her arms and watched the Doctor's face shift through several emotions. "I saw the way you reacted when you heard it. Renata looked terrified. Who was that? If she was someone you knew, Renata didn't tell you, did she?"

The Doctor's gaze fell to the console again. Zuriah. How could Renata know that name if he never told her?

"Doctor," Donna rested a hand on his arm, "I like Renata, I really do. I'm not trying to make her a bad guy I'm...I have questions. And I know that if I have these questions, then you've had them for a while. Why haven't you asked her?"

"Because I don't want to lose her," the Doctor said quietly but his tone indicated this should've been obvious for her. "Renata is the only other of my people. I already started way wrong with her."

"Right, because you kidnapped her and forced her into the TARDIS," Donna mumbled, bit the Doctor said a sharp 'no' that made her stop altogether. "What do you mean?"

The Doctor was thinking about a time he'd forced himself to forget. 1913 when he was John Smith, the man who fell in love with Renata and simultaneously killed her family. Again.

"What are you keeping from me, spaceman?" Donna narrowed her eyes on the Doctor.

"I can't," he shook his head but he was a fool if he thought he would be getting away from Donna Noble.

"Oh no, you tell me right now what you did. What could be worse than kidnapping her?"

"It's a long story."

"And I have time," Donna straightened herself up and motioned him to start talking.

And for some reason, the Doctor felt like he could really use the talk.

[lexxierave]

Au Revoir to My Heart - Billy Russo Part 1

This is a continuation of Why Should I Care and my first writing Challenge!! 😱

Prompt: “You’re not as mean as you think you are, you know that?” / “And you’re not as badass as you think you are.”

That old saying that time flies when you're having fun also seems to work when you want time to stand still. Three days flew past as quickly as if you had blinked them by. You were now standing in the same spot at the same place and in the same mood you were in when you first meet Billy. Honestly, you not only hated early hours but you were starting to loathe airports too. The flight announcements over the speaks, people always in a hurry one way or another, and the bright fluorescent lights were a big turn off for you. Though it might also have something to do with how much you drank the other night, but you were giving the guys a send-off at the bar and it wasn't like you had a hangover, no just a lack of sleep.

You had positioned yourself off to the side as you watched all the significate others say their final farewells to their loved ones. It did pull at your heart to see Maria already have to part with Frank but when you watched them it wasn't like looking at the others. There was no sobbing, no death grip that required someone to pull the person off, and no arguments. It was like they had a silent agreement, some type of understanding that set them apart from the others. It fascinated you and also gave you a deep longing in your heart you always tried to push off whenever you were around Frank and Maria.

"Kind of makes you sick doesn't it." Came a voice you've come to know well, followed by an arm wrapping itself around your waist.

You smiled before turning to see the smirking face of one Billy Russo. "You're only saying that 'cause you're jealous." You pointed out poking him in the chest.

His hand quickly grabbed your wrist and pulled you flesh against him. "I have no reason to be jealous of anything Frankie has. Not anymore." He whispered as his lips ghosted across yours. "Not when I have you."

"Do you have me, Billy?" You teasingly asked as your other hand traveled up the base of his neck to his hair. 

He only grinned at you before crashing his lips against yours. You responded immediately matching his moves with your own.  The feelings you got from his touch and his taste would always leave you with the feeling of fire in your veins and a craving for more.

He pulled away from you all too soon for your liking but you felt him slip something into your hand. You pulled away from him a little bit to be able to bring your hand up. In your palm rested a set of keys.

"What's this Russo? The key to the lockbox where you hid your heart?" You jokingly questioned as you looked from the keys to his eyes.

"Ha.ha. Very funny AJ. No. They're the keys to my apartment." He stated and the response had you so shocked you nearly dropped them.

"Why are you giving me the keys to your apartment?" You asked narrowing your eyes wanting to know where this sudden act was coming from.

"Maria told me about your apartment being broken into." He replied moving his hands to rest firmly on your hips.

"So what? You give me your keys? Why?" You pressed trying to get to the real reason he just handed you the keys to his place.

"Let's just say after all the hard work I put in since my return I'd hate to leave and you wind up in trouble again." He tried to shrug it off like it was no big deal but you knew it was. Billy never let anyone in his apartment unless he was there. He didn't trust anyone enough to get that close and this gesture resonated in your soul.

"Careful Russo, people might start to think you're not as mean as you think you are." You teased but still made a show of pocked his keys.

"For that to be even remotely true that would mean you're not as badass as you think you are." He countered pulling you back against him.

