#I feel like keeping up with both of them would be frigging exhausting so I made Virgil swole to compensate

[sidespart]

May I has a cute anaroceit (romantic if you don't mind) doodle please?... 🥺👉👈

They’re tired after a long day of being dramatic 😌

[solinarimoon]

Fields of Wildflowers

Chapter 14

A Sihtric x OC story

AN: We’re coming to the close of this story. There will be one more chapter after this. I may do a few more one-shots with Cwen and Sihtric and depending on how season 5 plays out I may continue their story further. Thanks for reading everyone! Moodboard made by the wonderful @serasvictoria

Previous chapters here

My masterlist

Warnings: Canon style battle imagery, trauma response from previous abuses, I believe that is all

Word Count: 4,217

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Cwen ran through the streets of Winchester until she reached the back entrance to the kitchens. Stopping in the doorway, she quickly scanned the room for any sign of Eadith. Cwen did not spy the fiery headed woman in the main kitchen and she was nowhere to be found in the halls most closely surrounding the kitchens either. Cwen had no idea how much time had passed since she left to bring Storria her food. It felt like a lifetime ago.

Quickly, Cwen made her way back to the kitchens, seeking out Frig.

Spying her near the stove, forming loaves for the next day's bread, she swiftly walked over to the large woman.

“Frig, do you know where Eadith is?”

“Who’s Eadith, girl? You think I know your names?” Frig was tall and wide. Cwen would have wagered she would make an intimidating opponent in a battle. She certainly commanded attention and obedience in the kitchens.

But Cwen did not let the woman’s gruff demeanour stall her search.

“She’s my friend. The redhead.”

“Oh, her. I sent her with rations for the prisoners. Come to think on it, she should probably be back by now. She left close after you did. Now wait here, girl…” but Cwen wasn’t listening as Frig called after her. She raced out of the kitchen and along the corridor towards the chapel, eyes scanning everywhere for any sign of Eadith.

When she reached the chapel, she rapped her palm on the heavy wooden door and whispered loudly through the window for Lady Aelswith before trying to slow the hammering in her chest and catch her breath.

She gasped, realizing that she still had Eardwulf’s blood staining her hands. Glancing down at herself, there were traces of his blood all over her clothes. The sight brought back the panic and Cwen felt her breathing becoming erratic once again.

“Cwen,” a voice broke through her thoughts, “Cwen, what is it?”

She shook her head and realized Lady Aelswith had made it over to the door and was trying to get her attention.

“Cwen, dear, you’re trembling. What has happened?”

Cwen stared through the bars of the window in the door for a moment before speaking, her mouth dry.

“I...I’ve killed Eardwulf,” Aelswith’s eyes snapped up to meet Cwen’s face, shocked at her admission. Cwen continued, her words coming out in rushed breaths, “He was trying to force the King’s hand to act. And… and Sigtryggr was there.. He knows I am here as a spy, but… he let me go to find Eadith.”

“The boys, Aethelstan, Sigtrygr took them. Did you see them, Cwen?” Aelswith’s voice was strained, trying to remain composed but clearly she was worried about the boys.

“I did. They were with him. He’s...,” Cwen struggled to find a way to describe her encounter with the man who was responsible for taking Winchester from the hands of Saxons. “He does not want to harm them. He told me so. I tried to keep them with me, but…,” Cwen paused and looked into Aelswith’s eyes, urging her to believe her, “I believe he truly does not want to harm them. Or any of us, if he can avoid it.”

Aelswith didn’t reply, but neither did her face hold to typical rebuke and scorn that Cwen would have expected.

Shaking her head, Cwen asked, “Eadith? Did you see Eadith? She should have brought you food, but she has not returned to the kitchen.”

“She hasn’t been here,” Lady Aelswith sighed.

Cwen felt a tingling sense of dread creep back up her fingertips and into her chest. She took a shaky breath and grasped Lady Aelswith’s hand around the bars in the window.

“I need to keep looking for her.”

“I know. Be safe, Cwen.”

Cwen turned and marched back the way she had come, sneaking past the kitchen and into the courtyard.

Thinking Eadith may have heard about the events on the ramparts, she headed back towards the Eastern gate to be met with a startling sight.

Lord Uhtred was being ushered in through the gate behind a self-satisfied looking Sigtryggr.

Cwen started forward towards her friend, but slowed to look at Sigtryggr. Silently, he gave her the slightest of nods before she sped forward to embrace Uhtred.

Speaking into Cwen’s hair, she heard Uhtred’s muffled voice, “You are alright? Let me see you.” He stepped back to take in her appearance, her blood stained clothes and hands. Uhtred took her chin in his hand and turned her so he could better look at her face, scowling at the scratches along her brow from where Eardwulf had pressed her bodily into the stone of the parapet.

Ignoring Uhtred’s hardened stare, Cwen spoke to both Sigtryggr and Uhtred in turn, “The boys? Athelstan. Are they alright?”

Before Uhtred could speak, Sigtryggr’s voice answered her concerns, firm yet gentle.

“Both children are back in their father’s embrace. Your Lord, the Dane Slayer has traded himself willingly for their release,” he folded his hands behind his back, stepped closer to speak in a lowerer tone, and added, “It would seem the gods saw fit to indulge my wish to see them unharmed.” The man stepped back now, meeting Cwen’s eye.

Uhtred watched the exchange silently, before addressing Sigtryggr.

“The boys are unharmed, but what about Cwen? Look at her face, her hands and clothes. Is this how women are to be treated in your Winchester?”

“Cwen has the heart of a survivor. Not a battle warrior perhaps, but she is strong. Aside from the scratches, the blood belongs to her enemy. A man lower than a snake,” Sigtryggr spoke with that same calm, yet commanding voice.

“That enemy was your ally,” Uhtred’s voice grew louder, etched with concern and irritation over how Cwen had been treated.

Now it was Cwen’s turn to speak, cutting off Sigtryggr's reply and trying to still the rising tension.

“I was offered care and a chance to clean up, but I refused. I needed to find Eadith.”

“And where is she?” Uhtred questioned, only then turning his studying gaze from Sigtryggr to Cwen once more.

“I do not know,” her voice was desperate and wavering, “ I was coming here to look for her. She should have brought food to Lady Aelswith, but she never made it there.”

Cwen held her fingers up to her lips, turning to scan the streets, looking for any sign of Eadith. Her breaths began to quicken once more and she turned round, wide eyed to look at Uhtred.

“I am sure she is alright, Cwen.”

“You can not know that,” Cwen cut him off.

“Excuse me, both of you,” Sigtryggr interjected, “but Uhtred must come with me. We did not allow you into the city to go on a goose hunt. You are here to meet and discuss with me.”

“Sigtryggr is right,” Uhtred agreed, cutting Cwen off before she could protest further. But turning to face Sigtryggr, his voice leaving no room for argument, “but Cwen will come with us. I will not risk another I care for being vulnerable in this city.”

“As you wish,” Sigtryggr acquiesced with a nod, then turned on his heel to walk back towards the palace, clearly expecting Uhtred and Cwen to follow him.

Alarm and panic lacing her voice, Cwen protested giving up the search for Eadith.

Uhtred took hold of her arm and began to escort her alongside him, “Winchester is large and I will not have you look in the streets alone. His lord or not, Sihtric would have my head.”

Cwen paused, gently pulling her arm back to stop Uhtred from moving further.

“My Lord, how is he?” Her words were small, anxious.

Uhtred bowed his head before looking up and taking in Cwen’s concerned expression.

“Sihtric is in agony, Cwen. The man has done nothing but fret since you left his sight, walking into the city,” Uhtred paused. His grip on her arm loosened and moved to squeeze her shoulder in comfort, “Seeing you up there has nearly broken him. He will fight every man here, Saxon or Dane, to see you back in his arms.”

Tears welled in Cwen’s eyes as she listened to Uhtred’s words. She reached her hand up to hold Uhtred’s arm on hers. Sniffling, she wiped a stray tear away.

“Come along, Dane Slayer.” Sigtryggr’s voice brought an irritated sigh from Uhtred as he and Cwen resumed their path.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Cwen lifted her head groggily and sat up from the bench she had been resting on.

After arriving in the throne room, Uhtred and Sigtryggr had commenced to fight, throw insults, and banter back and forth before coming to common ground. The rest of the night consisted of developing plans to help formulate negotiations and division of lands.

It would seem Sigtryggr really did wish to be a better man than his forebears. He wanted only land and a chance for his people to thrive. A chance to prosper.

At some point, a woman had brought them food and Cwen had asked for some water to wash the blood from her hands and clean up her face.

Feeling slightly less soiled, she had laid down upon a bench pushed against the side of the hall. Almost immediately, she had felt the exhaustion of the day's events wash over her. Her body and mind were fatigued, both in equal measure.

Fretful, Cwen succumbed to sleep. But her mind was not fit for restful slumber. Flashes of images raged across her dreams.

Eardwulf’s face as blood pooled out of his mouth, his eyes full of shock and anger.

Feet, her own - she could not tell - running along city streets, turning this way and that.

Her hands clinging to a dazed Aethelstan. Still flecked with dried blood, they moved to cover the child’s eyes.

And Sihtric. His eyes. Watching her, his face stoic and careworn. Those eyes that covered her like a gentle blanket, usually full of care and comfort. Now shifting as his face broke into screams, cries filled with torment and sorrow.

Slowly, Cwen felt herself relax back into wakefulness. Her heart, along with her limbs, felt heavy. Leaden. As if she had not slept at all. The images from her mind continued to play over.

Only the knocking on the great oak doors just moments before had awoken her.

Still dazed from sleep, Cwen stood to walk over to Uhtred’s side, her hands running over her face, trying to erase her dreams..

Lord Uhtred stood bent over, his fists resting against the long table scattered with maps and documents.

“I am glad you were able to rest.”

“My body betrayed me. It was not a conscious decision,” Cwen voiced, “Nor would I consider it restful.”

Uhtred turned to look at the woman, placing a comforting hand on her back.

Cwen offered him a small smile before looking down to the maps. She reached out a hand, absentmindedly tracing the length of some river.

At that moment, Sigtryggr returned with news from his guards. Edward had attacked the city and would soon breach the walls.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Urgently, Sigtryggr, Uhtred, and Cwen moved along the hallways of the palace and out into the courtyard, followed closely by several of Sigtryggr’s oathmen.

The city gates had already been breached and Saxon warriors were flowing into the courtyard to be met with the shield and swords of the Danes scrambling from all corners of the city to join the fray. The clamor of battle, swords and axes crashing against shields, men screaming and yelling with battle lust was deafening.

Cwen was met with Uhtred’s arm pushing her to stand behind him while he pleaded with Sigtryggr.

Frantically, Cwen scanned the crowd searching for Sihtric. Or anyone of her companions. But the scene was utter chaos. All she could make out was blurs of bodies whirling and clashing in a bloody dance.

Cwen’s attention was snapped back to the men in front of her as she heard Sigtryggr order one of his men to kill Uhtred if he should harm any Danes.

Next thing she was aware of, Cwen was thrust aside by large hands as Uhtred and Sigtryggr’s man began stalking their way through the fight towards King Edward.

Cwen righted herself and continued to search the crowd, looking for him. She watched the chaos as Sigtryggr prowled like a wolf on the steps beside her.

Her heart hammered in her chest and she felt the clash and reverberation of the fight in front of her ringing in her ears. The adrenaline and fear pulsed out along her limbs as she felt the grip of panic racing through her blood.

She winced when Sigtryggr called for the shield wall to be formed.

His cry lost amongst the din of the violence, Cwen covered her ears instinctively and watched while a horn blower signaled the shield wall and Sigtryggr called once more, his voice now louder and impassioned.

She saw as Edward raised his sword arm and called for Saxon’s to form the wall as well.

It felt like time slowed as Cwen watched the melee stop and the shields form the barrier along both sides of the fight.

A man stepped out from the Saxon line reaching towards something on the ground. It was Finan. Cwen watched as he stooped to pick up a figure. She recognized Eadith’s red hair and gasped as she watched men part for Finan to retreat carrying her limp body.

Then there he was, closing the hole after Finan, beside Osferth.

Cwen grasped onto Sigtryggr’s arm, from behind where he had stepped in front of her protectively.

He turned and observed her gaze, locked onto Sihtric.

“It is your man?” Sigtryggr questioned.

Not daring to take her eyes from him, Cwen gave the slightest nod.

“Come with me,” he instructed as he began moving down the stairs, Cwen continuing to hold onto his arm as they moved through the warriors.

“You will let us pass,” Sigtryggr commanded his men who shuffled out of their way to form a slender path.

Breaking through into the clearing between the shields, he saw her. His face was a mask of fierce battle rage, but his eyes softened when they met Cwen’s.

He took a step forward, pulled to reach her, before Osferth’s sword arm blocked his way.

Cwen still stood slightly behind Sigtryggr grasping his arm.

The man looked back to her, “Go,” he said. Cwen dragged her eyes away from Sihtric to glance at Sigtryggr. He nodded his head in the direction of the Saxons, towards Sihtric, “Go on.”

And the next instant, Cwen was rushing into Sihtric’s arms, crashing into him.

Still prepared for a fight, Sihtric stepped to the side, bringing her around himself, saying, “Behind me, Cwen. Stay behind me.”

He kept her arm in his grasp as she stood behind his right side, hands grasping at him, clinging to his armor.

Cwen felt him pull her hand up to his mouth, pressing a firm kiss against her knuckles and squeezing. His hand still gripped his axe as well and the feel of the wood crushed against her fingers was bruising. But it did not matter. Being back where she could find his grounding touch, Cwen felt her world right itself finally.

She pressed herself firmly against his back. Peering around his shoulder, she could see Edward and Aethelflaed had approached the center of the courtyard along with Uhtred. Sigtryggr and Edward stood staring at one another. The tension was thick as the leaders sized each other up.

Eventually, Edward and Aethelflaed agreed to enter the palace with Sigtryggr and begin negotiations.

Once the respective parties had shifted inside, the opposing armies slowly melted away to opposite portions of the city.

Cwen felt the tension slowly release in Sihtric’s shoulders as he lowered his shield and slid his axe into his belt.

She heard Osferth from somewhere nearby, questioning Sihtric. Cwen kept her eyes closed, hands fisted into his mail and leather, gripping anywhere she could find purchase.

“Where would Finan have taken Eadith?”

“Hild,” Sihtric replied, his voice low and husky, “likely, he took her to Hild.”

Without another word, the three moved along the streets passing other soldiers and frightened townsfolk milling about.

Sihtric’s arm never lost contact with Cwen, but his eye kept scanning and searching. Cwen imagined he was still on the watch for a fight, a threat. Or looking for Finan and Eadith. But she desperately yearned for his eyes to find her again.

After many twists and turns along wide streets, Cwen having no idea where they were leading, they stopped outside of a church.

Osferth only paused, noticing that Sihtric had stilled with Cwen.

Glancing between his two friends, Osferth’s lips twitched upwards into a small grin before he turned and continued up the steps and through the large oaken door.

Sihtric turned, taking Cwen’s arm in his hand and led her to the alley beside the church.

Once he turned the corner, he swept Cwen into his arms in a crushing embrace and lifted her off of the ground.

Cwen felt the seams of her composure that had been slowly unraveling rip apart. She threw her arms desperately around his shoulders as she buried her face against his neck. Strangled sobs overcame her and she started voicing incoherent apologies and fears.

Gently, Sihtric lowered her feet to the ground and ran his fingers soothingly through her tangled, chestnut hair, giving her the time to be broken.

Cwen pulled her face back from his body, her hands moving to rest along his jaw and bringing his forehead to rest against hers.

“It is alright, Cwen. I have you, now. I have you,” he chanted over and over.

In time, Cwen’s breathing slowed and her sobs ceased to wrack her entire body, to be replaced with still slightly shaky gasps.

She felt as Sihtric’s lips placed soft kisses on her forehead, down to her eyes, wiping away her tears.

Finally, his kiss found her lips. And she felt the world pause as they both melted into one another, his fingers tracing soothing lines where he cupped her neck.

When they pulled apart, Cwen met his eyes.

“I love you,” she whispered.

His lips pulled into a wide grin, but she continued before he could respond, “I do. I love you, Sihtric. And I am sorry for leaving with harsh words or feelings,” but it was Sihtric’s turn to hush her with a kiss.

When he pulled back, he made sure to look into her eyes before speaking.

“Do not apologize. What you have done takes courage. There are more ways to be strong and brave than by wielding a sword or an axe. I should not have spoken as I did. I was scared for you and let it cloud my mind and my words.”

“But you were right to be frightened,” Cwen interrupted him, “Eardwulf…” Her voice quivered when speaking his name, betraying her.

“Is dead, Cwen.” Sihtric took her face in both hands. “He can no longer harm you. You have freed yourself of him, my love.”

His eyes burned into Cwen’s own with such an intensity, she dropped her face to rest on his chest, overwhelmed.

“I was so afraid, Sihtric.”

She felt as Sihtric rested his chin on top of her head before he replied.

“Cwen, I have been in more battles than I can remember, escaped death.” he placed a kiss on the top of her head before he continued, “but I have never felt fear like that before.”

He pulled her back and took her chin in his hand, tilting her face so he could brush his thumb over the scratches and bruises forming along her cheek and brow.

“I was terrified that I would lose you. But you saved yourself. And we are together now.”

Cwen smiled at him, “I used your knife and what you taught me.”

Sihtric kissed her fiercely before he remarked, “When this is over, we will find time alone where I can love you. Where I can show my woman how she is cherished.”

Cwen felt heat rise in her cheeks. “You cherish me?” She questioned, leaning her face back towards him.

“I do, my lady,” he answered with a smirk before kissing her once more and chuckling as he felt Cwen hum against him deep in her throat.

“Do you think Osferth found them?” Cwen pondered when they finally broke apart.

Sihtric laughed, “He must have or he would have come and awkwardly interrupted us.”

Sihtric took her hand, leading her back towards the entrance of the church.

“Who is Hild?” she questioned.

