#I don’t really know where this was going (again. running on six hours’ sleep right now.) but. yeah. timezones

[erwinsvow]

it’s like you were put on this earth to bother rafe.

everyday, without fail, come some sort of request—rafe, let’s go get coffee. rafe, i want ice cream. rafe, i wanna go to bed. he tells you to go to bed and you whine immediately after, letting out a faint “not alone! not what i meant!” before he rolls his eyes, one huge hand settling on your hip and the other one on your back, throwing you over his shoulder and taking you to bed. 

once you finally get him there it’s all laughs and giggles and avoiding his gaze, getting shy again, refusing to tell him what you really want. he rolls his eyes and gives it to you hard, like he knows you need it, so you’ll fall asleep and let him finish his work in silence. and it works—for a few hours, that is. then you're up again, usually with more requests.

“rafe, they’re having a sale.” you fiddle with your R pendant, the way you always do when you want something and can’t find the words to just ask for it. for a girl pawing at his dick and begging for it raw half the time, you get awfully shy. 

“so? how many fuckin’ clothes do y’need?” 

“you’re the one who keeps ripping ‘em up! not my fault-”

he rolls his eyes, running a hand through his hair.

"knock it off," he says, coming out louder and more frustrated than he meant.

then he watches you quiet down and scroll on your phone, biting your cheek. he thinks he messed up and made you cry. he feels bad the second it's done, because there’s definitely some pretty, tiny dress pulled up on the screen that you want to show him. 

he knows how your brain works at this point—you want him to get it for you, take you out to a cute dinner so you can wear it and then have him yank it off of you later that night. you won’t ask for it though, there’s your shyness again. 

you feel bad when he actually does buy you anything more than a six-dollar latte or a big ice cream that you can’t finish.

"what're you looking at?" he finally asks, not even a minute later, looking at your body resting on the complete other side of the bed now.

"nothing."

"you gonna do this right now?"

"do what?"

"just show me what you want."

"no, it's nothing. i'll just ask my other boyfriend for it, it's fine-"

before your sentence is finished, he's already on top of you, squishing your cheeks together, pinning you down. he stares into your eyes, maybe expecting tears, but they don't come. instead you look... satisfied. satisfied with yourself for riling him up like you wanted.

"yeah? other boyfriend?"

"jus' a joke, rafey." your voice comes out all quiet and squeaky since he's holding your face tight. your eyes are big and wide staring up at him. he hates that he's getting hard right now. he lets you go, rolling off and feeling your body sink into his bed.

“get your ass in the car.” it comes out as a statement, not a request. you comply immediately, leaning over to give him a wet, sloppy kiss before stumbling out of bed to grab your shoes. he gets up too, looking for his keys, when you come right back to give him a hug. you press your head against his chest, arms wrapped tight around his neck, eyes fluttering shut, breathing in his scent.

“thank you, rafe,” you murmur against his shirt.

“yeah, yeah, whatever,” he starts, but you don’t miss the way the tops of his ears are flushed with pink. “get the fuckin’ address for that place out-”

he does take you out to dinner, a cute place where he pulls out your chair for you and holds your hand in his on the table. he gets you flowers that match the color of your new dress, which are resting in the backseat of his car now. he kisses your cheek when he helps you put your jacket back on. then he slaps your ass when you’re getting into the passenger seat of his truck, because now it’s his turn to have fun with that dress.

later that night, close to sleep, you paw at his arm and ask for ice cream. the two of you are on the road five minutes later. he turns his head at the red light to watch you lick your cone. then you hold it up to his mouth so he can have some too, smiling and laughing when he takes a big bite.

he's starting to think he likes when you bother him for stuff.

[piastriprincess]

hold on and hope ⸻  lando  norris  x  reader  .

featuring  lando  norris  ,  exes  to  ???  ,  angst  ,  hurt  /  comfort word  count  3k author’s  note  requested  by  anon  !  sorry�� i  had  to  tweak  it  a  bit  because  i’m  such  a   slow  writer  .  ummmmm  this  is  my  first  time  writing  angst  and  i’m  not  sure  it’s  good  .  i  hate  putting  lando  in  this  situation  …  personally  that’s  my  baby  and  i  need  to  tuck  him  into  bed  and  give  him  a  kiss  on  the  forehead  !  however  i  also  am  obsessed  with  exes  who  can’t  get  over  each  other  so  if  lando  has  to  go  through  a  little  emotional  pain  for  that  then  so  be  it  <3  come  tell  me  what  you  think  —  as  always  ,  my  inbox  is  open  for  requests  .  title  is  from  about  you  by  the  1975  !

When your phone rings this late, you know something’s wrong. 

It jolts you out of your sleep, ensconced in your warm duvet as the London rain falls softly on your roof. No one calls you this late anymore, you think, still half-asleep as you fumble for your phone. The artificial light slices through the darkness, knifing at your heavy eyes. Not since —

LANDO NORRIS, the phone reads, and suddenly you’re wide awake. 

You don’t remember when you changed his contact back to his full name. Sometime in the blur of weeks after the breakup, probably — something your friends or your therapist had told you to do, something to create emotional distance. Something that wouldn’t bring on a fresh wave of tears every time you remembered three years’ worth of silly texts and marathon FaceTimes from lan 🧡, before the nickname stung like salt poured into a wound you couldn’t stop reopening. 

Your phone keeps buzzing on your nightstand. You watch it like it’s a ticking time bomb, like if you pick it up it’s going to explode and shatter your heart into a million pieces all over again.

You tell yourself you’ll be fine, letting it go to voicemail. You’re doing the right thing. You’re protecting your heart. This is growth. And tomorrow, when you wake up and remember this wasn’t all some awful dream, you’ll be proud of yourself. Lando won’t call you again.

The phone buzzes a final time, the screen dimming slightly, and something coils tight and ugly in your chest at the sound. Not relief. Not peace. Just a sharp, suffocating panic. Lando won’t call you again. 

You don’t think. You just lunge for the phone and press the Answer button. 

“Lando?” It’s the first time you’ve spoken his name in six months. You hate the way it still flows off your tongue.

For a moment, static is all you hear. The thought crosses your mind that it was a butt dial, and it makes your heart sink in your chest. 

Then he clears his throat, and a sweet, horrible hope burns in your stomach. “Hey.” His voice is low and rough, like he hasn’t spoken to anyone in hours. “Sorry. I shouldn’t’ve called.”

“It’s okay,” you croak. Your voice feels heavy somehow, months worth of questions resting in the space between you.

“No, really, it’s late for you, and I wasn’t thinking —”

“Lando,” you say again, sharply but not unkindly. “Why are you calling me?”

“Fancied a chat,” he says, like it’s normal, even though you haven’t spoken since that final conversation where you both agreed to walk away and guard your hearts before the damage became unfixable. “No reason really.” Somewhere in the middle of the sentence, his voice starts cracking around the edges. It unfolds some of the wariness stuck in your chest. 

“You wouldn’t be calling me at 3 AM for no reason,” you sigh gently, sitting up and resting your back against your headboard. “What’s wrong?”

“Fucked it, didn’t I?” Lando sniffs, and then starts crying. 

It’s not the way he used to cry last year, when the championship race loomed large, when the distance between you started getting too wide for you to cross. Back then the tears were quiet, restrained, like he thought if he showed you how fucking scared he was you’d run away and never come back. He’d roll over and turn his back to you in bed, press his hands to his eyes, pretend he wasn’t unraveling. It was like he was locking you out of a door you wanted desperately to go through; it broke a tiny piece of your heart every time he didn’t let you in. 

This is different. This is him crying in earnest, cracking open for you, unfiltered, like he doesn’t care if you see the damage anymore. Like some part of him hopes you will. 

“Just — ‘M never fucking good enough,” he mumbles through the tears, and your heart shatters all over again. 

“Like. Jeddah last week. Qualified P-fucking-10. I got the car up to P4, but —” he pauses, hiccuping through the tears. “Couldn’t get podium, and lost the WDC lead. And I thought Miami would be better, but it’s not.” He laughs wetly, though nothing about it is funny. “Osc outqualified me again. Kimi put it on pole. A fuckin’ rookie.” He sniffles again, shifts on an identical bed three thousand miles away. “I just... I dunno what’s wrong with me.”

You tuck your feet under yourself and hum like you’re taking in new information. Like you didn’t watch Jeddah from start to finish two weeks ago, hands clammy with nerves as you watched him fly. Like you don’t still have alerts on your phone for his press conferences, like you didn’t watch the way his eyes dropped and flattened today when he said he wasn’t good enough. “There’s nothing wrong with you, Lan,” you say, holding the phone a little tighter against your ear. 

He doesn’t answer right away. You can hear him breathing, ragged and shallow, like he’s trying to hold himself together. “You don’t get it,” he whispers finally. “You were always the one who believed in me. Even when I didn’t.” His voice hitches, and the sound scrapes against your ribs. “And now you’re gone, and —” he swallows tightly. “I don’t know how to believe in myself without you.”

The words hit like a blow to the chest, your eyes pricking with hot tears. You open your mouth to speak, and nothing comes out. It’s like you’ve had the wind knocked out of you at the simple truth of it. He called because he needed you; you picked up because you needed him, too. 

“Shit,” Lando says, and your stomach drops when you realize you’ve been silent for too long. “M’sorry. That was — too much, probably. I, um… I shouldn’t have called.” His voice sounds small, brittle. Closed-off, again. The ache you feel at the sound is all too familiar.  

“Lando,” you try feebly, but it sounds pathetic even to your ears. He just bared his soul, and what did you give him in return? Silence on a phone line, three thousand miles away. 

“It’s fine. I’m okay, really,” he says, and you don’t need five years of knowing everything about him to be able to tell he’s lying through his teeth. “Just — needed to hear your voice. I should get some sleep, probably. Let you get some rest, too. Lo- Bye,” he croaks into the phone, and you just catch the beginning of an open-mouthed sob before the line goes dead. 

You don’t think. You just pull up a new tab and search next flight to miami with shaking fingers.

An hour and a half later, you’re sitting in a plane seat, sending a frantic text to Oscar for Lando’s hotel and room number. The pilot crackles through the radio as the crew prepares for takeoff, informing you about the temperature and time zone at your destination. 

According to the intercom, it will still be 3 AM in Miami when you land. You hug your knees to your chest and try not to think about what it means to travel back in time, about whether you’re flying back to a past where the two of you were still everything to each other.  

—

Lando doesn’t know how long he’s been staring at the ceiling. Long enough for the sky to darken from sunset to twilight to inky blackness, at least. He hasn’t slept. Just laid there and cried, clutching his phone to his chest like if he holds on hard enough, he can conjure the soft sound of your voice again.

It was selfish of him, really, to have called you. He knows it was after 3 AM where you were, saw it plain as day on the stupid timezone widget that he can’t bring himself to delete off his lockscreen. But — everything feels like it’s falling apart around him, and you always know how to talk him off the ledge. 

Knew how, he thinks bitterly. Before he stopped letting you in. Before he fucked everything up with no hope of fixing it. Before he let you walk away. 

Drivers tend to overthink their decisions, and Lando’s no exception. What if I’d taken that turn a little wider? Tried to overtake at turn 12, instead of 13? Mostly, as his new mindset coach reminds him over and over, it’s a losing battle. You race how you race. You can’t change it after the fact, and one bad decision doesn’t outweigh the good ones. He knows that, even if he can’t quite accept it.

But Lando knows this, too: out of all the bad decisions he’s made in his life, letting you go was the worst. 

He still remembers the balm of being loved by you. The soothing, quiet steadiness of it, like a warm blanket dulling all the noise, tethering him to something real. You had this way of seeing him, even when he didn’t know how to show you the worst parts of himself. And God, he tried so hard to keep those parts hidden, to be enough for you. But he wasn’t. Not back then.

Maybe he still isn’t. He’s trying, but he’s selfish. Weak. Pathetically in love with you, even now.

The room feels too still in the hours after the call, like it’s holding its breath with him. The only sound is the muted crash of the waves breaking on the beach outside and the echo of the phone call lingering in his brain, your voice calling him Lan tucked somewhere precious in his memory. He wonders if he’ll ever get to really hear you again.

That’s when he hears the knock. Two taps, one long, one short. Your knock, from what feels like a million lifetimes ago. A little more hesitant than he remembers, but. It’s yours.  

He doesn’t think. He just scrambles to the door, throwing it open like he’s hoping he’ll see a ghost on the other side. And there you are. 

“Hey,” you say cautiously. 

He just drinks you in for a moment. He’s seen you since the breakup, of course. Stalked your Instagram more than he cares to admit, watching your life slowly morph into something he didn’t recognize. First you left Monaco for London. Then you cut your hair. Got a new job. Started smiling in photos again, even when it didn’t quite reach your eyes. Lando remembers a particularly embarrassing moment a few months ago where he practically begged Max to ask P to ask you if you were seeing anyone based on what he thought was a male forearm in the corner of photo 18 in a 20-slide carousel.

All this to say: even though you were changing, he thought he remembered you. What you looked like, how you moved. 

But seeing you in person — eyes heavy and red-rimmed, fingernails bitten to the quick, hair flattened on the side like you’d leaned against the plane window — it guts him in a way he didn’t expect. He’d forgotten how visceral your beauty is. How it cuts into him like a shard of glass.

“You came,” he finally says hoarsely, rubbing a hand over his jaw. 

You just shrug, running a hand through your hair the way you always used to, and the sameness of it lodges into his chest. “You called.”

It shouldn’t knock the air out of his lungs the way it does. But it does, because for a second, it sounds like before. Before, when you smiled at him like you were already halfway to forgiving him for things he hadn’t fucked up yet. Before, when you whispered his name like a promise, not an ache. 

He stands there stupidly for a beat, you in the hallway, him inside the room. The doorway in between the two of you. The chance to let you in, one more time. 

“Come in,” he says, stepping back, and when you walk in it’s like the air shifts. Like the place has stopped holding its breath, even though Lando’s still holding his. He watches you place your bag on the ground, walk to the window and stare out at the vast expanse of beach and ocean below. The silence yawns between you two. 

“Didn’t think you’d come,” he says, and it sounds stupid even to his own ears. 

You don’t look at him. “Neither did I.”

He tries to ignore the way the words feel — like you’ve just pressed your thumb into a fresh bruise just to make him feel the ache. “Probably shouldn’t have called,” he mumbles to the carpet, head down and humiliated. He can feel the tears pricking at his eyes again. He’s probably cried enough tonight to fill up whichever ocean it is you’re looking at right now. 

“Glad you did,” you say quietly, and something like hope surges suddenly in his chest. When he looks up, you’re not looking at the ocean anymore. You’re looking at him with those beautiful eyes, walking slowly towards him like he’s a wild animal you don’t want to spook. “I saw the interview. I was worried about you.” You swallow thickly, and Lando’s eyes catch on your lips. “I never stopped worrying about you.” 

He doesn’t think. Just surges toward you, wrapping his arms around you like he’s afraid you’ll disappear like a specter if he doesn’t hold on with both hands. Your arms come up like a reflex, one smoothing the curls at the nape of his neck, the other around his waist as he buries his face in your shoulder. “I’m sorry,” he tries to say, but the words come out somewhere between a sigh and a sob, like the weight of everything he’s wanted to say to you for half a year has finally found a place to land. “I’m so fucking sorry,” he tries again, whispering it into your skin over and over like he can thread the two of you back together with it. 

“Oh, Lan,” you sigh, shaking your head gently, and Lando’s knees nearly buckle when your lips brush against his temple. “You don’t have to —”

“I do,” he insists, pulling back just enough to look at you. Your eyes are glassy, lashes clumped together. “I’m sorry I called you. I’m sorry I left. I’m sorry I shut you out when all you did was love me.” He rakes a shaking hand through his curls, like it might bring him back down to earth. “I’m sorry I acted like I didn’t care. I’m sorry I thought if I stayed that I’d drag you down with me. I’m sorry I thought not having you would be better than missing you every single minute of every single fucking day.” A single tear drops down your cheek, and Lando has to fight the insane urge to kiss it off, to taste the salt on his tongue. 

“I’m sorry I don’t know how to stop loving you,” he says, finally, voice breaking around the words.

“You hurt me,” you whisper back, but your eyes are still trained on his. You don’t look away, and neither does he. No one’s running now; it’s just the ugly, naked, raw truth bared between you after six months of hiding from it.

“I know,” he says, and he can feel the wet on his cheeks. Your fingers make their way out of his curls, slide around his face to cup his cheek and brush the tears off. 

“I still love you,” you admit, pressing your forehead against his. The words, the contact, it fucking dizzies him. It’s everything he hasn’t dared to hope for. “I wouldn’t have flown here if I didn’t. But love isn’t enough if you’re still the person who let me walk away.”

“I’m not,” he blurts immediately, the words rushing together almost as fast as the correction. “I mean, I’m trying not to be. I’m still figuring it out,” he stammers out. His voice would be shaking a lot more if he couldn’t see the hope in your eyes. It steadies him a little, knowing that you still believe in him. “But I want to be the version of myself who deserves another chance with you. And I’ll spend the rest of my life trying to make up for how I hurt you, if you let me.”

There’s a long, aching pause. 

Then: “Okay,” you say, like you’re testing the weight of it on your tongue. “Okay.”

He leans forward, tentatively, like he’s not sure you’ll let him move much further, afraid that he’ll break whatever this fragile thing is between you. His eyes search yours one last time for permission, and when you don’t pull away, when your lips part just the slightest bit, he closes the space. His mouth brushes against yours, featherlight at first, more question than certainty. You answer him with a soft exhale, your hand against his cheek anchoring him there. The kiss is careful and reverent, like he’s relearning the shape of you. Your fingers curl into the fabric at his shoulder, pulling him closer to you, and the moment feels like the first sunlight after a long winter — warm and golden, almost too good to believe.

You end up curled together on the bed. Not saying much, just existing in the same space again. At some point, you drift off, but Lando can’t quite follow you. He’s afraid to fall asleep in case it’s a dream, scared to blink and find the bed empty again. But when the sun starts peeking over the horizon, your fingers are still wrapped around his, grounding him. 

It’s not all fixed. Not yet. But as Lando watches the steady rise and fall of your chest as you sleep, your fingers still intertwined with his, all he can feel is relief that he’s finally, finally done something right.

[karvokr]

consult required

the brain runs on impulse, instinct, and input. and it responds best to consistent, hands-on care.

masterlist pairings: neurosurgeon!nanami x trauma surgeon!reader content warnings: mdni, unprotected piv sex, fingering, oral (f receiving), desk sex, semi-public sex, established relationship (married), creampie/slight breeding kink if you squint, overstim, aftercare, cum-eating :p, mutual obsession, grey's anatomy realm of believability, code of conduct violations (professionals not being professional) <3

“You’re going to give yourself another headache.”

Your arms are crossed as you lean against the door frame of his office. It’s past midnight, and the hospital has gone still– only the occasional squeak of rubber soles and the low hum of fluorescents break through the silence. Nanami doesn’t look up. He’s seated at his desk, back impossibly straight despite the hour, jaw set. 

He looks too casual– just a fitted black compression shirt, sleeves pushed to his elbows, blue scrub pants slung low on his hips. No lab coat. No tie. But you’re not surprised. A nurse mentioned he’d come out of surgery less than thirty minutes ago.

He flips a page in the chart, but his focus clearly isn’t on post-op notes anymore.

“You should be home,” he replies. “Or in the OR. Heard another case came in.”

You arch a brow, tilting your head at him. “What, keeping tabs on me now?”

His fingers still against the page, eyes flicking up beneath tired brows. “I know your schedule better than mine,” he says. “You’ve been on the board since six this morning.”

You smirk. “Jealous?”

“No.” He closes the chart– slowly, deliberately. “Concerned.”

You scoff, closing the door behind you and stepping closer to where he sits, leaning in just enough for him to notice the shift in heat. “Hard to sleep alone, you know,” you murmur. “Might be easier if my husband came home before sunrise for once.”

Nanami’s gaze holds steady, but something softens around the edges– like guilt slipping through a crack in the armor. “They paged me in for a tumor resection,” he replies, and you see his shoulders start to slump as he brings a hand up to rub at his eyes. “Midline. Pediatric. I couldn’t push it.”

Your teasing fades a little at that, but you don’t move away. You brush your fingers along the edge of his desk as you rest against it, voice quieting. “I’m not mad, Kento,” you say as you glance at him, eyes warm. “I just miss you.”

After a long pause, he stands, chair scraping softly beneath him. He steps in close and his hands find your waist– steady, grounding.

“I miss you too,” he says, voice lower now. Closer. “Every hour I’m here.”

You let the moment stretch, then loop your arms around his neck and smile– soft, a little wicked. “Then maybe you should start sneaking me into the on-call room again. For old times’ sake.”

“Do you flirt like this with all of your colleagues, or am I just lucky?”

“What can I say? I’ve got a thing for men who operate on brains for a living.”

His hands slide up beneath your scrubs, resting just beneath your chest– warm. “How coincidental– I’ve got a thing for stubborn, brilliant women who don’t know how to take a break.”

You huff a quiet laugh, tilting your head. “Bold words from a man who calls four hours of sleep and a protein bar a full recovery. What exactly did they teach you in med school?”

Nanami doesn’t smile, not really– but something shifts in his gaze. He closes the distance, lifting you onto the desk with practiced ease, stepping between your thighs like it’s routine. His hand settles at your hip– light, but firm.

“That people like us don’t stop until someone makes us.” His hand glides past your chest, fingertips brushing your collarbones under your top. “Which is why I’m staging an intervention.”

“Yeah?” You lift a brow, lips tugging into something a little dangerous. “And what does that look like, Doctor Nanami?”

He doesn’t answer right away. Just watches you for a long, weighted second– like he’s measuring the risk, the timing, and the rule he’s about to break for the second time this week.

Then his hand trails from your chest back to your thigh. “Well, Doctor Nanami,” he says low, “it looks like me doing my job… taking care of my strong-willed, overworked, impossibly beautiful wife.”

He kisses you– firm, focused, like he’s been holding this in since morning rounds. His hands slide down over your hips, gathering the soft fabric of your scrub pants as he pulls you against him.

There’s no rush– but there’s urgency. The kind that simmers hot and quiet beneath long days and longer nights, under passing and fleeting glances across the surgery floor. His mouth trails down your neck, hot and open, and when his fingers slip beneath the waistband of your scrubs and underwear in one fluid, practiced motion, he groans against your skin like it hurts to finally touch you.

“Still so wet for me,” he breathes, voice raw with restraint. “You’re going to be the death of my self-control.”

You gasp when his fingers slide through your folds– slow and thorough, like he’s trying to memorize you again after too long apart. Your hips twitch forward, instinctive, chasing the drag of his touch. He gives you more– just barely– enough to make you ache for it.

“You say that,” you whisper, breath stuttering, “but I think you like losing control sometimes.”

He chuckles softly against your neck, lips brushing your pulse. “Only for you,” he murmurs. Then his thumb circles your clit– tight, measured pressure that makes your thighs tremble. “Only ever for you.”

He pushes two fingers inside you, slow and deep, curling them just right like he already knows where you're falling apart. Your breath hitches, back arching into his body, and he presses closer, hand at your spine to keep you upright as he fucks you open with steady, calculated strokes.

“God, look at you,” he groans, watching the way your mouth parts, the way your hips roll. “Falling apart already.”

“Kento–” Your voice is half-whimper, half-warning.

He silences it with a kiss– messy and consuming, lips sliding over yours like he needs it as much as you do. His fingers pump into you harder, your slick soaking down his hand as he grinds his palm against your clit.

“So beautiful,” he murmurs into your mouth, voice breathless. “I’m so lucky.”