"Well, we both know that's a lie." You retorted rolling your eyes before smiling up at him as the speakers nearby announced it was time for their departure.

Billy never had someone to say goodbye to before, never had the thought of someone waiting for him back home. He didn't know how to approach the subject. How do you say goodbye to something you just obtained? How different would he be overseas now that someone wanted him to come back alive and cared if he didn't?

As if reading his mind you interlaced your fingers with him and gave his hand a squeeze. "This changes nothing Russo. You go over there and you kick ass just like you always have. I'm not a factor in that. I don't change how things work over there. Just keep that sharp mind of yours working and come back in one piece, just like you always have." You spoke the words so eloquently like you've rehearsed saying them a thousand times but you only spoke the truth.

You being here changed nothing over there and he needed to know that. He couldn't be changing how he reached to situations over there just because of you, that's how people get killed. And if he made those changes it wouldn't just be his life on the line it'd be Frankie's too.

You curled your unconnected hand around his neck and pulled him down to you kissing just as you had three nights ago. Sending him a silent wish to come back for more, to stay alive long enough to see you again. "Au Revoir Billy." You whispered against his lips.

A grin grew on his face at your words and you knew he had heard. He gave you one more quick kiss before pulling away when he noticed Frank and Maria heading your way.

Frank gave Billy a knowing look as he approached before turning his attention to you. "I'm gonna miss ya kid."

"I'll miss you too Frankie." You said you grinned holding back tears. You stepped away from Billy and gave the bruiser in front of you a big tight hug.

"Take care of 'em for me." He whispered into the embrace

"I always do." You replied. Though you might not have always been physically there the whole time Frank left but you always stayed the whole summer and visited on holidays. If anything came up you were only a phone call away and come hell or high water nothing would stop you from helping them.

You would have to give it to your ex, he never tried to mess with the Castles, knowing how much you cared for them. Though he learned quickly what happens when he did threaten them, it was his first and last time.

"I know you do. That's why I taught you what I did." He gave you his sideways smile as he pulled away and you grinned back at him.

"We gotta go." Billy spoke up as you stepped back beside Maria. She looked like she was about to cry too so you grabbed her hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze.

"You keep him safe Billy!" Maria shouted out, her voice cracking slightly as she choked back tears.

"I always do." He replied giving her a wink before he and Frank disappeared into the crowd of other Marines.

You stood there for a few minutes longer just holding your best friend's hand as you watched the rest of the men go through the gate.

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[dragonologist-phd]

If The Creeks Don’t Rise Ch 8- All Of My Attention

Aloth promised himself he would not muddle his already complicated life with any growing feelings towards Desta. At the time, it was an easy promise to make. There were even occasional moments when it was an easy promise to keep, when their time together was simple and natural and just like it was all those years ago.

And then there were moments when keeping that promise felt impossible.

(Read Below or on AO3)

Aloth promised himself he would not muddle his already complicated life with any growing feelings towards Desta. At the time, it was an easy promise to make. There were even occasional moments when it was an easy promise to keep, when their time together was simple and natural and just like it was all those years ago.

And then there were moments when keeping that promise felt impossible.

They were digging through the rubble of an old, dusty room in an old, dusty temple on an old, dusty island when Aloth heard Desta scream. Panic immediately rushed through him, and for a moment he was sure that there was a trap they had missed or an enemy that wasn’t quite dead.

Then Desta turned around and Aloth saw the large scaly creature in her arms, and he understood.

“Look who I found!” Desta cried, her voice still high with excitement. The wurm in her arms echoed with a cry of its own.

Across the room Pallegina gave a startled gasp, but Serafen just looked on in confusion. “That be a wurm, lass,” he said. “You see plenty of ‘em in these parts. Usually we kill ‘em.”

“Not the hatchlings!” Desta scolded. “They’re not hurting anybody, not if you train them right. And besides, don’t you recognize her?”

This last part was directed at a surprised Aloth. He frowned, and was about to protest that he couldn’t possibly recognize the random wurm they’d found in this out-of-the-way temple…until he took a closer look. “Is that a sky dragon wurm?”

“She certainly is.”

“Not the same-”

“It’s the same one,” Pallegina confirmed. “Don’t you remember Hylea’s Temple?”

Of course Aloth remembered Hylea’s Temple, and the sky dragon that lived within. He remembered every dragon that Desta had dragged him into meeting. This particular encounter had, thankfully, not ended in their team running in circles and trying to bring down the winged beast. Rather, it had ended with Desta letting the dragon and her hatchlings live in peace, certain that she could convince Hylea it was the right call.