Sihtric answered her as they walked, “A friend. An abbess. The first time I met her, she was sawing the head off a Dane.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Cwen’s mouth was still hung open in shock when they entered the church to be approached by Osferth and an older woman with dirty blonde hair, dressed in the plain robes of the clergy.

“Cwen, this is Hild, a friend.” Osferth introduced the woman who took in Cwen’s expression and appearance.

“Was Sihtric just telling you of the first time we met? Trust me, it was not as bad as you imagine. The Dane was already dead.” Hild’s smile was genuine and caring. Osferth and Sihtric both laughed good naturedly at her jest.

Still smiling, Hild brought Sihtric in for a hug, “It is good to see you, Sihtric.”

“And you, Hild. Is Finan here?”

Hild answered him, while stepping back to stand by Osferth once more, “He is. And the lady, Eadith. I have patched her up as best I could.”

Cwen interrupted, concern lacing her voice, “will she be alright? Was she badly injured?”

“Not too badly. Some bruised and maybe broken ribs, but that is all. She needs rest, but will be fine,” Hild took hold of Cwen’s hand as she spoke, giving it a comforting squeeze, “would you like to see her?”

“I…” but Cwen hesitated.

Guessing the reason for her hesitation, Osferth interrupted, “She knows about Eardwulf, Cwen. She was more concerned with your well-being than with grief over her brother.” Cwen frowned and looked down at the floor for a moment before looking back to Hild, who gave her hand another comforting squeeze and nodded her head.

“Come on then. Follow me,” she said while releasing Cwen’s hand and turning to walk back the way they had come.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

They entered the room to find Eadith sitting up with some bandages wrapped around her torso. She was holding onto Finan for support to stand. Cwen noticed the care and concern etched in the Irish warrior’s face as he stood firm by her side.

She stopped short when Eadith looked up from the floor at their entrance. But Cwen did not have long to ponder any hard feelings Eadith might hold against her for killing her brother.

Eadith exclaimed, “Cwen, oh thank God,” as she reached out the arm not steadying herself on Finan, beckoning her friend towards her.

Cwen let out a little laugh, fighting back yet more tears as she closed the few steps between them and gingerly embraced Eadith before stepping back and taking her hand.

“You’re safe,” Finan interjected, placing a chase kiss to Cwen’s temple, never losing hold of Eadith’s waist.

“As are you,” Cwen commented nodding to Eadith, “I tried to find you after,” but the words died on her lips as she met her friend's eye.

To Cwen’s amazement, Eadith gave her a genial smile before she spoke.

“I lost the man I called my brother some time ago, Cwen. I am happy you are safe. Truly, my friend.”

Shaking her head to clear the emotions rushing to her face, Cwen took a breath before their reunion was interrupted by Hild, who cleared her throat before speaking.

“I can offer you all a bit of bread and may be able to find some cheese. It won’t be much, given the siege, but I know you must be hungry.”

Osferth replied for the group, “That would be lovely, Hild. Thank you. But we also should see if we can find out how things go with Lord Uhtred.”

The companions agreed some food would be best before Sihtric and Osferth would leave to find out how negotiations progressed.

Cwen tried to protest and go with them.

“I do not wish to be parted from you again,” she whispered as Sihtric took her aside by the arm.

“I know, Cwen. But you are exhausted. A moment ago you were almost asleep on your feet. Finan is staying to care for Eadith. You will not be alone. But you need rest.” Sihtric’s voice was low and soothing. His face close to hers and she felt the tenderness and concern in his words. “Let Hild care for your face and find you some clean clothes. I will come back to you as soon as I can.”

The idea of clean clothes and rest compelled Cwen more than she would have anticipated. But the weight of the past days events was still heavy on her and Sihtric was right, she needed the rest.

“Ok, but please don’t be away long.”

“I won’t, love. Believe me.” He kissed her softly before leaving with Osferth.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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[just-dreaming-marvel]

Love and Medicine ~ 13

MASTERLIST

< previous chapter

Word Count: 3,160ish

Summary: You try to handle what happened with Steve, while Natasha tries to handle her pregnancy.

Warning: serious pregnancy complications

A few days later, you were anxious and needed to get energy out. You dragged Natasha to the park for a run. She was huffing and puffing as you basically ran circles around her.

“You’re stupid,” Natasha panted, trying to keep up. “You're stupid, evil, sadist and I wanna kill you.”

“Endorphins are good. Endorphins are mood elevators,” you replied. “This is supposed to make us feel better.”

Natasha stopped and threw herself on the ground. “Do you feel better?”

“I’m stupid.” You jogged around her.

“Slutty mistress.”

“Pregnant whore.”

“Sleeping with our bosses was a great idea.”

You stopped and sat yourself beside Nat. “You know what’s ruined for me?”

“What?”

“Ferry boats. I used to love ferry boats and Steve's got a thing for ferry boats. Now every time I see a frigging ferry boat—“

“You know what's ruined for me? Coronary artery by-pass grafts ... and aortic aneurysms. I used to love aortic aneurysms.”

You laid next to Natasha with a sigh. “Have you cried yet?”

“What do you think?”

“Do you think we’ll feel better if we cry? You know like just let it out?”

“Probably. Yeah…. Do you wanna cry now?”

“No.”

“Okay.”

~~~

Steve entered the hospital elevator, finding himself alone. Which was relieving. Unfortunately, at the last second, Fury entered wearing a beanie.

“Nice hat,” Steve commented.

“Shut up,” Fury responded.

“What are you doing here?”

“I’m going back to work.”

“You’re not cleared for surgery.”

“Leave me alone. I’ve been sitting at home watching Ellen giving away things on TV. Ellen, Steve! You clear me now or I’ll hurt you.”

“If you want me to clear you so soon, maybe you should've thought about that before you gave chief to Stark and invited Satan to Seattle.”

“Satan?”

“Good morning,” Peggy greeted, entering the elevator. “I like the hat, Nick.”

“Satan speaks,” Steve murmured.

“Actually I prefer to be called ruler of all that is evil. But I will answer to Satan.”

“What is she still doing here?”

“I asked her to stay,” Fury answered. “We have a pediatric surgery attending on maternity leave.”

“Actually, I could use you on a consult,” Peggy told Steve. “Will you meet me up there Steve?”

“Ah yeah. Fine,” he responded. Peggy left the elevator. “I’m not clearing you for surgery.”

~~~

Dr. Gamora and her group of interns were all gathered in a patient’s room for rounds. Dr. Banner was also in attendance.

“Mr. Jackson is scheduled for resection non-small cell carcinoma today,” Natasha stated. “He did well overnight, has remained afebrile. He's had a dose of ceftriaxone this morning. He's pre-op labs are unremarkable. His chest x-rays, um, are unchanged from the previous.”

“I own a couple dry-cleaning stores,” Mr. Jackson explained. “Never believed what they said about inhaling the chemicals.”

“We’re going to do everything we can for you, Mr. Jackson,” Banner promised. He turned to Natasha. “Did oncology see him yet?”

“Uh, they’re waiting for the surgical path,” Natasha replied.

“Thank you, Dr. Romanoff.”

“Next patient,” Dr. Gamora said. The group of interns followed Gamora.

“You need to tell Banner,” you whispered to Natasha.

“No,” Natasha responded.

“I just think you should still tell him about the baby because he'd at least have the responsibility of having to pay.”

“No! You know what? He’ll never know. It’s over. Once this pregnancy is taken care of, Banner won’t even be a blip on my radar. He’ll be a smudge.”

“Right,” you scoffed.

You all entered the next patient room to see a young woman.

“Alexa Rickie,” Peter began, “she’s 23 years old. In for a scheduled ETS for treatment of her erythrophobia hyperpyrexia.”

“Erythrophobia?” Val whispered to Clint.

“Blushing,” he answered.

“You have any questions about the procedure?” Gamora asked Alexa.

“Oh. Dr. Ro….” Alexa began, but paused as she started blushing badly. Trying to get it to go away, she fanned her face. “Dr. Rogers explained everything. He was very… huh… helpful. He gave me some…. sorry…”

“Don’t be,” Peter said. “Half the patients that come through here have the hots for Rogers.”

“Dr. Quill,” Gamora scolded.

“What? It’s true.”

You simply rolled your eyes. It’s not like Peter was wrong. It was just so annoying because it was true, all the patients did swoon over Steve. Gamora ordered all of you to exit the room. You followed her and stood in front of her when she stopped.

“Okay, assignments,” Dr. Gamora said, looking at some papers. “Val, the Rogers’ need an intern up in the NICU.”

“The Rogers’?” Val repeated. “Like, the both of them? Together? And me by myself with the two married people who hate each other?”

“Go.” Val sighed and walked off. “Natasha you’re on the thoracotomy.”

“With Banner?” Natasha wondered. “Oh, can I have the hateful married couple instead?”

“Okay, I’m sorry, I thought that I was your resident and not your hostess. I assign, you take. Is there a problem with that?”

“No.”

“Is there some reason why it's inconvenient for you to spend the day in the OR, learning from Dr. Banner?”

“No. I'm very happy to be working with Dr. Banner. Thank you very much.” Natasha rushed off.

“Clint and Scott, the pit.” They nodded and left. “Peter, Alexa Rickie is your patient.”

“Yes,” he said quietly before leaving.

“Y/N, you will be doing scut.”

“Excuse me?”

“I can tell you’re still distracted from the Rogers’ drama, and you need to find some focus.”

“I’m plenty focused.”

“Prove that to me today.”

~~~

Val stood by Peggy in the NICU as Steve went over a baby’s chart.

“Where’s the mother?” Steve asked.

“Gone,” Peggy answered. “She stuck around long enough to get the kid strung out and then took off. Sound familiar?”

“Peggy!”

“Steve, I know it’s a long shot. I know that.”

“You told me you had a newborn with an invasive mash. You fail to mention that she's premature, underweight and addicted to narcotics. There's no way that this baby is going to survive spinal surgery.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Even if she does, she's a mess. She'll just get meningitis seizures. She's going to live a short painful life.”

“You don’t know that.”

“It’s my job to know that.”

“You’re not God, Steve.”

“Excuse me?”

“I'm sorry honey but you're not. You don't get to decide—“

“Wait, did you just call me honey? Don’t call me honey!”

Val tried to focus on the baby as the conversation grew more uncomfortable.

“Fine,” Peggy conceded. “You’re not God, Dr. Rogers. Look if a patient has any chance at survival, which I think she does, then you have a responsibility—“

“Don’t talk to me about responsibility,” Steve retorted.

“You took an oath Steve!”

“Oh, don’t you dare talk to me about oaths!”

“Steve, I messed up. People mess up.”

“You slept with my best friend in my favorite sheets.”

“The flannel sheets? You hate the flannel sheets.”

“No, I love the sheets.”

“You like the Italian sheets with the paisleys—“

“Would you just stop talking about the sheets?”

“Fine!”

“Look I’m sorry. I’m just gonna go,” Val interrupted. “I’ll go check on the labs.” She couldn’t leave the room fast enough.

“Peggy, don’t do this,” Steve said.

“Steve… look she’s a fighter,” Peggy watched the baby girl. “Look how far she’s come already.”

“Don’t get attached. Don’t get involved. Just… don’t make her life more painful than it already is.”

“Steve, please. She has nobody. She needs someone to fight for her.”

“She’s too far gone. You have to let her go. Let her go in peace.” Steve started to head out.

“Fine Steve, walk away. It’s what you do best.”

~~~

“How are you holding up today?” Tony asked, cup of coffee in hand as he walked beside you.

“Fine,” you responded.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“I heard Gamora has you on scut today.”

You scoffed. “It’s ridiculous. She’s questioning if I’m focused.”

“She’s just making sure you’re alright. It’s her way of showing she cares.”

“Stupid way. Can you just put me on one of your cases for the day? I desperately need it.”

“Fine. Come on, I have a surgery in 30 minutes. You can scrub in.”

~~~

Natasha rushed into Dr. Banner’s surgery that had already began. She wasn’t feeling well and had spent a majority of the day in the bathroom. A nurse quickly handed her a gown.

“Here, Dr. Romanoff,” the nurse said.

“You’re late,” Bruce commented, focused on the surgery.

“I apologize,” Natasha responded, merging into the group of others that were watching.

“Just starting to dissect around Mr. Jackson’s tumor… I’ve almost got visualization.”

Natasha let out a shaky breath, as her head pounded. She had no idea what was going on, but she wasn’t willing to sit out on this surgery. She was already mad at herself for being late.

~~~

Val walked into the NICU with the baby’s chart. Peggy was watching over the baby who was gripping onto her finger.

“She’s got a good grip,” Val commented.

“Yeah,” Peggy agreed.

“I don’t think…” Val sighed, handing the chart over to Peggy. “It doesn’t look good.”

“She's a got a resistant strain of pneumococcus. The antibiotics aren't working. You may want to get yourself reassigned Val. I don't think we'll be operating today.”

“So do you think Dr. Rogers was right?”

“She’s just too far gone… she does have a good grip… I hate admitting that he’s right. Especially right now.”

~~~

Natasha was getting more exhausted with each passing second, and sweaty.

“The tumor has infiltrated the pericardium,” Bruce stated. Looking up, he sees Natasha looking like she’s day dreaming. “Romanoff! Romanoff!”

“What… sorry?” Natasha answered, the world around her muffled.

“Is my surgery interrupting your daydreaming?”

“No. Sorry.”

“There is an arrhythmia when I press down on the tumor. That is a sign of what, Romanoff?”

“Umm…. Ah. It’s a sign of, it’s a… it’s a sign that the uh, tumor has infiltrated the pericardium.”

“Possibilities?”

“In all… I’m sorry. I…”

“Do your homework, Romanoff. It could be causing a tear in the aortic muscle of the heart.”

“So he’s got a broken heart,” another doctor commented.

Panting, Natasha swayed before collapsing on the floor. A few of the doctors let out exclamations of surprise. From the gallery, Gamora, Scott, and Val saw everything. They quickly headed down to the OR.

“Dr. Romanoff, are you okay?” A doctor asked, kneeling beside her.

“Natasha,” Bruce called. “Natasha. Somebody help her!” He stopped surgery, but hadn’t moved from his spot. “Natasha! Don’t just stand there, dammit. Somebody help her. Get a gurney in here!”

Gamora, Val, and Scott rushed in with a gunnery and supplies.

“Natasha,” Bruce called again.

“Natasha,” Val repeated, getting down beside her friend.

“We’ve got it Dr. Banner,” Gamora said. “We’ve got it.” She put a breathing mask on Natasha’s face.

“Okay, talk to me. Tell me what we do we know,” Bruce ordered. “What do we know? Talk to me Valkyrie.”

“I don’t know,” Val responded.

“Come on people let’s move.”

“Natasha!” Gamora called. “What hurts?” Nat didn’t respond, but was conscious. “Let’s get her out of here. There’s a patient on the table. Lift.” They lifted Natasha onto the gurney and started moving her from the OR. “Good, good.”

“Dr. Gamora, when you get her stabilized, I need a report please.”

“Right, Dr. Banner!” They quickly move Natasha out and down the hall. “Uh! Her pulse is racing. I need her on a monitor to get a BP. Also I want her started on a liter of LR wide open. Val run ahead to emergency and let them know we're on our way.”

Val noticed that Natasha was trying to talk. She removed her friends mask. “What?” Val questioned.

“Seven weeks,” Natasha said, breathless. “I’m pregnant, Val. I’m pregnant.”

Val, Scott, and Gamora stopped and looked out each other. They moved the gurney into an elevator.

“Okay, no. We’re going to pre-op instead,” Gamora instructed. “Val, find Peggy Rogers. And be discreet.”

Val nodded and hurried off. She found Peggy with Fury and Clint near one of the nurses stations.

“Excuse me, Dr. Rogers. We need you fast,” Val said. “Um.. it’s Natasha, one of our interns. She’s…. she’s collapsed.”

“Natasha’s collapsed?” Clint repeated.

“Why do you need me?” Peggy asked.

Val sighed, not saying anything. Comprehension dawned on both Peggy and Fury, realizing that she must be pregnant. Clint looked at them, getting it too.”

“Natasha’s pregnant?!” Clint exclaimed.

“Shut up Clint,” Val scolded, before turning to Peggy. “Please come.”

“Of course,” Peggy agreed, following Val.

~~~

“Thank you for that, Tony,” you said, scrubbing out of surgery beside the attending. “I really needed it.”

“Of course,” he responded.

“Y/N,” Clint said, bursting into the scrub room.

“Clint?” You questioned. You studied him, realizing that there was something wrong. “What is it?”

“It’s Natasha.”

~~~

In pre-op, Peggy was performing an ultrasound on Natasha. Dr. Gamora was standing behind Nat’s bed, stroking her hair.

“Have you notified the father?” Peggy asked.

Natasha didn’t answer, simply breathing funny.

“Natasha? Natasha?” Gamora called. “Natasha? Is there anyone we can call?” Natasha just continued to gasp slightly. “Oh we’re losing her.”

“Do you see that?” Peggy asked, pointing at the screen displaying Natasha’s uterus. “It’s an extra uterine pregnancy in the tube there. She’s bleeding out. We need to get her to surgery immediately.”

They rushed Natasha to surgery and immediately got started. Gamora was still behind Natasha, watching over her, asVal observed the surgery.

“She’s gonna be okay, right?” Val worried.

“How attached was she to this pregnancy?” Peggy asked.

“I don’t know. She’s a pretty private person.”

“She's lost a lot of blood but I've got it from here. Dr. Gamora you must have a surgery or two of your own today.”

“I’m fine right here,” Gamora responded, keeping her eyes on Natasha.

~~~

You were rushing through the hall, trying to find out any information on Natasha and her condition. You were so incredibly worried about her, which didn’t help your already bubbling emotions. Rounding a corner, you rammed right into a chest. Hands grabbed your arms to steady you. You looked up to see Steve, looking down at you with concern. Just looking into his eyes, made you want to break down in his arms. Which was so extremely frustrating. You pushed back out of his grasp, causing Steve to hold up his arms in defense.