You’re shaking– legs trembling, body unraveling, clutching the back of his shirt like a lifeline, the fabric bunched and twisted between your fingers. You reach down blindly with your free hand, palming him through his scrubs, and the soft, strangled groan it earns you is reward enough to make your thighs twitch.

He’s so hard for you– thick and straining beneath the fabric, the shape of him hot and heavy against your hand. You rub your palm over him again, slower this time, and his hips stutter into the movement, but he doesn’t stop. He never stops. His fingers keep fucking into you, curling just right, fingertips brushing that spot inside you over and over while his palm presses hard and steady against your clit.

“That’s it,” he rasps, eyes locked on your face like it’s the only thing keeping him upright. “Let me feel you.”

Your whole body tenses, thighs clenching around his wrist, the heat coiling low in your stomach about to snap. It’s too much– his mouth on yours, his hand deep inside you, his cock hard and hot under your touch, his voice in your ear like a prayer.

You gasp, and it breaks. Pleasure floods you in a wave so sharp it steals your breath, white-hot and blinding as you cum hard around his fingers, hips bucking, a cry caught between your lips and his. Your grip on his shirt tightens, the world narrowing to the rhythm of your pulse and the warmth of his mouth and the way he groans your name as you fall apart in his arms. He doesn’t stop– just slows, eases you through it, holding you upright while you shake against his chest.

You’re still catching your breath when he withdraws his hand, and you hear the slick sound of your release as he brings his fingers to his mouth– sucks them clean without breaking eye contact.

“You taste like home,” he says, voice barely there.

Then he undoes the tie on his pants.

There’s nothing rushed about it– just the soft hiss of fabric sliding down his hips, the flex of his jaw as he wraps a hand around himself and strokes once, twice. His cock is flushed and heavy, the tip already leaking, slick with the mess you’ve made of him. You can see the way his breath hitches as he fists himself– slow, controlled, like he’s restraining the urge to lose it right then and there.

He leans in, pressing his forehead to yours, voice strained.

“Do you want me, baby?”

“Yes,” you pant, voice shaking. “Please.”

He tugs your scrubs down, pulling them off and tossing them to the floor without a second thought. He lifts one of your legs, opening you up for him, his gaze dragging down to where you’re wet and aching for him.

His cock twitches in his hand at the sight.

“You sure?”

You meet his eyes– darker than you’ve seen them in weeks, pupils blown, expression ruined. “I’m yours, Kento. Always.”

The thick head of him pushes in slowly, stretching you inch by inch until you’re clenching tight around him. You gasp, one hand clawing into his back, the other gripping the edge of his desk like it might anchor you.

He’s so deep it burns in the best way– thick and hot, the slide of him dragging against every sensitive inch inside you. He groans low in his throat as he bottoms out, forehead dropping to your shoulder.

“You’re perfect,” he breathes. “Always are.”

He pulls back just enough to thrust again– harder now, smoother, the wet sound of your bodies colliding echoing off the office walls. The desk creaks under the force, your breath catching with every impact as he finds a rhythm– filthy, focused, relentless.

Each stroke slams into you at just the right angle, hitting deep, pressing against that spot that makes your vision blur. The sound of him– grunting through clenched teeth, breath hitching, skin slapping against yours– is almost enough to push you over the edge again.

“No one else gets this,” he grits out, hand locked on your waist, the other holding your thigh to keep you open. “No one else ever will.”

And all you can do is nod, whimper, dig your nails into his back more as the coil inside you tightens again– faster, needier, hungrier. He’s fucking you with practiced precision– precision born from obsession, from every late-night memory, every time he’s taken you apart and put you back together again.

He knows your body better than he knows his own.

Every thrust is fervent, deliberate– merciless in the way his hips slam against yours, and you swear you can feel him in your chest, in your bones, curling like heat around your spine.

“That’s it,” he groans, jaw tight, sweat beading at his temple. “Just like that– fuck, I love you.”

Your walls clamp down around him and he stutters– just once– hips faltering, muscles twitching, as if the feel of you pulling him deeper is enough to break his control completely.

“Kento– please–”

You’re too close to form words, every nerve on fire. Your body tightens, your nails drag red lines across his back, and he fucks you through it– hard, desperate, entirely his.

A second orgasm slams into you– shattering and sharp, stealing your breath like a rip current. You cry out, sobbing his name, head thrown back as your legs shake around his waist and your body clamps down around his cock.

He groans– wrecked, raw, guttural– as you milk him.

“Fuck– you’re everything– perfect. Take me so well– fuck, gonna fill you up, baby.”

He thrusts once, twice more, then stills completely, buried to the hilt as he spills into you with a strangled moan, forehead pressed to yours, breath catching as he cums hard. His hand trembles where it grips your thigh, the other sliding to your lower back to hold you close.

You feel the warmth of it inside you, thick and deep, the pulse of him still twitching as he gasps your name against your cheek. The only sound for a long moment is your breathing—ragged, uneven, tangled together like your bodies still are.

When he finally pulls back to look at you, his gaze is soft. Tender. Like you’ve broken something in him just by loving him like this.

“Couldn’t do this without you,” he whispers, voice hoarse, fingers brushing along your cheekbone with a tenderness that makes your chest ache.

You swallow, blinking up at him as your fingers tighten just slightly in his shirt. “You don’t have to.” Your voice is quiet. “You’ll never have to.”

That pulls a quiet breath from him– almost a laugh. His thumb strokes your cheek again before he dips down, pressing a kiss to your temple. Then another, lower, at the curve of your jaw. Unrushed.

He eases out of you slowly, carefully, murmuring soft apologies against your skin when you flinch at the aftershock. You feel the slick mix of you both starting to slip down your thigh, and his hands are already there, steadying you.

“Stay still,” he says gently. “Let me clean you up.”

You expect him to reach for tissues, maybe your scrub pants– but instead he kneels, drops to his knees between your legs like it’s instinct, like worship, and rubs his hands along your thighs, gently guiding them apart.

“Kento–”

He looks up at you, gaze steady. “Let me.”

He leans in, tongue dragging slow through the mess between your thighs, licking up his own release with a groan that vibrates through your core. His hands hold you firmly in place, and all you can do is gasp– overstimulated, wrecked, trembling all over again.

When he’s finished, he presses a slow kiss to the inside of your thigh before standing, tucking himself away and pulling your scrubs back up your legs with gentle, almost clinical precision. His fingers linger briefly at your hip, like he’s reluctant to let go.

Once you’re both dressed again, he runs a hand through his hair and glances at his watch.

“I should take you home,” he says, voice low. “Let you sleep in a real bed. With a locked door. And fewer fluorescent lights.”

You smile, stepping into his space again, your hands sliding beneath the hem of his shirt just to feel skin. “Careful,” you murmur, resting your cheek against his chest. “That almost sounds like romance. Might have to report you to HR.”

Nanami exhales a quiet laugh– subtle, but real– and wraps an arm around your waist, anchoring you to him.

“Pretty sure the HR violations started when you sat on my desk,” he says dryly.

“I was checking on my husband,” you counter, not bothering to hide your grin.

“Mm.” His lips brush the crown of your head. “Very professional.”

dr.nanami as promised <3 planning on turning most of these into fully fleshed-out fics, lmk which ones you would want me to expand most!! and let me know which au you want next :p thx for reading ily

[enchantingbl0ssom]

Surprises

⋆˚ ︵ ‿ ︵ ‿ ︵ ୨ ✿ ୧ ︵ ‿ ︵ ‿ ︵ ˚⋆

Characters ➼ Tyler Owens x Teacher!Reader, Tornado Wrangler group x reader (platonically)

Summary ➼ Tyler promised he could get home tomorrow, yet he surprised you.

Word Count ➼ 2,196 words

Warnings ➼ Sexual innuendos

A/N ➼ Hope you enjoy reading!

For the last couple of years Tyler has been dating this wonderful woman. Who is an incredibly smart and talented teacher based in Miami. Yet how they met was by her friend, Arabella who is also a teacher, taking her on a holiday to Texas during June. One night, at a bar, Arabella and her friend linked up with this group who called themselves the Tornado Wranglers. You and Tyler Owen’s became really close, talking to each other all the time, which ended up with him asking you out. 

Years later, the two are still very much in love, yet you two are currently in different parts of the country.

With the first day of school starting today, you write down the goals for today and the date up on the board for the whole class to see. Just after finishing, a ringtone of a phone could be heard from the teacher's desk. 

Picking it up, Tyler’s name fills the screen, wanting to call.

Answering, she says “Hey love, how are you?”

You can tell he is smiling through the phone as he answers “I am doing lovely hearing your voice today, darling. How are you?” Tyler asks back.

“I am doing well. I am so excited to meet my new students for this next school year.”

Chuckling at her enthusiasm, he then speaks up “listen babe, I know I promised me and the team will get to Miami today, but last night we were set back. As the hotel we booked, ended up giving our rooms away to other people. We tried nearby motels and caravan sites but they were all booked. So the closest hotel nearby is six hours away from where we were meant to stay. I am so sorry, doll.”

You sigh heavily, shoulder falling in sadness, missing your boyfriend. “Alright, but shouldn’t you be sleeping right now if you had to drive extra hours?”

“Dani took over driving for me, while I slept in the back seats.”

“Are you still at the hotel? Have you gotten enough sleep? I don’t want you driving while still tired.” Your voice rose as you interrogated him.

“Don’t worry about me darling. And yeah, I am still at the hotel, and I just took a shower.” He replied, wrapping his towel around himself.

“Oh really?” Tyler didn't have to be with you to know you were smirking, and excited about the information shared.

“Yes, get your head out the gutter.” He laughed.

“See here the thing,” you started, pausing as you stared into the sky, “I won’t believe you unless you send me a picture.” She said, smiling at her words.

“I will see what I can do,” he chuckled again, “anyways what’s your plan for today, teach?”

“Well, since it is the first day of school, I will of course just be doing the introductory work and some goal setting with the kids. Then later tonight, I was going to make carbonara for you and the team, but it seems like you won’t get here till tomorrow. So I guess I will just order takeout.” She answered, her voice saddened by the end, as she walked around the classroom, making sure everything was perfect.

“I promise we will be there tomorrow.” He spoke softly.

“Okay.” You smiled, loving his words. Yet before the conversation could continue, the loud, annoying bell went off. “Shit, love, bell just rang. I love you, stay safe.” You ran towards your desk from the other side of the classroom.

“I love you too baby, and I will stay safe. Have a great day. Bye!” He hurriedly spoke, so she could go on her way.

“Bye!” You yelled, placing your phone face down on your desk, before rushing over to the classroom door. Flattening your clothes, you open the door.

A herd of kids came running in, finding their seats for the day. While the kids come rushing in, you try your best to greet them all with a smile on your face.

Once all the seats have been filled with children, you close the door, walking towards the front of the room. Children smiled at you, excited to see what you say, what you are like. They are excited for the new year.

Breaking the silence, you spoke up “Hello everyone, my name is Ms. Y/L/N, and I will be your teacher for this next school year. I hope that we can be on the best of terms, and for all of you to be kind to one another. So, today, what we are going to do is …”

―୨❀୧―

Sitting in the teachers lounge, you and your best friend Arabella are talking to one another while she gets some more coffee. 

“I hate how Tyler isn’t coming home till tomorrow, I miss him.” You groaned, leaning your head back against the kitchen doors, as you lean against the bench.

“Trust me, I know the feeling.” Arabella stated, making you snap your neck towards her. 

“What do you mean by that?” You question her, raising your eyebrows suggestively.

“Didn’t I tell you me and Dani got official yesterday?” Arabella questioned.

“Um, no! When did this happen?” You screamed, excited for your friend to finally have a girlfriend.

Before Arabella could explain how she and Dani got together, the bell went off again. The second time the bell has ruined a conversation for you today. You and Dani both sighed, before leaving the teachers lounge. 

You and Dani had to go separate ways, so you told her to tell you the details later before heading to your classroom.

―୨❀୧―

You and Arabella walk out of school, after finally finishing your first day of work. When Arabella is talking about how she and Dani got together. Yet Arabella stopped in her tracks, mid sentence, staring blankly in front of her.

You looked up to Arabella wondering why she had stopped speaking, yet when her eyes were not on you, you followed her eyesight, to see a surprise. A surprise for both of you. 

It was the Tornado Wranglers. 

You too looked at each other smiling, before running towards the group, greeting each other. 

While Arabella made her way through the group’s greetings fast so she could get to Dani, you took your time, savouring the moment.

Which leads you to finally being back in your lover’s arms once more. His arms wrapped firmly around you, like he doesn’t want to leave you again. While you wrap your arms around his neck, listening to his sweet heart beat. Trying to prove that this is real, that he is here.

Tyler pulls away, placing his hands on your cheeks, staring into your glossy eyes, rimmed with tears. He pulls you in for an intoxicating kiss, that forces you to grab onto his shirt, to pull him closer. Both of you want to get as close as you physically can, even if physics won’t allow it. This passionate yet gentle kiss provides both of you with warmth. The kiss feels as long as the time you both had separated from each other. It has been months since you last physically touched one another, while he has been out tornado hunting.

You both pull apart, needing air. Looking at one another, you speak up. “You, Owen’s, are a bloody lair.” 

“But you still love me.” He smiled, kissing your cheek. His arm wrapped around your shoulder as you faced the group. 

You announced to the group that dinner will be at your house, before Tyler rushed you away to his truck. Opening the car door, he held out a hand for you, as you got into the car. Closing the door, he runs around to the other side of the car, excited to have you back in arm’s reach again. 

Getting inside the car, you watch Tyler, before you question him on why he has gotten you into his car, when you had driven your car to school today.

Tyler just stared at you lovingly, “don’t worry about it darling, it has been taken care of.”

“How?” You question, narrowing down your eyes.

“While you were teaching, I got Boone to drive my truck to yours while I drove your car to yours. I parked your car, and got back to school in my truck.” He explained, driving the car off towards the distance. 

You thank him, before grabbing his hand, and pressing your lips to his knuckles. 

―୨❀୧―

It is around 5:30pm, when you and Tyler decided to start preparing dinner.

“Hey babe, do you want to handle the pasta and sauce, while I deal with the meat? Since you hate touching meat.”

“Sure,” you replied, seeking the deal with a kiss on his cheek.

While you both get started on your jobs, Tyler also starts playing music from your shared Spotify playlist. Settling his phone down on the bench, he spins you around as you head to get some salt from the cabinet.

While you cook, the two of you spend your time singing terribly and dancing around in the kitchen. 

As you wait for your pasta and sauce to cook, you walk behind Tyler, hugging him from behind.

“You know love, because you lied to be today, you need to make it up to me. And I know a way you can.” You suggested, as you slip your hands underneath his white shirt, running your hands up to his chest. 

He grabs your hands from above the fabric, and guides them to his hips. He then turns around, ignoring his duties. Staring into him, figuring out your game, he replied to you “yeah, and what way would that be?”

“You already know what it is.” You replied, smiling cheekily. You move your hands back up to his chest, fondling it, before massaging his shoulders. He stares at you, eyes darkening. 

The sound of the doorbell interrupted your moment. You stare at him, before telling him to go get it. You back away, but before he can leave your space you slap his ass. He looks back at you, eyes open, while you just stared into space innocently.

The sound of Tyler greeting everyone drowns out of your ears, and you finish the sauce. Yet the noise of everyone washes back to your ears when they stand in the kitchen behind you and the kitchen bench. 

“Hey teach, how are you?” Boone asks, looking around the kitchen.

“I am doing lovely, thank you.” You smiled, before going back to the sauce.

Lily is intrigued by what you are doing, so she walks towards you. You become aware of her presence as she stands over you, looking over your shoulder. 

“Can I have a taste?” She asked.

You looked back towards her, and said sure. You grabbed a spoon from a drawer, and scooped some up for her, before giving her the spoon.”

“Delicious, absolutely amazing.” She smiled as she tasted the sauce, before walking back to where the rest of the group was standing.

“Hey hun,” you started, turning your head to face Tyler, “can you set up the table outside while i fish up dinner.” you asked.

“Sure,” he smiled, also giving you a kiss to seal the deal.

He gets the rest of the team to head outside, before grabbing all the cutlery and glasses needed. He comes back into the house for the drinks afterwards, before heading back out to set the table. 

While Tyler does his task you assigned him, you start serving the food into the bowls. Once you're finished, you popped your head outside, and asked Tyler to help you carry the food outside. He groans before coming towards you.

“Why are you making me do everything, love?” He questioned, remaining polite.

“This is a part of your pay back for lying to me.” You say as you grab a few plates. Before you head outside you give him a kiss on his lips quickly, before walking off.

“You're killing me woman,” he stated loudly, before shaking his head and smiling down.

Dinner was about two hours long, most of the time spent talking. As the group was saying their goodbyes and thank yous to Tyler at the front door, you got started on cleaning the kitchen.

10 minutes of cleaning goes by, until you hear Tyler’s footsteps walking towards you. You watch him as he enters the kitchen, but when he goes behind you, you continue your cleaning. 

But Tyler puts a stop to you ignoring him being in the kitchen, as he wraps a hand around your waist, his hands dipping in your pants. He massages your lower stomach, before starting to attack your neck with kisses and biting. 

“Come on baby,” his voice was husky, the desire filling inside of him.

“I just got to finish cleaning, just wait baby.” You groaned, trying your best to ignore his touches.

“I am done waiting.” He stated, picking you up by your hips, throwing you over his shoulders. 

He walks you two to your shared bedroom, slapping your ass on the way.

You are going to enjoy tonight. Guess surprises are fun.

[queenbrucewayne]

Not Dead

A/n: since there are so many amazing Batman, I won’t be using Gif with the stories so people can envision their favorite one while reading.

Summery: y/n and Bruce are married, but when an accident happens, she’s left devastated thinking her husband is dead until the dark knight comforts her.

“Ya know, I could’ve had Alfred bring that.” Bruce watched Y/n close the door behind her, giving a polite smile to his PA who was gushing over the flowers she got her.

“I know, but I have to pass here to get to work anyways. Besides, it gives me an excuse to see my husband.” She smiled sweetly, putting the briefcase down on the chair across his desk.

Bruce eyes followed her, rolling back slightly in his chair where she happily sat herself across his lap. His right hand instantly went to her lower back while his left rested on her knee.

Y/n wrapped her left arm across his shoulder and started running her nails thru the back of his head, her other hand laid on top of his that was resting on her knee.

“Did you even leave this office last night?” Y/n tone was teasing.

She noticed the little bit of extra growth on his face, which to her meant that he didn’t shave this morning; and the tie she had rested on the bed for him yesterday was still on around his neck.

Bruce gave her a small smile. He had left the office yesterday, but he went straight to the bat cave and then on patrol soon after. His night was long and before he knew it, the sun was rising and he only had little time to get back to the mansion and wash off his face before his meeting this morning. He hadn’t expected to see Y/n till tonight so he didn’t bother to change his tie or shave his face. Assuming you would just think he woke up early this morning and left; not out fighting criminals and dealing with justice league business.

“I have a comfy couch, it does wonders on my back.” Bruce smirked, wondering if you would believe him yet again, or if his lies were finally catching up to him.

Seeing you rolling your eyes and smiling at his comment he knew you were convinced.

“Well, don’t make it such a habit, I don’t like you pushing yourself so much and I prefer to have a little bit of warmth at night.”

Before Bruce could respond back her phone started beeping. Watching her fiddle with her pocket till she finally answered. He decided to take the opportunity to lay his head on her shoulder, resting his eyes for only a moment to try and get a few minutes of rest he failed to get last night. Bruce knew lying to you was gonna catch up to him, Alfred had told him when they were dating for only a year that he should have said the truth of what he does at night as the caped crusader. He didn’t, and now Bruce and Y/n were married for six months, her having no clue what he has been hiding all these years.

“Yeah, okay, I’ll be there soon.” Y/n hung up the phone, looking down she smiled seeing the calmness and peace in her husbands expression. He had been pushing himself so hard lately, working long hours, barley keeping up with emails, and the amount of coffee this man drinks on a daily could probably put the average human into shook.

Bruce opened his eyes looking up at her. Y/n frowned at the red shot color and the dark circles that really have been getting more and more noticeable these days. “Bruce, please go home early today, and just sleep for two days.”

Bruce laughed, kissing her shoulder he leaned his head back up, letting Y/n slide off his lap. “I’ll be fine, you should get to work before you get in trouble.” Taking her hand he brought it to his mouth and kissed it twice. “I’ll see you tonight.”

Y/n leaned down, bringing her hands to his cheeks she cupped his face and kissed sweetly. Pulling back she locked her eyes with him, still cupping his face. “Sleep, please.”

Bruce nodded, watching her round the corner of his desk as she made her way out of his office. As soon as the door closed he let out a sigh of relief. He was slipping up, not catching the little things only she would notice. Knowing soon he would have to tell her the truth or she would figure it out herself; or worse, she would assume something else that was even worse than the truth.

The hole he dug himself into was deep, too deep for comfort. Telling her the truth now could put a cold stop to the relationship. He should have told her before they got married... No, he should have told her from the beginning. Bruce knew a long time ago that he wanted to be with her for the rest of his life. Whatever short or long life he may have, he finally found someone he didn't wanna waste a moment without; but now, he could lose you completely for a lie that has over taken his life.

Bruce stacked up some papers he had been working on. Getting up, he walked over to the briefcase that Y/n brought him, stuffing the rest of the endless files and notes for his next meeting inside, he walked to the conference room to get ready for another long day.

Few hours later Bruce was back in his office, the sunset coming through the open floor to ceiling windows. He sat in his chair, swiveling back a bit with the momentum. Pulling his phone out he went into his favorites and hit the one of two numbers saved. After a few rings he finally heard the click.

“I was just about to call you.” Y/n smiled, “I have in my hand a very delicious plate of Chinese that will make your mouth drool.”

“Chinese huh?” Bruce leaned back in his chair, his eyes shut as he rubbed the bridge of his nose.

"I thought I would let Alfred have a night to himself. He was talking about going to see a play or something."

"Where are you?" Bruce asked, hearing the sounds of the city in the background.

"I'm headed to the office, I'm about a few blocks away."

Before Bruce could respond a loud crash was heard from below, followed by an explosion that shook his entire office.

Jumping from his seat, he instantly became hyper aware of his surroundings. quickly pulling up the building security cameras.

"Bruce? What was that? I see smoke rising up from where I am."

Each camera but the down stairs labs were working, thinking the explosion came from there Bruce quickly grabbed what he needed and headed out the door. "Y/n, I have to call you back."

"What? Bruce what is happening?"

All of a sudden multiple Gotham PD cars sped past her on the main road, followed by two fire trucks and an ambulance.

Panic setting in, Y/n started running towards Wayne industries, ignoring the groups of people starting to crowd the streets with phones in their hands that were recording the large amounts of smoke that was getting bigger and darker.

"I gotta help some people, Y/n I'll call you back."

"Wait Bruce don't-" And just like that, the phone disconnected and Y/n was left on the other end.

More people crowded the streets, seeing the crowds get bigger as everyone looked to the sky to see the most well known building in Gotham get surrounded by smoke.

Y/n finally made it to the barrier line that the fire and police had made to keep the crowds of people back and away from the building. Crowds of people had all gather around the barricade, watching as the scene in front of them spread wider to almost around the whole building and inside the employee garage.

Looking around Y'n had spotted commissioner Gordan, who looked to be supervising the crowd work and escorting some employees who had just made it out of the building. "Jim!"

Jim turned around looking directly in the direction of his name. Spotting Y/n, he jogged over next to the barrier. "Mrs Wayne! There was an explosion in one of the labs, along with another one almost at the top of the building, we have been trying to get people out, but some parts of the structure has already fallen thru."