And she did, because she was Desta, and of course she could persuade a god into letting a dragon raise its children in her temple.

“How in the world did she end up here?” Aloth asked, leaning closer to inspect the wurm.

Desta shrugged. “It seems a lot of things from the Dyrwood ended up here somehow. Do you think she remembers me?” Aloth couldn’t stop a smile from creeping onto his face as he watched Desta cradle the creature, beaming down at it with nothing but joy. The wurm wriggled happily in her arms as if in confirmation. Desta laughed and ran her hand soothingly over the smooth scales. “Oh, I can’t wait to show Eder-”

“Hold up a tic,” Serafen interrupted. “We’re not bringing that thing aboard, are we, Captain?”

“Well, why not?”

“It be a dragon, lass.”

“She’s just a little wurm!”

“Don’t try to argue with her,” Pallegina said in a tired tone. “Caed Nua was always full of strays she brought in against everyone’s better judgment.”

Serafen turned to Aloth beseechingly. “Am I outnumbered here? We’re bringing a dragon on board the ship?”

Aloth glanced at Desta. The wurm had settled itself across her shoulders. It made for a strange sight- the large, ungainly wings flapping behind her head, the long tail curled around her neck, the pale blue scales striking against dark green skin- but Desta looked absolutely delighted. Aloth looked helplessly back at Serafen. “We’re bringing a dragon on board the ship.”

As they left the temple, Desta walked next to Aloth, lifting the wurm up so it could get a good look at him. “I think she remembers you, too.” The wurm gave a shrill shriek, and Desta laughed. “She likes you.”

Aloth felt himself flush, and he could hear Iselmyr snickering inside his head. Ye never could say nae to the lass.

Stop it, he thought. This has nothing to do with Desta. We went through a lot of trouble for the wurm to live, we might as well take care of it.

 If ye say so, lad. I’ll be remindin ye’ of that when the wee beastie’s crawled into our bunk at night.

They were traversing the darker streets of Neketaka when the figures approached. The term shady applied here on multiple levels; the people wore cloaks that shrouded their features and beckoned suspiciously to Desta, promising rare goods.

Desta was curious, so despite Aloth’s misgivings (which were numerous) she approached the alley where they stood. Aloth trailed close behind and waited for things to go wrong. As soon as Desta crossed into the alley, one of the figures stepped forward, drawing a dagger from its cloak.

“Empty your pockets,” the figure croaked, and the look Desta gave him carried more disappointment than it did fear.

“Told you,” Aloth couldn’t resist saying, a small smirk flashing across his face.

“Fine, you were right,” Desta sighed. She gave the small dagger one more pitying look, then said casually to Aloth, “Close your eyes.”

Aloth knew immediately what she was planning and did as he was told- he had seen this move in battles before, and had no desire to bear the brunt of it. As soon as he looked away, Desta clasped her hands together and, in a flash of zeal, enveloped herself in a beam of blinding light.

The light was searing even from behind Aloth’s closed eyes- he could only imagine the painful surprise the would-be robbers must have been experiencing. His sympathy was interrupted when Desta’s hand, cool and grassy, took his in a strong grip, and before he had time to react she was pulling him down the streets toward the Gullet.

When they finally slowed, the light had faded enough for Aloth to dare try opening his eyes- and when he did, his breath caught in his throat. The magic Desta had cast still hung faintly around her, and she was laughing, completely unaware of the glow that still hung around her like a cloak.

He must have been staring, because she cast a worried glance in his direction. “What’s wrong? I didn’t blind you, did I?”

“No, I’m fine” he answered, and winced when his voice came high and nervous. He cleared his throat awkwardly, and hurriedly added, “Which is more than I can say for those robbers.”

Desta laughed again. “Oh, those poor fools. I almost feel bad.”

“You needn’t,” Aloth said. “They were thieves. Incompetent thieves, at that.”

“Exactly. It felt unfair.” The spell had faded completely now, but Desta’s eyes were still alight with amusement.  Aloth realized with a rush that his hand was still clutching hers. He hastily released her hand in what he hoped was a nonchalant manner and took a courteous step back, returning some space between them.

“Ye spineless spellspeaker,” Iselmyr muttered through his teeth, and Desta blinked in confusion.

“What-”

“Iselmyr wishes to hunt down the thieves,” Aloth explained quickly, biting sharply on his lip in an effort to prevent Iselmyr from following his words with her own retort.

Desta seemed to accept this. “Don’t worry, Iselmyr. We still have business in Delver’s Row, and I’m sure we’ll find someone there to give you a fight.”