“Don’t!” You said sharply.

“Sorry,” Steve said.

“Don’t be sorry. I’m so tired of it, Of you being sorry.”

“Dr.—“

“Don’t do it!”

“Dr. L/N—“ He glanced around as you began causing a scene.

“Dr. L/N, seriously? Are you concerned about people finding out about us? Is that what matters to you?”

“Y/N, it’s okay.”

“It’s not okay! You have a wife who’s not easy to hate. Who’s annoyingly kind and painfully smart and I pretty sure that she’s current saving my best friend’s life.”

“Y/N, just—“

“Don’t! Stop talking to me like you’re my boyfriend! Stop talking to me at all.”

You rushed away, finding the OR that Natasha was being operated in. You opened the door. But before you could get fully into the room, Gamora saw you and came up to you.

“Need something?” Gamora questioned.

“I’m coming in,” you stated.

“No, you’re not.”

“I am. I’m her friend.”

“Exactly. She's lying on the operating table, naked, exposed. She's sedated but she's probably scared out of her mind. Now right now she's not a doctor. She's not your friend. She's a patient and she deserves to have all the privacy I can give her. You're not going any further.”

“We went jogging this morning,” you sighed. “I made her go jogging. Did I… is there a way that it could of….”

“No.” Gamora shook her head. “It started out this way. Nothing caused it to happen.”

“Just, please, let me stay by her side.”

“You can try. But I’d have to take you down.”

“Right now. Just in this moment. I hate you.”

“Yeah, well, I can take it. Focus on scut and wait outside.”

~~~

You found yourself working on scut in the lobby, trying to keep your mind off your friend in surgery. Steve stood far off, watching you. He couldn’t stop feeling terrible for what he had done to you, and he couldn’t stop loving you. Knowing that you wouldn’t want to be comforted by him, he found himself in the NICU, checking up on the premie baby Peggy had asked him to help on.

“Look at that, BP is stabilizing,” Peggy noted as she entered the NICU.

“She’s stronger since this morning,” Steve said, rocking slightly in the rocking chair next to the baby. “There’s no reason in the world why she should be stronger since this morning.”

“She’s really beautiful, isn’t she?”

“I’ll tell you what. If she makes it through the night, if she has a little bit more strength, I’ll operate.” They gave each other small smiles.

“You know the way I see it we could deal with us in one of three ways. Option 1. I could apologize. You could forgive me and come home and we could move on with our lives like adults. Or, option 2. I could apologize. You could forgive me, come home but, you can still bring it up to use against me whenever we argue.”

“Are you trying to be funny?”

“Satan has a sense of humor.”

“What’s the third?”

“I don’t know what the third option is.” She leaned in and kissed Steve, who kissed back. Slowly, she pulled away. “I just know that I still love you.”

~~~

Waking up, Natasha glanced around the hospital room. Her eyes stopped roaming when she noticed Gamora sitting in a chair beside her.

“What happened?” Natasha asked.

“You had an extra uterine pregnancy. Your left fallopian tube burst,” Gamora explained. “Dr. Rogers… she did everything she could but there was too much damage. She couldn't save the tube.”

Natasha didn’t respond, she simply looked away and closed her eyes.

~~~

You were sitting outside the medical center on a bench. It had been an emotional day and you were finally allowing yourself to cry. Walking out of the hospital to leave, Steve noticed you. But hadn’t noticed that you were crying yet.

“Y/N?” Steve called softly.

“Oh,” you gasped, trying to wipe the tears quickly.

“Y/N.” Steve came around to the side.

“Don’t…” You swallowed. “Please, please just don’t’ say anything.”

“Okay.”

He stood there, watching you try to pull yourself together before you quickly got up. You walked over, stopping in front of him.

“I’m just exhausted,” you sighed. “Missing my parents is exhausting. What happened to Natasha and you is… hating you is the most exhausting.” Without much thinking, you grabbed his face and briefly kissed Steve. “I don’t want to do it anymore.”

You headed back into the hospital, leaving Steve stunned.

next chapter >

Sorry that it has taken so long for this chapter to come out! Hopefully it’s not too terrible. Please forgive me.

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[thenightgazer]

A Long Way Home

While still trapped in the Underworld, Dante and Vergil have to resolve their family issue. One that can't be solved only by swords and guns.

It's been two years since Red Grave incident, one week after Christmas, and still no news about Dante and Vergil. That leaves Nero terribly upset, but little did he know that miracle will come to him very soon.

Merry Christmas @nibbbs! Surprise surprise, I’m your secret santa from @dmcsecretsanta! Hopefully you enjoy the gift I wrote for you! Happy reading and happy holiday!

You can also read it on my AO3!

~~~

The Underworld has never been this quiet before.

That forsaken place is the real no man’s land; always boisterous with fights between demons to take over the throne of the Underworld. Be it a slaughter between lower demons or higher demons, they couldn’t care less. Their primal instinct is just craving more power and of course, human flesh. But since the portal to cross into the human world isn’t always unfolded, cannibalism is ineluctable. It’s either eat or be eaten. It’s bound to happen and demons don’t have any choices but to yield to the Underworld’s natural law. Surviving and escaping the Underworld seems like an absurd fantasy for humans, even for demons as well.

Which is why voluntarily jumping into the depth of the Underworld to save the world is considered to be a valiant and honorable act, yet also frivolously lunatic.

Well, for Dante, lunatic sounds like his middle name, if he ever had one.

He chuckles by the thought of that.

“What are you laughing at?” Dante’s problematic twin brother Vergil snarls.

“Nothing,” Dante closes his eyes. “Just having a weird thought.”

Vergil replies nothing. He shows no interest in Dante's daydream, but that’s just probably because he’s too tired to even think of a reply. The twins couldn’t count how many days have passed since they cut the Qliphoth tree down. They spared and killed any demons nearby, exploring other regions of the Underworld simply because they are bored and need some time to rebound their lost time as brothers. Now, exhaustion forces them to take some rest. They lean side by side on the scorched desert, staring at the perpetual black sky while restoring their energy.

Dante can sense a demon’s presence not too far from where he is right now, but that presence fades eventually. “You feel that too, Verge?”

“I do,” Vergil murmurs. “The words have been spoken, I presume. That they better not to disturb us if they still want to live.”

“Well, once we recover, they’re going to die anyway.”

Vergil’s short hum speaks of his concurrence.

Dante shifts his hands under his head as he glances to his brother. Vergil stiffly lies on the ground with Yamato on his chest while his hands gripping on it. He might close his eyes but Dante knows his brother can still attack his opponent while closing his eyes. As hard as a steel, this old bastard, Dante amuses at his idea. “Rest means relaxing, bro. You don’t have to be on guard all the time.”

“I’m preparing for any attack.”

“It’s not like there is a demon near us at this moment.”

“Have some self-consciousness, Dante. You could attack me at any time, given a chance.”

Dante wakes up straight away. “Why would I wanna attack you?!”

“There’s always a possibility.”

“Says the guy who always has the intention to kill me, huh,” Dante lies back again. “Seriously, Verge. Just for five minutes, stop thinking and go to sleep. Bet it’s been a while since you have a proper sleep, right?”

Neither show any agreement or disagreement, Vergil turns his head to Dante. “Why are you still awake then?���

“Huh? To keep an eye on you, of course. Who knows you’d do some weird shit outta there again.”

Vergil curves a smirk, then turns his eyes to the dark sky again. “I see. You are also scared of me attacking you while you’re asleep, aren’t you? We’re twins, after all.”

“I don’t-” Dante almost bite his mouth.. “Man, you’re as sharp and annoying as you always have been.”

“I take that as a compliment.”

“Yeah right.”

And there’s silence again. It’s been days, or weeks, since the last time Dante hears any demonic voices around him. To be honest, he kind of expects their appearance. He likes talking to Vergil, but the older brother has an issue in healthy communication. Hell, Vergil is a difficult person and Dante wonders if the eldest children around the world are always like this. But Dante realizes he is also no expert in social interaction, and fighting is also the only thing they both are good at. Vergil would talk a little bit much when fighting, even if it’s mostly taunting and mocking Dante, yet it’s better than having Vergil succumb to the dark side again.

“By the way,” Dante breaks the ice. “Are you ready now to tell me who’s the lucky girl a.k.a Nero’s mom?”

Vergil draws the Yamato above Dante’s throat. “One more word, and I’ll cut you into pieces.”

“C’moooon! I’m curious!”

The Yamato is now touching Dante’s skin. “Final warning, Dante.”

Dante flicks the Yamato’s blade. “Fine. Whenever you’re ready, bro. You might not want to tell me, but you owe that to Nero. He’s your son. He deserves to know.”

Vergil sheathes Yamato, scoffing at Dante’s warning. “It’s not like I’m going back to the human world.”

“Well, we HAVE to!”

“Pray tell why I should agree with you.”

“I have a shop to run and there’s a new menu at my favorite pizza parlor. You should try it, by the way. And you got a lot to explain to Nero. You don’t wanna be a deadbeat like Father, right? Though you kinda already are all this time.”

“You know it better than anyone else that I didn’t know Nero’s existence until you told me so.”

“Which is more reason why you have to come back to the human world soon. You can say you don’t need to catch up with Nero but I know you want it. You left him your frigging book; the same one you didn’t allow me to borrow. Dear ol’ Vergil got some soft spots for his son, huh?”

Vergil turns his back from Dante like a sulking child, ignoring his younger twin’s laughter. As expected from a cold man like him, he won’t ever admit that every single of Dante’s words is true. Again, a long and neglected fear consumes him. What’s fatherhood for a man who ran out of place and time like him anyway? Is there any chance for him to fix his family? Getting back in terms with Dante is one thing, but with Nero, the son he had never met before his escapement from the Underworld? Does he even have a right to call him his son after all he had done to him?

After quite long of silence and battle with himself, Vergil murmurs a question to Dante. “How old is he?”

Dante almost squealed if only he didn’t remember not to ruin Vergil’s mood or else they won’t have any friendly conversation anymore. “Nero? Twenty-something, I guess. Haven’t asked him myself.”

“How did you meet each other?”

“Long short story, some weird-ass cult that worshipped our father as a god turned out evil and wanted to use our father’s power to rule the world-”

“The Order of the Sword?”

“Right! You did your research! Nero was one of them but rebelled after they kidnapped his girlfriend and killed her brother. I came to Fortuna to retrieve the Sparda sword and apparently your kid was able to summon the Yamato and I got the picture already. He got white hair, he summoned Yamato, tried to kill me repeatedly, stab me with Rebellion and Yamato, craving for more power to save his beloved. I wondered where he got that from, by the way~”

A hint of smirk curves in Vergil’s mouth.

“Then we worked together to save Fortuna from a pope who was obsessed with our Father and destroyed the island. We succeeded and brought peace. Nero got his girlfriend back, and we established the branch of Devil May Cry in Fortuna. The end.”

“A heartwarming, and very unoriginal story.”

“You think I made up that story?”

“Didn’t say that. I am merely implying that I heard stories similar to your experience.”

“Hell knows you are the coldest person alive, but you are a terrible liar. You are a man of pride, after all. Lying doesn’t suit you.”

“I can tell thousands of lies as I please, if only that’s necessary,” Vergil takes a brief look at Dante’s mischievous face. “But I won’t, if it’s concerning my son.”

Is this really the Vergil I used to know? Dante can’t hold his grin while elbowing his brother. “Starting to feel like a real dad, huh?”

“Silence.”

“Admitting that you love your son won’t do any harm, Verge.”

“I-” Vergil stumbles upon his own words. He growls impatiently, hurrying himself to get up and sit down as he wipes his face frustratedly. “We’re not having this conversation anymore.”

“Why? Just because you can’t admit that you grew care for your son?”

“Because I’m a terrible person!”

That was the most honest words that came from Vergil, if anything, ever. When was the last time he showed his vulnerable side like this? Even as V, crumbling and dying slowly, he didn’t even spare Dante any sign of defeat and regret. Dante gets up, clapping Vergil’s shoulder. “Only if you still want to destroy the world and kill your own family, then maybe I’d call you the worst shit in the world too.”

Vergil shakes his head. “If only…”

“Huh?”

“Had I known I have a son back then…” Vergil says bitterly. “I would never leave him. I would never go pursuing power or raising that foolish tower and this ridiculous tree…” he points to the remains of Qliphoth tree with his sword. “I would have a better chance to be… a good father for him…”

Regret always comes late, isn’t it? The ‘if onlys’ never come at the front of the mind, merely whispering behind the head but never appearing into the surface before regret comes. Vergil knows that, but never really understands it until Dante tells him that Nero- the very man whose arm was ripped by him and still willing to help him in every way- is his own flesh and blood. His priority was to seal the gate of the Underworld and cut the Qliphoth tree, so that Nero and the rest of the human world are safe and sound. He will stay in the Underworld to redeem himself, for he thinks he has no place in the human world for all he has done. He planned to create a portal to the human world after he fixed things up with Dante to kick him out from the Hell with force, because he knows Dante won’t leave him alone again and will do anything to drag Vergil out from the Underworld. The plan is simple. It should have been easy to execute.

Yet ever since Vergil landed at this hellhole, his steps are getting heavier as time goes on. A haunting voice inside his head kept telling him to come back to Nero as soon as he finished his job cutting Qliphoth roots. Another sound tells him he should stay longer here with Dante to catch up with their sibling bound. The third sound, more demanding and urging, tells him to stay in the Underworld forever as a redemption.

“Y’know, bro,” Dante folds his legs as he seizes the Yamato from Vergil’s hand and puts it on the ground, which dismays Vergil. “Gotta admit that I wanted to kill you because I wanted to free you from evil, and get rid of Nero’s burden of having you as his father. Though he proved to us that we are just a bunch of nonsensical idiots who got unsolved sibling problems between us-”

“I am not an idiot!”

“You might have scored higher on the Math test than me but you’re still an idiot!” Dante barks. “Anyway that’s not my point! What I mean to say is, as much as I hate your dumb-as-rock head, you’re still my brother. And it’s never too late to fix things up.”

Vergil scoffs and takes his sword back to his embrace again. “How can you be so sure?”

“I blamed you, y’know, for that day” Dante admits, his eyes getting darker and the carefree vibe in his voice is gradually gone. “For not rescuing me and Mother.”

Vergil streaked at that confession. “What do you mean?”

“You thought Mother only saved me and left you behind while she died searching for you,” Dante woefully chuckles. “But for me, on that day, I thought you would come to rescue us.”

“I was planning to-”

“She could have hid with me in the closet until you come to save us. That’s what I thought back then when she died, and you never came back. I thought you left us, before I heard one of them say they had you killed. There I was; frightened and thinking that I was alone. My mother and brother died. No one could save me but myself. I was blaming you for running away that day. If you didn’t, we could have defeated them all and protected our home.”

“Or, we could have died. All of us.”

“Exactly. Instead of blaming you, I blamed myself for picking a fight with you. Should’ve left you and your book alone,” Dante stands up, spinning the Ivory before shooting a flying demon that approaches them. “I lived by loathing myself, until I met you again in that cursed church, remember? I was genuinely happy to see you.”

“I remember,” Vergil nods slowly, recalling a blurry picture of their younger selves. “You said you are a devil hunter and will be filthy rich someday.”

“Still waiting for that day, actually. Yet you fucker started being a dick, saying shits about power and stuff,” Dante’s harsh voice trembles slightly. “I thought we could start over as a family, but you decided to fucking stay in the Underworld. I couldn’t save you at the gate of the Underworld. I couldn’t save you at Mallet Island. I could save everyone else, but not my own family.”

Vergil raises up. His arm is reaching Dante’s shoulder, but it never touches him. His hesitation is rational, for he knows words can’t describe how Dante must have felt towards Vergil. Hatred might be the wrong word; it sounds too soft. Too lenient, too merciful.

One could tell it’s disappointment, Vergil gets his answer as Dante turns over to face him. The mischievous little brother side of Dante has gone as he aims his gun at Vergil. It is easier to forgive an enemy than to forgive a friend. Let alone a family.

Dante wails horridly. “Always the quiet one, ain’t cha? Remember how our parents always told me to be quiet like you? ‘Why can’t you just behave like Vergil?’ Guess what? At least I’m not the one who fucked the world up and ripped off my son’s arm-”

“Dante-”

“Shut the fuck up!” Dante’s grip on Ivory is slightly trembling as he snaps. “I’ve been through shits too, Vergil. I missed Father and Mother. I missed you, for fuck sake! After all this time I believed I killed you in Mallet Island, then you came out of nowhere to destroy the world. I came out with the conclusion that you didn’t even change a bit, just an egomaniacal who thinks the world only revolves around him. I needed to kill you again because I don’t want my nephew to kill his own father. Don’t you fucking realize how maddening was that?!”

A bullet passes through Vergil’s head. The older hybrid stands still without any intention to return the attack, only wiping the blood from his forehead. I don’t have the right to be irritated, he reminds himself while his mouth forms a bitter grimace as Dante puts the gun on Vergil’s forehead, ready to pull the trigger anytime soon. For a second Vergil can sense Dante is going to lose his temper as he catches a glimpse of red flash in Dante’s eyes. Ever since they were kids, Vergil was always aware that Dante in his total wrath is dangerous. A ticking bomb , Vergil recalls what their father said about Dante’s anger as he watches the raging fire in Dante’s eyes ignite until it’s slowly fading.

“But I changed my mind again,” Dante continues. “Instead of blaming you and carrying on the bad blood, I choose to start over. And that’s how I can be sure,” he pokes Vergil’s head with the gun before putting it back into his coat. “That everyone deserves a second chance and it’s never too late to fix what you have done.”

The red devil yawns as he slams himself on the ground again, stretching his hands before he closes his eyes. “Sorry for raising my voice. It’s just impossible to use soft words whenever I’m talking to a stubborn jackass like you.”