"Jim, Bruce was inside his office, I was on the phone with him and-" Before Y/n could finish her sentence, Batman glided in, landing directly next to one of the stretchers that had a paramedic. He was holding two office workers that Y/n recognized as one of Bruces office assistants. Batman quickly gave them to one of the paramedics, both not looking to be injured but struggling to breath from the intake of smoke from whatever blew up.

Batman glanced around, his eyes landing on Y/n. He walked over swiftly, standing next to Jim he told him he had given the run down of all exits and civilian count to what he thought was the best plan for firefighters to get in and out with no casualties. The problem that Y/n had with his plan despite not talking to her, was the fact none of this covered for the main office floor. "That doesn't cover the top floor." Y/n was quick to say.

Jim turned around, but Batman paid no attention. "Mrs Wayne, we have our best people getting this fire under control, we-"

"The main office building is still covered in smoke, if the staircases leading up to the top floor is engulfed in flames by now how do you-"

"The people on that floor have already been evacuated." Batman cut in, his voice was sharpe and straight to the point.

"Bruce Wayne wasn't evacuated."

Batman's jaw tightened, he turned his attention back to Jim. "There is nobody left on that floor this is the best plan. for the rest of the building"

Dumbfounded, Y/n looked at Gordan for any sign of help. He nodded, putting his hand on her shoulder he looked back to Batman "You are absolutely sure, Bruce Wayne was not on that floor?"

Batman glanced back at Y/n, her expression was pleading, almost desperate at this point, but what made it all worst was the tears that started to form at the corners of her eyes. Sighing, he turned his back on both of them. "I'm absolutely sure."

Y/n held back a sob, driving her body forward she tried to go after him. "No! He's lying!" She yelled out. Jim had a complete hold on her now, pulling her back from going after Batman. "He's in there! He's in that building! Batman Stop! Please! You can't leave him!" The more she yelled the more her voice would crack and her body would try to fight against Jim.

"Mrs Wayne, please stop!" Jim was struggling to get a complete grip on her. "Hey! Get me some help here!"

Just then two officers came to Jim's aid. "Get her away from here, keep her monitored until we can get this fire under control!"

All of a sudden the top floor of the building exploded again, causing everyone around to duck down to the ground. Glancing up, Y/n stared in horror as the top floor was covered in flames, there was absolutely no way anyone could have still been there, and if they were, they were gone.

Y/n body slacked, and the two cops who were just having to hold her back had now let their hands loosen their grip. Y/n was still on the ground, tears had fallen harder from her face at this point, but she was silent.

Batman looked down at her, he took a step forward but had to stop himself. He was about to comfort her but knew this wasn't the time. Turning back around he told himself this was the right thing to do, at least for now. Batman felt her eyes on him, he knew she was furious with him, he knew she wanted nothing more then to wish Batman and Bruce Wayne had traded places, but he didn't have time to explain to her that he knew Bruce Wayne was out of that building, that her husband was safe and she could see him soon. Instead he said the only thing that he knew could come from both Batman and her husband. "I'm sorry."

Y/n watched as the cape crusader rushed away, going to help the rescue crew and to get anymore civilians they couldn’t reach from just their equipment. She barley heard the apology from him, she felt empty at that moment, still on the ground as the tears kept going. Feeling a bit of warmth around her shoulders she looked up to see Jim. He put a blanket from one of the EMT trucks on her, a look of sympathy in his eyes. He moved some hair that was in front of her face, looking at the officers who were still behind her. "Take her to my squad car, keep someone by her till I get done here."

Jim walked away, joining the rest of the crew that were still escorting several more civilians out of the building. Y/n looked to see one of the officers crouched down next to her, holding out his hand he smiled sadly at her. Putting her hand is his, she let him help her up, walking towards Jims squad car with the blanket wrapped tightly around her.

A couple of hours later, everything had calmed down. People who were injured were rushed to the hospital, the ones who weren't and had evaluated were ether on the phone with family or still getting checked out by EMS. A few people had even started to get interviewed by a few reporters who were covering the scene.

Y/n still had the blanket that Jim gave her, walking around some of the building she looked at all the rubble that was spread everywhere. Jim was still talking to a few rescue crew and hadn't gotten a chance to make his way to her. She held the blanket tight around her. It was dark now and the only thing lighting the building was some construction lights and the one helicopter that had been flying above for twenty minutes now.

She knew they were still doing a count on the people who made it out and the people taken to the hospital. It was difficult since their scanner had been destroyed to tell how many employees had clocked in today, but Y/n felt her heart sink at the thought that there would be one causality on that list.

Hearing the sound of footsteps behind her, Y/n didn't have to guess who it was. He wasn't trying to be quiet and the heavy boots were a dead giveaway. She didn't bother to turn around, she just continued twisting her wedding ring on her hand.

"Mrs Wayne." His voice was deep but it held some softness to it, nothing like how he talked to her earlier. "You should really get back to commissioner Gordan, the building hasn't been cleared to be stable yet."

No response.

"Mrs Wayne."

Again, nothing.

"Y/n-"

"I don't care." She said.

"What?"

"I said, I don't care. This whole building could fall on me for all I care."

Batman didn't say anything. He walked up from behind and softly placed his hand down on her shoulder. The moment his hand landed she quickly turned around and attempted to slap him. He grabbed her wrist right before her hand made contact with his face, she was too slow for him. "Mrs Wayne-"

"You let him die!" tears started to form again. "He was up there and you lied! He couldn't have made it out in time, he was still there!" Completely crying now, Y/n stared at Batman, her grip still struggling against his as she tried to free her hand. She swung again, this time the other arm, but he blocked that one too. He had both wrists in his hands, attempting to keep her still but she was fighting against him. Her blanket had fallen off her shoulders at this point and tears were still falling down her face. He didn't wanna let her go until she had calmed down but it didn't look like that was going to happen anytime soon, she just kept fighting more. They were far enough away from the rest of everyone that nobody had noticed or even heard her crys.

Batman looked around once more just to be sure there wasn't any glancing eyes. He let go of one of her hands, which she used as a chance to pound on his chest over and over. She was like a toddler throwing a tantrum. Batman shot one of his bat rings to a nearby building roof, using his other hand, he let go of her wrist and wrapped his free hand around her waist, forcing her forward against his chest.

The sudden momentum made Y/n grip his shoulders, but as soon as both their feet left the ground she quickly wrapped her arms around his neck and her legs around his waist; holding on for life as she let out a scream right next to his ear.

Batman landed, but Y/n hadn't moved from her position. She was wrapped tightly around him, her breathing was heavy and her face was still buried in his neck. He slowly brought his hands up to her back, trying to cradle her as she calmed down.

As if that was a wake up call, Y/n quickly jumped down and pushed him away. "What is wrong with you?!" She asked in frustration. Backing away from him, Y/n started to pace. She was running her hands though her hair.

Batman just stood there watching her, he was debating with himself. Wondering what he should do next.

"Get me down from here." Y/n demanded. "Get me off this roof, I wanna go home!"

"Y/n-"

"No!" She screamed. "Stop, just stop. Please." She was crying again, only this time she sounded desperate, not sad. "I just lost the one person that means everything to me- I can't- I." And that was it. She broke. Falling to her knees again, she buried her face in her hands. "Please."

He couldn’t do it anymore, he couldn't watch this. It might’ve just been easier to leave her and show up later out of the mask, but he didn't wanna lie to her anymore. He didn't wanna keep pushing her away with only knowing half of him, only bound to assume the worst in what he was really hiding.

Walking slowly towards her kneeling down to her level, he took off his mask, but she hadn't risen her head from her hands, she was still shaking her head slightly and mumbling something he couldn't make out.

"Y/n. Look at me." He said it so gently, just like he were to tell her good morning.

She hadn't moved or even bother to respond.

"Y/n, sweetheart." He took his hand and gently gripped her wrist in attempt to pull it away from her face.

"Stop, leave me alone. Please, go away." Her voice was scratchy from all the crying, she sounded so exhausted. "Batman, please, just leave me here and go."

"I can't do that." He tried again with her wrist, this time more successful.

Her hands were away from her face now, but her eyes were still looking down. "Why?" She asked, wiping some of her face.

"Because, we made a promise until death do us part."

Y/n froze, her breath had hitched and she slowly looked up. Expecting to come face to face with a dark mask, she was instead greeted with the most beautiful blue eyes, the same blue eyes that made her fall in love in the first place.

He cupped the side of her cheek, his thumb gently wiping some of her tears that were still falling. "I'm not going anywhere. I'm staying right here with you."

Y/n stared blankly at him for a minute, taking in his attire, she stayed dead silent. Bruce for the first time couldn't tell what she was thinking. She was normally easy to read for him, but this time was different, this time she was expressionless. Her hands slowly raised to his face, gently running her fingers across his jaw and to his forehead. Before Bruce could say anything, she threw herself at him, her arms wrapping around him tighter than earlier and her whole body pushed up against his.

Bruce sat down pulling her into him. He kissed the side of her head, as he rubbed his hands up and down her back, breathing in her scent since he was closer now.

The both of them stayed like that for several minutes, taking in the silence.

Y/n pulled back, wiping her eyes she did her best to compose herself despite the red puffiness her eyes gained from crying so much.

Bruce tucked some fallen hair behind her ear, keeping his hand there he stroked the side of her cheek. “Y/n I’m-“

“Alive.” She cut him off.

Confused, he waited for her to continue.

“You’re alive, I don’t care about anything else.” She brought her hand up to his that was on her face. “I don’t care about anything else but that.”

“Not even-“

“That you’re Batman? Geez Bruce, I couldn’t have thought of a better outcome. I rather you be here in front of me wearing the Batman uniform then somewhere buried in that rumble.”

He nodded slowly, understanding what she was getting at. “I’m sorry. For everything, before and now.”

Y/n tucked herself under his arm, wrapping her arms around his body. “We can talk about you lying to me this whole time later, but for now, let me have this…. Let me have you, just for a moment.”

Bruce kissed the top of her head, bringing her closer to his body he watched over her head to the scene below.

There would be time to figure things out, to talk over the past several years and catching up on the secret life he had been hiding, knowing he was gonna have to be ready for any consequences from her.

“Bruce?”

“Hmm?”

“Just to be clear for the moment, this doesn’t change anything, sure I’m mad. But I love you and knowing what I do now, that hasn’t changed.”

“Why are you-?”

“I can sense how tense you are, I know you’re worrying about what I think, but I’m not leaving, you couldn’t pay me enough.”

Bruce laughed, feeling what was starting to build up as stress slowly be let go. She could read him just as well as he could read her, and that was something he would always value when it came to her.

Standing up, Bruce put back on his head piece. "Alfred should be here by now, I'll meet you at home, I should help Gordan a bit longer."

Holding his hand out she held his as he helped her up. "Ok, I will see you at home then." Y/n looked down at their joint hands, she looked back up to Bruce and on instinct she leaned forward to kiss him goodbye, before she got too close she stopped herself. Realizing she was about to kiss batman and not her husband, she thought he wouldn't have liked that. "Be careful." Y/n turned around and started to walk away, before she got too far she felt a gentle but firm tug on her hand.

Batman pulled her back to him, his free hand going to her face to pull her lips to his. He kissed her hard, but nothing too aggressive. He felt her relax against him, knowing this is exactly what they both needed. Reluctantly pulling away, Batman looked down to her and wiped away a few stray tears that fell. “I’ll see you soon, I promise.”

Nodding, Y/n took a step back, watching as the caped crusader walked towards the edge of the building, he glance back at her for a few moments, she smiled at him, feeling her heart slip as her shot out a line to another building and jumping away.

[magics-neptunes-things]

Secret Love II

So, here we are with the second part! I don't really where I'm going with it right now to be honest, so I'm just gonna I’ll just let my imagination run wild.

Thanks for your reviews, don't hesitate leave me some, it always makes me very happy to know what you think of my writings :)

Enjoy!

P.S Part one is HERE

____________________________________________________________

A few hours after leaving your hotel room, you return there hoping to be as discreet as you were before. On tiptoe, you reach your bed and slip under the covers, your mind always with Alexia. She also went to her room, you both agreed that it was important to enjoy the last hours of sleep before dawn. While you are looking for sleep, you don't realize that Ona’s breathing is no longer as deep as when you left, indicating that she is awake.

"... going to be late!"

Ona’s voice comes to you like through a fog and you need a few blinks of eyes to finally fix your gaze on her face.

"Breakfast is in seven minutes, you know how is Vilda with late people"

Oh man. You jump of your bed, frantically searching for your clothes by making more mess than anything else. You sprint in the bathroom to wash your face and comb your hair in a messy bun, trying to get the sleep of your face.

"Ona go, don't be let yourself" you say to your roomate.

"You sure?" she asked, popping her head by the door.

"Yeah"

"Ok. Your shirt is upside down."

You swear before you put it right, jump in your sneakers and go out slamming the door of the room. Obviously the elevator doors close a few meters from you, so you decide to take the stairs. It’s a miracle you’re on time and you're not even the last one.

You spot Alexia, sitting next to Jenni and Irene, with the same fresh, rested look as if she had slept 12 hours straight. This woman, you thought, before serving you a breakfast tray and looking for a free place.

************************

"Y/N what's that?"

You turn around but Aitana had time to have a close look to the hickey Alexia made two days ago. Her loud question made everyone turn around, even if you all were supposed to be focused on your strength exercises.

"What are you talking about?" you ask, your mind racing while looking for a good excuse.

"You got a bruise on your neck"

At this point those who were furthest away turned their attention to their exercises, but you feel that the look of several of your teammates burning your back. You crossed Alexia's eyes for a second and open the mouth to talk, but another voice answers before you.

"It must have been when you fell while getting ready, the morning you were late. I thought she was gonna break her neck."

The second sentence is more for Aitana than for you, but she seems to accept this answer with even a small laugh before grabbing his dumbbell again. It's Ona's look that you cross this time and since you don’t know what to tell her, you’re starting to do your exercises again.

************************

"So, you and Alexia uh?"

You were back in your room, reading a book while listening some music. It was free time but it was so cold outside that you didn't want to go out for now. Ona had said nothing until now, even during the meal time when you found yourself sitting in front of her. Even if you knew the subject was coming at some point, you appreciate the fact that she chooses to be sure she isn’t being heard by anyone to bring the subject.

"Well... Maybe"

You can't fight back the smile on your face and your vague answer seems to be enough for your roommate.

"Who knows?" she asked.

"No one, apart from Alexia’s mother."

"Even Jenni?"

You bite your lip and shakes your head. You know Alexia want to talk about it with Jenni, she's her bestfriend after all. But you had a rule and she just get with it.

"We got together six months after I arrived in Barcelona, I had a hard time understanding what was happening the first time she tried to flirt with me."

You smile in spite of yourself, the flirting was not necessarily the strong of Alexia but you always found it touching.

"And then we broke up when we lost against Wolfsburg, she thought our relationship was what kept her from focusing on the game and the win."

You swallow with difficulty, these memories being particularly dark for both of you. But now that you’ve started talking about your story, you can’t stop. Especially since the Catalan seems to be an excellent listener.

"After that we lost the final... It was awful. I spent every second trying not to look at her, not to show anything to anyone. No one knew and they thought I was disappointed that we lost the final when I was in reality heartbroken."

Lost in your thoughts, your gaze on your hands, you notice only when you feel her presence that Ona left her bed to sit next to you. She places her hand on your arm and you look up at her smiling, which must probably seem strange to her given with what you're saying after.

"Weeks and months passed and we found ourselves training for the Euro. And you certainly don’t need me to remind you what happened with her ACL."

Ona’s grimace speaking of herself, you continue, leaning against the wall behind you.

"I wrote her several times to tell her that I was thinking about her, but she didn't answer. I didn't expect her though, I knew that she had cut contact with almost everyone. But when we were eliminated and I returned to Barcelona, I found her one time on my doormat. She was... I never saw her like that Ona. She was destroyed."

The memory of this moment gives you shivers and you shake yourself mentally to return to the present.

"I let her in and she talked about her insecurities. She told me she was supposed to be in rehab in 15 minutes, but she didn’t want to go. She felt that it was useless and that she would never play again. So I threatened to call her mother and took her there. That’s when we started seeing each other again and got back together soon after."

There was a small silence, during which Ona seemed to digest the information you had just given her. With frowns, she looks at you thoughtfully when answering.

"I'm sorry, I didn't know it was this deep. And I’m sorry you both had to go through this without being able to tell anyone."

"It's in the past now. I can't talk for her but she makes me really happy. You really saved us this morning, but please keep it to yourself for now"

"I will"

She smiles and you kiss her cheek before she gets up to go to the bathroom. Thinking it's better to inform Alexia, you take your phone.

You - Can you talk?

Mi Reina ♥ - Yes, what's up?

You - Ona knows about us, I kind of just told her everything.

Mi Reina ♥ - Well she kind of cover you up this morning so it was obvious Guapa

You - Sorry if my girlfriend can't keep her lips to herself :)

Mi Reina ♥ - Touché.

Mi Reina ♥ - Can I talk to Jenni about us, since Ona knows?

You - If you want to, it's ok for me.

The next day, it didn’t take you long to realize that Alexia had spoken to Jenni. You have surprised the gaze of the striker several times, examining you with a thoughtfulness look. Every time you catch her looking at you, you were foolishly blushing and it was only when Alexia slapped her head that she stopped looking at you.

************************

Time pass and here you are, at the final of the World Cup. The more you advanced in the tournament, the harder it was to manage time for you and Alexia. But you had a few moments, thanks to Jenni and Ona who covered you a few times. You didn’t escape Jenni’s threatening conversation, based on "Hurt my best friend and you won’t see the light of the day again" but other than that she seems to have given you her blessing.

You were in the locker room once again, but this time it was the Final. You were playing against England, your last game of the tournament. You're not really listening what Vilda is saying, focused on your boots. You start the match, next to Alexia, Ona, Jenni and your others teammates. You’re stressed, you can’t wait for the game to start now.

You haven't forget the promise Alexia made this night in your hotel, but you haven't bring to topic again. Even if it doesn't happend, you couldn't be more happy.

What it seems an eternity later, you were on the fields and the referee was blowing in her whistle. You made it, you were World Champions. Tears of joy and relief invaded your eyes and you find yourself caught in a collective embrace, without really knowing who is tight against you. Cries of joy, tears and the cheering of the crowd around you seem to come from far away.

When you are able to stand up, you find yourself facing Ona who also huggs you before mumbling "I have to find Lucy". Of course she have to, not matter what is her relationship with her, they are really close.

You search for a particular person too, your eyes scanning around for pink hair. When you spot Alexia, she's on the ground and Jenni is helping her to stand up.

A bit like in a dream, you start running towards her before throwing yourself in her arms. The mix of emotion makes you feel like you’re floating when you wrap your legs around her waist and she hugs you back.

"We did it" you say, while she keeps you in her arms.

"Yes we did" she answers, with the most beautiful smile in her face.

If you weren't already madly in love with her, you'll probably fall again right now.

"So… What now?" you asked soflty after some seconds of silence you passed admiring her.

"I'm going to kiss you."

And she did, barely letting you the time to understand what she said. Keeping you in her arms, she approaches her face to yours and places her lips on yours, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

Of course you hear exclamations of surprise around you, but you can’t focus on anything other than Alexia. She ends up putting you down, letting go your lips for a few seconds to catch her breath. You then kiss her a few seconds later, drawing her as close as possible.

You may have won the World Cup, but ultimately your greatest victory is her.

[queen-of-deans-booty]

Will Always Catch You

Pairing: Sam Winchester x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~1.1k

Warnings: fluff

Summary: Sam invites you to go running one day, and now you have a gym membership with him. You might be a badass huntress but you’re quite clumsy. That’s okay, Sam will always be there to catch you if you fall.

Square Filled: Sun eclipse for @spnclassicbingo (deleted bingo)

Author’s Note: any and all comments are greatly appreciated <3

x

Body aches. Sweat drips from your forehead. Blood cakes your skin and clothes. The hunt really kicked your ass but it seems like Sam and Dean are fine. Yes, they’re just as bloody as you are but they’re not covered in sweat and panting. They’ve been doing this a lot longer than you have so they’ve built up the strength for it, but you’ve always thought you were just as strong as them.

“Let’s not do that again,” you pant. “Next time, you two are on your own. How are you two not panting right now? That hunt kicked my ass.”

“You just need to build up some endurance,” Sam says.

“Okay, Sam, let me just go get some,” you roll your eyes.

“How about I help train you?” Dean pushes past both of you to get first dibs on the shower. “You can join me on my run tomorrow.”

What could go wrong? You really don’t feel like running but you’d get to be with Sam and that sounds like a fun time.

“Okay, sure, why not?”

Apparently, your body doesn’t agree with you wanting to run so early in the morning. The aches turned to a dulling sensation, making you not want to get out of bed. Sam walks into your room to see you still snuggled up in bed. He looks at his watch and walks over to your side. He sits down on the side of the bed and moves your hair away from your eyes.

“Y/N, get up. It’s time to go running.” You moan tiredly and try to move away from him, but he doesn’t let you. “I let you sleep in an hour after I usually go running. Come on. It’s going to be good for you.”

You open your eyes and Sam smiles down at you. How does he look this good at six in the morning?

“Fine, I’m up.”

“Good. Ten minutes. Get dressed. I’ll have coffee waiting for you.”

With that, Sam leaves your room. You take five minutes to wake your break up and the other five minutes to rush through getting dressed and brushing your teeth. Sam already has a cup waiting for you when you get to the kitchen, and you take it gratefully.

The first part of the run isn’t so bad but it’s dark as shit outside. It’s summer time so you’re not sure why the sun isn’t shining at six.

“Why is it so dark outside?”

“Solar eclipse.”

Ten minutes into the run, Sam got the upper hand and started increasing his pace while you were lagging behind. By the time thirty minutes pass, he’s well ahead of you and you’re panting hard. Running isn’t how you like to work out but maybe you should start. It’ll be good for your heart and build up muscles you don’t have now. That still doesn’t stop you from almost tripping three times. Luckily, Sam was always by your side to catch you.

“Come on, Y/N, you can do this. Just a little more,” Sam encourages.

You reach the top of the hill and trip over a small rock, and Sam is there to catch you.

“Sorry,” you mumble.

“It’s okay. That’s why I’m here. You’re very clumsy.”

“Shut up,” you giggle breathlessly. “I can still kill a vampire like it’s nothing.”

“I know,” Sam smiles.

The run back isn’t so bad since it’s all downhill. Sam looks like he just got out of a shower. He’s barely sweating and he’s not red in the face.

“I don’t know how you do it,” you say.

“Don’t you feel better already?”

“Sure, when I can catch my breath.” You arch your back to stretch out the muscles. “Maybe this might be better in a gym where the ground isn’t so rocky.”

Sam looks at you in thought. The gears turn in his head before nodding. “I can work with that.”

You’re not sure what he means by that until next week comes. There is a gym a few miles from the Bunker, and he got you two memberships. There’s a gym inside the bunker but it’s not as nearly as good as the one inside the gym. For one, the Men of Letters weren't hunters, so there was no need to keep a functional gym other than the occasional weights. The Men of Letters in the 50s would much rather drink whiskey and play poker than work out.

Again, Sam is there to wake you up at the ass-crack of dawn, but this time, you’re more enthused to go. With a treadmill, you can choose the speed in which to run, so you won’t have to feel like you’re lagging behind. With Sam under the fluorescents of the gym, you’re able to appreciate him in all of his glory. Gym shorts that show off his muscly calves and a thin tank that does nothing to hide the monsters he calls his biceps.

Damn, he looks like a delicious snack.

“We should seriously talk about upgrading our gym at the Bunker.”

“Yeah, it’d be nice to use some of these weights.”