Iselmyr simmered in frustration in the back of Aloth’s head, but didn’t try to speak aloud again as he followed Desta through the winding streets. I’m jes tryin’ to move ye along, she hissed at him internally.

That’s the problem, Aloth thought back. There’s nothing to move along. There’s no point in you continuing on like this.

Iselmyr’s reply, though still annoyed, was smug. Ach, we’ll be seein’ about that.

They’d barely made it a mile from the lagoon when the ship appeared. Aloth wasn’t concerned at first- their flag was emblazoned with the logo of the Royal Deadfire Company , and as far as he knew the Rauataians had no reason to be hunting them down.

Then the thundering sound of a cannon filled the air, followed by the splash of the warning shot that landed mere feet from their hull, and Aloth began to worry.

Desta was on the top deck, shouting for parley, and by the time Aloth reached her the other ship had drawn close enough for its captain, an angry-looking amaua man, to speak to her her face-to-face. Desta met his glare boldly. “What do you want? We have no quarrel with you!”

The man shook his head. “You wouldn’t be leaving Motare o Kozi unless you found what we both want. Hand over the map.”

Desta’s eyes narrowed, and Aloth could practically hear her thoughts just as clear as Iselmyr’s: she had promised the Ukaizo map to the prince and the queen and the Huana people, and she was not going back on her word. Perhaps the other captain saw this as well, for he began to draw his longsword.

“Wait!” Desta cried. She bit her lip, studying the other captain’s face, then glanced sideways at Aloth.

“Trust me?” she said to him a low voice.

Aloth frowned in confusion but gave her a tight nod. Desta grinned and whispered, “Bring me a barrel of gunpowder.” Then she turned her attention fully to the other ship and called loudly, “Is there no chance we can come up with a diplomatic solution?”

Aloth had a million questions for Desta, but their time was unfortunately limited, so he hurriedly did as she asked. As he dragged the barrel over to Desta, the other captain gave her a grim smile. “The only solution I see here is you giving me that map.”

Desta stared at him for a moment, then reached over the side of the ship and grabbed one of the lanterns that swung from the hull. She thrust her arm over the barrel, the lit lantern flickering mere feet above the pile of gunpowder. “You board this ship, nobody is walking away with that map!”

The startled cries of both crew filled the air, and despite his alarm Aloth had to work to stifle back a smile. Anyone who knew Desta would know she would never sacrifice her people. But looking at her determined expression, her hair and cape blowing wildly in the wind, the light of the lantern throwing shadows on her face… Aloth could see how a stranger might think differently.

The other captain’s mouth fell open. “You wouldn’t…”

“Aloth,” Desta said, loudly this time. “Bring me another barrel.”

“As you say,” he replied at the same volume, doing his best to inject some fear into his voice.

This, finally, was too much for the Rauataians. “You’re a madwoman!” the other captain cried, before turning to his crew and ordering a retreat.

Desta held her position until the ship sailed out of sight. Only then did she jerk into motion, leaping away from the barrels and hurling the lantern overboard.

Aloth couldn’t help the chuckles that escaped him at the sight, even as the rest of the crew let out exaggerated sighs of relief. Behind him, Engrim sagged against the helm. “No offense Captain,” he sighed, “but the longer I spend wit’ you, the more I question my choice o’ career.”

“I’m sorry!” Desta said earnestly. She was still resting against the railing, keeping her distance from the gunpowder even though the lantern had left her hand. “It was all I could think of! I never would have done it.”

“Of course not,” Aloth said. “That was some quick thinking, and it did the job well.”

“Although to be honest, I was terrified the entire time I’d lose my grip and drop the thing by accident.”

“Bloody hel, don’t tell me that!” Engrim exclaimed. Desta let out a burst of laughter that only got louder when she locked eyes with Aloth, who was barely holding back his own amusement.

“I’ll put this gunpowder back where it belongs now,” Aloth said, fighting to keep the smirk out of his voice.

“Please,” Engrim said. “Before the two of you kill us all.” Aloth didn’t respond, for he was suddenly far too preoccupied with the way the man had said the two of you, and the way it pleased him far more than it should.

That night Aloth lay awake in his bunk, unable to get the incident out of his head. Desta’s face kept flashing through his memories- her expression of conviction and righteousness as she held the lamp, which shifted so quickly to laughter and reassurance as she leaned over the railing with bright eyes and hair wild in the wind.

Ach, Iselmyr sighed in his head. This is hopeless.Yer gone and taken with the lass.

Aloth remembered the promise he’d made to himself and sighed. “Hopeless,” he repeated quietly. “Yes, I know.”