He opens one of his eyes to see what Vergil would react. His older brother sighs heavily, sitting beside Dante’s lying body and puts his katana on the ground. For a man with a soul of a true warrior like Vergil, putting weapons down on the ground is a sign of defeat. Which is the reason why he was slightly aggravated when Dante seized the Yamato and put it on the ground as if he told Vergil to surrender. It should be a humiliating act, but for once Vergil throws his pride away.

Because you are right, Dante.

“Dante,” he calls his brother. This time there’s no hostility in his voice, only sincerity and repentance. “I am ever so sorry.”

“Apology accepted,” Dante smirks playfully. “Why do you think I’m here if I still hold a grudge against you?”

“I mean it,” Vergil emphasizes. “Truthfully. For everything I have done… and my sincere gratitude for taking good care of my son while I wasn’t there for him.”

“Honestly, Verge. Forget it. I only do what I have to do.”

Watching his little brother finally howls in laughter, a surge of warmth fills Vergil’s veins as he joins the laughter. It’s comforting, since they can’t remember the last time they laugh together without any fight and bad blood. I barely remember how it feels like to have a family, Vergil chuckles while Dante kicks Vergil’s knee mischievously. Was it always this… warm?

“Dante.”

“Yup?”

“I think we should go back to the human world now.”

Dante whistles in joy. “Ready to meet your grandkids?”

“Do tell me the truth,” Vergil growls, impetuously tugs Dante’s collar. “Are you serious about grandchildren or you just make it up?”

“For fuck sake, Verge! Didn’t you know that already when you ripped your son’s arm?”

“I didn’t pay much attention... I can only recall a voice of woman called Nero for dinner- not the voice of that mouthful friend of Nero-”

“Yeah that was Kyrie. Your soon-to-be daughter in law. Anyway they adopted kids called Carlo, Kyle, and Julio,” Dante pats Vergil’s shoulder with pride and teasing manner. “Congratulations, you’re officially a grandpa! What a fine day for revelation!”

As if my life could get any worse, Vergil grinds his teeth in frustration as he releases Dante from his grip. “How unfortunate.”

“C’mon, swing that flimsy sword of yours and make a portal to the human world. We got plenty of things to do! I gotta pay those bills, refurbish my shop, return Kalina Ann to Lady, and buy a birthday present for Patty.”

“Rather a cumbersome list you got there, Dante.”

“What can I say? I’m a busy man! Now get your ass up, old man! Nero’s waiting!”

---

It’s already two fucking years.

Nero was never a believer. There’s no such thing as a miracle, he told himself. Protecting Kyrie and the kids is an endless responsibility that bestowed upon him. There’s nothing he won’t do for their happiness and safety, even if it means to cost his own well-being. He relies on nobody but himself. He doesn’t pray. He never tries to exceed any expectation, because hope is a dangerous and fragile thing. Hope bothers him, and he hates to be bothered.

Yet, lately, he almost surrendered by the temptation to hold some hope.

What hope? Nero rejects his own thought. For those douchebags to return safely? Gimme a break.

Sitting in his garage and polishing the Red Queen, Nero takes a brief look at the snowy ground outside of the house where the children are building a snowman. He grins at Kyle who waves at him; the youngest from the three children he adopted, who’s now taller and braver than he used to be when he found the little boy searching for some scraps at Fortuna’s slum. Nero chuckles when a glimpse of a picture of Vergil meeting Kyrie and the boys pops out from his head. Would they be pleased to meet him? Would Vergil be pleased to meet them? Would he himself be pleased to meet Vergil again? There’s no fucking way for them to coming back, Nero slaps himself. They either die or shit themselves in the Underworld. Probably fucking fighting again like toddlers.

Still, the thought of his father and uncle somehow return and meeting his little family is overwhelming. Nero can’t even hide his smile anymore. He throws away the rug he uses to wipe the blade and hangs the Red Queen on the wall.

Come to think of it, that fucker ripped off my arm in this garage too.

He lays a hard punch on the wall.

“Keep punchin’ the wall, and ya would destroy the house.”

Nero glances at his friend and partner in crime, Nico, who rests her back on the van and lights her cigarette. He still finds it strange to witness Nico in her winter outfit, a contrast to her usual tanktop and shorts she used to wear before winter comes. "How many times have I told you to smoke outside the house?”

“Ya blind or what? It’s cold outside!”

“Darn it, Nico! Then don’t smoke!”

“Too late~” Nico barks a laugh while blowing a smoke. “Anyway, why did you punch the wall like a madman?”

Nero shrugs nonchalantly. “Nothing. Just feeling like punching something.”

“Cut the bullshit. Ya missed yer old man, ain’t cha?”

“Buzz off, Nico.”

“Aaaaw, don’t be so meanie~”

“Seriously, Nico. Go bugger off someone else. I’m not in the mood for having a chit-chat.”

“Everyone’s worried, ya know,” Nico exhales exaggeratedly, pointing at the children outside. “Those lil’ brats asked me if somethin’ pissed ya off because ya look like ya wanted to punch someone in the face since the Christmas party last week.”

“I indeed want to punch a certain person,” Nero lets out a cackle. “But he’s not available at the moment.”

“Y’know, I’m not an expert of daddy and son shits, and yer dad is obviously not an ideal father, but it’s totally okay for ya to miss him. The jackass did save the world, at least.”

“Thanks, Nico. That’s so motivational. I’m deeply touched- ouch !” Nero swears when a sturdy plug lands on his head. “What the fuck Nico?!”

“Talk to Kyrie,” Nico lowers her voice. Her brash mouth always sounds kinder and empathetic when she talks about Kyrie. “Ya locked yerself in this garage the whole day! You’re making her worried, ya know?”

“I think you should double your eyeglasses. I didn’t lock myself. See that door? It’s unhinged, because I need to make sure the kids are alright.”

“Yeaaah whatever. Go talk to her, pretty boy. I’ll watch over the brats.”

“Fine…” Nero scratches his nape as he walks away from the garage. “Don’t let the kids go anywhere near my weapons!”

“Gotcha~!”

Nero never meant to worry anyone, of course. He lives a happy life; he married the love of his life, adopted a bunch of orphans whom he loved and took care of equally, and ran a business with his best friend whom he considered a big sister. The world is currently safe from danger. So what's to worry about?

His confusion disappears when he sees Kyrie’s figure covered in a thick blanket at the terrace. She smiles happily as the snow continues to fall and catches a drop on her palm. Nero feels like he could melt anytime he sees Kyrie’s soothing smile. He takes his time to watch her catching snow as he leans against the door, ignoring the cold breeze that sneaks inside his body. It doesn’t take a long time for Kyrie to be aware of Nero’s presence as she asks him to join her at the terrace.

“You should put your coat on, Nero. It’s cold here.” Kyrie speaks her concern while she wraps him with her blanket.

“Chill out. I’m fine,” Nero gives her a light peck on the forehead. His right hand envelopes Kyrie’s waist to give her a sense of comfort. “The kids are building snowmans back there. Been hours and who knows when they will stop.”

Kyrie giggles. “The more they grow up the more energetic they become! At least we don’t need to worry about how to get them to sleep on time. I believe they’ll get exhausted after play and filling their stomachs with delicious dinner would quicken their way to sleep!”

“You’re right.”

Kyrie looks up at her lover’s tensed face. She brushes the tip of Nero’s nose slightly to make him smile. That little maneuver always succeeded to cheer him up. Kyrie rests her head on Nero’s chest. “Are you not happy with the Christmas party last week? I know you hated surprises but-”

“No- I liked it! Really! You know we rarely celebrate things lately and last week was one of the best days in my life! How could I hate that?” Nero tightens his grip on Kyrie’s waist, gazing at Kyrie’s eyes deeply. “I’m happy, Kyrie. I’m happy here with our little family.”

“Then it must have something to do with your father and uncle, is it?”

“That obvious, huh?” Nero smirks bitterly. “I just… I don’t know. You know how Dante is. To think that he’s actually my uncle is… weird. Then I found out the man who screwed up Red Grave was his brother. My father. Vergil, he left me when I was a child… as V, he manipulated me to do his agenda. He reemerged and left me again. And Dante didn't even bother to tell me the fact before Vergil was back. That made me feel… kinda betrayed. It still doesn’t make any sense to me. I got a pair of dysfunctional family members and I don’t know what I should do if they come back. I just can’t stop thinking about it.”

The only parental figure Nero ever had was just Kyrie and Credo’s parents, and they didn’t even live that long to give little Nero more love and parental advice. Kyrie truly understands Nero’s struggle to accept his heritage and keep holding on his humanity. “Nero… do you forgive your father?”

“What?”

“I don’t mean to bring it up again, but after all the ill he caused to you, do you forgive him?”

The memory of him and Vergil on the top of the Qliphoth tree rises again. He succeeded in bringing some sense back to his father and the old man entrusted him his precious book- the one which Nero kept safely on the shelf- before jumping to Hell and finishing what he started. Vergil didn’t say much, but his promise… his damn promise!

“I won’t lose next time. Hold onto that until then.”

“I forgive him,” Nero admits. “I think… I just miss him. And Dante. I really want us to be a proper family. That's all.”

“Just as I thought,” Kyrie cups Nero’s jaw with her hands. “I’m glad that you’re honest with yourself. There’s nothing wrong with missing them. They might be flawed, but they are your family."

Nero carefully caresses his beloved hands as if he's afraid of hurting her. "I'm sorry I keep putting you to my demon lineage problem…"

"Hey, we talked about this. Demon or human, it's you I want to be with…" she kisses him on the lips. "I love you, Nero."

"I love you too." He returns the kiss deeper.

Nero wraps her around his arms, seeking comfort and warmth from her presence. Kyrie's words succeed in getting his head together. He can feel a degree of burden has left his shoulders as he finds himself finally letting go his worries. Kyrie is right. There's nothing wrong with missing those douchebags. They're my family-

"NERO!"

Nico appears out of nowhere at the terrace, panting and panicking like she ran for her life. Every single nerve inside Nero's body tells him that something wrong is happening, but the sassy smirk on Nico's face while she tries to breathe normally tells another thing. "You're not gonna believe me if I told you this-"

"Are the kids safe?" Kyrie asks anxiously.

"Yeah they're fine. They have company."

What the fuck? "Company? What are you talking about?!"

Nico rolls her eyes as she grabs both of Nero and Kyrie's hands. "Just follow me quickly!"

Nico seems excited… if it wasn't a danger, then what?

The children are giggling and shouting happily at something Nero can't see yet. But as soon as Nico delivers them in the backyard, he spots two familiar figures among the kids. The red-coated man joins them to decorate the snowman as he helps them crafting the pile of snow with stones and branches. He summons a cowboy hat and a shiny red scarf from thin air- which excites the kids- before he puts the hat on the snowman's head and wraps its neck with the scarf as the last touch. The children are applauding and hugging him, saying their gratitude and bombing him with questions on how he could summon stuff only from thin air. The cocky red man barks in laughter and tells them that he learns some magic tricks.

In a contrast to the red man, the blue-coated man stands a bit far from the crowd, facepalming and reluctant to do anything despite the children's curiosity as they glance at him and whisper their surprise on how similar his face is with the red man. Carlo states that the blue man is scary, and quickly hides behind the red man when the blue man hears his mutter and glares at the poor kid.

"C'mon, Verge, stop glaring at the kids! You're scaring them!" The red man chuckles.

Dante?

Vergil?

How-? Since when…?

"You…" Nero breathes heavily, barely trusts his vision. "You guys are alive…"

Dante grins and waves a salute at Nero. "Heya, kid! Miss me? I know we're late, but Merry Christmas!"

Kyrie holds her giggle when she catches Nero's dumbstruck face. She grips his hand and whispers him a word of advice. "Time to let your doubts go, Nero. They are here, at last."

Nero gives a nod, but his mouth isn't capable of forming any words. He reluctantly approaches Vergil, who seems nonchalant about his surroundings, if only Nero failed to catch his father's warm gaze as he stands before Vergil. A minute has passed and none of them say anything. Words cannot describe how they feel towards each other.

But Nero decides to solve the problem in Sparda's family old-fashioned style: punching his father hard right in the face.

There echoes Dante and Nico's laughter as Vergil's body lands violently on the ground, covered with snow.

The older son of Sparda can taste a metallic scent liquid dripping from his lips.

"That hurts," he murmurs and proceeds to get up as he wipes the blood from his mouth. "Two years and still have no manners, I see."

"Fuck you, old man!" Nero spats angrily.

Dante, still laughing at the picture of his brother getting sucker-punched by Nero, sloppily walks to approach them. He pats Nero's shoulder in pride. "You're doing the right thing, Nero. You gave him the right Christmas present-"

The legendary devil hunter gets a very lethal slap from his nephew before he finishes his sentence.

"And that's a present for you, deadweight!" The young devil hunter shouts.

The view of Dante and Vergil getting slammed by Nero only increases Nico's laughter.

"Why did Nero punch Mr. Dante and Mr. Vergil?" Carlo asks Kyrie. "Nero always punches bad people. Are they bad people?"

"Well… no, they are good people! Mr. Vergil is Nero's father and Mr. Dante is Nero's uncle," Kyrie chuckles to hide her worry and struggles to find the correct way to explain the situation. "They haven't met for a very long time. Nero misses them so much that he… doesn't know what to do anymore. But punching people doesn't solve problems, so don't ever do that, okay?"

The kids nod obediently despite not completely understanding the circumstances.

"Can we stop Nero from punching them, Kyrie?" asks Julio, the oldest one from the three. "Family doesn't hurt each other, right?"

"Nah, don't worry. They will stop soon," Nico says as he points at the three hybrids. "Let 'em get the reunion they deserve."

They become calm and smiling at the sight of Nero bringing his father and uncle in a tight embrace together as the young man lets out a cry.

"You both are full of shits and stinky… like a scavenger…" Nero sobs, his teeth grinding hard. "At least take a shower before you show up, dumbass…!"

Dante sneers as he taps Nero’s back. “Yeah, I miss you too.”

The red devil glares at his twin. Say something to your son!

Vergil, unmoved and stiff, doesn’t know how to react from this awkward embrace. He feels uncomfortable, yet finds himself melting between this fuzzy feeling. “Nero…”

“Shut up,” Nero interrupts while breaking his embrace and burying his teary eyes on his palm. “Just fucking shut up.”

“Forgive me,” the blue devil insists to continue. “For leaving you again.”

“Yeah yeah, just shut up...”

Nero jolts by the unexpected weight on his head; Vergil’s hand ruffles his hair as he curves a very subtle smile.

“I’m proud of you, son.”

Oh how Nero wanted to punch him again, if only he could bring himself to.

“Uhm…” Kyrie comes to Nero’s rescue as she smiles politely to the twins. “I’m sorry to interrupt this reunion. It’s dinner time and… we would be very happy if the two of you join us for supper.”

“We’d be glad!” Dante accepts cheerfully. “Nero once told me you cook the best meal in Fortuna!”

“Shut up, Dante!” Nero grunts. He remembers he hasn’t told the twins that Kyrie and him are married. He pulls Kyrie closer and holds her hand firmly. “Anyway, Father. This is my wife, Kyrie. Kyrie, this is Vergil. My father.”

Kyrie smiles warmly at Vergil. “It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Vergil.”

Vergil appreciates Kyrie’s bravery and gives his sincerest nod of approval. There is not a single hint of fright from Kyrie as he recalls how people tend to tremble and stutter in fear whenever they talk to him. He can see why Nero loves her and is very protective towards her. “Thank you for taking good care for my son all this time.”

“Sorry for missing your wedding party, babe. We’ve been busy cleaning up Hell,” Dante grins at Kyrie. “Congratulations. My nephew is lucky to have you as his wife.”

“Can you shut up already?” spats Nero, feeling terribly embarrassed.

“I’m hungry~!” Nico shouts mischievously. “Let’s continue inside! It’s damn freezin’ out here!”

Kyrie gives the twins a final nod as she invites them to come inside the house. She runs to the kitchen with Nico while Nero gathers the kids to enter the house. Dante chuckles like a cocky cool uncle when Julio asks him to do another magic trick, and the little chuckle turns into a bigger laughter when he sees Vergil’s hand tucked in Kyle’s hand as the youngest child calls him Grandpa Vergil.

“Grandpa’s hand is cold!” Kyle says, unaware of Vergil’s death glare. “Once you eat Kyrie’s food, you’ll be warm in no time!”

“Let go of my hand, little rascal.” Vergil scoffs, uncomfortable by the strange kindness from the little child.

Kyle laughs and keeps guiding him to the kitchen. The food is prepared and everyone is about to get their seats. Carlo drags a chair beside Dante’s seat and shyly asks Vergil to sit there, which Vergil accepts.

“Starting to feel like coming back home?” Dante asks his brother.

“This is not bad.”

“I’ve contacted Lady and Trish. They will be here soon,” Nico says as she puts the cigarette on the ashtray. “Lady said something about returning her Kalina Ann. Trish gave her regards, and said that ya need to pay the rent as soon as possible.”

“Damn… those devilish ladies…” Dante buries his face on the table.

“Your office looks like shit without you.” Nero sneers at Dante.

Further family resolvement can wait. Now let them enjoy their first family dinner for the first time. Christmas might have passed a week ago, but Nero thinks his most valuable present had just arrived today. He still wants to beat the shit out of his father and uncle for some unknown reasons, but it can wait for later. His eyes meet Vergil’s, and his father forms a warm smile to him. He never says much, Nero knows that, but he can give him time to adjust in the human world.

Amidst the chants and chatter in the house, unbeknownst to each other, the three descendants of Sparda secretly hope that this rare moment can last forever.

[no-te-lo-voy-a-dar]

Sibling Jealousy - Chapter 4

Fic’s Summary: Reader has known the Winchesters for a long time, almost two years before Cas entered their lives. After that, since Reader was the only one actually teaching the angel about humanity customs and stuff like that, properly, they developed a closer relationship, on the parent-kid way. But it was never verbally acknowledged. Now, with Lucifer’s child on the way, life stabs some sense and realizations onto Reader, but there’s no time for feelings in this house.