“Okay, you go do that and I’ll run.”

Sam doesn’t hesitate. “I’ll run with you.”

“You just said you wanted to use the weights.”

“It’s fine. I love running.”

“Sam, what’s going on?”

“Nothing. I love running. Come on.”

“Okay,” you say slowly.

You turn your treadmill on and set it at a low speed to start off, but then you remember that you need to refill your water. Without turning off your machine, you walk over to the water jugs and refill your cup. You tighten the lid and make your way back to your treadmill. Without thinking, you step onto the running treadmill and almost faceplant onto the rubber. Sam jumps into action and grabs your waist as he slams his hand onto the red STOP button.

“Shit, I forgot I started it already,” you gasp.

Sam’s arm tightens around your waist and it’s now that you realize how close you are to him.

“That’s why?”

“That’s why what?”

“That’s why I wanted to run next to you so I could catch you if you fell.” You scoff but he doesn’t pull away. He leans in closer, so close that you think he might be able to hear how fast your heart is beating. “I will always catch you if you fall.”

You’re not sure why you say what you say next. Maybe it’s because you’re in the moment or maybe you really want to know the answer to it.

“What if I end up falling for you?”

Sam smiles and leans in to brush your lips with his. Just a whisper away and so delicate, you’re not even sure if he did it or not.

“I don’t think you’re ready for that conversation right now. Don’t worry, we’ll have it over dinner. Run safely.”

Sam pulls completely away from you and leaves your side to do some weights. How can you run now when all you can think about is the possibility of Sam?

x

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[leaawrites]

hellooo, It's me again, and with a request from Graham again, only this time it would be something more romantic. Graham and the reader are going to be parents, and if the request would be of what a normal day would be like for her living with the band (enduring the teasing about her pregnancy and Graham) and Graham being the most romantic at the end, he doing a small photo session with a disposable camera and giving her some drawings that he did of her during the pregnancy

Best Days

Graham Coxon x pregnant!reader

summary: a day in the life, of graham and pregnant reader.

Warnings: pregnancy, swearing, arguing, angst, fluff, This is a bit more Damon Albarn x sister!reader, but I hope it's alright still. Honestly, it feels a bit rushed but I tried getting something out of it.

Wordcount: 1.1k

Masterlist

The arguments about music were something she could recite in her sleep already. Something she could hear without having to be awake just yet. It was there as a constant in their household of five, six soon.

Leaning against the door frame that separated their bedroom from the living room, Y/n watched the chaos unfold once more. Alex was saying something about his bass line, which Damon absolutely disagreed on based on his facial expression, all while Dave and Graham were simply enjoying the show.

Both a different one though.

Dave’s focus was on the chaos unfolding in front of his eyes, the wild hands that were thrown around the air in frustration and the rolling of eyes as the other person spoke.

Graham though was watching the woman leaning against the door frame - her eyes too glued to the argument - while he let his mind bath in tranquillity. Admiring the way the sun cast a shadow on the floor from her growing stomach and how it already was big enough to make the long shirt seem shorter on her.

“What do you think, Gray?” Damon asked, looking up as he got no answer and seeing the boy stuck in a haze of love. Following his gaze, a smirk formed on his face when he saw the prey of his friend’s love. “Ah, Y/n,” Damon mused, making the girls eyes snap over to him. “Fancy seeing you here.”

“I literally live here too, you know?” she shot back

“Right, forgot about it,” Damon said, his smile widening. “It’s not like you and Graham are all over each other now that you’re having a kid.”

“Oh, I’m sorry for wanting to express my love how I prefer to,” she said back, all the other guys stifling a laugh as they knew that this could go on for hours between them. Typical Albarn-sibling behavior. “At least I got someone to love.”

“Alright, alright, woman. Calm down. I was just saying that you have a baby soon, no need to rush for another one.”

“You know? If we’d had known that letting Damon’s sister stay in our apartment for a bit would lead to this, Damon would’ve strangled Graham himself,” Alex laughed at the scene as they sat together, eating breakfast.

“With greetings,” Damon added, half of his mouth stuffed full with cereals.

He always hated the idea of them becoming more than a one night stand that one time at a party, but he couldn’t deny how happy he was about becoming an uncle. No matter how hard he tried to sell the image, she could see right through him.

Sitting in the living room all alone, Y/n started tracing outlines on her belly, little drawings she hoped would cheer the baby up from where it was stuck in her. Ever growing, ever evolving. The guys just made their way to the studio, leaving her to her own devices once again.

“I don’t know if you can hear me, I bet you don’t,” she started talking into the silence. “But for what it’s worth, I promise to not let you become like me. No mater what might happen in the future, I won’t let anything happen to you. Ever. I just really fear Graham becoming scared and running off, I really do. Graham, he’s your daddy by the way. I couldn’t even blame him, quite frankly. I mean, he’s just at the beginning of his career and I wouldn’t blame him for taking that over this. I wish I could, but I just can’t.”

Tears were running down her face, dropping down her skin on her stomach. Unbeknownst to her, the door opened about five minutes ago, a bewildered Damon now standing in the door frame, watching his baby-sister talk like no one was there, because technically there shouldn’t be.

“I would kill him if he ever even thought about doing such thing,” Damon let out, making his presence known. Y/n spun around, her eyes widen in shock.

“Damon, I didn’t-”

“You know I would make sure that he’s staying, even when I make such a drama about you two all the time, right?” It was important to him that she knew, that he still cared for her, no matter what happened between her and Graham or any other person for that matter.

“I know.”

“And you know, that he wouldn’t do such thing, right? I mean, we’re talking about Graham, out of all people. That boy is in love with you since sixth form.”

“I know.” She knew. Deep down, she knew.

“Now get some rest,” he said finally, smiling at her and kissing the top of her head before disappearing out of the front door again. He would definitely have a talk with Graham about that topic later.

With the sun already setting, casting a shadow over her frame and displaying the way her body was shaped on the floor, Graham couldn’t keep himself anymore from pushing the thoughts away. An idea that ran through his head since the bump in her stomach started showing. A vivid image he’d see whenever he closed his eyes. It was true, they couldn’t just rush and make another baby right after having the first one, their life’s weren’t even planned for a first one, but he loved watching her like this. He loved seeing her pregnant, knowing that whatever she was carrying was his. It was theirs.

Slowly creeping out of bed, Graham tried his hardest to not wake her up. Walking over to the little dresser that was placed opposite the bed, he picked up the Polaroid camera she bought a while back to capture the process of their journey. Holding it up to his eye and finding a right ankle, he pressed shutter and waited for the little image to print.

His eyes scanned over the photo before he finally decided, he needed more of that. More of her.

“What you looking at?” Her voice sounded from the other side, pulling him out of his daydreams.

“Wait,” he quickly said as she started moving and tried to sit up. Halting in her movements, she waited for him to continue talking. “Stay like this. I know this may seem weird, but you look so fucking beautiful like that. Your belly and all.”

“Do you wanna photograph me, Coxon?”

“Only for private entertainment.”

“Pervert,” she laughed at him before laying down again, fixing her hair and clothes. Looking up at his almost hungry eyes, standing with his mouth agape, she blinked up at him innocently. “What you waiting for?”

[puzzling-reeds]

Writer's block has been an absolute pain, so here's a snippet of a post-s3, Johan-centric spiritshipping WIP I started a few months back.

The professor quickly takes to fussing with Johan’s jacket, making sure the shoulders lie right.

Johan just smiles. “I’m all right, Instructor.”

“Huh?” Instructor Cronos suddenly realizes he’s been doting, hands fleeing from Johan’s frame. “Ah, yes. Of course. It’s just—well.” He yanks at the bottom of his own jacket, straightening it out despite there being nothing to fix. “You were one of my charges in Obelisk Blue for however short a time it may have been. Be sure to take care of yourself back home.”

Johan—for a moment—wonders if he feels guilty about Juudai. “Thank you, Instructor.”

Instructor Cronos nods adamantly. “I’ll help you with your bags,” he continues. “No point in straining yourself after having just recovered.”

It’s a small task (Johan packs light) followed by a short walk and a heavy silence.

Life has gone on relatively normal in their absence from school, only a handful of people fully aware of what all transpired in the other dimension. Soon enough, they’ve passed the ghost of the Osiris Red dorms, then the harbor where he and Juudai used to play. There’s a boat. Goodbyes. A shadow of an island lost to Rayleigh scattering, then to distance.

On the deck, Jim naps. O’Brien cleans his gun. Johan fights the urge to check for his deck again. There’s nothing in his pockets. He left all his cards with Juudai.

☆

Eventually, the ship docks, and the three of them—Jim, O’Brien, and Johan—file into the regional airport with one late-night connection to Narita, then further connections back home. The building’s a single-story, more like a dentist’s office than an airport, and the lone tarmac is visible through the window. A Cessna Skyhawk refuels out there.

Lingering around a vending machine, the three of them weigh which Japanese drink should be their last while they wait: Kirin Fire Coffee, Pocari Sweat, melon crème soda….

In the silence, Jim observes, “Amon was here last time.”

Johan gets the soda.

☆

Six hours later, it’s just O’Brien and Johan left. Jim’s probably a quarter of the way to Sydney by now, Karen terrifying the other passengers with her taped-up snout and triple-lidded eyes. The image almost gets a smile. Almost. Sighing, Johan readjusts himself in the black faux-leather of Terminal 2’s seats and blinks drowsily at the clock. He’s wearing sweats for the flight, his carry-on by his feet, and his empty soda bottle’s crammed into the side pouch. Johan can already feel he’ll get needlessly sentimental about the piece of plastic. Meanwhile, O’Brien tossed his coffee can in the first bin he could find like he couldn’t wait to dust Japan off the bottom of his boots.

Johan can’t help it. He can feel it still.

Juudai.

He’s spent the past few days cycling through their last conversations in his head—before they first were sent to the other dimension, before everything went so wrong. Juudai had been so run through, so uncertain in why he was fighting. Johan couldn’t help but blurt it out.

“Juudai! When someone’s being counted on, everyone’s expectations fall on their shoulders. That’s always been the burden on you, hasn’t it? If you lose, what will happen to us?”

And Johan.... He really hit the nail on the head, didn’t he?Juudai doubting himself—it was selfish to not consider how everyone else needed him then, right? But now, looking back, all of that pressure….

In the airport, the clock ticks away. Sleep’s not going to find Johan on the whole flight back to Copenhagen.

“Don’t ever do that again.”

Johan’s eyes slide over; he’s too tried to turn his head.

It doesn’t matter in the end. O’Brien’s not even looking at him, staring down the same clock Johan’s been. He doesn’t look angry, just has dents under his eyes, arms crossed loosely. All he says is “Your life matters more to other people than you know.”

“Ah,” Johan murmurs. He stares at his shoes. “Right.”

[hesawifebeaterdanusethegun]

Doing the Unstuck

Okay here's the beginning of my Evan Green fic, Doing the Unstuck! I'll warn you now, this series will get NSFT (what else is new lol)

The AO3 Version

Chapter One:

“I’m quitting, Joan. I’m not going back to the show,” said Evan quietly. He sat at the glass topped kitchen table, leaning forward and resting his elbows on it. He wore a green and blue flannel shirt and the rest of his signature costume, that monkey suit. He’d just gotten home from the city where he’d done yet another radio interview to promote the book he was supposed to be working on. He hadn’t even started it, every time he tried to take himself back to that cement room where he was zip-tied to a chair and tortured for days to please the vindictive former President, who held a personal vendetta against him, he woke up screaming on the floor, sometimes among the wreckage of a room that he didn’t remember destroying.

It terrified the kids, not to mention Joan, who had been understanding when he’d come home from his ordeal a shell of his former self, but had quickly lost patience with him. She’d done everything she could as far as she was concerned, but all she’d really done is refuse to give him a fucking break from the talk shows and the podcasts and the magazine interviews and let him rest. He couldn’t take it anymore and he’d decided to tell her tonight.

She was pacing the kitchen going over his grueling interview schedule, making suggestions and giving him ideas for each one, going over merchandising ideas and practically already counting the wad of cash she anticipated making from what he’d gone through. It made him furious but there was no fight left in him to express it. He was broken and he knew it. He sat calmly while he watched her pace the room. He looked down at his hands as he waited for her reaction. She stopped pacing and looked at him.

“What did you just say?” she asked.

“I said I’m done. I can’t do this anymore, the spotlight, the interviews, all of it. I’m done, Joan,” he answered. He put his head in his hands, running his fingers through his hair, leaving it a disheveled mess.

“You just need to get back on the horse, Evan. Don’t be ridiculous.” She continued her overwhelming stream of consciousness, once again pacing the room.

He waited patiently and silently until she trailed off into silence and stopped walking around the room like she’d snorted an Adderall or two that morning (which she very well may have, it wouldn’t be the first time).

“You’re really serious aren’t you? You think you can just quit, just like that? You think I’ll let you walk away from everything we’ve made here?” she scoffed.

“I’m really serious,” was all he said, taking his head out of his hands and looking up at her. He took off his glasses, set them down on the table and started to unbutton his flannel shirt. “I’m done.”

“Evan you can’t do this to us, to me,” she’d teared up then.

“I can’t do it anymore, I don’t know what else you want me to say,” he answered, unmoved and not allowing himself to be manipulated. She’d gotten angry then, called him some nasty things that couldn’t be taken back, and they’d gone to bed, sleeping in separate rooms that night, not for the first time since he’d come home. She’d gotten tired of him waking up shouting and keeping her up at night with his thrashing in bed, so he’d been relegated to the guest room.

The next morning he’d woken to her gone and a note telling him not to be there when she came home with the kids. He’d gone to the bedroom and packed a bag, leaving before the hour had passed. Over the next six months, a bitter divorce took place in which she’d taken him for over half what he was worth, including the rights to The Evan Green Show and all the merchandising that came along with it. He hadn’t seen his kids since he’d left. They were afraid of him, she claimed during the custody battle, apparently convincingly enough for a judge to rule that he should get no visitation.

He'd gone back to his apartment after the divorce was finalized, poured himself several drinks, and passed out in his recliner in front of the television, a nature documentary playing to a dark room while he snored. That had been his routine for weeks from that point on, drinking himself to sleep on his chair and feeling sorry for himself. He’d managed to snap himself out of his state of perpetual self-pity after nearly a month of sulking. He got up out of his chair, got a shower, shaved the beard that had gone weeks without trimming, and got dressed that day.

He’d found work as a news blogger for a well-known newspaper in the city using a pen name to keep his anonymity and had a small podcast that he hosted from a corner of the bedroom in his apartment, again using a fake name, which had gathered a bit of a following, but hadn’t grown beyond what he’d aimed for, what he could handle. In it he stuck to empirical facts, and provided absolute proof for everything he spoke of. He wouldn’t touch a conspiracy theory with a ten-foot-pole these days and he didn’t plan to change that any time soon. He lived quietly like this for a few years, keeping to himself and rarely leaving his apartment.

He survived on TV dinners, takeout, and anything he could pick up at Hank’s, the corner shop on his block owned by an old man with a white beard and a faint Irish accent who he’d befriended over the years. Hank’s was one of the few places Evan left the house to go to, and Hank was one of the only people he regularly talked to. They’d bonded over a love of birdwatching. Evan had taken up the hobby at the suggestion of his therapist before he’d given up on therapy altogether. The therapy hadn’t helped him but the birdwatching had, it calmed him like nothing else had since losing his whole life and having to start over from scratch. Not only did it get him out of the apartment for a while, it gave him time to think as he walked the paths of the parks around the city alone.

He settled into some semblance of a routine in his life, juggling his podcast, his writing, and making time for a walk in the park every once in a while to clear his head. He saw Hank several times a week at least, when he picked up small items from the store. He still tended to avoid sleeping, leading to a heavy caffeine addiction and some unhealthy circadian habits.

Several years after the events of Zero Day

Evan woke to the sound of rain on his dingy bedroom window. It was going to be another cold, grey October day. He rolled over and blearily peered at the red numbers displayed on his alarm clock. It was half past noon. He rolled out of bed and grabbed his tattered robe from the slightly less tattered wooden chair that sat in the corner of his bedroom. He ran a hand through his hair as he walked to the bathroom, afterward making his way through his small apartment to the even smaller kitchen with a hideous orange and yellow motif that had been ugly when it was installed, probably the year Evan was born.

He flipped a switch and yellow light filled the room. He stepped to the small countertop where his coffee maker stood. He opened a cupboard and groaned. Out of coffee. Fuck. He’d have to go to Hank’s and pick some up. That meant actually getting dressed and going out today. He walked to the bedroom, shoulders hunched, and opened the top drawer of his dresser, choosing a purple and blue striped button up shirt and a pair of black jeans. He grabbed his phone and wallet and pocketed them both. He went to the stairs leading down to the door and sat down, putting on a pair of black and white Adidas and standing to leave. He grabbed his keys from the hook by the door, grabbed a slightly weathered brown leather jacket and headed outside into the rain. He didn’t bother bringing an umbrella, he only had to walk about fifty feet.

He put his hands in his pockets as he walked down the sidewalk to the corner. A small bell announced his arrival as he walked through the door. A woman stood behind the counter with no sign of Hank around. Evan grabbed a small can of coffee and brought it to the front of the store, setting it down in front of the woman, really looking at her for the first time. She was shorter than him by about six inches or so, and wore a plain blue t-shirt beneath a black zip-up hoodie. Her hair was short and very dark brown, nearly black, her eyes a deep forest green behind thick-rimmed brown glasses, similar to the ones that Evan had worn on television for so long. He physically shook away the thought. She smiled at him.

“Hi, how are you?” she asked as she took the coffee from the counter, checking the price tag and typing in the price on the ancient cash register that Evan couldn’t get Hank to replace with a more modern one. Before he had a chance to answer Hank walked in, all smiles as he usually was. Hank wore a light blue collared shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, with a navy blue and grey sweater vest over it. A green and blue plaid flat cap covered his balding head.

“Evan! I see you’ve met my niece, Michaela,” he smiled at Evan warmly. “This is my friend Evan, Mikey,” he told her.

“Oh I’ve heard about you, Uncle Henry talks about you all the time. It’s nice to meet you, I’m Mikey,” she said, coming around the counter to stand in front of him. Evan shook her hand.

“Evan, nice to meet you,” he gave her a small crooked smile as he spoke.

“Mikey will be running the shop from now on, Evan. It’s time for this old man to retire, but I know Mikey will take good care of you,” he told Evan jovially.

“Congratulations, Hank,” said Evan, holding out his hand to shake. The bigger man pulled him into a tight hug instead. As he let go a tall, thin man dressed in a white t-shirt and blue jeans walked into the shop. He looked at the three of them for a few seconds before speaking to Mikey.

“You got any Camel Wides?” he asked in a raspy voice. She left the aisle they had been standing in as they talked and took her place behind the counter. She turned around to check the wall of cigarettes behind her, finding the brand the man was searching for a few moments later.

“Yeah, we have those,” she answered, pulling a pack from the dispenser on the shelf.

“Lemme get a pack of those,” he said as Mikey set down the blue and white cardboard pack of cigarettes. “And I’ll take all the money in the register, sweetheart,” he finished, pulling a Glock 20 from the back of his jeans and pointing it at Mikey’s face.

Mikey froze, unsure what to do.

“Hey now, let’s just calm down,” said Hank, taking a step forward towards the man, arms held up.

“Shut the fuck up and don’t fuckin’ move,” said the man, turning the gun on Hank and Evan, who raised their hands and stood stock still, barely daring to breathe.

“Okay, okay,” said Hank, stopping his approach.

“Just take what you want, nobody’s gonna stop you, okay? Just take it and go,” said Evan, hands still in the air and heart beating out of his chest.

Mikey got the register open and started stacking the cash on the counter. The man grabbed it and ran through the door, the bell tinkling as he left.

“Thank you,” he yelled over his shoulder as he fled.

Mikey ran over to Hank as soon as the door shut behind the thief, pulling her uncle into a tight hug that he gladly returned. Evan stood next to them, speechless at what had just happened. Hank let go of Mikey and stood there, his breathing heavy and a little labored.

“Hank, you okay?” asked Evan, looking him over.

“I think I need to sit down for a minute,” said Hank, still out of breath. His forehead shone with sweat and he reached across himself with his right hand to grip his left arm with a grimace. Mikey grabbed the plastic chair that sat in the corner behind the counter and brought it over. Hank took a seat.

“I’m okay, just… need a minute,” he grunted as he sat down. Evan pulled out his phone and called 911. He walked outside to finish the call and returned a minute or two later.

“An ambulance is coming, so are the police,” Evan told them when he came back in. He squatted in front of Hank and put a hand on his shoulder. “You doing okay, buddy?”

“Yeah I’ll be fine, I just need to…” Hank fell out of the chair onto the tile floor.

“Uncle Henry!” Mikey said, brows furrowed and kneeling next to him.

“I’m fine, dear, I’m gonna be fine,” Hank reassured his niece. He turned to Evan.

“You should go before the police get here, we don’t want anyone finding out who you are and where you live, my friend,” said Hank. He sighed once and didn’t inhale again. Evan knelt on his other side, placing two fingers on his friend’s neck. No pulse. Probably a heart attack. Fuck. He looked up at Mikey and shook his head to the unspoken question on her face.

“You should do what he said, Evan,” said Mikey.

“I could stay, really I –

“You should go, Mr. Green. Do what he said,” Mikey interrupted him through her tears. “I’ll tell them a random guy off the street was who called 911, and that I didn’t get his name. You can go home.”

“I… thank you,” he said quietly before rushing to the door. He let himself out quietly and rushed to his apartment door through rain that had gotten heavier since he’d left about twenty minutes earlier.

Chapter Two

[serenefreakgeekao3]

Apricity

[Table of Contents]

CHAPTER SIX, Preparation

Week 4

Step One: Be inconspicuous.

You step out of the Medjack hut, blinking your eyes to adjust to the sudden darkness of the night. You hadn’t realised you’d been in the hut for so long, assuming only a few hours as Clint had said. Minho notices your confusion, leaning in to quietly inform you that your swelling might’ve taken a little longer to go down than originally anticipated. The comment about calming everyone down seemed to make a little more sense now than it did inside the building. You walk forward, relying on the cane heavily, and begin to wonder how long your ankle will take to heal. You’ll need to be able to run for your plan, so you have at least as long as it takes to heal to prepare.

You realise that Minho has been herding you toward the outdoor dining area- and it’s becoming increasingly apparent that this is the hangout spot for most of the Gladers, including you and your friends. You scan the crowd around the table, half of them sitting while the other half hover nearby- Thomas sitting on the table itself with his feet on the seat, and Newt sitting with his back against the table on the bench next to him. They’re facing each other, Newt’s arm resting on Thomas’ thigh, and seem to be speaking seriously to each other from the looks on their faces.

“Too distracted to notice the object of your affections approaches?” Minho interrupts their private conversation with his loud, boisterous voice, which causes both men to turn suddenly, their eyes skipping over him and landing on you. They both look at a loss for words, before Minho steps between their eyes and yourself, playing on his theatrics some more. “Don’t worry boys, I’m right here! No need to cry yourselves to sleep tonight.”

Thomas, always so single-minded in his thoughts, immediately pushes to a stand and circles around Minho to get closer to you. His eyes stray nowhere toward your cane or wrapped ankle, staring into your eyes as he reaches for your free hand, taking it with an almost anxious energy. “Hey, are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” You begin, laughing as you watch Newt circle Minho’s other side, his eyes scanning you up and down and lingering on your ankle and new cane. “I promise, I’m completely fine. They just had to ice my ankle a bit so the swelling would go down, and then he wrapped it.” You study Newt’s sudden focus, seemingly staring at the cane in your hand more than your actual injury. Thomas gets your attention back with his voice once again.

“Are you sure that’s all it is? Clint wouldn’t let us in to see you, even after I offered to help him out.” You laugh at this, shaking your head toward Thomas with a smile.

“You’re a runner, Tommy, not a Medjack. I think Clint knows what he’s doing.” Thomas sighs, running an agitated hand through his hair.

“Why does everyone keep saying that?”

“Uh- I’m right here guys?” Minho pipes up finally, and you look at him standing between Newt and Thomas with an amused expression. He has his injured and newly wrapped arm up in the air, waving it around for emphasis. “Your actually injured friend, who was bleeding to death about five minutes ago? Hello?”

Thomas huffs a laugh, shaking his head with mirth as he faces Minho with a smirk. “We knew you would be okay. You injure yourself every other day!” You furrow your brows, looking at Minho, though you’re surprised when he doesn’t deny it. Was he really so careless? Was that where he went to when he disappeared through the day? Your eyes are slowly drawn back to Newt, who is still staring down at the cane in your hand. You follow his gaze, your own eyes studying the cane. Was there something about it that offended him?

The memory catches you off-guard as it pops into your head so suddenly- the fall that Newt took, and consequentially his injury from that. Was this the cane he had used to learn how to walk again? Suddenly, the thought of using this cane filled you both with a sense of unease, but also a strange sense of comfort that you’re holding what helped Newt to heal. You stare down at the smooth stick in your hand, wondering if it had just so happened to be the right size and shape, and then Newt’s grip on it over time just smoothed it to this shine? It was a ridiculous thought, Gally probably used sandpaper on it at some point. But the thought of Newt’s touch being all over this was nice.

You take a hesitant step closer to Newt, shaking him out of his thoughts as the cane moves out of his direct line of sight. He blinks as if coming back to himself, and you lean closer to him while you mildly hear Thomas and Minho bickering next to you. “I’m okay, you know.” You smile at Newt as he finally meets your eyes, trying to give an encouraging nod. “I just slipped a little, but I’m fine. Just gonna be walking funny for the next week.” He gives you a peculiar look, one that likely translates to his own injury and some pointless linking of the two events, until suddenly Minho appears between the two of you. He wraps an arm around Newt’s shoulders, somehow pulling him from his thought spiral- Newt even smiles just slightly at the jostling that Minho supplies.

“What is it with you two and ignoring me today? I’ve been wounded! Don’t you care!” His last sentence was yelled out more as an exclamation than a question, causing the three of you to laugh at his antics. You were appreciative of Minho’s help- if you were anyone else you might just think he was always oblivious and boisterous in a way that he didn’t realize was disrupting. In actuality- knowing of him from books and movies and not just from the few weeks you’ve known him in person- you knew he had a particular knack for noticing when people were feeling a certain way, and was happy to play clown if it meant taking someone’s mind off of things for awhile. He had this way of reading people, especially Thomas and Newt, that you envied. Although with the more often occurring looks that he shoots you, you wonder if he can’t read you at all.

Step Two: Gather supplies.

You were given leave from your job to focus on healing. Which meant a lot of sitting around, staring at people doing their work and feeling antsy to help out. This also gave you plenty of time to stew in your plans, picking them apart piece by piece and thinking up excuses or safety measures for each part. Besides the main goal of actually killing the thing, you had one part of the plan that just wouldn’t seem to fit itself into place. It has you awake tonight, laying in bed and staring at the darkened ceiling above you, listening to the breaths and snores and mumbles of the Gladers around you.

How were you going to get into the Runner’s shed? You obviously had to, that much was for certain. Firstly, they had the running shoes. The good ones, shoes that aren’t falling apart on your feet like your current ones already are. They also had the majority of the paper and pens, which would come in handy. Then, there was the major thing; the map of the maze. You weren’t exactly sure you could memorize the whole thing, or even make a sketch in quick enough time before being noticed missing, but at least taking a look out which gate you’ll be exiting might help.

You turn over on your pad, looking at the barely-covered back of Thomas as he sleeps quietly next to you. It’s almost surprising he’s not a snorer to you- you’re unsure why, he just seemed like the sort. But considering the events of the book series, you suppose it's a good thing that neither Thomas nor Newt were particularly loud sleepers. You wonder for a bit if Minho is- which is when the thought finally comes to you. You sit up quickly, glancing around the dark space looking for him. After all this time spent here, you still have no clue where exactly Minho sleeps, or even if he’s on a bedpad or a hammock. But, this might be the chance you were waiting for.

It’s been a few days since your injury, but your ankle still smarts as you stand without the cane, slowly looking around for Minho’s head. You take a few careful steps, wincing in pain every time you need to use your right foot, but keep your head on a swivel. That’s when you finally see him, sleeping near the middle of the crowd of Gladers in a hammock. You take your time as you make your way over to him, scanning the area surrounding him for some sort of bag or box that might denote his belongings. Your heart sinks as you get close enough to find that his bag is in his hammock with him, laying like a pillow for his feet.

‘Where is that key…’ You wonder to yourself, then begin scanning his form and what you can see of his bag for something that might show what you’re looking for. You’re about to give up- you couldn’t just dig your hand around in his clothing or bag blindly without him noticing- when you finally spot a glint of metal poking from one of his pockets. You glance at Minho’s sleeping face, taking a deep breath and slowly inching your hand closer, gently tugging the metal out of his pocket. You were right, it was a key! Hopefully, it was the key to the Runner’s hut, but you couldn’t exactly know without testing it.

And you couldn’t just keep the key for yourself, considering he goes to the hut first thing in the morning before his run. You curse inwardly as you stare at the key in your hand, biting your lip. You hadn’t exactly planned to be doing this immediately, but you knew you weren’t likely to get another shot like this. You pocket the key as you stare at Minho’s sleeping form once again, promising to return it soon. Turning, you gently pick your way through the crowd of Gladers until you break from the sleeping area, free to walk along the grass.

You want to jog or run- do anything to make this process go faster, but your ankle is still killing you and you don’t want to risk going back to fetch your cane. It takes some time, but eventually, you make it to the small hut in the centre of the Glade, tucked away slightly by a few stray trees from the Deadhead. You shakily pull the key from your pocket, lining it up to the hole in the doorway. You take one last glance around, then stick the key in and turn.

You hear a click as the key does the trick, unlocking the door in front of you. You push the door open, leaving the key in its keyhole as you take a few slow steps inside. All things considered, the hut is just as small on the inside as it looks from the outside- made worse by the large circular table taking up the centre of the room. The table holding the meticulously placed sticks that make up the map of the maze. Your eyes scan over it quickly, a vision of the movie playing before your eyes before you flash back to reality. It's larger in person than you thought it would be, and yet looking inside at the thin walls they have laid out to mock the large stone pillars surrounding you- it’s overwhelming suddenly. You stare at this map in horror- you’re surrounded by layers upon layers upon layers of harsh stone, and yet the runners somehow were able to map the entirety of it out, down to the outskirts.

You’re finally able to tear your gaze away, though you don’t have to look too far to see notes upon notes piled along the table’s edge, and as you grab a couple you notice even more hung along the wall. The papers you hold are labelled for certain days of the week, with lines drawn randomly across the sheets- some papers being held together by some glue-like substance to extend the paper’s reach. You take your time studying the papers in your hands and finally notice the numbers in the corners. Slowly, you take Wednesday’s paper and line it up with the corresponding number on the map. You suck in a breath, as suddenly the walls are changed by the lines of the paper- this was how they were doing it.

The maze changes every day, that was Minho’s entire problem with making this map himself. They seemed to have found a solution to that within the last five years- not only do they have the entire maze mapped out, but they have addendums in place for each subtle change every day. You’re placing different days down on the map, shaking your head at the overflow of information being poured out at you. You weren’t even sure you could memorize the one map, now it’s all of them?

Your eyes slowly glance up and notice a bundle of papers on the wall right next to the door. Tilting your head, you realize it looks familiar, though it’s nothing you’ve ever seen in the movies or read from the books. No… This is what they would imagine a calendar to look like. You place the papers in your hands down, approaching the calendar and studying it closely. There are marks through the days that have passed- not big exaggerated slashes, but enough to know what day it was.

It’s Monday- or, rather, Tuesday you suppose, considering the late hour. Your hand traces the small marks and acronyms along the page, each one meaning something special to the Runners that you have no idea how to comprehend. Your finger drags slowly across the next few days, with no marks along to note anything happening. Your finger stops on the 30th, this Thursday.

You flip the page, expecting the next month to be listed, but it's just the previous month instead. As you flip back more pages, you realise this calendar has been going on for years- likely just adding a new page the next time the month renews. You wonder why they haven’t prepped any extra months in advance, then wonder if it was some notion of hope for freedom. At this you take in a deep breath, fingers tracing across the page. Then another memory comes to you- one more recent and from your current reality.

“So what job am I working?” You asked, ready and eager to help out- to prove yourself if you must. You hesitate at Thomas’ laugh, freezing as you wonder what you said to make him laugh like that. Did he think you were lazy?

“Oh, don’t get too carried away now,” Newt speaks up instead, and you turn an uneasy look toward him as he walks over, slinging an arm around your shoulders. “Today’s a light day on the work front- it’s Bonfire Night.”

“Bonfire Night?” You question, glancing slowly back to Thomas as he finally regains control of himself.

“Yeah, no, sorry- that wasn’t that funny I don’t know why I laughed that hard.” Thomas apologises, waving his hands dismissively. “Yeah, it’s Bonfire Night. No one worries about work on Bonfire Night.”

“Speak for yourself,” Chuck mumbles, elbowing Thomas out of his way to be included in your little group. You smile down at the young boy- you think you might be starting to like this one. “But as the glader of honour, you especially can’t work, though. Not until tomorrow- oh!”

“And what he means to say-” Newt interrupts quickly, shooting Chuck a smirk as he pouts from being interrupted. “The Bonfire Night happens the first of every month. They used to be a celebration of the arrival of new Gladers, but we’ve already told you that that’s been dying down. So instead we just throw the party for ourselves.”

“Work for twenty-nine days, and party hard for the last day!” Thomas insists, his grin large as he pumps an arm into the air. You laugh at his bombastic nature, tilting your head.

“Well, technically it’d be the first day.” Newt’s challenge causes you to laugh as Thomas playfully deflates, but you notice he can’t keep the smile off of his face as he stares into Newt’s eyes. You glance between them back and forth, noticing something in the air between them.

“So, anyway, if you’re wondering about what job you’ll be doing tomorrow, why not try out the Sloppers?” Chuck’s enthusiastic voice pops in, interrupting whatever moment was happening just next to you, and you take in a deep breath as you look down at him. With a smile, you chuckle, reaching a hand out to mess with his hair.

“Yeah, sure, kid. Let’s do that.”

Bonfire Night.

Your finger drags across the number 30 to the blank square next to it, tapping on the day. Friday night, bonfire night. If you’re quick enough- if you’re quiet enough- then maybe they won’t even notice your disappearance. That gives you until the end of the week to get your ankle into running shape. The hard part is out of the way already, being inside the Runner’s hut means you can gather the majority of the supplies you’ll need for that night. The last thing you need to worry about now would be getting ahold of some Grief Serum.

With a date set, you turn back toward the map with more determination. You place all the papers but a few back where you found them, laying out Friday’s map across the spikes of the pretend walls. It looks like the east and west gates will be open that day, and you bite your lip, glancing out of the door to look at either of them. You leave the door open, realizing the only light you’re reading by is from the artificial moon above you. You decide to leave through the western gate, the one right next to the Deadheads. Gladers don’t go in there very often, it’ll be easy to hide your bag of supplies there until the end of the week.

You take longer than you would like to study the map. You find what markers meant what traps, and find a few stone-crushing traps that could work to crush a Griever if you timed them just right. Dropping them off of a cliff wouldn’t help, you needed their stinger. You huff a sigh, then grab a piece of paper and begin drawing a very rough, very basic image of just inside the western gate. You needed to at least get there without getting lost. If you could secure the stinger, even if you didn’t make it back-

You stop that train of thought with a huff, shaking your head and folding up the paper you drew on, sliding it into a pocket. You replace Friday’s papers where they go, then take a long look around the rest of the hut. The extra supplies were stuffed on a shelf in the back, practically forgotten. Hopefully, they weren’t taking inventory often and you could use that to your advantage.

You find a sack backpack and a pair of shoes your size, as well as a few blank pieces of parchment, a pencil, a canteen that you’ll need to fill with water, and finally you find a watch that seems to still work. You watch the time ticking away, wishing you could just wear this from now on, but knowing it would be conspicuous. It would be nice to know the exact time whenever you wanted to know, though. Sighing, you pocket that, and everything else, into the bag. Scanning the shelves, it doesn’t look like anything else could be of use to you.

You close and lock the Runner’s shed behind you, heading along the edge of the Deadheads toward the Western Gate. You get as close to the wall as you can, then walk three trees inside the woods. You find a nice crevice between a few tree roots, pulling some dirt out and burying the bag there. Sighing, now that that’s hidden away, you thought you’d feel a sense of ease for not having the contraband on you anymore. If anything, it’s like a weight settling on your shoulders now, a grief that you can’t share with anyone. You make sure to brush your hands clean and pick the dirt from your fingernails on your limped walk back to the sleeping area.

Your eyes are heavy, having supposed to be asleep hours ago. Perhaps more, now, considering you really didn’t know how long you’ve been in the Runner’s hut. At least you didn’t have work in the morning, you tried to reassure yourself, taking your ankle into account. You manage to carefully step your way back to Minho’s hammock without stepping on any stray hands or feet, considering that an accomplishment. Your eyes are heavy, your ankle hurts, and your weight shifts just so while you’re sliding the key back into his pocket. Pain flares up your leg- just the same as before when you fell- and you attempt to muffle your cry of pain as you fall forward, losing balance.

“Hey, what-” Minho wakes up quickly, though unsurprisingly considering you fell on top of him.

“Shuck, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean-”

“[Y/N?]” Minho’s voice is rough and sleepy, but he manages to blink his eyes wide enough to see you leaning against his hammock, making it tilt dangerously to one side. “What happened, are you okay?”

“Yeah, no, I’m fine, just my ankle-” You hiss out in pain as you reach down, prodding the bandage with your finger. “Shuck, sorry, I didn’t mean to fall on you at all.” Your eyes land on his form, scanning quickly. You see the edge of the key peeking out of his pocket- at least you managed to put it back before rudely waking him up. Minho pushes himself up to what could be called sitting if it wasn’t in a hammock.

“Hold up, let me-” He swings his legs around, getting out of the hammock and letting the fabric flop uselessly beside the two of you. He turns to you, concern etching across his face. “What were you getting up for? You know that Newt and Thomas would run to grab you anything, even in the dead of night?” He turns quickly at this, scanning across the way as if to assure himself that both of the boys are still there. You watch his shoulders relax slightly once he notices them sleeping peacefully, turning toward you with a confused expression.

“I- I know,” You stutter out, your mind running a mile a minute. “But I couldn’t wake them for this, I-” You hesitate at this, your brow furrowing with panic. Of all the excuses you’ve planned out, you never expected to be in this situation. You begin ranting quietly and quickly, hoping something that makes sense comes out. “My ankle was just throbbing really badly- like it really hurts- and I wanted an ice pack. And I know I could’ve sent them to go get it, but I didn’t want to wake them, I mean it’s Tommy’s last day of work before his day off so he needs the sleep. And of course, Newt always needs his sleep. He’s running around constantly trying to take care of whatever Alby can’t get to. Plus, my foot is all wrapped up and I didn’t want to make it wet with the ice pack and mess it up, so I thought I could go over there without disturbing anyone and unwrap and ice it and then maybe find a fresh one and wrap it up and-”

“Okay, okay” Minho holds his hands out, begging you to calm down with his expression and gestures. “Just, take a breath for me for a second, okay?” You nod, taking a deep breath and trying to calm your racing heart. He’s studying you closely, you can tell even if his face doesn’t show the concentration, and you hope he doesn’t see past your lie. He huffs out a sigh, dropping his hands. “And when you got there, and found out the Medjack hut is locked, what would you do then?”

You freeze at this, wondering if you’ve been caught out. Though he doesn’t look suspicious or blameful, so you take another breath and let it out slowly. “I don’t know? I guess I would’ve walked over there for no reason.” Minho huffs out a quiet laugh at this, finally smiling and nodding toward you. He motions for you to follow him, then stops with concern etched across his face once more.

“Wait, where’s your cane?” You bite your lip, gesturing toward the sleeping area. He sighs theatrically, shaking his head. He mumbles something under his breath, and it takes you a moment to realize what he said. “Just as stubborn as he was.” Minho motions for you to stay, picking his way across the sleeping area not quite as carefully as you had. He takes up the cane, bringing it back over to you. The moment you rest your weight against it, you let out a long sigh. You really should’ve brought it with you on the little expedition you took, you hadn’t realized how badly it was hurting you. Minho’s voice is quiet and careful as he places a hand on your elbow, “Come on, I have a key to the Medjack hut. Let’s get you that ice pack.”

“You know, if you had woken Newt up, he could’ve gotten the key and the ice pack for you, and brought it over to you somewhere closer to the sleeping area so you wouldn’t have to walk on it for so long.”

You swallow roughly, shrugging a shoulder once Minho turns around from unlocking the door, holding it open for you. You limp forward, leaning heavily on your cane, and make your way to the closest cot to the door. You hop up onto it, your eyes immediately flicking to the cabinet with the Grief Serum but glancing away just as quickly. Leaning the cane against the side of the bed, you look up and watch as Minho makes his way over to the little storage area situated in the ground, pulling the trapdoor up and reaching inside.

“He barely gets any sleep as it is,” Your voice is quiet, mumbled really, but you know Minho is easily able to hear it in the silence that surrounds the two of you. He sighs as he pulls out an ice pack, closing the trapdoor softly and moving over to you. You pull your leg up onto the bed belatedly, reaching down to pull apart the bandages. Minho bats your hand out of the way, setting the ice pack on the bed and working on carefully undoing them himself.

“Yeah, ‘cause he worries about you lot.” Minho’s own voice is quiet, you hadn’t really heard him speak this way but for a few short and serious moments. They were few and far between, but you were always curious when they did pop up. It was as if he was showing you his real self instead of the front he puts up most of the time. Although, you couldn’t classify his playful side as a front in all honesty; every person is multifaceted.

“Yeah,” You agree with a wince, causing him to glance up at you before looking back at what he’s doing. “He’s always so worried about the Glade, even when Alby-”

“I wasn’t talking about the Glade.” Minho’s interruption was just as gentle as his hands, talking softly but full of care. He pauses his hands, looking up at you with a serious look. “You lot. Thomas, Chuck, even Gally. And now you.” He lowers his gaze to your ankle again, pulling the bandage more gently now that he is peeling it from your skin.

“He worries about you too, Minho.” You didn’t know why you felt the need to say this, but you watched a small smile grow across his face. Then, you realize that you fully admitted he was right when saying that. You hadn’t even bothered to deny the notion.

“I know he worries about me. But I’m the least of his concern.” He pulls the old bandages up, placing the ice pack on your ankle before beginning to inspect them. “You were right before though, you definitely need new bandages.”

“And how did you get so good at Medjacking, then?” Minho’s smirk grows, giving you a side-eye.

“I get injured pretty often.”

“Ah. So plenty reason for Newt to worry, then.” Minho’s small falls slightly, just enough for his expression to turn serious once more as he turns to face you.

“But I heal just as quickly.” He circles the bed, standing next to you and looking into your eyes as if searching for something. “I’m his friend, sure. And he worries about his friends. But he worries about you more.” You’re already shaking your head, ready to deny it when he interrupts you, lifting a hand as if to pause you. “Don’t deny it. I know you see it just as much as I do. The way he acts and caters to you.” Minho drops his hand and is quiet for a moment before he finally whispers, “Just like he is with Thomas,” Then begins to walk over to the wash basin for the Medjacks. It’s currently empty, but he lays the dirty bandages inside, moving to go grab some fresh ones. You’re quiet as you watch him walk, only speaking up once he has them in hand and is moving back toward you.

“Is there a point you’re trying to make?” You huff out a sigh, shaking your head. “Everyone keeps telling me how Newt treats me special. Keeps equating me to Tommy- which they shouldn’t. I’m not like Tommy. I’m-” You huff out again, your eyes scanning the room around you as you try to think up the words to finish the sentence, even though they refuse to come to you.

“They’re saying it because it’s true, obviously.” Minho snarks, smirking at you as he takes a seat on the bed next to your iced ankle. “If I’m saying it, then you know it's serious.” You just set a glare on him, feeling tired still. The pain and falling onto Minho had filled you with adrenaline earlier, but the tiredness from your lack of sleep was catching up to you. Minho’s face gentles as he notices this, placing a hand on your leg. “Look, the point I’m making is that Newt has sunk a lot of his feelings into you. And that’s not a bad thing. So long as you feel the same way.” He ends his sentence like a statement, but you see the question mark in his eyes. You take a deep breath, letting it out slowly.

“He,” Your voice cracks and you clear it, but you can’t manage to get your voice to go above a whisper. “There’s nothing for me there. I’m not like Tommy.” You say it with more emphasis, begging him to understand with your eyes. You see confusion cross his face for a few moments before it clears like he finally realizes what you’re saying. He looks away, chewing on his lip and messing with the bandages in his hand. When he speaks, his voice startles you, having been silent for a good few minutes.

“You know, Thomas always talks about you on our runs.” You furrow your brow, tilting your head as you stare at his side profile.

“What?”

“Well, he talks about a lot of things. That boy can talk, let me tell you. But he mostly talks about you. Or Newt.” He glances at you from the corner of his eye, then lowers his gaze down to the bandages he keeps unrolling and rerolling back up. “It used to be just Newt. But from the moment you came into the Glade, he can’t stop thinking about you. Worrying about you.” He laughs, shaking his head. “Man, the day after your Bonfire Night, you were the only thing he could think of. Only thing he talked about, for sure.” You don’t know what your face looks like as you take in this information, but whatever it is must’ve been funny from the laugh that Minho lets out when he finally looks back at you. “No, I’m serious!

“When we go out running, we don’t always stay together. We have certain paths we trace, different ways we need to explore and record and whatnot, but we generally all meet back up at different parts throughout the day, especially during lunch, everyone gets together for that one.” He shakes his head, looking off into space as he’s remembering. “I remember that day, though, specifically. Because he just wouldn’t shut up. ‘Do you think they’re taking to the new job well? I don’t think they’ll be a Slopper, do you think they’ll be a Slopper? I mean, it’s fine if they’re a Slopper, they can have any job they wanna have, obviously.’ Like, my man, shut up.”

You laugh finally at this, but the idea of Thomas thinking of you like that- so often, and so early on?- was enough to have your brain freeze on the spot. Thomas? Really? Although, he hasn’t exactly made any attempt to hide his curiosity of you, even going so far as to ask a million questions the second week you were off work. The third day off you guys shared was once again full of play, relaxation, but none of the serious talk. It almost felt as if he was scared to bring up anything serious like that again. You wondered why, but you had a pretty good inkling it might’ve been the slight shyness you’d felt after remembering everyone and where they’re from. You still wished you could tell him something to explain that away, but nothing felt right when you tried to come up with the correct lie. Maybe you just didn’t want to lie to Thomas.

“Anyway, we’ve been putting up with it. I mean, how could you not? Thomas is so single-minded, even if we screamed about another topic at him, he still wouldn’t shut up. Unless it was another thing he cared about. One time I got him to finally stop worrying about who you were hanging out with by asking him if Newt was going to be hosting Gally’s surprise party.” You perk your ears, tilting your head at this news.

“Surprise party?”