Author’s Note: This is mainly a fic with the purpose of developing a family relationship with the characters, of mutual support, and I don’t plan on adding romance for Reader, because that’s not my final goal.

Pairings: Castiel/Reader (Platonic), Jack Kline/Reader (Platonic), Dean and Sam Winchester/Reader (Platonic)

Warnings: Usual canon violence and conflicts, as well as injuries and blood mentions, emotional struggles such as feeling unloved, like an outcast, low self-esteem issues and if you think something else should be mentioned let me know.

<<Last Chapter - Next Chapter>>

Chapter’s Author’s Note: Uni has been wild, so I haven’t had a chance of watching but one episode for the whole week, but I do have a couple of chapters already written so here. I took the ‘use of grace’ idea out of the woman who killed Ishim and was hunting Castiel’s garrison, but it’s just a bonding idea I came up with, probably it won’t last, probably I will use it later, I don’t know. I don’t have a Beta reader and that’s alright, I have to somehow practice my English and not rely a lot on auto-filling I suppose. Season 15 has already started, and I’m trying to not get too spoiled, but I do see some stuff, as usual, which is basically how I have ‘kept up’ so far. If you are watching, good luck, stay strong, don’t let ‘em clown us.

Chapter Four: Don’t Cry, Scream

Word Count: 2011

You weren't sure how long you fell asleep for, but when you went to the main room on the Bunker after having a quick cereal with milk as breakfast, you saw Sam working on his computer and checking the cameras around the place.

"Morning Sam. What are you up to?" You were watching from behind him, eating a complementary Apple to your...whatever hour it was meal.

"Oh hi (Y/N). I'm checking the cameras to see which room might be the best to go practice with Jack.” he seemed to have already chosen one, because he started to pick up a notebook and a pen, leaving the laptop with the feedback on over the table.

“Wait, what are you planning to do? And where’s Dean?” You were following Sam, because even if he was on your side about bringing Jack to the Bunker, you weren’t so sure about him not really hurting him. Or Jack accidentally hurting Sam.

“Dean went with Jody to help an old friend of us. A psychic. Apparently there’s something killing them and the most recent victim was her protégée.”

“Oh, uh, I think you’ve mentioned her once or twice. Don’t remember her name though. And about my other question?” You and Sam were now in front of Jack’s room door.

“Ah, well, that…” Sam proceeded to knock on the door and wait for Jack to open it, not finishing his answer to you.

“Hi, good morning Jack. Uh, just wanted to check on you, you haven’t come out since we set you up yesterday night.”

“Yes. I was just...tired.” 

“Understandable, it’s been quite a ride these past days. Anyway, as I was about to tell (Y/N) here, I had a plan for you today, about training your powers.”

“Train my powers? How so?”

“Well, come. I’ve picked a room for you and I to do so.” Just as Sam was starting to walk, you cleared your throat to catch both of their focus.

“I think Jack should have breakfast first. They don’t call it the more important meal of the day for nothing. Come Jack, I hope you are fine with cereal and a glass of juice for now, I’ll go buy groceries later.” Jack nodded and walked besides you just like last night, just as you heard Sam closing the door to Jack’s room and follow you.

---

You left both of them on the room Sam had picked, and told them you were going out to get more food stuff and some other thing’s for Jack’s stay, so you wouldn’t be back on the same day, since you were going a couple of towns away.

When you were back you saw the Impala outside of the Bunker’s main door, so you decided to left the stuff on your car and go inside to say hi before parking inside the Bunker and take the shopping items to the kitchen and to Jack.

Of course, things couldn’t go as smooth as you wanted them to. They never did, even if it was something as mundane as a greeting and getting the shopping items on the shelves and fridge.

You meet Dean before going inside, and went down the stairs together while he and Sam started talking about the case and “the kid”.

Just as Sam confronted Dean about him telling Jack he would kill him, things started to get heated up, and you were just on the side, trying not to say anything while Sam called out Dean for not giving Jack a chance, about how he didn’t put a bullet on Sam when his father told him to, or how you both helped Sam with the blood addiction issue.

Great, now there was no way you could just walk away from there.

“You saved me. So help us save him!” Sam really got worked up and you were guessing he had some talk with Jack. You’ll ask them about it later.

“You deserved to be saved. He doesn’t.” wait what? You had to say something to him.

“Wait a second Dean. He does. He was just born. He didn’t even know what orange juice was until I told him not even a couple days ago. No human is really born evil or rude or racist or messed up stuff like that. They are taught that way. And we are not going to teach him that!” And Cas had faith in him, so I will too. Just by that thought, a lump started forming on your throat.

“Look, maybe Sam cares about him because he sees him as an interdimensional can opener, and he only cares for what he can do.” He directed that part only to Sam, even when he was answering you, but the next part he kept glancing between his brother and you.

“So if you wanna pretend, that’s fine! But me? I can hardly look at the kid. ‘Cause when I do all I see is everyone we’ve lost.” You hated how Dean usually approached emotional issues by screaming.

“Mom choose to take that shot at Lucifer. That is not on Jack.” Sam was trying to keep his brother at bay, to make him see thing for what they really were. 

So that’s what happened when Mary got out of the house and why she didn’t come back and her body wasn’t there alongside Cas’ and Kelly’s. You didn’t like this was the first time you were listening and learning what happened. Mainly because of how you were.

“And what about Cas?!” He looked at you, and then went back to glance at the taller Winchester, waiting for a reply. 

“What about Cas?” Just as Sam’s voice expressed, you also didn’t get what Dean was trying to make you ‘understand’.

“He manipulated him. He made him promises. Said “Paradise on Earth”, and Cas bought it. And you know what that got him? IT GOT HIM DEAD!” He took a couple of seconds to avoid crying in front of you, but you weren’t so sure, your vision was already pretty blurry.

“Now you might be able to forget about that, BUT I CAN’T!” Dean kept screaming at Sam’s face, but his eyes went to yours every then and now, trying to make you see, feel his point, and you could see Sam was trying not to cry and break in front of Dean too.

That’s it, you weren’t staying in that room any longer. You had to go find Jack and then get the shopping from the car you took. Just get your mind busy, then maybe to shut down and your body go on automatic.

You contemplated getting drunk, but that would have to wait for Jack to be asleep, and by the time your exhaustion would take care of putting you to sleep by itself. Besides, doing so wasn’t your favorite coping mechanism.

“Yeah, well guess what Dean, it’s not like we have forgotten. I know I haven’t. But Jack didn’t made promises on the frigging womb. His powers showed what he is capable of, and since he’s not evil what Castiel saw was a better world. You know who I blame? Crowley. If that bastard hadn’t hickjacked Rowena’s spell, Lucifer would have been actually sent to the cage, and there wouldn’t have been a confrontation and we would probably be eating the pie and ice cream and stuff I got. Or maybe trying not to burn the kitchen while cooking something. But no. And that’s NOT Jack’s fault!” Your voice kept breaking while almost screaming to Dean, but you didn’t care.

“Oh no, don’t bring Crowley into this, this was not his fault, he actually helped us and sacrificed himself to leave Lucifer trapped.” Oh so he was defending the bastard now?!

“Yes well, why don’t you see Cas’ death as his sacrifice so you both, Jack and heck, even I, could get out of there alive?!” Before storming to the way that leads to the bedrooms, you had to add something else.

“I miss him too Dean, I freaking do, and just like you, I haven’t had time to properly mourn him. But you could at least respect his memory by helping Jack, trying to see why he decided to take care of him. Castiel was thrilled to have a purpose again, and you want to kill a kid who even protected us from Asmodeus without really knowing us.”

When neither of the brothers said something, you finally stepped out of the main room, only to see Jack, with his eyes glowing gold, whispering a constant chant of Castiel, so low you were only capable of hearing it because you were close to him and the Bunker was a quiet place.

You sniffled, and tried to even your breathing, before approaching him.

“Jack? Jack, are you alright? Hey, it’s me, (Y/N). I need you to breath with me.” His eyes locked with yours, and you could, kind of, feel the power emanating from him, something strong, like a push and pull, but also...sadness?

“Breath in...breath out. Relax your muscles. Breath in...and out.” After some more breathing repetitions, you weren’t sure if you were doing it for Jack or yourself, but your vision cleared and his eyes went back to light brown, so it worked for both of you.

“Come, help me get the groceries out of the car. And I got you some stuff for your bedroom.” Both of you walked to the garage, opened it, and then you parked the car inside.

While passing some bags to Jack, and you grabbing others, the silence was predominant, but once you reached the kitchen with the first batch of bags, he broke the silence.

“I’m sorry.” You weren’t sure about what, but he truly sounded sorry.

“About what? Did you break the tomato sauce bottle?”

“No, about me getting Castiel dead...what’s tomato sauce?” Okay, not the time to explain what tomato sauce was.

“Jack, you have to listen to me, and believe me when I say, Castiel’s death is NOT your fault okay? He committed to protecting you and taking care of you. It was his choice. He used his free will to go against Lucifer. He could have taken you and ran away, but we all know Lucifer would have followed you and Castiel didn’t want to be running from him, so what he did was the most logical thing.” You wanted to say so much more, but if you did, you were going to have a mental breakdown and Jack shouldn’t see that or he would feel guiltier.

“But Dean…!” “Dean has the tendency of projecting his pain on others, trying to make others feel what he feels even if that means hurting them more than they already are. Just, you gotta be strong and try not to let it get too much into your head, this shall pass. Sam and I are going to do everything that we can to try and calm Dean down, okay? You just gotta focus on trying to relax and get a hold of your powers.” You patted his shoulder and signaled him to follow you to the car again, to gather the stuff you bought him.

“About that...Sam told me to try and move a pencil, but I couldn’t, I’m scared of using my powers and hurt more people.” He sounded like an actual child right there, and a bulb went on inside your head.

“Hey, what if I try to teach you how to use your powers to heal others?” “But, you don’t have powers, do you?” there he goes with the head tilt again.

“No, but I once had angel grace inside me. Long story short, I was kind of a package box until we got to the angel who owned the grace. But I learned a few things.” You winked at him while throwing the new blankets, which he caught.

His face light up with a smile, and yup, there was no way this boy was evil.

“Come on, let’s teach you how to put these on your bed.”

.

.

Sibling’s Tag List:

@carryon-doctor-lock @theferretkids @sapphysaph(idk why i can’t tag u m8) @hazelle-uvu

(If you wanna be added, please say so in the comment’s section of THIS post)

[it-me-ari]

“The devil may care” (Gabriel does NOT like it)

I woke up with a pounding headache. And not, as you probably think, because I was partying the day before. It was because some lousy demon knocked me out and frigging kidnapped me! He should know that this was a very bad decision. Sam and Dean and probably every other hunter they could reach would search for me, plus my boyfriend is literally an archangel who would also search for me and would not be happy when he finds me in hell. Although I had to admit that Gabriel wasn't able to look for me, since he had some very important business going on in heaven.

As you might know heaven is powered by the number of angels being in heaven. The problem was that there were barley enough angels to keep heaven up and running and they needed every angel they could get, especially an archangel. So Gabriel was there with Jack and together they were trying to find a solution before heaven collapsed and every one of the intrusted souls would fall back to earth.

Anyway, I was captured and it was unlikely that anyone would find me in the nearest future, so I looked around and realized that I wasn't alone in the dark, bricked cave. There were three demons (at least that's what I suspected, given that it looked like I was in hell) standing in front of me, clearly waiting for me to acknowledge them. "Why am I here?" I finally said and the person who was most likely a demon started grinning. "Because I, Lucius, captured you." I sighed, not the brightest bulb apparently. "No shit Sherlock. I was asking what the hell do you want with me?" Lucius frowned and his eyes turned black, showing me that I was right about my demon theory. Then he smiled again, desperate to hide his anger with me: "Word is that you're Gabriel's new toy..." I sighed again, typical demon behaviour. "I'm his girlfriend and not his toy. There's a difference. Google it."

The demon called Lucius frowned as I didn't seem frightened at all. "I don't care what exactly you are to him, what matters is that he cares about you." I just raised my eyebrows, seemingly bored but with the growing fear what they wanted from Gabriel. Lucius continued when I didn't react: "You see.. I've heard about Asmodeus' little trick with the archangel grace. I want to overthrow Crowley and take over the position as king of hell, but for that I need more power." "You can't overthrow Crowley. You're not the first one who tried." I was acting more relaxed than I felt. I was worried about their plan to overthrow Crowley by using Gabriel's grace, that wasn't good at all and for once I was glad that Gabriel was in heaven and couldn't go looking for me until he and Jack had found a solution for the power problem. I didn't want him near these demons who wanted to use him like Asmodeus did.

"Asmodeus did! And he had archangel power!" Lucius argued and smiled complacently. "Too bad he got himself fried." "Yeah yeah I get it. But what do you want with me?" I asked, sounding annoyed to hide my fear for Gabriel and Crowley. Lucius smiled again and leaned forward a little: "You are going to tell us how to neutralise Gabriel and where we can find him." I snorted and rolled my eyes. "Keep on dreaming." "So you decide to say nothing?" The demon asked and seemed almost excited by my answer. "Exactly." I answered and held up my chin high. Lucius stepped back, now openly grinning and turned to his two followers: "You know what to do." And so they did.

They brought me to another room and undressed me. They then proceeded by strapping me on a table and putting on aprons. And then they tortured me. They did things I don't wanna remember and never speak of. After a few hours they brought me into a cell and left me alone with my injuries. I would have healed myself but they forced me to wear handcuffs witj runes that suppressed my powers. At least they couldn't squeeze the information they needed out of me. I was exhausted and wounded form the torture and so I fell asleep. Not a good idea. The moment I closed my eyes it all came back. I didn't scream or cried at the memory of what these demons did to me. All I did was whisper one name: "Gabriel." Again and again, until it stopped.

"Awww too bad my baby brother isn't here." I heard a voice say and opened my eyes. There, in the corner of my cell leaned casually the devil himself and looked at me with fake pity. I was so surprised to see Lucifer that I flinched at the sight of him. He saw my reaction and pouted: "Am I that ugly?" "What the hell are you doing here?!" I asked, confused as fuck. "Oh, I was just seeking some entrainment and I gotta say, watching someone being tortured is highly amusing." I raised my eyebrows: "That's all?" He nodded with big, innocent eyes and put one hand at his heart: "Promise." "But when you're in hell... Are you the ruler of hell again?" I frowned pondering and continued talking before Lucifer could answer: "No, that can't be.. Lucius said that he wanted to overthrow Crowley, which means he's still king.." Lucifer was listening to me patiently and then answered: "Yes, I tried ruling hell before and it's soooo boring! So I leave the throne to Crowley and mind my own business." "Such as watching me being tortured?" I asked sarcastically. "Jup! Exactly!" He grinned, proud like a four year old, at me. "Amazing." I sighed and slumped back against the wall. "Heyy, I might not be Gabriel but I am still a better company than thos demons!" He seemed genuinely offended and I couldn't help but smile a little.

Gabriel was in a room full of angels when he heard me whispering his name, I suppose he heard it because it was like a prayer? He froze immediately and tensed. "I have to go." The other angels looked at him, horrified by his statement. "No! You can't!" They spend the next half hour convincing him why it was absolutely necessary for him to stay in heaven. He knew they were right and so he stayed, although he hated it, not knowing if I was safe or needed his help. Nevertheless, he still had a problem to solve so he returned to Jack and together they started pondering over it again.

"Good afternoon, how are we feeling today?" Lucifer asked, acting like a psychiatrist when he appeared in my cell, like he did every day after the demons brought me back from torture. I smiled weakly: "Awesome." He sighed and for a moment it looked like there was a hint of compassion in his eyes. But then the moment passed and he was his usual devilish self. "You look like hell." He finally stated and pursed his lips. "No surprise there, considering I am in hell." I replied with a weak grin before I passed out. The last thing I recalled was Lucifer sighing. "I can't believe I'm doing this." He murmured and walked towards me just before it all went black.

It was around that time when Gabriel and Jack finally found a solution to heaven's power problem. They had created a spell that would turn every worthy soul in heaven into an angel. As soon as the spell was at work Gabriel left heaven and went looking for me. He was surprised and anxious to find me at a luxurious hotel in Lebanon. He was furious when he saw me lying unconscious on the bed, wounded and thinner than he last saw me. "Oh hey brother, I was wondering when you would show up." Lucifer greeted him casually. Gabriel immediately turned around and pinned his brother against the wall. "What did you do to her?" He growled, his angel blade pointing at Lucifer's chest. "Wow easyyy Gabe, I didn't do anything to her!" He glanced down nervously at the blade. "Liar!" Gabriel snarled and was about to stab his brother.

"No! He saved me!" I wanted to shout the words but that didn't work very well since all that came out was a whisper. Gabe immediately was at my side, looking at me with wide eyes. "What do you mean he saved you? From what?" I then explained what had happened to me and his eyes grew dark. "This is my fault. I should've never leave you!" I gently placed my hand at his cheek and smiled weakly: "You had to." He was about to answer when he saw the handcuffs that still kept my powers at bay. He frowned and with a thought he made them explode, then he placed his hand on my had and healed me. "I am so sorry." He whispered and stroked my cheek softly. I smiled at him and hugged him tightly. "Don't be. It's not your fault."

Before he could answer we heard someone behind us clear his throat and we both turned around to see Lucifer standing there, arms crossed in front of his chest. "Don't you think you should apologize?" He demanded and looked at Gabriel. "For what?" Gabe answered and kept his arm around my waist. "For attacking me without reason! I mean I did save your girlfriend from cruel torture!" As much as he hated the fact that his brother, the actual devil, would do something good, he had to admit that he saved me. "Yeah yeah sorry for attacking you." I smiled at Lucifer, if he hadn't kept me company I would be in a much worse state, mentally speaking, which caused me to see him in a different light. "I'd never thought I'd say this, but thank you, Lucifer." Lucifer grinned and bowed jokingly. "Everytime." Gabriel didn't like that very much. "Hey! Don't get too friendly! You're still the devil and I don't want to see you around my girlfriend." Lucifer just rolled his eyes and disappeared, not before winking at me and mouthing 'call me'.