“Not the point,” Minho holds out a finger toward you, exasperation clear on his face. “The point is that Thomas likes you also. As much as Newt does, I’d bet.” You furrow your brows as you try to understand this thought. The words weren’t hard to understand, true, but the concept that Thomas might like you as much as he likes Newt? You’ve seen the way he looks at the man, how could that be possible? You bite your lip in doubt, but Minho ploughs forward. “In fact, he’s one of my best friends too, right alongside Newt. So I’ll say the same thing as I did before. He feels a crap ton about you, which is fine. That’s all dandy, as long as you feel the same way.” He sighs, staring directly into your eyes as if he can pull the truth from them himself. “I just don’t want this to go on for too long if you don’t have plans to reciprocate those feelings. You guys move on your own terms, sure, but-”

“What are you saying?” You couldn’t help but interrupt, your breathing speeding up as realisation is slowly coming to you. “That- What, that Newt and Thomas both have feelings for me?”

“Well,” Minho winces, looking away finally as if trying to come up with an excuse for his argument. “I mean, feelings is a very general term, so yeah, sure. Feelings. I won’t specify which ones, but strong feelings, yeah.” You scoff, then begin laughing, shaking your head.

“No, no. That’s not possible.” You continue to shake your head in disbelief, staring at him with wide eyes. “No, ‘cause I’ve only been here a month so far. They can’t-” You change direction, throwing a hand out toward him. “Everyone always says they feel some sort of way for each other. Even Gally compared the two of them to him and Ben!” Minho starts to chuckle, then nods slowly.

“I can see where he would get that notion, though Newt doesn’t quite move as fast as Gally does.” You blink a few times, watching Minho as he voluntarily brings up the context. “Oh, Gally was obsessed with Ben for a good few years before even talking properly to the man. Then he took another year before he finally asked him out.” Minho laughs, shaking his head. “Granted, Newt and Thomas hit it off immediately and have been friends the whole time. But they haven’t made an actual move yet, that I know of. Everyone knows they’re practically destined for each other, it’s a wonder why they aren’t making out at the seating area every day before the run.”

You continue to watch his little rant, nodding along. “Yeah. So, that, then. They like each other.” Minho turns to look at you with a look of disbelief mixed with annoyance. He sighs, leaning closer to you, placing a hand by your thigh to hold himself up.

“You must’ve missed what I said then. Newt and Thomas like you just as much as they like each other.” It was almost an impulse at this point, to start shaking your head in rejection of what he just said. He sighs, straightening back up and throwing his hands in the air in mock surrender. “I’m just calling it like I see it. But I feel like if you’re gonna listen to anyone about this, it should be me.” He hesitates, then wiggles his head back and forth. “Well, Newt and Thomas firstmost, but I doubt they’d make any moves considering their history. But me also. You know, I am their best friend.” You nod, conceding that point to him. Hell, they broke into Wicked’s main complex to spirit him away toward the end of their story, you already knew how they felt about each other.

The silence that surrounds you feels suffocating. It’s hard to accept they have feelings for you mainly because you know the type of risk that you’re plotting. Going out into the maze, killing a Griever? If they lo-... If they liked you as much as Minho was saying they did, then it added so much more risk to the operation. No, you just couldn’t accept that they felt that way about you. Because if it killed them to see you gone, then it would kill you just as much to walk away. Into that maze. You were already terrified for your own safety, you couldn’t take having this stacked on top of it.

“I don’t want to hurt them,” You whisper, and you glance up to see Minho’s surprised face as he turns to meet your eyes. It seems like he wasn’t expecting an answer. “I’m not saying I don’t feel the same way. I-” You sigh out, shaking your head, “I don’t know what I feel. But I can’t just choose between them.” You watch Minho’s surprise melt into a mix of sympathy and understanding. He only says two words, but it changes something in you as you hear it.

“Then don’t.”

[mostdream6977]

0.3 PRECIOUS THINGS

(chapter 3 of Performative hours!!!! ao3 link here, special thanks to UESP for the random blurbs from the beginning, and also to my GF for editing!!)

Isabelle Vyau is a Breton who lives in Anvil. She hides herself inside the Anvil Repository only to occasionally appear on the street where she berates Capiton Sibylla for not cleaning the sidewalk to her liking.

Wow.

Every soul is one of six possible strengths: Petty, Lesser, Common, Greater, Grand, and Black. More powerful creatures have more powerful souls. Souls are trapped in soul gems by using a soul trap spell. Trapped souls are used to enchant and recharge items.

Never would have guessed.

Skingrad is a city in the West Weald region in southwestern Cyrodiil, southwest of the Imperial City along the Gold Road. 

Incredible.

The Lion Guard does not discriminate by a person's past, station, or race.[4][5] Aspiring recruits must show loyalty, courage, strength of character, and valor in battle in the face of adversity. Nobility and wealth are not qualifiers for promotion. Instead, its members can only rise through the ranks by proving their bravery and loyalty. These standards are in place to preserve the order's reputation as steadfast protectors of the highest martial skill.

A lot about Bretons today, I see.

Boss Crito is an Imperial battlemage hiding out in the Cells of Hollow Hand in Arkngthand, an old Dwemer ruin located north of the Moonmoth Legion Fort, in the Molag Amur region of Vvardenfell. He is wearing an iron cuirass, an expensive belt, a pair of common pants, and netch leather boots. He knows the spell Frost Barrier.

Wait. Dwemer ruin?

Transform into an Ice Avatar and freeze enemies solid! Max Health, Stamina and Magicka: + 3000, Movement Speed: + 30%, Immune to Crowd Control, Defeating enemies frozen by Whiteout summons Frostkin.

Go back to that last one. What was that?

Transform into an Ice Avatar and freeze enemies solid!

No. The one right before that.

Transform into an Ice Avatar and freeze enemies solid!

No! The Dwemer, not the damn Ice Avatar. I don’t care about the Ice Avatar.

Transform into an Ice Avatar and freeze enemies solid!

HAVING TROUBLE?

Yes, thank Gods. Hello again!

OH. HELLO! YOU’RE AWFULLY CHIPPER ABOUT THIS.

Please. These dreams are so boring sometimes. I like it when you pop in, you give a little variety to my naps.

GLAD TO HEAR IT.

Transform into an Ice Avatar and freeze enemies solid!

LOOKS LIKE YOUR PROPHECY IS OUT OF TUNE. YOU’RE STRESSED.

I am. But I’m fine. I just can’t focus on any of them. It’s been droning on the whole time I’ve been asleep.

WHY DID YOU CHOOSE TO SLEEP? 

I couldn’t stand being awake.

YOU KNOW YOU CAN’T RUN FROM THINGS LIKE THAT.

I know.

SO LEAVE THIS BEHIND. LET YOUR DREAMS RE-CALIBRATE.

I appreciate the encouragement, but I’d really rather stay asleep.

OH, COME ON. YOU’LL WAKE UP NATURALLY EVENTUALLY. REMEMBER, THOUGH, YOU’RE HERE ON DIPLOMACY.

Which has been going great so far.

THAT ISN’T THE DIPLOMACY I’M TALKING ABOUT. THERE’S OTHERS HERE YOU’LL WANT TO SOCIALIZE WITH. YOU WILL REGRET IT, SORELY SO,  IF YOU DON’T.

Transform into an Ice Avatar and freeze enemies solid!

Isn’t that the main draw of a party?

   YES. THIS ONE IS MORE IMPORTANT THAN THE OTHERS, THOUGH.

Why?

GO AND SEE FOR YOURSELF.

Ugh.

I KNOW.

Transform into an Ice Avatar and freeze enemies solid!

YOU’LL HAVE TO ANYWAY, IF YOU WANT TO GET BETTER MESSAGES THAN THAT.

Do you know what an Ice Avatar is? I’ve never heard of one.

NOT REALLY. PROBABLY SOMETHING YOU PAY TOO MUCH MONEY FOR.

Hah! Figures.

CAN’T BUY A THRILL.

You can say that again.

SO?

So what?

ARE YOU GOING TO GO?

Yeah, yeah, I’m just…

STALLING?

Not ready.

SOUNDS LIKE STALLING TO ME.

Maybe it is. Why does it matter to you?

Transform into an Ice Avatar and freeze enemies solid!

FOR REASONS YOU WON’T BE ABLE TO UNDERSTAND UNTIL LATER. I’LL TELL YOU ONCE YOU CAN MATCH MY SOUL.

Transform into an Ice Avatar and freeze enemies solid!

I suppose this “soul matching” is also something I won’t be able to understand until later.

PRECISELY. YOU CAN START THE PROCESS BY KNOWING THOSE YOU ARE MEANT TO KNOW, RATHER THAN CYCLING THROUGH WHAT IS COMFORTABLE HERE.

Okay, you’ve convinced me. I guess I won’t be sleeping through this thing.

IT WAS A POOR DECISION IN THE FIRST PLACE.

It was. Do you have anything else to say before I go?

PRIORITIZE LOVE OVER CONVENIENCE OR STATUS.

Got it. Thank you. Come visit me again, okay?

ALWAYS.

Transform into an Ice Avatar and freeze enemies solid!

GOOD LUCK.

~

Almalexia awoke. She looked out the window to see dusk had come and gone; she had been absent from at least half of the party. Cursing to herself, she jumped up and threw on the gown she intended to wear and began putting on some sort of face. First a coat on the skin, then the cheeks, the eyes, the tip of the nose, the lips. This takes her about 30 minutes or so, and she curses her tardiness while gathering her things. It’s not like she can leave without putting herself together.

She exited the guest room and rushed out into the hall, following the sound of some commotion happening in the great hall. Hope! Maybe whatever that was would distract from showing up late. She slowed her pace a bit, she had put on heels beforehand and they were hurting her feet. She had been very used to the small heels and flats of the battlefield, but this was different. Looking good and being quick seem to counteract each other, she thought to herself as she tried listening in. No luck, would have to see what’s up from socialization, which she dreaded. She stopped for a second to experience her fear. Frankly, she thought she looked horrible, turning to lean against the wall closest to her. Suddenly, a figure was made apparent.

“Boo,” it said to Almalexia. Rightfully startled, she let out a yelp before the figure jumped forward and placed a hand over her mouth. “Shhh! Do you want to blow my cover?” With it further in the light now, she felt relief.

“Gods, Vehk, you scared the shit out of me.” She sighed as she moved his hand off her face. “What are you doing here? Here, and back here specifically?”

“I came because Nerevar came. Was hoping to find him, but he’s nowhere to be found.” 

“Okay,” Almalexia said flatly. “Were you stealing?”

“Yeah.” He reached into his pockets, pulling out a few jewels and gold chunks from the gilding of the pillars.

“Damn. Did you rip these off?”

“I chiseled them,” He smiled and produced a small hammer and chisel from a different pocket. “Should more than cover the cost of travel whenever I get back to Mournhold.”

“Nerevar didn’t cover travel costs for you?” 

“I wasn’t invited.”

“...Why?” Almalexia replied, to which Vivec showed her again the chiseled off pieces of wall from his pockets before smiling again and tucking them back away. “I see. How did you get in?”

“ Magic.” He did a jazzy gesture and leaned against the wall alongside her. “What’s got you down like this?”

“I just– It’s nothing.” She sighed. “I’m… worried about the party. I fell asleep and I’m REALLY late, I should get back-” 

“No need,” he interrupted. “Voryn stormed off. Not a soul out there knows where he went, people are about to start leaving anyway. You have cover. How do you feel about a change in scenery?

“What?”

“You heard me. Let’s leave. We never spend time with each other one on one, Ayem,” he insisted. She looked back to the light of the great hall in the distance, buzzing with noise and seeming that Vivec was right in saying that people were beginning to leave. She looked back to him and nodded, he gave her one last smile and gestured for her to follow. The two scurried down the hall away from the masses and out a side door leading into an empty, ashy courtyard, where Almalexia sat on a stone bench to rest her feet.

“Could you not just take those off?” Vivec said, taking off his own shoes to encourage her.

“I can’t just go barefoot. Besides, they tie the outfit together.” She laughed.

“Would anyone here care about being barefoot?” He dances around a bit, letting some of the fallen ash kick up around his calves. “It’s all ash over here anyway. Soft.”

“You think I should?”

“If they’re hurting you, yes.”

She sighed and looked him up and down. He was wearing a tighter pair of pants under a loincloth that made him look silly without his shoes on. He noticed her gaze and wiggled his hips, twiddling his toes as the beads that hung over his breasts clacked against each other. She blushed at his enticing and looked away, considering the consequences.

“But you look like an idiot with the pants,” she objected. He gave her a joking offended look and without hesitation pulled off the pants, leaving just the loincloth.

“I can play this game.” He laughed. “Join me, you’re always so stuck up about how you look all the time.”

“You don’t understand what it’s like to be a woman.”

“Sure I do! You know who I am.”

“Yeah… It’s just… You don’t have to be beautiful all the time.”

“I want to sometimes. You know you don’t have to be all the time though.”

“But-”

“Take your heels off, Ayem,” he interrupted again. She looked at him and nodded, slipping her heels off alongside him and rising to meet his gaze. She wiggled her toes in the ash alongside him and smiled slightly. It WAS very soft, it felt good. 

“You look better when you’re happy,” he said.

“Did I look bad before?”

“No, you looked unhappy. You always seem unhappy when you’re trying to be someone.”

��If I don’t look and act a certain way, people talk. I can’t have that in my position,” she sighed, turning away from him. He approached her from behind.

“Why does it matter so much to you? If you keep the same as them, everything will stay the same.” He placed a hand on her shoulder. “Who are you?”

“What do you mean?” She turned back to him, removing the hand from her shoulder. He looked concerned now.

“I mean, who are you? As in, what kind of person are you?”

“I… I’m strong, I’m capable, I’m beautiful, I’m all the things I need to be, I hope.”

“You HOPE. That’s the key, you imply the possibility that you aren’t any of that. You don’t completely know if that’s you, but that is what’s holding you back.” He took her hand. “I want to know you, Almalexia. You keep putting on this front and I won’t be able to. You don’t have to be someone else’s definition of beautiful, you can be whatever definition doesn’t leave you dreading parties and in pain.”

“But people are intimidated by that,” she objected. “They leave, and I need my network.”

“Then let me take the form with you. We could be beautiful in our own right.” She thought for a second, watching her skirt dangle into the ash, collecting it in the folds, and lifted it up before kicking towards Vivec, resulting in a surprised “AUGH” from him. He looked to her quickly through the ash cloud as she smiled at him. Realizing she was enticing him into revenge, he kicked back, covering her with the cloud as well as she laughed. They kicked back and forth at each other for a couple seconds as the cloud grew thicker around them. They stopped when they couldn’t see each other anymore.

“Vehk?” Almalexia called with a giggle. “Where’d you go?”

“Right here.” He appeared close in front of her, their noses almost touching. “You do look beautiful like this. Can I kiss you?” Almalexia smiled at this.

“You can,” she said, wrapping her arms around his neck, “but Nerevar might not be too happy about it.”

“His loss.” He kissed her deep, and the two forgot about the world around them for a second.

[heroescore]

Heroes

Chapter 16 - Shot

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It was a long night for that particular timezone. Phil ended up curled up in one of the booths at The Joint, along with several others, before they finally got the news that some trains were back up and running, allowing people to get off the island.

It still took hours as the few trains that were running were packed, but sometime halfway through the afternoon, he finally made it home. The door to their apartment wasn’t fully locked, so his heart fluttered with hope as he threw it open.

“Aiden?!”

Aiden stepped out of the bathroom, smiling happily.

“Phil!”

“Bro!”

They hugged each other a moment, before Phil stepped back and looked his friend over.

“You been home all night?” he asked.

“Yeah I went home as soon as the tremors stopped,” Aiden said, “where have you been? Did you get stuck on the island?”

“Yeah, I spent the night at The Joint, your boss is the best,” Phil said, “I’m so glad you’re okay, though. How are you feeling?”

“Um...pretty okay actually,” Aiden said, “don’t think I’ll have lectures for a while though. Half the school collapsed…”

“Oh that sucks,” Phil said.

“Yeah, but I thought I could pick up a couple shifts at work,” Aiden said, “some day shifts so I can catch up on sleep at night.”

“Okay, just...watch yourself a little, okay?” Phil said.

“Don’t worry, I’ll be fine,” Aiden said, “so what’s for dinner?”

“I saw that shawarma place was open, wanna see if they’re still making health violations?” Phil said.

“If I get food poisoning again I’ll shank you.”

“Yeah, yeah, let’s go, I’m starving.”

Fortunately they could eat their fill without getting sick, and while cleanup had yet to be properly started, the citizens of New York slowly tried to continue their daily lives.

Once the phones were beginning to start back up, Aiden called Ecker and picked up a few extra day shifts, while Phil set out to interview supers that had been in the middle of the rescue efforts.

He started at the 124th, convincing an officer to give him a couple names of which supers did what. There were rumours that Absolute Zero had saved the nuclear power plant from breaking down, even when the tremors hadn’t been so bad there. And that after six years of inactivity.

Hoping he’d be able to meet her, he decided to head over to The Joint, considering that was the first place Slade visited after his return, as well as Rasputin. Also, he could really use a good cup of coffee, and maybe Aiden knew a bit more—

“Even if I did know, it wouldn’t be my place to tell you,” Aiden said, after Phil pried a little bit.

“Oh dude come onnn,” Phil whined, “what about that lady that drove you home the other day? She was an old friend of Slade’s and Ranger and I saw her hug Ecker too.”

“Mhm,” Aiden just said.

He wasn’t even really listening, as he was far more interested in two young men in a nearby booth; King of Hearts and White Rabbit were sitting across of each other, the white-haired teen seeming very nervous, spilling his coffee over the edge of his cup as his hands were shaking too much when he tried to take a sip.

“Shit—”

“Easy, dude,” King said, grabbing some napkins to clean up the worst.

“I-I’m sorry,” White said, “but it’s very hard to relax when half the city thinks you’re responsible for hundreds of deaths, millions in damages, and you can’t tell them who it really was either!”

“Shush,” King said, “I texted Brain, he can be here any minute and we’ll sort it out…”

“Maybe I should pour you a decaf,” Aiden said as he walked over with a rag to clean up the rest of the spill.

“Perhaps some water, thanks dude,” King said.

Aiden nodded and walked off, fixing them some water when Brain stepped in. He took a seat next to King, beginning to talk right away while Aiden brought the water they ordered, giving them a jug and two glasses.

“Okay, so you think you know who’s behind the earthquake?” he whispered, “Oh, a coffee for me please, Aiden.”

“Right away, sir,” Aiden said, but first he pulled out a rag and cleaned the booth next to them while White quietly spoke up.

“My brother,” he said, “he was just coming into his powers, but he could create some pretty powerful tremors. Our old place was riddled with damage...a-anyway, he wouldn’t do this on purpose. M-maybe whoever kidnapped him...forced him?”

“That would classify it as a terrorist attack,” Brain mused.

“But his brother can’t be considered guilty, right?” King said, “If he was forced.”

“No, I don’t think so,” Brain said, “but to be certain I’ll discuss it with Slade first before approaching the police. And considering your age, superheroes or not, you can’t approach them without an adult anyway. Especially since you’re personally involved.”

“R-right,” White said, shakily taking a sip of water after King poured him half a glass.

“How soon can you run this by Slade?” King asked.

“I’ll try and talk to him today. Meet back here tomorrow?” Brain suggested, “Thanks.” he added, as Aiden brought him his coffee, “Put everything on my bill.”

“Sure thing,” Aiden said, returning behind the counter and registering the orders as ‘on the house.’

“What do you think they’re talking about?” Phil wondered out loud.

“If you wanted to know you should’ve joined the police,” Aiden said, “just go home, dude. Call your girlfriend if you want an interview.”

“Man, I wish,” Phil said with a sigh, “but maybe she can help me out...I just don’t want to bother her. She seemed pretty tired the other day.”

“Text her then, she can reply when she’s not tired,” Aiden said with a shrug.

“I was going to!” Phil said, his ears turning a bit red, “I don’t know what to type though…”

“Give me your phone,” Aiden said.

“Why?” Phil asked, while mindlessly handing it to him.

Aiden didn’t reply as he looked up Mirage’s number and texted her for him.

You, me, dinner at 7 tonight?

“Dude!” Phil said, panicking a little, “O M G she’s typing!”

“Ask for nudes.”

“Aiden J. Carter!” Phil said with a horrified gasp, when his phone pinged, “Oh shit she’s asking if it’s just the two of us WITH A WINKY FACE?!”

“Pipe down, you’re disturbing the customers,” Aiden said, “tell her it’s a date.”

“I don’t have the budget for a date!”

“Then cook for her. I’ll hide out for a couple hours,” Aiden said, “light some candles, play your romance playlist~”

“Motherfucker,” Phil grumbled, his whole face now red as he continued texting, “Now I gotta buy good cutlery, and napkins.”

“Condoms?”

“I liked you better when you were prude!” Phil hissed, before pulling out some money and slapping it on the counter, “I gotta go.”

“To the drug store?”

“Shut your face!”

Even if Aiden had just been teasing, he did manage to sufficiently distract Phil. Now he was rushing to buy the items he mentioned, as well as trying to learn how to make lasagne from scratch from a YouTube video while on the subway towards the nearest grocery store, before wondering if Mirage could be a vegetarian, so he texted her again.

Omnivore or herbivore?

Haha! :D Pescatarian!

Coolio!

“The fuck is a pescatarian?” Phil mumbled, googling the term, and almost missing his stop.

In the end he gave up and went for the safest vegetarian option, taking notes on his phone as he hurried home.

“Twenty minutes prep, half an hour in the oven, dinner at seven…plenty of time to clean up and shower~” he mumbled to himself, but his joy disappeared at the speed of light as he looked up from his phone and found the front door of his apartment had been sawed off its lock and left ajar.

“Oh they better not have nicked my game console,” Phil muttered as he carefully pushed the door open, only to find...barely anything out of place.

His precious gaming console was still there; the TV, the radio, Aiden’s laptop — but his bedroom was trashed. His desk drawers had been pulled empty, all his notes scattered, his bedding torn off and his mattress overturned.

“What the fuck,” Phil muttered, grabbing his phone again and calling Mirage.

“Hi Phil! Should I have specified that I don’t eat meat except for fish?”

“Huh? Oh, uh, no I...I’m afraid I have to cancel actually,” Phil said.

“Oh! Aww...is Aiden okay?” Mirage replied.

“Yeah, no he’s at work. No, our apartment got broken into,” Phil said.

“What?! I’m coming over!”

“Wait it’s a—”

“Hi!”

Phil sighed as he hung up, turning around to find Mirage behind him.

“Mess,” he finished.

“Did you call the police yet? Why is only your room a mess? Was anything stolen?”

“I literally just got home,” Phil said, “but thanks for coming…”

“Don’t worry, we’ll get to the bottom of this!” Mirage said.

“It’s like they were looking for something, but I literally have nothing to hide?” Phil said.

“Have you checked your underwear? It could just be a perverted stalker,” Mirage said with a shrug.

“Ew, I hope not,” Phil said, walking over to his dresser, but fortunately all his underwear was accounted for.

They called the police, and Mirage guarded him while they waited for someone to show up. However, the police couldn’t do much but to dust for prints and question neighbours. But nobody had seen anything, and the burglar had worn gloves, and frankly they couldn’t find any motive for the break-in other than plain vandalism. The police left with the advice to install a new door and a security system, leaving Phil rather annoyed.

“New York’s finest my ass,” he said, “do we look like the kind of people that can afford a security system? For this crappy apartment?”

“It wouldn’t be too bad if you painted the walls and redid the kitchen,” Mirage pointed out.

“I just had to dip into my savings to buy silverware and candles,” Phil sighed, “anyway I should call my landlord for a new door…”

“I’ll pick you up some extra locks in the meantime!” Mirage said, “some for the windows too, you can never be too careful— And don’t worry about money! Consider it a service, from New York’s other finest.”

“I...I don’t know how to thank you,” Phil said, “um...I can still make dinner?”

“I’d like that,” Mirage said, knowing he would feel guilty if she declined, “let me just measure the door…”

She disappeared, and reappeared with a measuring tape, taking some notes, before disappearing again. Meanwhile Phil called the landlord, who carried up a spare door to put in, and suggested to take some security measures of his own while he worked.

“If everyone’s willing to contribute, I can install a central lock on the front door, maybe a system to buzz visitors in,” he said, “it would be possible I’d be forced to raise the rent a little for all units, so maybe I should send around an email first…”

“What about cameras?” Phil asked.

“I’ll put up one by the front door and one by the emergency exit by the alley, but those will be out of my own pocket,” the landlord said. Phil nodded.

“I’ll help you draft that email,” he said, “people are more inclined to help if you use simple but proper grammar.”

“Thanks, I think,” the landlord said, shaking his head a bit.

Phil decided to let him be, and remembered he still had to inform Aiden, so he went to grab his phone, which he had left on his desk. However, as he picked it up, he noticed his planner had been left open on his desk, not too far from its usual place, while everything else had been rather trashed. But it hadn’t been left alone. Someone had flipped ahead a couple weeks…

“Psst!”

Phil jumped a bit, finding Mirage behind him with a large bag, probably full of locks.

“I saw your landlord so I figured I’d stay hidden!” she whispered.

“Smart,” Phil said quietly, “just uh...leave the bag and I’ll text you when it’s safe?”

“Okidoki! I’ll just grab some coffee,” Mirage said, before disappearing again.

In the end, he forgot to text Aiden, but managed to explain the situation when he arrived home and wondered why his key didn’t fit all of a sudden. Mirage helped him clean up and prepare the lasagne, while Aiden went around to install locks on the windows, and extra locks on the door.

“I didn’t know you were so good with your hands!” Mirage commented, “besides fighting and making coffee of course~”

“It’s not like it’s hard?” Aiden replied, seeming a bit annoyed for some reason.

Mirage decided to let him be and continued to help Phil.

“Someone’s in a mood,” she said.

“I mean, it’s his apartment too,” Phil said with a shrug, “maybe I should get started on that lasagne. Some food will cheer anyone up, right?”

Mirage happily agreed and helped him prepare dinner after they finished cleaning up. After they ate, she assured him he could call her if he ever felt unsafe, before taking off and leaving them to it. 

Phil went to bed with a bit of an uneasy feeling that night, tossing and turning...he didn’t even notice Aiden sneaking out, or he did but thought nothing of it. When the clock struck two am, he pretty much gave up and dialled Mirage’s number. She picked up fast enough, but there was a lot of shouting in the background.

“Hey, um...is this a bad time? You sound busy,” Phil said.

“Oh just a robbery,” Mirage said, “what’s up? Do you feel unsafe?”

“Do you feel unsafe? Is that gunfire?!” Phil said.

“Don’t worry, I’m at a safe distance,” Mirage assured him, “police seem to have it under control mostly. So what’s up?”

“Oh um...I was just wondering about something I noticed before we cleaned up,” Phil said, “someone went through my planner? A-and supers have been disappearing for weeks. What if someone, like, overheard me talking about my powers?”

“Well, there’s many reasons one could want to target you,” Mirage slowly said, “do you want me to come over? I just need to wrap up here.”

“...if you don’t mind—oh one sec, I think Aiden is burning his midnight snack.”

He put his phone on his desk, pulling up his nose as he could smell something burning. He opened the door, finding the whole living room filled with smoke.

“Cough! What the— Aiden?!”

He rubbed his eyes a bit as the smoke pricked his eyes, about to go looking for his friend, when suddenly a throwing knife zoomed right past his face, forcing him to back away in a reflex as it landed in his door.

“Holy shit— Not Aiden! It’s not Aiden!” he yelled hoping Mirage would hear, while he tried to close his door to barricade himself in, when at that moment, in the blink of an eye, a hand shot from the smoke and hit him right on his throat.

The impact caused Phil to cough violently as he gasped for air, allowing the figure to step inside his room and force him to the ground. Phil tried to tell them to stop, but the initial blow had rendered his voice pretty much useless. He wasn’t even really sure what the figure wanted from him, but then they threaded a rag between his teeth, tying it tightly behind his head, before crossing his wrists behind his back and rapidly wrapping some rope around them, keeping him down with their knee on his back.

“Mmmhg!” he cried.

“Cough! Phil?!”

His assailant cursed as they got up and walked back into the smokey living room to deal with the unexpected guest, to which Mirage simply teleported into Phil’s bedroom.

“Oh my gosh!” she whispered, “hang on!”

She snatched his phone from his desk, before putting a hand on his arm and teleporting out of there. Phil let out a muffled yelp, breathing in some fresh air through his nose, before Mirage freed him from the cleave gag.

“Where— cough!”

Mirage helped him sit up while he coughed and gasped for air, gently patting his back while trying to untie the ropes.

“We’re at Slade’s,” she said.

Phil looked up and recognised the yacht, just as Slade appeared at the railing to see what all the ruckus was.

“Arite, I’m all for a new sexual revolution but I think you two are taking it a bit too far,” he said.

“What? I’m saving him, you weirdo!” Mirage said, “I need your help, he seems to have difficulty breathing.”

“M-Mirage…” Phil wheezed a bit, “Aiden…”

“Oh right! I’ll go check, just hang on, okay?” Mirage said, not teleporting until Slade had reached them, having gone and grabbed his stethoscope and a flashlight first.

“Arite, take deep slow breaths. Can you tell me what happened? I got him, las.”

“Okay, see you in a minute,” Mirage said, before disappearing again.

Slade untied Phil, and somehow managed to decipher that he had taken a blow to the throat. He clenched the flashlight between his teeth while taking a look, gently prodding a bit.

“It seems a bit swollen, but it’s just bruised,” he said, “come on board, let’s get you something to drink. You shouldn’t be sitting on the ground in just a shirt and boxers either.”

He brought Phil to the cabin and offered him some water as they waited for Mirage. It was beginning to take awfully long, before she finally walked in.

“He wasn’t there,” she said, “no signs of a struggle in his room either, but his window was wide open, which is probably how the kidnapper snuck in.”

Phil frowned, pulling out his phone and texting Aiden. But of course he didn’t reply. So he checked ‘find my phone,’ showing the location to Mirage.

“Is that a club?” she said, “doesn’t seem like his kind of scene? Should I go and get him?”

“You can’t just walk in there and teleport out, you’d expose him,” Slade said, “not to mention it seems Phil was exposed too.”

“Exposed?” Phil repeated, his voice rather raspy.

“Listen to yourself,” Slade said, “they knew about your power and took that out first. Mirage, take him somewhere safe, then send someone to his address to see if we can figure out who attacked him. I’ll go to that club.”

“I can drop you off and then take Phil to my lab. He’ll be safe there for the time being,” Mirage said.

“Excellent,” Slade said, “perhaps give him some trousers while you’re at it.”

“Good idea, you might get cold,” Mirage said, before holding out both her hands.

In two swift jumps, she dropped Slade off near the club, and took Phil to the safety of her lab.

Slade blinked as he found himself outside the club that Phil had traced Aiden’s phone to. It seemed like a pretty crappy neighbourhood, and he could hear the droning of dance music outside already.

There was no line at the door at this hour, and the bouncer looked rather drunk, so it was easy for Slade to get inside. The music was horribly loud inside, and there was a massive crowd, all jumping to an old remix of some DJ duo.

Women were scarcely dressed and the odour of sweat mixed with the sweet scent of fifty different perfumes and sugary drinks. The floor was a bit sticky, but nobody seemed to care as they all partied hard. Shady, jacketed people were handing out pills and baggies, and people were smoking something other than tobacco in the VIP areas.

Half-naked women and even a couple men were dancing on small stages for the entertainment of the crowd. Slade felt rather out of place, but he wasn’t there to have fun after all. He managed to get around the dance floor, and noticed a pretty lively crowd in one of the VIP areas.

He pushed himself through the middle of the dance floor, only to stop in shock as he watched a familiar young man snort some white powder off of the stomach of a young lady. The group of party-goers around him cheered him on as he took a shot afterwards and howled, seeming to have the time of his life.

“Whooo! Fuck that burns… Another round of shots!”

He helped the young lady back up and kissed her, very inappropriately so, to the point that Slade felt he had no choice but to step in.

“Aiden?!”

“Oh fuck— Slaaade! Come join us!” he said, showing an uncharacteristic grin.

Slade squinted, shooing some of the partygoers aside as he took a seat next to him.

“How long has it been?” he asked.

“Cocaine? My first time actually!”

He tried to hand Slade a shot, but he put it aside, grabbing a hold of Aiden’s jaw and forcing him to look at him.

“How long have you been posing as Aiden?” he asked.

A red glint appeared in the young man’s eyes as he chuckled amused.

“Had you all fooled, didn’t I?” he asked.

“Yeah up until the moment you snuck out to go clubbing— Is that cocaine?”

“You want some?”

“No I don’t want some!” Slade said, “You’re coming with me right now. That body doesn’t belong to you and you’re doing serious damage to it.”

“I take what I want, old man,” Amon replied, his hair and clothes darkening, while the beat of the dance music was beginning to speed up.

They were at a standstill for a moment, before with a lightning fast movement, Amon conjured up a dagger and stuck it between Slade’s ribs. Within a second the VIP area had been cleared with a loud, piercing scream from one of the girls. The panic spread and by the time Slade had pulled the knife out, everyone was pushing to get to the exit.

The DJ left the stage, but the music kept playing. Slade coughed, spitting out some blood while the knife in his hands disappeared. He got up, looking around and spotting Amon on the dance floor, dancing tauntingly. Slade thought back of his fight with Hatter, and how he likely passed out from overexertion of powers after a long period of inactivity. If he could push him to do the same…

“I know what you’re thinking!” Amon suddenly called, “you wanna fight me~ How’s about we make it fair? What’s your weapon of choice?”

“...a dagger, quite frankly,” Slade said, “same kind you just stabbed me with.”

Thwack!

A dagger landed in the floor at Slade’s feet after Amon threw it.

“Pick it up,” he said, conjuring a second one for himself.

Slade sighed, picking it up, getting a feel for it, pretending not to pay attention so Amon would attack first. Which he did, at the moment the pre-programmed lights turned off as the bass dropped, before they started flashing violently. Normally Slade would’ve let him stab him again and would have immediately retaliated, but he was afraid to risk Aiden’s life, and instead parried and backed away.

Amon laughed and kept up his charge, turning himself around and somehow ending up behind Slade, slashing at his back, and watching how the deep cut healed rapidly, bleeding only a little.

“Ahahaha! I could do this over, and over, and over and you wouldn’t even die!” he said, “do you know how long it’s been since I stabbed someone?”

“...about a minute?” Slade said, gesturing at the blood stain on his shirt.

“It’s been two millenia!” Amon said, “only newborns’ minds are weak enough to not resist me, but everything about them is weak! This is the first body that made it to adulthood, thanks to fucking Michael, and now that I’m finally in control...I’m going to enjoy every second of it!”

“As if I didn’t already have enough to deal with,” Slade said with a sigh, “I cannot let a demon run loose in this city.”

“But this city is so much fun,” Amon said, chuckling before suddenly attacking again.

Slade put up a good fight, but the flashing lights disoriented him, and Amon was quite literally coked up, and had the advantage of pulling out whatever weapons he pleased. He derived great pleasure from each blade that he sunk into the healer, not allowing him much time to recover, before finally...the lights were cut, the music stopped, and they could hear police sirens outside.

“Whoops!” Amon said, laughing again, “that’s my cue to leave~”

“Don’t— cough!”

“Hush now,” Amon said, twisting the knife he’d just driven into Slade’s abdomen, drawing out a pained cry, “we’ll play again soon~”

He pressed a kiss on his cheek, before heading over to the bar, stealing a bottle from the top shelf, and disappeared backstage.

Meanwhile, Mirage had brought Phil to her lab, claiming she just worked there and made sure he wouldn’t pay attention to the name on the logo that was printed on everything. She found some protective pants for him to wear over his underwear, and called Cat for help, as well as the police to report the break-in.

It took some convincing before the police would accept that it concerned a super, since they couldn’t provide them with an alias. While still waiting for Slade to find Aiden, detective Hill came to the lab, with a yawning officer Hales in tow. He carried two plastic bags with different pieces of evidence. One with some sort of cylindrical canister, and one with a throwing knife. It was black, with a crescent moon etched in.

“Looks like the perpetrator set off a smoke bomb in your living room so you wouldn’t see them approach,” detective Hill said, “did you see anything at all?”

“The knife,” Phil said, still a little hoarse, “it...missed. On purpose, I think.”

“There’s a moon scratched into the handle,” officer Hales noted.

The girls bent over the bag with the knife.

“That’s not a moon,” Cat said, “it’s a grin...it’s Cheshire Cat’s.”

“Why the fuck would she go after me?” Phil asked.

“And how did she know about your powers?” Mirage slowly said.

“What powers?” Hill asked.

“Phil’s a late-bloomer,” Mirage said, waving her hand dismissively, “prior to the attack, the only ones who were aware of your powers, and thus would’ve known to go straight for the throat would be...Cat, Aiden, Slade or me. Well, maybe not me since I was on the phone with you and Cat was with me, so that leaves…”

“Two equally unlikely options,” Phil said.

“And neither of them Cheshire Cat,” Cat pointed out, “unless either of them would be passing on information….have you heard back from Slade yet?”

“No, you’d think they would’ve called already if Slade would tell Aiden Phil got attacked,” Mirage said.

And speak of the devil. At that moment her phone started ringing.

“Oh! It’s him!” she said, quickly picking up, “hi! Need me to pick you up?”

“Not so fast,” Slade said, “who’s in the room with you?”

“Huh? Oh, just Phil, Cat, detective Hill and officer...I’m so sorry I forgot your name.”

“Mark— I mean Hales! I mean— Officer Mark Hales, ma’am…”

“Officer Hales,” Mirage relayed.

“Good enough,” Slade said, “put me on speaker. I’m here with captain Carnahan.”

Mirage frowned a bit as she put her phone on speaker and put it on the table so everyone could listen in.

“What’s going on?” she asked.

“Aiden’s not Aiden,” Slade said.

“...huh?”

“Phil knows what I mean,” Slade said, “it’s a long story, but for the time being, we cannot trust him or any known shape or form of him.”

“Is this about the other call at that club?” Hill asked.

“Good guess,” captain Carnahan said, “anyway the old doc says it will explain your case.”

“No offence, ma’am, but it just raised more questions with me,” officer Hales said.

“Should I tell them or will you, Mr Winter?” Slade said.

“It’s demonic possession,” Phil said with a sigh, “it’s similar to Cross’ origins, but the dark side, basically.”

“...now I’ve seen everything,” Hill said, “I have so many more questions but basically Cross and Winter’s roommate are now considered an enemy?”

“You get the picture, detective,” Slade said, “I’m sorry Phil.”

“It’s okay,” Phil said quietly, “...are you okay? He can be very mean.”

“I’ve only been stabbed seventeen times before the police finally showed up,” Slade said nonchalantly, “and don’t worry, I didn’t hurt him either...I barely got the chance.”

“Either way, since Winter’s identity and residence appear to be compromised, we’ll arrange a safehouse for him,” captain Carnahan said, “in the meantime, I need all of you to watch your backs too. Maybe spread the word among supers. Someone is ID-ing and hunting you, effectively so.”

And so, they brought Phil to a safehouse, Mirage teleporting him to the address so they couldn’t be followed. Slade somehow managed to convince Phil’s boss that he had a serious lung infection and needed to take some time off to recover, not knowing that he actually knew the owner of the magazine, Cedric Leblanc, personally.

Meanwhile Amon had decided to lie low, expecting half the city to be on the lookout for him now. He switched disguises often and kept his urge to kill under control. After a couple of days, he made his way back to the Statue of Liberty, practising his swing as he slowly circled the torch, waiting for his “appointment” to show up.

Finally, she stepped onto the platform. She came alone that night, seeming a lot less impatient without Hatter around, but it seemed her ‘master’ wasn’t with her either.

“Good evening,” she greeted.

“I’ll be the judge of that,” Amon said, leaning against the railing, “what’s his answer?”

“Wendigo would like to meet with you personally,” Alice said, “at his estate, but only if you bring company.”

“I’ve two people yelling in my head right now, that’s company enough,” Amon said.

“You misunderstand,” Alice said, “he’s asking a favour of you.”

“This better be good,” Amon growled.

Alice smirked a bit.

“He wants you to bring the old healer, Douglas Slade.”

“...I’m listening,” Amon said, “what does he offer in return?”

“He’s only willing to discuss that when you succeed,” Alice said, before handing him a pink envelope.

The paper inside was also pink, with little floral decorations, and the only thing written on it was an address.

“That’s the address to his estate,” Alice explained, “show up with the healer or don’t show at all.”

“Don’t tell me what to do,” Amon said, stuffing the paper into his pocket, “he should be thanking me on his knees if I bother at all.”

“Perhaps it’s something to do while you’re bored?” Alice suggested, “you know where to find us now~”

She patted him on the head, before walking off again. Amon growled a bit. Curse this short body.

“I should’ve let you eat more as a kid,” he grumbled, before folding out his wings and taking off.

Meanwhile Slade was on his yacht, on the phone with Mirage.

“I know he’s worried about Aiden, so am I, frankly, but he hasn’t been seen all week, nor have there been any blood baths, so that’s a good thing I suppose,” he said.

“I don’t like this at all,” Mirage said with a sigh, “and Phil’s beside himself. I don’t think he’s slept since I brought him here.”

“I’ll talk to the police tomorrow to see if we can take a more proactive approach in the case,” Slade said, “but that’s all I can promise for now. I can’t even really tell if it’s possible.”

“That’s fair,” Mirage said, “well, I’ll try and get him to sleep.”

“Try ether,” Slade said.

“That’s not funny,” Mirage said, before hanging up.

Slade shrugged, putting his phone in the charger before attempting to get some sleep himself. Considering the past few nights’ trend, he would probably doze off for an hour, before giving up and finding something else to do to distract himself.

He dropped himself onto his bed, not even bothering to get changed, staring at the ceiling for a moment, before drifting off. When he woke up, however, he didn’t even have to bother to try and find a distraction, as he found a familiar red-eyed figure standing at the edge of his bed.

He sighed sitting up.

“Back for more stabbing?” he asked. Amon didn’t reply, instead just pushing him to lie back down, before climbing on the bed and straddling him.

“What is happening?” Slade slowly asked.

“Who is Wendigo?” Amon asked, putting his hands on the old healer’s shoulders.

“A mythical man-eating creature?” Slade said.

“Doesn’t sound like something Mad Hatter and Alice would take orders from,” Amon said.

“What?” Slade said, trying to sit up again, but Amon put a hand over his mouth, pushing him back down.

“Sssh,” he said, “whoever he is, he’s very interested in you~”

Slade frowned, shaking the hand off his mouth.

“Is that why you’re here?”

“Perhaps...or maybe I just wanted to poke you some more~”

He conjured up a dagger, teasingly tracing it over Slade’s chest, before tilting his head.

“Or maybe you’d be more interested in another kind of poking?”

“I beg your pardon?”

Amon smirked, slipping his free hand underneath Slade’s shirt.

“I know you want it~” he said, “this body has...quite a knack for those things.”

“Not like this,” Slade said, pushing his hand away.

“Boring,” Amon said, rolling his eyes.

The knife made way for a gun, which he pressed against Slade’s head.

“Wait that’s——”

BANG

<prev | masterlist | next>

[crisalidaseason]

A retelling of Iron Flame p. 1

Chapter 9 - Bridges

Summary:

Liam is coping with the start of second year. Violet is avoidant, his squad is suspicious, Sloane is acting weird and living in danger is a painful reality

Previous chapter

****

It was the strangest thing to not have library duty anymore. Liam had worked so much as a first year that it almost felt like a dream to finally have one more hour to rest. Unfortunately, the extra free hour did not change the fact his mind knew no peace. The nightmares were still plaguing his sleep often and he wondered if he would grow mad at some point.

“What has happened in the village was something far from ordinary” Deigh’s tone was firm “for both of us”

“You had never been at war before?” Liam asked, suddenly remembering he knew little about Deigh’s past riders and life.

“Not to the extent of what we went through”

“Sorry for being…this way. I can’t seem to function anymore, I…”

“Have lost yourself. And as much as I sympathize with your suffering, danger still lingers. You must focus”

Liam sighed, sitting up on the bed and rubbing his face. It was easier said than done. There were so many things going wrong that he did not even know where to start fixing his life.

People were trying to kill him and his friends.

Resson haunted him to the point blue mage lights made Liam quiver.

Sloane was crossing the deadly steps of first year and he could do nothing but worry.

His brotherhood with Xaden was strained as much as his friendship with Violet was.

Liam was still hiding things from his squad, who had no fucking idea about the real danger outside the wards.

They were going to be fucking legally tortured!

How is someone not supposed to grow mad?

“Focus on survival, boy, there are other aspects you cannot solve now. We need to survive”

“Tyrrendor will fall in six months” Liam deflated.

Truth be said, if Aisereigh was right then what was all that fighting for survival for? If his home was going to be drained by venin in less than a year. What difference did it really make for him to die now and later, when their enemy inevitably tried to breach the rest of the wards?

“Would you rather die assassinated than trying to build a better world for your kin?” his dragon inquired “because I bonded you for your honor, Liam Mairi. You were never a coward”

He sure felt like one lately.

“Then I suggest you find your courage again, because I doubt cowering in a chamber solves anything”

With the rather dry advice from his dragon, Liam left his bed with limbs that weighed too much. At least he had not drunk for a while, the return of the activities ridding the quadrant of every drop of alcohol available, forcefully making him break the self destructive behavior - though Liam really wanted some ale to drown the fucking nightmares.

He left his room merely seconds after Sawyer, who saluted him upon sight.

“Morning, Liam”

“Morning” He greeted back, walking towards Violet’s door.

“She’s not there” his squadmate replied, stepping beside him “her and Imogen go running every morning or something like that”

Liam must have left his surprise show because Sawyer laughed “I know! I was just as surprised. Seems like Imogen doesn’t hate her guts anymore”

“Did Vi tell you about this?”

Because Violet had said nothing to him…but again, they were speaking but not like they used to.

“She didn’t” Sawyer pursed his lips “we just saw the two of them running”

At least she was not going alone, Liam would probably go even more insane if she had been running around the deserted quadrant alone.

“Which reminds me” Sawyer continued, scratching the line of his freckled jawline “Vi’s been a bit weird or is it just my imagination?”

Liam furrowed his brows “What do you mean?”

“It’s just that…I don’t know, she seems a bit distant. Outside of classes we can barely get a hold of her. She’s always in her room, barely speaks during meals, sometimes even skips it”

Liam felt dread instill inside his stomach, a recluse Violet meant no good “I didn’t notice…”

“You kinda had a full week” Sawyer shrugged, motioning Liam to follow him “how’s your back today?”

“Good enough, the pain from mending still lingers sometimes”

“I noticed that yesterday” Sawyer hummed, lowering his voice when they passed a group of cadets on the rotunda “I don’t usually subdue you that fast when sparring”

Liam agreed quietly, but he felt a bit bad. His real problem was not really his back “guess I need a bit more time”

“Hey boys” Ridoc greeted them from behind, throwing both of his arms around their shoulders “why didn’t you wait for me, huh?”