After that Gabriel turned to me, pulled me into his arms and I felt his wings folding behind my back. He felt guilty for bringing me into this situation with his absence. Of course I tried my best to reassure him but I think a part of him will always hate himself for not being there to protect me. "I love you." I whispered and looked into his eyes. "I love you too." Gabriel replied softly and looked at me with love in his eyes.

Part two: “You and me and the devil makes three”

[misha-moose-dean-burger-lover]

Imagine

Dean is 20, in college with a Mechanical engineering major, heartthrob of the entire damn town. Cas is 18, senior at highschool, and a nobody, except of course, for how he's dating Dean fucking Winchester. They're keeping it low, though, and Dean is in the middle of his finals and Cas misses him:

Cas is hanging out with Meg, trying not to think of Dean

Meg suggests a game where she prank calls random people for kicks and Cas is too distracted to object

She begins to go through Cas's list, and stops on Dean's name, looking at Cas for permission

Cas, half because yeah he wants to hear Dean's voice and half because its really not a big deal, says sure.

Meg calls from her own new phone, and a distracted sounding Dean picks up with a gruff "hello?"

Cas melts at the sound of his voice

Meg keeps up the act and says that she's one of Dean's classmates

Dean groans and asks what he could do for her, a perfect gentleman

Meg goes all flirty - "yeah, what can you do for me?" - but gets turned down dismissively by Dean who says he's busy and not in the mood

Cas flares, listening from the side

Meg asks him for details of the last project and Dean obliges, getting into the element and really starts explaining the particulars of constructing a working model of a generator

Cas and Meg exchange confused glances and Cas feels guilty for disturbing Dean like this, so he gestures to Meg to hang up

Meg cuts short Dean's scientific monologue and confesses that she wasn't really a student of his batch and that she doesn't really know him

"What the -" Dean replies, sounding exasperated. "This kid's got a fucking final tomorrow and y'all can't get over your fucking highschool pranks" and Meg looks subdued but Dean ends with a, "Well, use the time you got to have fun, kiddo, nothing bad 'bout that. But don't call me back for some crap like this." he hangs up

Cas and Meg stare at each other for a full minute, and Cas is blushing because damn Dean sounded hot saying that, he fucking sounded like an adult and he feels bad about being childish enough to aid something like that

Meg is kinda pissed off though because Dean told them off but she lets it go and they both go back to hanging out doing non-immoral stuff

And then the next day

Meg shows up at Cas's house in the middle of the afternoon, and actually looking apologetic

Cas knows something is up and asks her about it

Receives a reply on the lines of, "word got out that I prank called Dean Winchester and a lotta people have his number now"

Cas is stumped and asks her to be more straight with him

Meg tells her how she got drunk with some of her friends and confessed it over a game and then Anna sorta took Dean's number from her call logs and it just spread after that

She also tells him how Anna just messaged her saying that she tried calling him too, and actually flirted with him and that he flirted back and she thought he was into him. Meg admits that that's when she knew things had gone to shit and she had to tell Cas

Cas doesn't know what to say

Could Dean really do that? Would he do that to him? Was it all a misunderstanding? Was Castiel the idiot in the story? Was Dean into Anna? Was he cheating on him?

He doesn't even know how to confirm it because its not like he can call or text Dean to ask, because how the hell did he even know about the whole thing, if he wasn't a part of it somehow? He wasn't even supposed to know a thing.

He was considering sadly just being distant enough so that Dean dumps him outright and they don't have to get to the whole discussion regarding it - but he also liked Dean a lot and didn't wanna stop seeing this guy - when his phone pinged, and it was from Dean.

<<< Hey, you around?

<<< Was thinking of you

Cas paused. Wait. Did this mean Dean was gonna sideline the entire thing, and Cas was too chicken to bring it up anyways, so they'd just not talk about it? Or was it a different kind of 'thinking about you', than Dean's regular ones

Cas swallowed his fear and typed in urgently

>>> I'm here. Why about me

He waited, but Dean finished typing quickly enough to not be typing in all that he hated about Cas and the reasons why they should break up.

Okay, he wouldn't do that. Dean was still Dean.

But Cas allowed himself to worry, and bit his lip as he waited for Dean's reply

<<< Shouldn't you ask what ;)

Cas froze.

Oh. Well. Castiel relaxed a bit. Maybe this was not as big a deal as he thought. Maybe they could actually get past this. Maybe Dean just flirted like this with everyone or something, Cas wouldn't know everything about him, he'd only be dating him a month.

But then Dean began to type again.

<<< hey I needed to talk to you about something

Cas tenses again. He was getting serious. This was bad.

>>> yeah?

He waited for Dean to respond, but he was typing for a pretty long time

<<< I've sorta been getting these weird calls from a bunch of highschool chicks all day?? Nobody I know

Cas gulped. Dean didn't sound done.

<<< Guess I just wanted to be the done to tell you first I dunno

<<< This town is basically a giant gossiping sorority so

Cas let out a breath he'd been holding for very long. Thank God for Dean Winchester, being Dean Winchester.

He's actually told him up front. If he were cheating on Cas, he would'nt've. As simple as that. This was Dean. This was the Dean, Cas loved. He wouldn't do this to anyone, really.

Cas felt like an idiot.

He knew he should text back, but he couldn't really come up with anything other than thanks for being you, Dean

But then he did, just before Dean would start worrying Cas had had a stroke from all the not-replying

>>> Thanks for telling :) I'll beware the gossip

<<< yeah, you do that, hon

Cas read that in Dean's voice in his head, and almost grinned audibly. He was so cute. Cas loved his life at this moment. To even think of not being in a relationship with this man, who was perfect in all ways for him, was a ridiculous thought. Dean was Dean, and Cas loved him for it.

But Dean was typing again.

<<< This couldn't be Sam yk. Bitch is on my ass to study more all frigging year, he wouldn't give out my number to a million randos in the middle of my finals. Couldn't be Benny too. Maybe Bela? Whatcha think??

<<< I shouldn't think about it, that's what you think, don't you? I know

<<< What the hell, maybe its just some nobody spreading my personal number around for attention

Cas froze. Was he that?

Pretty much yeah, you assbutt.

Cas had never felt more guilty.

He needed to tell Dean. Now.

But he couldn't bear Dean talking to him in the patronizing adult-to-kid tone he used on Meg as he reprimanded him for being a childish idiot, when Dean had to be studying for a college second year final.

Goddammit why even was Cas stuck in this mess!?

Because he was a fucking idiot, is why.

He swallowed his fears, and decided to do it. It had to be done. Dean couldn't go on blaming everybody around him for something Castiel did. And he too needed to get it off his chest.

Yeah, tell your boyfriend you're the nobody who was giving his number around for attention

The voice in Cas's head was a real sonuvabitch.

But Cas grabbed Meg's phone, the original culprit, extracting a yell from her, and dialed Dean's number from memory in it. He put it to his ear, and waited.

His phone pinged once, and then Dean picked up. He sounded exhausted, and Cas felt even worse. "Hey? Think I told you not to call back, lady -"

"Hello, Dean."

He waited.

"Sonuvabitch," Dean cursed under his breath. "Isn't that you, Cas?"

Cas screwed his eyes shut as he confessed.

"And this is Meg's phone." Dean knew Meg. She was one of Cas's only friends. "She called, the first time. But uh - I'm the one you should blame. I let her. I -" he was stuttering now. "I'm sorry, Dean."

Dean breathed out on the other end. "But, I don't get it?"

"I'm sorry, Dean..."

And then they talked it out.

And Cas got to hear Dean's voice.

And then, Dean forgave him easily, on hearing Cas's explanation and told him to not blame himself, and trying to assure Cas that it was fine.

And Cas got to hear Dean's voice.

After they'd cleared the air, and Cas felt a million tonnes lighter, Dean suddenly began.

"Can I ask you a question, Cas?" He hummed, to say yes. "Its gotta be one of these two reasons, that you did it. Either, you wanted to see if I'd be disloyal to you -"

" - NO!"

Cas panicked at once.

Dean let out a soft chuckle. "Okay, good. Then its gotta be the latter? You wanted to show off your boyfriend's number?"

Cas blushed furiously, as he wondered how he could tell Dean, that what he really wanted was to hear Dean's voice because it'd been 2 days and Cas didn't want to disturb Dean by calling him since it'd mean they'd talk for hours, but Cas was a fucking baby who wanted to hear his boyfriend and his gorgeous voice

He didn't know how to say it, in a sense that'd not make him sound creepy. So, he didn't.

Dean went on. "Maybe you just wanted to show me off, huh?" He'd put the charms on, and Cas was squirming in his seat.

"Shuddup," He muttered. And earned a glorious laugh from Dean Winchester, and Cas could picture it in his head and heavens, he was beautiful.

"A question for a question?" Cas was feeling brave, suddenly, so he proposed and Dean agreed. "How did you, well, deal with all the people calling you?"

Dean let out a laugh. "I told most of them off, and that they should read a book. Some, I politely informed, would really benefit from Bible reading camp."

Cas laughed out loud, and Meg, who was kinda listening in on most of the conversation, snickered.

"More or less, I sounded adequately forty and grumpy." Dean went on. "And, uh, there were a few with whom I flirted back kinda, but that was only to get rid of them."

"Hmm?" Cas bit the inside of his cheek.

It was Dean's turn to panic. "No, no, no! Cas, please don't 'hmm' at me, like you think i meant it or anything! It was purely giving-them-what-they-want-to-make-them-go-away!"

"Its alright," Cas told Dean, endeared by the note of genuine alarm in his voice. He debated whether to tell Dean that Anna Miller, one of many actually, thought he was into them. But then, what was the use of saying this stuff that didn't matter? Those were probably wannabe tall tales anyways.

"Yeah! Must be a real pain in the ass to have hoardes of slutty teenage chicks crushing on you!" Meg yelled to be heard.

Cas shushed her, shooing her away from the phone.

"Say hi to Meg for me." Dean responded in a sullen voice, as Cas glared at his friend.

"And I swear Cas, it was nothing." Dean repeated.

"I said it was okay, Dean. Not-meaning-it flirting is in the bylaws." He added, grinning to himself.

Dean paused for a moment, like he wanted to say something about that, but then he didn't, laughing it off. "You're the best, Cas."

"No, I kinda gave away your personal number to strangers, so I'm pretty sure that doesn't make me the best."

"Would it help if I said I blame Meg?" Dean whispered, and Cas laughed again. "I mean, I'm over it by now, but if I had to blame someone, its her, hon." He was kidding.

Cas sighed into the phone, grinning. "Thanks, but let my conscience bear the brunt of the guilt it has earned."

Dean told Cas he was rolling his eyes at him.

They let it slide.

Towards the tail-end of the conversation, because Dean still had his finals after all and Cas still didn't wanna disturb him and it was Meg's phone to top it all off, Dean suddenly began.

"So, I know flirting back is not the best move, and pretending to be an old geezer who hasn't had sex in years doesn't always work because of how youthful I naturally happen to sound," He joked. "So maybe I should use some other tactics, hon?"

"Like?" Cas grinned too.

"How about, 'Excuse you lady, I'm spoken for'." Dean proposed, in a voice so dramatic that Cas could imagine the wink that accompanied it, and yeah. It was a good image.

Cas laughed out loud once again.

"Or maybe I could go with, 'If my man came to know about this, bitch, you'd regret ever calling this guy'."

Cas kept on laughing out loud. "You'd say that?"

"You think I have any shame, cherrypie?" Dean challenged, grinning back. "Of course, I could always go with, 'I got a boyfriend Miss, and he gets jealous easy'."

Cas had a lot of options to pick from, for a reply. He could object, that he didn't get jealous easy. He could mock Dean on his falsetto. But he said what came first to his head.

"You know what? You do that for me, sweetheart."

And he knew that he'd said the right thing, because Dean got flustered at the drop of a hat, and hemmed and hawed for a good minute after the sudden endearment.

And they uh

Lived happily ever after?

I dunno, I'm out

@awkward-penguin-in-a-trenchcoat @styggtroll @telefuckies @adventurous-blob @iamcharliebradburylevelperfect

[snffbeebee]

The Bet ( Part 12 )

{ Catch up with Part 11 }

Warnings - Smut, Language, A Whore of a shifter...( Yes that’s a warning. ) NSFW!!!!!! 18+ Only!

Word Count - 2,921

You took in a deep breath. It was weird looking at yourself, a sick smirk on your own face.

“ I thought it was going to be a little harder to get my hands on you, but when you showed up without your two body guards, I was thrilled. “ The shifter leaned down to you, her smile growing bigger.

“ So what’s your plan huh? Pretend to me and kill them...you do know that they will figure it out. “

She stood up straight and ran her fingers through your Y/H/C .

“ But you are forgetting that I know how to be you Y/N. I have all your memories, feelings, all of it..and I have to admit, this mind of yours, well it’s just a shit show isn’t it. I mean the way you and Dean have been going back and forth. “ Shaking her head, she let out a little laugh. “ I mean you love him, but you’re too scared to tell him. I can take care of all of that for you. “

Pulling at the ropes, you knew you were defenseless. 

“ Speak of the Winchester. “ She smirked, as she picked up your ringing phone and showed you that it was Dean calling.

“ I swear, if you. “

Before you could say another word, she hit you with a right hook and you felt the ring on her finger slice open the side of your cheek. Smiling she quickly tied a cloth around your mouth to keep you quiet while she answered Dean’s call.

“ Hey. “ She answered.

“ Hey, you find anything out with the wife? We got nothing at the station. “

“ Actually no, she seemed squeaky clean. I’m gonna head back to the motel. “

“ Alright, I’m gonna grab some food, you want the usual? “

“ Yeah, extra onions. “ 

She ended the call and shoved the phone into her jacket pocket. 

“ I’m gonna have a lot of fun with your boys Y/N and there’s absolutely nothing you can do about it. “ 

All you could do was watch as she walked up the stairs and slam the door shut behind her. You let out a groan, pulling at the ropes once again, but they weren’t budging.

After picking up food, Sam and Dean made their way back to the motel, and Dean smiled, when he seen you stripping yourself of the stuffy FED suit that you had worn. 

“ There you guys are, geesh took ya long enough. “ She smiled, taking the cup that Dean handed her.

“ I’m gonna shower before I start back on this frigging case. I swear it’s gonna be the one to break me. “ Sam fussed closing the bathroom door behind him. 

“ So you found nothing at all at the house? “ Dean asked, sitting down one the little couch on the other side of the room.

She set her cup down and looked at the older Winchester. She had to admit, she knew why you were so smitten with him. He was gorgeous piece of man. Right then she got an idea. Locking her eyes with his, she unzipped her skirt and let it drop to the floor. Ignoring his question, she walked over and straddled his lap, taking him by surprise, but he wasn’t going to complain when her lips crashed onto his and kissed him with so much need that he instantly became hard.

“ What has gotten into you, I mean not that I’m complaining. “ He said pulling away to catch his breath.

“ Are you saying no to me Winchester? “ She smirked, rolling her hips onto the bulge that was growing in his pants.

“ Fuck no. “ He growled, his hands coming to grab a hold of her bare ass, tight enough to make her moan and grab onto his shoulders.

She kissed him again when she heard the shower finally turn on.

“ We’ve got maybe 5 minutes, before your brother gets back..you think you can finish us both of us in that time? “ She challenged.

And with that, Dean’s hand found her core and he instantly shoved two fingers inside, not caring to be gentle, he just needed her opened up a little, because he knew that he was a little much to just take without preparation. She let her head fall onto his shoulder as her body started to shake at the feeling the hunter’s hands were giving her.

“ Dean. “ She whimpered.

“ Yeah sweetheart? “ He asked between the rough kisses he was leaving down her neck and chest.

“ Fuck me. “ She demanded, looking him straight in the eyes.

“ Yes mamm. “ He nodded, pulling his fingers from her, unzipping his jeans, and pulling out his rock hard cock, rubbing it through her now wet folds. 

He lined himself up and in one push, he was seated fully inside of her and they both let out a load moan. She put her hand over his mouth as she took control and started moving up and down on him. Dean’s head dropped to the back of the couch and she took control and rode him until he couldn’t take it anymore. He gripped onto her hips and started to thrust into her hard and fast, chasing his own release. Right when he found his so did she. To cover the moans that he knew would come from both of them, he covered her mouth with his, kissing her hard. She pulled back, catching her breath and smiled as she pulled herself off of him, walking over and slipping her skirt back on. Dean just sat there for a second trying compose himself, pulling himself back into his jeans.

" That was for the little stunt you pulled in the car. " She smiled taking a drink from the cup that was on the table.

Before Dean could reply Sam came out of the bathroom, his hair dripping wet. The shifter couldn't help but notice the wet exposed skin on his neck and it sent shivers down her spine. She felt it deep in her or your gut..and that gave her an idea.

" Shit, I forgot to get more salt. Do you guys need anything? " She asked pulli g her jacket back on.

" Not that I can think of. " Sam replied, sitting down and opening his computer.

" Well text me if you think of anything, I'll be back in a bit. " She smirked at Dean before she closed the door behind her.

“ Alright, I’m gonna shower. “ Dean smirked, patting Sam on the shoulder before going into the bathroom.

You tried for a least an hour to wiggle out of the ropes, but there was no use, this thing could tie a damn knot. Your head popped up when you heard the door open, your heart beginning to race. 

“ Y/N ? “ 

When you seen Dean come, hope washed over you.

“ Dean! “ 

He rushed over and kneeled down in front of you, looking at the knots. That hope slowly vanished when his eyes locked with yours. That wasn’t Dean.

“ What did you do to him! “ You demanded.

The shifter smirked, then ran it’s hands up your legs then grabbed your face to make you look it straight in the eyes.

“ Oh I had fun with him...but now I wanna have my fun with you for a bit...then. “ He let go of your face and stood up, glaring down at you. “ I think I’d like to try my hand with the other one..”

You blocked everything out after the first few slices the shifter made up and down your legs. You knew it wasn’t Dean, but this wasn’t something that you were going to forget that was for damn sure. When it was finally finished, you let your head hang, blood dripping from your mouth and other parts of your body. You were exhausted and couldn’t help slipping into the darkness. Satisfied with it’s work, within seconds the shifter once again looked like you and made sure to grab salt from the kitchen before heading back to the motel. 

Sam looked up from the computer when he seen the motel door open.

The shifter set the salt on the counter then pulled off her jacket, tossed it on the bed beside her and looked at the younger brother.

“ Where’s Dean? “ She asked, kicking off her shoes.

“ Ah, he went on a beer run, we’re out. “ Sam said, focusing back on the file he was looking at.

A smirk came across her face. This was perfect. Glancing over at him, she started to unbutton the white shirt she had on then tossed it beside her jacket on the bed.

He had no idea why he did it, but Sam found him self look at you, watching you unzip the skirt, letting it fall to the floor. He took in a deep breath then looked back at his computer screen. 

She knew he was looking and she took her chance. Reaching behind her, she pretended to fiddle with her bra, getting frustrated, before walking over to stand in front of him.

“ Can you help me out here? This thing is stuck and I can’t get it for the life of me. “ She said, turning her back to him, moving her hair to lay on her shoulder.

Sam’s heart skipped a beat when he looked at her.

“ Uh..”

When he did nothing, she turned and looked him in the eyes.

“ Really you’re gonna get shy on me now Sam? “ She smirked.

“ What.. no, I just. “

Sam’s hands instantly went up and away from her when she slowly straddled his lap, resting her arms on his shoulders.

“ I’ve seen you watch me sometimes Sam..I mean I never said anything because of Dean..but I just can’t keep quiet anymore. “ She ran her hand slowly across his face and he took in another deep breath.

This wasn’t right. Looking into her eyes, he seen a glimmer of gold and he clued in instantly, but before he could do anything, she held him where he stood.

“ I really thought it would have been Dean to figure it out..I mean he’s in love with her. “ She tilted her head, looking at him with a smirk. “ But so are you aren’t you Sammy. You sit in the background and watch as your brother gets the girl, being nothing but a shoulder to cry on when Dean does her wrong. “

“ What? “ Sam huffed out, struggling in her grip.

She reached for the cuffs on the table and in one motion clasped them around his wrists. Leaning down stopping inches away from his lips, she smiled.

“ Here’s your chance Sammy. I know you always wondered what it would be like to be with her. How her lips felt against yours, her body moving with yours, having her scream your name instead of your brother’s. “

Sam’s heart started to race, his body betraying him as he started to feel his pants get tighter. His mind knew that it wasn’t her, but his eyes were showing him something else. He took in a sharp breath when she moved her hips and pushed herself onto him.

“ Let it all out Sam. “ She said, before pressing her lips to his softly.

He knew it was wrong, but his mind went hazy when she really started grinding against him and he gave in and kissed her back with a low growl from his chest. Biting his bottom lip, she pulled back and smiled at him.

“ I knew it, you do want this. “ 

“ No. “ He breathed.

“ Your mouth says no but. “ She reached between them and palmed at the bulge in his pants “ Your body says other wise. “ 

She smirked as his body jerked forward at the touch. Sam tried his hardest to not enjoy the fact that she had slipped off him and was now, pulling his cock out of his pants, while looking straight at him. The moment he felt her breath on the his tip, his head fell back and his eyes closed. She gave him length one lick from bottom to top them took him all in her mouth and she watched as his mouth opened. He knew this was all kinds of wrong, but he couldn’t control his breathing as he felt himself start to reach the edge after a few minutes. He was relieved when her mouth released him and he watched her get to her feet and look down at him. She smirked, taking a hold of his plaid shirt and ripping it open, not taking the time to unbutton it.

She ran her fingers through the patch of hair that peaked out from the black t shirt he wore underneath and let out a hum of pleasure.

“ Now now Sammy, if you stop fighting, I’ll take the cuffs off. I mean I know that it would be more pleasurable for you if you could touch me. “ She whispered into his ear as she took her place back on his lap.

Sam just looked at her, his face mixed with anger and pleasure.

“ Why are you doing this? I mean what are you getting out of this? “ He, his teeth gritted together.

“ Oh come on, you’ve seen you and just because I’m not human doesn’t mean that I don’t have urges and well the stories I’ve heard about you and your brother, I had to find out just how good you guys were. “ 

Sam felt her grab a hold of his cock, push her panties to the side and line him up to her entrance. 

“ And well I’m doing you a favor Sam, you are getting everything you’ve wanted and it’s no harm to her or your brother. I look like her, but I’m not her. It’s a win win situation and you know it. “

Before he could respond, she slid down on him until her ass was sitting on his clothed thighs and Sam couldn’t help but moan at the feeling. God He didn’t want to enjoy this, but the more she moved up and down, the tighter she became and it pushed him that much closer to the edge. His mind going completely blank, he started moving his hips up, meet her movements and she smiled against his lips.

“ That’s it Sam, give into it. “ She whispered into his ear, as she reached behind him and freed his hands from the cuffs.

The moment he felt the metal slip from around his wrists, his hands came and gripped onto her hips and he thrusts deep into her. She wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him close as they both worked each other to their release.Sam held onto her, his face nestled into the crook of her neck as he spilled deep in her. He realized what he had just done, when she pulled back and let out a shaky laugh.

“ See now was that so hard? “ She smirked.

Still catching his breath, Sam reached onto the table, grabbed his loaded gun and then shot her straight in the chest. He watched as she fell backwards off him. He stood up, put himself back into his pants, then ran his fingers through his hair as he looked at the shifter bleeding out on the dingy motel carpet. Before he could do anything else, Dean walked in. 

His eyes went straight to the shifter and tossed the cans of beer onto the bed, before kneeling down beside her. His heart raced, his mind not able to form any words as he looked at you laying in a pile of your own blood.

“ Dean, it’s not Y/N, it’s. “

Dean seen the gold eyes and let out the breath he had been holding in.

“ The shifter. “ He got to his feet and looked at his brother.

Dean seen the sweat that covered his face and how shallow his breathing was and he instantly felt sick to his stomach.

“ You slept with her. “ Dean stated through gritted teeth.

Sam took in a deep breath then let it out.

“ She had me cuffed Dean, there wasn’t much I could do. “ Sam replied, feeling the guilt of his feelings wash over him.

Dean licked his lips, trying hard to keep his calm as something hit him.

“ But you enjoyed it. “

“ Dean, it’s not what you think. “

“ It looked like Y/N Sam..” Dean said, not even able to look at his little brother.

Sam seen the hurt and betrayal on his brother’s face and his heart dropped.

Shaking his head, Dean ran his fingers through his hair then headed for the door.

“ Dean, where are you going ? “

“ If that was the shifter, that mean’s Y/N is out there somewhere, and we don’t know if she’s dead or alive, so I’m going to find her Sam. “ 

Sam hesitated, not knowing what was going to happen next but he wasn’t going to let Dean do this alone. Taking in a deep breath, he followed Dean outside and closed the door behind him. 

Feedback is the fuel that keeps me writing!! Please feel free to let me know what ya think!! Thanks again for all the Love!! <3

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[trailerparkflower]

Can you write fem!Harringrove where alpha Billie has one-night stand with omega Steph? Maybe they could be at a party or something (they like each other, but Steph has a boyfriend, and Billie's always teasing her, so Steph isn't really sure if Billie even likes her at all), and Steph gets into her first heat and also induces Billie's first rut; Steph ends up pregnant. What happens afterwards is up to you, my sweet princess ! ❤

Hey baby🌺 Your wish is my command, and I really loved writing this promt, fem!Harringrove abo is just gold

______________________________

Billie glances at Steph quickly, noticing her pale face and slowing camaro down even more; driving like a freaking old lady. It feels so out-of-character even for her, what she gets pack of the Marlboros and lighter from the glovebox; there is a certain role what she need to follow, if you wanna know.

“So.” She starts with a careless voice, lighting a cig. Steph sighs, like if this one word was enough to exhaust her, or, maybe, like it was Billie fucking fault for everything what was happening with her. Is it the gratefulness for what she agreed to take her home? Not if Billie had much choice, tho, because Harrington apparently didn’t had anyone else-no mate, no parents, no friends. And maybe Billie is a mean bitch, but even she has a heart. Still, Steph don’t need to know about it, so she says, trying to sound as much uninterested as she can, “What’s up with you, princess? Are you, like, dying, or something? ”

“Don’t tell me what you are worried, Hargrove.” Steph murmurs, pressing her face to the cold window. Her usually perfectly stylised hair was wild and messy now, after Billie had to hold them while she threw up in the school bathroom, and, hugging herself, sitting here in the Billie jacket what is at least on two sizes too big for her, Steph looked like a little girl, vulnerable and small.

And secretly, Billie wants to hug her, because, yeah, okay. She is worried. It’s freaks the shit out of her what Harrington seems to unable hold food in her stomach lately, what she fails all her exams, what after that stupid Wheeler prince prick dumped her for the creepy stalker girl (wich, aside from everything, was a pleasing fact, and actually worked on Billie benefit), Steph seemed to get more and more quiet; more and more absent.

Billie thinks about her mama and about her last months; dark suspicions fills her mind.

She wants to hug Steph, to pet her hair, to tell what everything is going to be okay; but instead, she takes a long, slow drag, sticks out her tongue teasingly, and her red lips curls into a wide smile.

“Nah.” Shugs she. “But just in cause if you are, can you bequeath that cool VHS collection of yours for me?“

“Yeah, sure.” Steph rolls her eyes. “But at first, can you stop smoking? It’s stinks.”

“Hmm. Maybe, if you say what is going on with you.”

“Nothing! Nothing is going on, okay! I’m fine!” Steph exclaims, her knuckles white as she clenched her fists. Billie raises her eyebrow, unamused-Steph is really a shitty liar. How she even managed to be a school queen bee with the mind of the big spoiled baby? Must be a smalltown luck-in Cali, girls would eat her alive.

“Really?” Billie asks, a little bit rhetorically, because they both know the answer, and slowly inhales, just to blow the smoke right into the Steph pale face.   

Steph blinks few times, mouth slightly open. She looks like Billie just slapped her, like she wants to cry, and at the second, Billie actually feels sorry and wants to apologize like a friggin pussy-but then, something changes in Steph eyes, and she explodes.

“God, you are such a bitch, Hargrove! I’m fucking pregnant, that’s what is going on with me! Now. Can you fuck off already?! And stop fucking smoking or I end throwing up in your stupid car, too!”

“You.” Now, it’s Billie blinks few times, absolutely dumbfounded. Cigarette falls out of her hand on the ground, and all her willpower goes to watch on the road and stop car slowly without crushing into some tree. “You WHAT?”

Steph holds her intense glare, lifting chin up, trying to be tough. That’s my girl, Billie thinks somewhere in the back of her mind.

“Jesus Christ…” She runs her hand through the blond curly hair. “Wait. Was it Wheeler? Is it why he broke up with you?” Growls she, baring the alpha fangs, aggressive snarl twists her gorgeous face. “That frigging asshole, I swear-”

“Hey, calm down, big girl.” Steph chuckles, looking bit of haunted. Her thin long fingers fidgets edge of the short skirt nervously. “Its. Uh, w-well, not, not he, it's…well…you remember that party, um, at Tim?…”

She bites her pink pouty lips, and suddenly, Billie understands.

“Are you telling me what…” She murmurs, voice hoarse. “Shit. I am the. I am the…?” Steph  doesn’t answer, doesn’t even nod-she just adverts eye big glassy eyes, and Billie feels like everything is spining.

“Holy fuck. And you…you will, keep it?” Billie asks, carefully. Her hearts beats so fast, what seems to break her ribs.

It was just one of the stupid little cheesy fantasy, nothing serious, a world what Billie made for herself and dreamed about it, laying on the bed, sore and bruised after fightіs with Neil. She, Steph, their own kids and their own house, good ol` shiny American Dream.

Billie never dared to think what this dream could become reality.

Steph clearly understands her reaction wrong, because she finally glares at her, quick and furious, shoulders tensed. “Yes, I will keep the baby, and I don’t care if you if you don’t want it,  Hargrove. You don’t have to worry, because I will take care of everything, and I need no one help, and-and,” her voice cracks, and she takes a shaky breath,  “And you don’t have to…stick up with us, because…I know you don’t really want all this and it was just a one night stand, so-”

“Hey.” Billie whispers, stretching out her arm slowly, to not scare Steph, but she still flinches under her soft touch like a wild scared doe. 

Billie feels scared too.

“Head up, princess, or the crown will fall.“ She says, wiping tear from the rosy cheek, and Steph snorts, but visibly relaxes. Billie takes it as a win.

“C'mon, pretty, come here.” She says, gently, and tugs Steph on her laps-it’s not very comfortable and a little bit awkward in the car, but Steph still leans to her, and hides wet face in the crook of Billie neck, so she don’t really cares about anything else. Her vision goes blurry and only after some time she realizes, what she teared up too.

“We will keep the baby, and we will take care of it, and raise it, together. And then, when Tony, if it will be a boy, or Becca, if it will be a girl goes to school, we will make another little one-”

“Wait, wait,” Steph laughs, sweet and nervous and dorky, and Billie face lights up. “Who even said what I agree for naming my firstborn beloved child by such a stupid name like Tony?”

[ladyeglantine]

For the kissing prompts: in a bar for Jane and Garrus, please?

Thanks for the ask!

Evencommanders in a do or die war against an advanced race of genocidal machinesneeded a break.

Leastthat’s what Shepard tried to tell herself as she’d headed to the barlounge on the third deck. She’d never been good about making sure she gotR&R on important missions, usually pushing herself to the brink ofexhaustion. But if Shepard was going to continue to keep the peace long enoughto cure the genophage and secure the krogan alliance for the turians, sheneeded a drink.

She wasworried it’d be busy. After dinner was a popular timefor the day crew going off shift, taking early nightcaps. But the bar loungewas surprisingly empty that night. Shepard quickly went behind the counter,grabbing for a newly procured bottle of Asari honey mead. Shepard had alwaysbeen on the side of liking the sweeter alcohols, never really taking to dry.She’d tried this one for the first time on Illium, and it’d quickly risen to hertop three. When the time came for what few alcohol procurements were allowed,Shepard had made sure that one was on the list.

Shepoured herself a glass, going to the mini-frig for some ice cubes. Normally,Shepard would chill a new bottle before drinking it. But she didn’thave the time, or desire, to wait over an hour.

Drink inhand, she stayed at the bar, but swung her seat around so she could stare outthe window at the stars passing them by. Her mind aimlessly wandering yetalways finding themselves back to the day’s events. She didn’trealize the door had opened until she heard someone say her name.

Shepardstarted in her chair a bit, almost dropping her glass, but quickly recoveredwhen she saw who had come in. “Garrus, sorry, didn’t see you there.Off-duty already?”

“Still technically on my dinner break. Mymeeting with the Primarch went long. Wanted to clear my head before I got backto it,” he said, crossing the few short steps over to her. “I could ask thesame of you. Thought you have reports to do.”

“I do.” She didn’t want to think about thefield reports she had waiting for her to fill out, both the official Allianceone and a personal copy she kept for herself. Everything that needed to bedocumented about the summit meeting with Wrex, Victus, and the Dalatrass; aboutSur’Kesh and Eve and Mordin; and about Cerberus’s sabotage attempts. “Justneeded a breather.”

Garrus’shead tilted slightly, studying her with concern filled eyes, likely picking upon the strain in her voice. “You ok?”

“Yeah, just…” Shepard sighed tiredly. Shewondered when she’d actually get to sleep that night. Or how long it’d be untilthe nightmares woke her up. “It’s been a long day.”

“Guess we’re officially at war withCerberus, huh?”

Shelaughed darkly. “I’m just surprised it took them this longto show up again.”

She tookone last swig from her glass, running her tongue along her lip, cherishing thesweet taste of the mead. Shepard made to get up, wanting just a little bit morebefore she called it quits. She knew her limits before she’dstart to really feel the effects, and Shepard had no desire to rewrite thosereports.

ButGarrus came around the bar counter. “I can get it.”

Shepardsat back down as quickly as she’d started to rise,seeing no point in resisting when he was already behind the counter, telling himto go for the mead in the mini-frig.

“So, what, you’re my bartender now?” sheasked, a teasing smile on her lips as he poured the mead into her glass, takinga swig once he was done. Still not nearly chilled enough, but passable.

“Beats being your pet feeder,” he answeredas he corked the bottle and moved to put it back. “If I didn’tknow better, I’d say you invited me to stay in your cabin to get free manuallabor.”

“I believe you undertook that on your own,big guy,” she said, running her finger along the edge of her glass. After theintensity of the day, it felt good to be with Garrus, engage in playful,teasing banter, no alliances or lives on the line. “Plus, I could think ofbetter things to put your skills towards, Vakarian.”

His mandiblesflicked, face plates shifting in a look she’d come to recognize as adirty grin. “And just what are those, Shepard?”

Sheleaned forward, shooting him a flirtatious smile. “Off-duty things. But…”She reached up, weight resting on her forearms against the counter as shepressed her lips against his plates, pulling away before she risked losingherself in the kiss. “That should give you an idea.”

Garrus’ssmile grew as his fingers brushed against her hand, taking it up to his plates.A pleasurable shiver coursed through her as he nipped the inside of her wrist.

“I should like to hear more about themlater, these off-duty things,” he said, letting go of her hand.

Shepardlaughed, feeling the stress of the day lessening, now having more incentive toget through those reports. “Looking forward to it.”

[awol-newt]

they call this battle fatigue

Rating: Teen (for language) Fandom: Wynonna Earp Summary: They’re all so tired. This battle fatigue or operational exhaustion or whatever you want to call it these days. It’s the same thing, right? Or at least the same end result? Anguish, suffering, nightmares, loneliness. Hurt.

Character introspection.

Post-3x05.

jeremy.

‘Pack up your science shit, Chetri. You don’t get to be a part of this anymore.’