Sawyer scoffed “payback. I could not sleep properly with you and whoever the fuck you were fucking last night”

“You’re just mad I’m getting laid while you and Rhiannon slave away in meetings”

“Ridoc has a point. You and Rhi look kinda tired” Liam mumbled.

Sawyer had more dark circles under his eyes than ever before, and Rhiannon was quicker to impatience lately, though she tried her best to not snap at them. Liam wondered if he could do something to help.

“I never thought that organizing the squads would be so stressful. Aetos can be very difficult to deal with”

Liam had to swallow his disgust at the mention of Aetos. Hatred threatened to open the gates of his power whenever the wingleader was mentioned. Liam never strived to hate people, but that fucker had sent them all to die. Sent Violet, his supposed childhood friend, to die!

That man was vile, a traitor of all sorts. And their wingleader.

“Where’s Rhiannon anyway?” Ridoc asked, snapping Liam out of his thoughts.

“Left early to prepare for a meeting, she wants to make a good impression” Sawyer replied “I’ll have to join her in about half an hour, let’s be quick”

They finally entered the mess hall, joining the forming line of cadets getting food. Liam looked around, a bit paranoid with the prospect of someone just plunging a knife on him. If they had tried to kill them in front of an entire formation and assessment, nothing would stop leadership from murdering him in the middle of a breakfast line.

“If it’s not my favorite girl!” Ridoc cheered quite loudly “thought you were not going to join today”

Violet waved at them and approached the line alongside Imogen, both staying a few people behind Liam. He felt relief knowing none of them were wandering alone in the quadrant, but did not let the feeling dull his senses. Violet and Imogen exchanged a knowing look with him. Pay attention.

“Special diet?” Ridoc commented.

Liam looked at his plate of mostly fruits and bland bread from the communal plates, the only things not served directly from another person. Violet had taught him extensively about what foods were safer to eat after shockingly informing him of her poisoning habits in first year. She was fucking terrifying sometimes.

“Bit of an upset stomach” Liam lied.

“I’d say to visit a healer, but you probably had enough of the healer’s quadrant” Sawyer quipped “we can always ask Rhi’s help”

“Definitely don’t want to go there” Liam chuckled “and don’t worry, It’s nothing serious. If I need anything, I promise I’ll ask”

They all sat at a particular distant table, which Liam was thankful for since it gave a good view of the entire hall. Violet sat across from him, silent and with a plate very similar to him. For a fact, Imogen had a very similar assortment of food too.

Would life be rendered to even restricting the food you eat? What a fucking misery.

****

They were on the way to the flight field when Rhiannon joined them, running to catch the group.

“Wait for me” her voice was lost amongst the sea of flame section’s riders talking.

“We’re still here!” Violet waved at her.

They all stopped, scooting over the corner of the stairs and waiting for their squad leader.

“This isn’t right” Sawyer complained with the map from torture class and scratching his head “I can’t get number four no matter how many times I count the little elevation lines”

Violet peeked into the map, tapping into the thick parchment “That’s north. You’re looking at the wrong sector for question four. Trust me, I had to ask Ridoc for help last night”

Sawyer huffed “Ugh. This is some infantry bullshit”

“Why won’t you just accept that I am a land navigation god and ask for help like everyone else?” Ridoc teased, nudging Liam “even handsome guy here asked”

“Surprisingly, dick jokes are not Ridoc’s only specialty” Liam smiled.

Rhiannon reached them a few moments later and Ridoc put a hand on his hips “Finally! You’d think leadership would be on time”

“Leadership was in a meeting” she rolled her eyes at their squadmate “and leadership was given the mail!”

The stack of missives in her hands visibly upped the mood of everyone as she distributed them.

“And Liam”

He blinked in surprise, taking the missive from her hand. Liam did not expect to receive any letters. Sloane was the only person that could send something, but she was already in the quadrant - though it almost seemed like a fever dream since Liam barely saw her due to conflicting schedules. There was nothing written on the envelope, though it was wrinkled - as if someone had opened and done a bad job at gluing it back. Breaking the seal, Liam took the paper out and recognized the handwriting right away.

Liam, We’ve settled in the outpost just fine. Your brother is adapting well, his open and friendly personality really shined through! Unfortunately, he doesn’t have much time to write, he and Sgaeyl are kind of indispensable. Anyway, take care. Second year can be rough. I’ll write more in the near future, feel free to write back Send news from Sorrengail or else the shadow man will go insane Also, tell Imogen to take care of the whetstone she stole from me! Lots of love and kisses or whatever the fuck people wish at the end of letters Garrick - and Xaden, in a way.

Liam chuckled at Garrick’s exaggerated words, but knowing well that none of them were actually fine. Being sent to Samara was gruesome, he hoped his brother and friend were strong enough to survive it. A wave of sadness crossed Liam’s mind, wondering if he would ever see them beyond a final goodbye before battle. In a way, his first year in the quadrant was the first in so long - and the last - that he was able to play cards or simply banter and pester one another. Just like old times.

They’d probably never be together like that again.

“Your brother?” Sawyer asked.

“Garrick actually, but Xaden must have relayed the message” Liam replied “you?”

“Mom is elated” he replied “asking if I’m eating enough and all that. Gamlyn?”

Ridoc pulled a face “Happy to hear from them, but family is a complicated thing, you know?”

Liam hummed, remembering his own parents “I get it. And if you want to talk about it, I’m here”

“Count me in too” Sawyer replied.

Ridoc smiled “Thanks”

They separated when the steps of the gauntlet opened into the flight field. Liam spotted Tairn immediately - the massive size kind of hard to miss. Deigh was right beside, a few dragon steps up front.

“You’re good to fly?”

“I am fully healed, boy. More than ‘good’”

He snorted “Sorry!”

Dragon pride.

He walked towards Deigh, noticing as Violet and Rhiannon were still speaking at the entrance of the flight field. Violet was turning the letter in her hands multiple times, her brows furrowed in confusion. Shit.

“Everything okay?’ he asked once she separated from Rhiannon and walked towards him.

“My letter was redacted” she whispered, trying to seem discreet while folding the letter. His farsight caught as black lines painted the parchment.

“Xaden?”

She shook her head “My sister”

Huh. Why redact a letter from her sister? By the look on Violet’s eyes, she was wondering the same.

“Attention!” Deigh’s voice startled him “Solas’ rider observes you”

At that, he looked over Violet’s shoulders and saw as the vice-commandant was indeed looking at them for longer than a simple glance. Liam opened the gates of power instinctively and stared at the man, trying to find a breach on the hard mask.

Nothing. The man gave nothing.

“Go to your dragon” Liam whispered “we’ll talk later”

Violet nodded, shoving the folded letter into her jacket pocket and walking towards Tairn. He did the same, quickly running over Deigh’s front leg and taking his seat. Behind him, Violet was about to climb on her dragon when movement alerted Liam’s peripheral vision.

Major Varrish was approaching them, walking as if the dragons’ warnings meant nothing to him. The man made a turn for Tairn and Liam felt his heartbeat fail, his breathing stop. He threw his weight to the side in order to dismount and run to Violet, but an invisible band of power kept him in place.

“Let me go!”

“Think wisely, you think Tairn will let harm come to his rider? Don’t expose your panic”

He could only watch as the man spoke with Violet from a not so safe distant. Liam was practically regurgitating his breakfast at the sight, acute sight focused on the vice-commandant’s hands in search of a weapon. Tairn was a dragon, but flicking a dagger at her only took a second.

“Can you hear what they’re talking about?” Liam asked.

“The man wishes to see the feathertail” Deigh replied “correcting myself, he demands”

Why? What the fuck the man wanted with a feathertail?

“Surely he can’t demand that! Andarna is still a dragon, no matter how young”

“Can’t Tairn just burn the man? Dragons don’t obey humans, right?”

Liam hoped Tairn would burn the man to the ground. That school did not bat an eye for riders dying scorched, why should they give the vice commandant any fucking special treatment?

“It is not that simple, I fear”

****

The slam echoed everywhere, but it was louder than actually hurtful. Still, Liam flinched either way. Seeing Sloane being handled roughly was not really a pleasant sight, even if the first year sparring with her was not necessarily doing it out of malice or cruelty.

“Come on, Mairi, same mistake again!” Rhiannon warned “you’re attacking at the wrong time”

Liam closed the door of the gym, walking towards the mat the first years from Second Squad were training on. Sloane was breathing heavily, face completely red and the braid already messy. He assumed the matches were going on for a while.

“Hey” Rhiannon greeted Liam after shouting an order for the younger cadets to continue their match “good to finally see you coming around!”

Liam greeted his squadmate with a nod, paying attention to his sister “Good to finally return to action”

“Vi and Ridoc?” she asked.

“Ridoc is helping Sawyer with the land nav essay, Vi went to her room earlier”

And Liam sure as hell hoped she stayed there, trusting Tairn to tattle on her via Deigh.

“As if I was a messenger bird” his dragon grumbled.

“Is she…okay?” Rhiannon murmured, her gaze completely on him.

“She said she was in pain after today’s flight lesson” Liam replied, still remembering her barely concealed winces with every step “I’m going to check on her again later”

“I’ll go with you” she demanded, but soon dragged her attention to the mat “Aaric, mind her height, we don’t need concussions tonight!”

The tall first year sparring Sloane nodded. Liam observed curiously how well measured and polished the man’s abilities were, it reminded a lot of how Bodhi fought - more feet than arms, but a brutal grasp.

Sloane was slammed on the mat again.

“Man’s wiping the floor with her” another first year nearby snickered.

Liam looked at the guy with a hard stare, flexing his exposed reliced arm as a warning. The younger cadet’s snicker fell in seconds before he scurried away.

Sloane might be in need of training, but she did not need the loud commentary on her abilities - or lack thereof.

“Mind if I meddle?” Liam asked Rhiannon.

“Maybe try to put some sense into her, she’s refusing my help” she nodded, patting his shoulder “Aaric, switch places with Liam here”

The other blond man glanced at Liam as if noticing the presence for the first time, green eyes immediately focusing on the relic, but not giving away any emotion upon the sight. Liam thought there was something familiar about the man, but could not really put a finger on it.

“Came to reinforce how bad I am at this?” Sloane complained once he stepped on the mat “No need to”

Liam rolled his eyes “I’m here to help you”

His sister huffed, but did not protest. Liam looked around, noticing as Rhiannon was focused on the other two mats, dragging the idle first years into another mat.

“Your stance is good” he started “now hit me”

Sloane’s left feet moved a few centimeters before she lunged and dodged to the left, trying to land a blow on his ribs. Liam stopped her before the movement was complete, twisting her arms without straining the joint too much and pushing her back. She caught her balance quickly, but did not regain stance fast enough to defend from his offensive. Her dodges became increasingly chaotic and soon, her anger showed and Sloane began to swing her arms in an attempt to hit him.

A swipe of his leg and she fell again, but he caught her before hitting the ground.

“That’s not good” he mumbled.

Sloane fumed at his words, gritting her teeth, but he did not care. She did not need to like his words, just listen.

Liam pulled her back to her feet “Your movements are balanced, reflexes quick, but you’re defending and lashing out in all the wrong moments”

“So our squad leader says” his sister grumbled.

Both of them returned to their fighting stance, this time he was the one to attack first, going straight for another swing at his sister’s legs.

“Why refuse her help then? Rhiannon is a squad leader for a reason”

Sloane managed to dodge, but missed a window to spin and hit him on the knee.

“I don’t need the help of anyone close to her”

Liam landed a blow on her left shoulder blade with his elbow, minding the strength of the jab. Sloane fell on one knee, but managed to escape his grasp.

“So this is about Violet?” he asked “I thought we had talked about it”

She slipped under his defenses and tried to land a punch on his jaw, which he blocked with the underside of the forearm.

“You said to tolerate her, not mingle with her friends. I refuse”

He held a sigh back, feeling her frustration grow - her movements also growing in strength, but erratic.

“Let me get this straight” Liam began, landing another hit on her ribs “you refuse help of a skilled rider out of pride? Just because you don’t like who one of her friends is?”

Sloane groaned, trying to punch him on the stomach but instead Liam grabbed her arm and twisted it carefully, but firmly, pushing her away from him.

“Challenges are in a few weeks, your timing is shit, and you want to choose who trains you? That’s rich” he spat.

His sister responded to his words with more aggressive movements, failing to complete any of them and being pushed away every time.

“With your current abilities, anyone with a little more training is going to hand you your ass over and over” he continued “which consists of 90% of the people here!”

“I know that!” she snarled.

“Then why are you refusing help when you clearly need it?”

Sloane’s face went red from anger and she lunged at him again, this time trying to kick him on the torso. Liam grabbed her ankle and spun her to the left, letting go again and waiting for the next move. She tried to kick him again and, this time, he decided it was time to end the match.

With a quick block of her punch and a sweep of his feet, Sloane went down and this time - against his own instincts - her body hit the mat with a loud thud. He kneeled by his sister’s side, side glancing the edge of the mat and noticing as the group of first years nearby gawked - apart from the guy named Aaric, who just stared at him with unreadable eyes.

“What are you looking at?” Rhiannon shouted “back to your matches! Come on, move!”

Liam used the distraction to return his attention back to Sloane, who was wheezing “You’re hurt?”

Her eyes opened, revealing the anger inside the blue color “Did you really just ask me that?”

He raised his arms in surrender before offering a hand “You’re angry”

Sloane slapped his hand away, turning to the side and kneeling on the mat “And you’re being a jerk”

“And you fell right into the trap. You let people get to you like that and the match is over, no matter how balanced you are”

Her nose scrunched in annoyance “So this was a fucking lesson?”

Liam simply nodded and offered his hand again. This time Slaone took it and both of them walked towards the benches at the edge of the gym, thankfully empty since only a few squads were practicing that night. Liam took one of the waterskins available and gave it to her.

“I was fine until you decided to public humiliate me” she murmured “was that really necessary?”

“You were already losing” Liam replied “Rhiannon just changed the opponent”

Sloane gripped the waterskin forcefully “I wasn’t trained much after Imogen left”

“I noticed that. Which is why you should not be refusing help. People are going to play dirty during challenges, nagging at your insecurities, your particularities” Liam made a discreet motion to his own relic “untrained and unable to keep your emotions at bay? You’re fucked. I’ve survived one year here, Ane, I know the horrors of this place”

She did not look at him, but he knew sense would knock into her eventually “I was right”

Liam furrowed his brows at her whispers “about what?”

Sloane looked at him for a few seconds long, fiddling with the cap of the waterskin “You’re not the same”

At that he felt his heart constrict. Of course he was not the same. Liam was not the same from six years ago, from a year ago even. He could say the same about Sloane even, not at all the thin gangly girl of sweeter memories.

“I…” she struggled “for years my only contact with you was through letters, then I got in this shit hole of a place just to barely see you. We were not able to talk at all and I…I wanted you to train me”

Her voice broke upon finishing her rant and she shook her head. Liam softened at the words, but smiled in sorrow.

“Why didn’t you say something?”

She simply shrugged “Like I said, I barely see you and…I thought you wouldn’t be able to”

“Well, I have a busy schedule” he said “but you’re my sister. I can make time for you”

His sister chuckled “sure it’s not gonna be a problem?”

An idea started bubbling in his mind. If Liam played his cards right, he could solve two issues at once “I have a condition though”

Sloane grumbled “Of course”

He dismissed her words with a wave “I can only train you during evening practice, and even then I am limited to a few days a week. You’ll have to accept Rhiannon or Imogen’s help to teach you when I can’t, though Imogen is kind of hard to come by now that she’s a third year“

His sister sighed “Alright, but I am not accepting Sorrengail training me - never”

“You don’t need to” he continued “Me and Rhiannon can do it just fine”

“You promise?” her eyes bore into his soul and he felt like a young boy all over again. Promising her that everything would be fine.

“I do”

Sloane smiled discreetly “I can live with that. At least I’ll see you often”

Liam let a real grin spread through his face for the first time in a while “Also, for every week of successful training, I’ll give you one of the letters I wrote last year. As a way to catch up even if we are not able to talk much. What do you think?”

“You wrote me letters?” she blinked in surprise “I thought Imogen passed through all your messages for me. Besides, Isn’t it a little moot to write letters for someone you’d see the next year anyways?”

“I guess so, but I wrote them nonetheless. You agree with my conditions or not?”

Sloane snorted, rubbing her hands on her temples “Alright, alright. You better keep your word though!”

“Always!” Liam saluted her, standing up and offering her a hand “now, let’s go. I have much more to teach you”

“I’m tired” she complained, but let Liam pull her anyway.

****

Next chapter

[greghatecrimes]

Once again I am yearning to write but have very little energy. Have a snippet of Chase's thoughts on him and Thirteen being like siblings from a few weeks back. Post After Hours, hopefully to be continued into a full one-shot.

He’s struck by how eerily this feels like a moment from another lifetime. A lifetime where his mother had never fallen down the bottle; a lifetime where his father might have stayed. Where he’d never been forced to grow up too fast and then felt the overwhelming need to run, abandoning his sister for the seminary, and then for the States. In another life, his sister would be sitting where Thirteen is, Princeton would be Melbourne, and they’d be sitting on his sofa after work, just like this; watching crappy movies with pizza and cheap wine and taking comfort in each other’s presence.  He thinks back to the last time he spoke to her, after he found out that their father died. Had he told her that he missed her? That he loved her? That he was proud of her for straightening out, living her life for something other than the numbing haze of alcohol and the bitter thrill of spite?  Chase glances at Thirteen on the couch beside him, legs pulled to her chest, chin resting on her knees. The dark circles under her eyes have only gotten more pronounced as they both approach thirty-six hours without any sleep, nearing the same shade of purple as the bruise he’d left on her neck. There’s still a twinge of guilt when he remembers what it had felt like to throw her to the ground after it became clear she wasn’t going to stop fighting, her blue eyes wide with shock and hurt and betrayal. But he’d done the right thing, hadn’t he? He’d just been looking out for her; he'd just wanted to stop her from doing something she couldn’t come back from. It’s what he would have wanted someone to do for his sister. Would Thirteen's brother have done the same?  Had she gotten to have one last conversation with him before she pushed the plunger, or had the Huntington’s stolen too much for him to say any more than those two words? (It’s time.) Did she know in those last moments that her brother would miss her? That he loved her? That he was proud of her?  Chase decides that she needs to know. She needs to hear it from someone, even if he's not the brother she needs him to be. “You know,” he says evenly, breaking the silence. “You remind me a lot of my sister.” That grabs her attention. She glances away from the TV to look at him curiously. “…You have a sister. That’s new.”  “We don’t… talk much. Not since she was small.” He admits. He just needs to tell her and be done with it. He’s starting to fumble his words. “But I was thinking and, you know… you remind me a lot of her. Too clever for your own good. Stubbornly brave. Compassionate.” He takes a breath and goes straight for the heart of it before he can lose his nerve.  “I’d be proud if she had grown up into someone like you.” Thirteen stares at him for a moment, processing. After a second of hesitation, she forces out a stunted, awkward laugh. “You… can’t actually mean that.” When Chase doesn’t refute, she furrows her brows and frowns at him in disbelief. “I have Huntington’s. I went to prison. I euthanized my brother.” She shakes her head at him. “...The only reason you’re able to say that is because you’re as fucked up as I am.”  “No,” Chase insists. “I really would be. You’re a good person, Remy. You’re a good doctor.” he swallows and finds that, for some reason, he can’t quite look her in the eye. “After everything today… sure, we fucked up, but we worked together and made it through. I’m proud of us.”  There’s a long pause, and Chase briefly wonders if he should have said anything at all. When he glances back up, Thirteen’s got her eyes trained on the TV, careful not to look at him.  “…Thanks,” she finally says, choked up. “…Thank you. I mean it.”  He moves a little closer to her and rests one arm along the back of the couch, just behind her shoulders. “I do, too.” he tells her. Thirteen heaves out a quiet sigh. She allows her head to fall softly against the side of Chase's shoulder, and for the first time all evening, lets the weight of exhaustion pull her eyes closed.

[bimaddieshan]

had the shiniest wheels, now they’re rusting

TW for mentions of DV

****

Ken crosses his arms and leans against the doorjamb, keeping his gaze downcast. There’s a dark brown stain on the rug. Spilled coffee, maybe? Colt rifles through his drawers in search of sweatpants. They’ll be big, but Ken doesn’t mind. The stuntman’s clothes are so soft and warm, a blanket of protection and safety. 

Safety. What does that even mean anymore? Images of cozy Saturday nights with Barbie, Gloria, Ryan, and Sasha dance around the room, and there’s a pang of longing so deep that Ken aches with it. They’re blissfully unaware of this secret, the deep shame that’s burrowed underneath his skin and settled into his bones. It’s better this way, isn’t it? The family already knows too much, and Patrick loathes them.

He is  willing to sacrifice safety if it means keeping his family. It isn’t a fair trade, but when has anything about this relationship been fair?

“Okay.” Ken’s startled out of his stupor by a slamming drawer. He averts his eyes from the stained carpet and looks at Colt, squirming uncomfortably. Those blue eyes see right through him. How is it possible for a man who has only been in his life for six months to understand Ken more than his partner of over a year? “These should work.”

Ken reaches for the black sweatpants, but Colt doesn’t pass them. He chews his lower lip huffs. Ken eyes him curiously. “What?”

“Are you okay?” The words are so jumbled that it takes Ken a moment to understand them. He opens his mouth, but Colt presses on. “You’ve been really quiet all night. I’ve been wanting to ask, but, you know…A lotta people.”

I’m fine. The words are on the tip of his tongue, but they refuse to come out. Ken huffs. It would be so easy to lie. Lying comes naturally. There was a time where he would have balked at the very concept. Why would anyone lie? But now, jaded by time and experience, he understands. Lying is paramount to his survival.

I got enough sleep. I’m fine.

I’ve been eating enough. Don’t worry about me.

I fell off my surfboard and sprained my wrist. 

I’m an idiot. I walked into a door.

Lie and pray that the day won’t be a disaster. Don’t lie and wait with baited breath, wound as tightly as a coil, tension so thick it’s tangible. It’s a dangerous game, a constant balancing on a shimming tightrope that requires airtight execution. 

Leaving Barbie Land was supposed to fix everything. Finally, his own script at the tip of his fingers! Only that script has been torn to shreds, pieces of doll and man scattered so carelessly that Ken sometimes wonders if anyone sees them. 

Doll and man are once again beholden to the whims of another person. A heart beats steadily in a chest that rises and falls with life, but the body is an empty husk, more dollike than ever before.

“Ken?”

Ken jumps and blinks, running a hand through his hair. Stop doing that. You’re being weird again. “I’m fine. Don’t worry about me.”

“You’re not fine, and I am worried about you, so there’s that.”

A tiny smile quirks at the corners of Ken’s lips. It’s nice, albeit dangerous, to have someone aside from Barbie and their little family actually care. But he’s always been greedy for attention and affection, especially from Colt. He’s not sure how the other man yanked him into his orbit so quickly. Ken isn’t strong enough to resist. Not that he’s trying that hard, but…

Colt sighs, and the former doll wants nothing more than to envelope him into a hug and soothe the aches. But how is he supposed to fix Colt’s aches when he’s the source?

“It’s getting worse, isn’t it?”

It would be easy to play dumb, to go back to his world of pretend and play-acting. Lying is easy…Except for when the object of his affections is asking. At one point, Ken would have given Patrick the world; now, he yearns to give it to Colt, to give him the scattered pieces of himself. Maybe it’s the alcohol. Traces of the pleasant buzz linger, even hours later. 

All Ken knows is that between the alcohol and everything that is Colt, lying would be impossible. 

“I have to tell you something.”