‘It’s easier to blame me than the dead dragon, right?’

They call this shell shock. Battle fatigue. Post-traumatic stress disorder.

He’s seen it before. In other Black Badge agents. In Dolls. In himself.

There isn’t anything quite like survivor’s guilt, he knows. Or surviving a car crash that kills everybody in your family but you. There’s more blame to go around than you know what to do with, so most of it is turned inward. Of course, it manifests outwardly in different ways.

Hostility. Depression. Pain turned outward inasmuch as it is turned upon oneself. Physically, mentally, emotionally. It’s a vicious cycle that’s hard to break.

He should know.

Maybe it isn’t exactly battle fatigue, but they are fighting a war and lately, it feels like they’re on the losing side. The bombardment of one thing after the next is getting to them all.

They’re all hurting. They all have their scars.

Even him. Especially him, maybe. Because he knew. He knew and he couldn’t save Dolls no matter how hard he tried. And then he stayed away while Jolene ripped his family apart because he was too afraid to think that maybe he doesn’t belong here after all.

Jeremy is tired. And maybe the toll of this war has revealed to him and everybody else that he doesn’t quite fit right. That he won’t ever and that it isn’t a redeeming quality anymore not to fit.

The thought hurts.

-

doc.

There was not a word back then. A word to describe the tremor in his hands, the fear that closes his throat and makes it hard to breathe. The nightmares that startled him awake with fire still singeing the hairs of his neck and the smell of brimstone and blood still burning his nose. The hurt that encourages such reckless behavior as taunting the demon Clootie and worse, listening to him in the first place.

Jeremy refers to his ailment as post-traumatic stress disorder. Battle fatigue, he said it was called mid-century and shell shock during the time before that. He used the Wikipedia and another website on the World Wide Web called WebMD.

What he read was nothing new. He knows a man is changed by certain encounters. Death is never cheap, after all. But hurt sharpens the tongue. It brings out the worst of man to the fore and makes him do and say that which he will surely regret come next sunrise.

He remembers his words. Dismissive and terrible words spat at the one person who believed in him first. The first person to think him good and honest since the early days of his rides with Wyatt Earp.

He is tired, and as sure as he is now that he would burn for an eternity to protect those girls, he is so very exhausted from these battles. He is so very tired of hurting the ones he loves. Wyatt, Kate, Waverly, Wynonna. Nicole, Jeremy.

Dolls.

He is tired but he will not rest until Bulshar is in the ground with that harlot Jolene who tried to destroy the one good thing he seems to have found in this lifetime.

Do not mess with a man’s family.

-

wynonna.

‘Half-sister.’

Half-sister. Low fucking blow, Wynonna.

Agitation, irritability, mistrust. The self-destructive behavior is par for the course with a name like Earp, but damn it all to hell when she takes it out on her baby sister. Her sister who means more to her than anybody or anything else in the world.

Yeah. Sure. Battle fatigue.

She’s had enough damn trauma in her life to make any shrink into a millionaire with all the therapy she needs.

Half-sister. Damn it, Earp.

Except it wasn’t all Jolene’s delicious, tripping brownies. She knows it wasn’t. Because the thoughts were there, buried deep and only pried to the surface by the psychotic bitch.

Sometimes it sucks to try to separate the lies from the truth. She’s got years of experience with the former, and everybody who’s got a brain knows that the best lie always has a morsel of truth. That’s how you hurt them the most.

She’s tired.

Tired of being the screw-up. Of screwing up everybody else’s lives. She dragged Waverly into this shitshow — never mind her pre-existing murder wall and weird love of dead languages that only show up in grimoires and other creepy books that Wynonna doesn’t understand. First Waverly and then Nicole. And now Dolls is dead and what’s left?

Guilt. Pain. Sadness.

Just one more strike against the good ol’ name of Wynonna Earp.

Fuck, she’s tired.

-

nicole.

She said things and did things. She doesn’t know what was real and what was—

Was it all Jolene? Was it all her?

The things she said weren’t all that wrong and she knows it and Waverly knows it; she can’t take those things back. She shouldn’t. Not if they want to keep moving forward.

It wasn’t the words that hurt.

(Hurt them both.)

It’s how they were said. Harsh and scathing and with a physicality that Nicole has never embodied before with Waverly. Not like that. Not in a way that meant to shut her down and shut her out. In a way to make her feel broken and alone.

She’s tired of others getting hurt. She’s tired of seeing her own self-doubt reflected in Waverly’s eyes just because she’s said goodbye more than once.

Nicole knows. She knows she was ready to throw in the towel on that cliffside where Dolls died protecting them all. She also knows that it hasn’t been the first time that she’s been willing to let go.

Willing to let go for Wynonna. For Waverly. For this found family that has accepted her and loved her.

Nicole isn’t tired of the fight. It isn’t battle fatigue. Not yet. Survivor’s guilt, maybe. Nightmares, sure. She’s okay, though. She can keep fighting. She wants to keep fighting. For her family.

Still. Sometimes there’s a difference between letting go and giving up. Sometimes you have to do what you have to do to save the people you love.

But damn it if she isn’t frigging tired of people making Waverly cry. Herself included.

Step one: balloons and flowers and stuffed animals. Step two: Apologize and talk. Step three? Whatever Waverly wants and needs.

-

waverly.

Waverly is tired.

She is tired of hurting. Of watching others hurt. Because of this knob-gobbling curse. Because of her.

She’s tired of her friends, her family, giving up and giving in. Waverly is tired.

Because she’s seen it in Jeremy’s eyes. In Doc’s and Wynonna’s.

In Nicole’s.

This battle fatigue or operational exhaustion or whatever you want to call it these days. It’s the same thing, right? Or at least the same end result?

Anguish, suffering, nightmares, loneliness. Hurt.

She’s tired of raising more questions and more distress with her very existence. She’s tired and Jolene knew that. The demon bitch stripped her of her confidence, made her believe that she was alone and unwanted and unloved.

And it made her realize something.

She’s tired of feeling tired.

The self-doubt, the questioning, the accompanying depression and anxiety — it’s there and it’s a fackin’ liar. And that realization isn’t enough to disperse those thoughts and those doubts. It doesn’t wipe the slate clean. But it does mean something.

The war isn’t lost.

Because Waverly remembers. She knows.

Families fight; it doesn’t mean they stop loving each other. Waverly is loved. She has something to give them in return.

She’s here. She is here. She stays. She loves them back and never, never, never gives up on them.

It’s time to wake up now.

-

i’m running from nothing, no thoughts in my mind oh my heart was all black but I saw something shine thought that part was yours, but it might just be mine i could share it with you, if you gave me the time i’m all bloody knuckles, longing for home if it weren’t for second chances, we’d all be alone - ‘second chances’ by gregory alan isakov

[laurasfox-originals]

Box Shaped Heart - Ch. 1

Summary:

Carter Malis thinks he knows exactly when he turned into a self-identified homophobe, and that had to be the moment when Aron Ruskin, his best friend since forever, announced to him that he was going to marry a dude. Great. So there were going to be two Mr. Ruskin’s, and that without counting Aron’s dad.

And here’s this thing. The face staring back from the mirror, the moment he wakes up in a hospital bed, doesn’t belong to him, but to douchebag Alex, aka Aron’s husband. And now he’ll have to talk to Aron, after two years of radio silence.

Chapter One – Waking Up Is Hard To Do

When had it gotten so hard to do such a simple thing as opening his eyes? Carter had a mind to just bring his hands to his eyelids and push them up with his thumbs. That should have done the trick if his hands hadn’t been just as stubborn to move as his eyelids.

This is getting ridiculous, he thought to himself, and, just for the sake of running a minimal test, he tried to move his toes.

That’s better, the far right one seems to move a little, he mused. Yet, it looked like the little exertion had the result of making him feel exhausted.

Drifting off to sleep, he had the weird impression that someone was calling for him.

“Mr. Ruskin,” a voice with a small annoying lilt to it seemed bent on preventing him from getting his well-deserved sleep. “Mr. Ruskin, you really need to wake up.”

Funny thing. His eyelids popped like a can of lager beer on a hot day in July. Not that it was that pleasant to have your eyelids suddenly listen more to a stranger, than to you. At least now he was awake and the annoying voice was going to stop pestering him.

His eyes landed on a round face with beady eyes full of life.

“Mr. Ruskin, you’re awake! I always say that patients need just a little effort to get out of it. Just let me get the doctor. But, first,” the woman, who seemed to wear some kind of white bonnet, matched with equally white attire, started to fret around, “let me show you something.”

At this point, Carter had to admit that curiosity was gnawing at him too badly to stop and think why on Earth he was called Mr. Ruskin. That name sounded familiar, but he was pretty certain it wasn’t his. What was his last name? His brain seemed to be all messed up.

The woman returned with a ... what was that thing called again? Ah, a mirror. Ha, he could still remember simple things. But what was his last name again?

He examined the snake-shaped handle before raising his eyes to look at it. When he did, all he could manage was:

“Damn!”

That mirror had to be magical because his reflection mouthing the word ‘damn’ like it was the least desirable word in the English language didn’t belong to him. It did belong to someone, of course, but not him. And why was this guy staring back at him with such consternation? If there was anyone entitled to feel bereft at the unlikely occurrence that his face was not his anymore, that was him.

“Come on, Mr. Ruskin, don’t frown. All these little scratches will heal up nicely,” the woman stared at him from one side of the mirror, making Carter think that she somewhat looked like a leprechaun. Only that she didn’t wear green, but white overalls.

Wait, wait, wait! His mind screamed at him. He looked around. White walls, white window sills, white door …

All right. He was just going to faint.

“Mr. Ruskin!” the woman called for him from far away, seeming pretty much alarmed.

Well, let her sort this out, Carter thought gloomily, as he drifted away.

***

The second awakening was not that unpleasant. Carter smoothed down a few creases in the blanket. His hands were moving now, and obeying to him, thank heavens, and he didn’t need the nurse – yes, he had gathered that much since he had awoken – to tell him to do this or that. The perspective of living like a lonely puppet on a string, having to obey the squealed orders of an energetic woman, clearly dedicated to her healthcare oriented profession, was just making him shudder in pure horror.

“Could you please show me the mirror again, Miss …?”

Was he supposed to know the nurse’s name? Had he been conscious for more than a minute since he had been brought to the hospital? And what the hell could have happened to put him in the hospital, in the first place?

“Oh, you,” the nurse waved one hand and blushed like she was flattered. “It’s Mrs. Jones, actually, but you can call me Marge. How young did you think I was, Mr. Ruskin?”

He hadn’t exactly thought anything. Marge didn’t seem too put off with his lack of response and dutifully held the mirror.

He inhaled. And exhaled. Instead of his brown hair, the apparition in the mirror had an ash blonde mane styled in a quiff. Damn, he hated that kind of hairstyle. He still wore his brown hair a bit too long for someone in his early 30s, but he didn’t give a damn. Yes, he was pretty damn certain his hair and his eyes were both brown. No, he wasn’t insane. Oh, look, he did remember things. Like, for instance, how he looked. Wait, what if this was some kind of prank, and he was shown not a mirror, but some digital device displaying another person’s face just to make fun of him?

He examined the face in the mirror with a critical eye. Well, two critical eyes that were green and mischievous, instead of his dull ordinary brown eyes. Not that there was something wrong with his eyes. His actual eyes. He didn’t even have to wear glasses most of the time. So, his eyes were pretty much in good working order.

But this guy was a looker. The kind to appear on the covers of magazines. Or maybe not. Maybe except for his perfect face, the rest was flabby and unattractive. He touched his belly, but, no, it didn’t look like the guy currently impersonating him was fat. If anything, he seemed lean to the point of being considered thin.

And there went his prank theory. His body could not have been replaced, like his face in the mirror. Which didn’t mean he was fat. Just certainly with a little bit of meat on his bones, unlike this guy who was trying to pass as him. Or who he was trying to pass as. Damn, things were complicated.

But why was this reflection in the mirror familiar? Where had he seen this guy before? His brain was still in auto mode and could not take basic requests.

“Mr. Ruskin, maybe I should ask the doctor, but he said that you seemed fine if a little tired. All the tests we’ve run on you point out that you’re out of danger,” the nurse began an apologetic tirade, “and I took it upon myself to let your husband in to see you.”

“Husband?!”

Carter would have dropped the mirror, but he was not the one holding it. So he just lay there, his mouth agape, staring at Marge in shock. When the hell had he gotten married? And to a guy?! If this was a nightmare, it was pretty damn fucked up.

“He is a wreck, dear,” Marge’s eyes filled with more than gentleness. They were on the point of swimming in tears. “He had been waiting for you to wake up for two days, now. I doubt he caught any sleep.”

“Wait, my husband? Who is my husband?” Carter squealed.

Great, even his voice was annoyingly pleasant. Even now, high pitched and in shock.

“Well, aren’t you a comedy act, dear?” Marge patted him on the arm, as she tried hard not to laugh. “The other Mr. Ruskin, of course. Aron Ruskin.”

Aron Ruskin? A flash of recognition shot up his addled brain, finally catching up with him. He hadn’t spoken to Aron in two whole frigging years.

***

“Alex!” Aron rushed to his side, pressing him into a careful hug.

He hadn’t seen Aron in two years, either, besides keeping up with the no talking policy. Always done the best to steer clear out of the places where they could have bumped into each other.

“I was so worried, so, so worried,” Aron cradled him in his big arms.

Aron had always been a big guy. Not big in the sense of fat, but well built, with the constitution of an athlete. Many had thought that seeking a career in publishing had not been the smartest move for him. But Aron loved what he did. And he did take care of his body, with the same dedication he did everything else in life.

Right now, he seemed maybe a bit bigger, but maybe it was just because Carter felt so damn small in the guy’s huge arms. That he didn’t remember. He was not as tall or built like a brickhouse, how Aron was, but he had never felt so little and puny. Right now, he felt like a puppet turned into the favorite toy of a giant. He grunted a little, and Aron pulled himself back right away.

“Oh, so sorry, does it hurt badly, baby?” Aron looked at him with concern written all over his handsome face.

“Well, I’m afraid Mr. Ruskin here is a little sluggish, after the little bump,” Marge supplied right away. “We will keep him on pain medication until he recovers a bit more.”

“A little bump?” he asked, moving his startled eyes from Aron to Marge and back again.

“Well, it was more than a little bump,” Aron said while running his fingers through his short jet black hair. There were a few silvers in there that Carter did not remember. “You got hit by a fire truck.”

“Ouch. That must have been unpleasant,” Carter murmured.

Marge burst into laughter, something that was reminding him of a funny hedgehog he had once seen in a cartoon. Clearly, he was in a dream. Except for the whole hospital thing, and the fact that he was apparently married to his former best friend, it wasn’t that much of a nightmare. So he was going to enjoy it, or whatever, just live through it.

“He is such a dear,” Marge commented, as soon as she could breathe again from her fit of laughter. “And he has such a great sense of humor, doesn’t he?” she turned towards Aron.

The man just looked confused.

“Alex? A sense of humor? Sure,” he replied, but Carter could tell Aron was not convinced.

Aron’s dark eyes were inspecting him now, and Carter felt a bit fidgety under that gaze. It felt like Aron was looking at something holy and perfect. Like he was in love. What a stupid dream. All right. So he was Alex, Aron’s husband. Aron and Alex. They sounded like twins. Identical twins, even, although there could not be a more important difference between them, Aron being all hard muscles and strong bones everywhere, and Alex almost as light as a feather.

Skinny asshole, Carter thought to himself. Aron’s face changed from slightly relieved to somewhat worried.

“Can you give him something else for the pain, nurse …?”

“Ah, call me Marge,” the woman replied chirpily. “But he’s already at the full dose as he is, the poor thing, we cannot give him anything more, really.”

“But he’s still in pain,” Aron tried to reason with the nurse slash happy sparrow. “Just look at his face, all contorted like that!”

Carter touched his face with his hands. What was Aron droning about? He felt no pain. But he was probably grimacing at the thought of having Aron looking at him with those lovey-dovey eyes. Yeah, he was probably making a face right now, like he had just eaten half a pound of lemons.

“I’m not in pain,” he intervened, stopping the little quarrel between Marge and his - gosh, he could not really say it, could he? - husband.

“You’re not?” Aron looked at him, fairly surprised.

“No. I’m actually quite okay.”

“Great! That’s great,” Aron sighed with relief.

“Well, it is great,” Marge chirped in. “The other fellow, the poor thing, is in serious condition. He’s still in a coma, and the doctor says he is not bound to get up anytime soon. Although, with a comatose patient, one never knows …”

“What other fellow?” Carter mumbled, feeling cold sweat down his back.

“The other guy who was hit by the same fire truck as you.”

What? Were they hiring blind people to be fire truck drivers these days?

“You don’t remember?” Aron looked at him with concern.

His mind was a mess. No, he could not remember. At least, not right now.

“Nurse, please, stop unloading things like that on my husband,” Aron turned towards Marge, feeling a bit embarrassed and extra concerned right now. “He is clearly not well.”

“No, that’s okay,” Carter intervened again. “Who’s the other guy?” he asked.

Aron opened his mouth to say something. The nurse looked at Aron like she was asking for permission to talk.

“Well, his name is Carter Malis,” Marge finally spoke.

“Carter Malis?!” he almost screamed.

Finally. Now he knew his complete name. Just in case he needed to fill in some registrations or official papers. One just couldn’t walk into the world without a complete name.

“Yes, dear, but please, don’t overexert yourself,” Marge tried to appease him.

“Yes, I know,” Aron looked down, staring at his hands. “What could have been the chances? I haven’t seen him in two years, and now, involved in the same accident as you …”

“Carter Malis?!” he asked again, wanting, no, needing to be told that it was all a mistake, and his ears were playing a trick on him. “Who the hell is Carter Malis?”

What he wanted to declare, screaming, was: I am Carter Malis! If he was here, and Carter Malis was in a coma, that could only mean one thing. That he was on the brink of death while being and feeling very much alive. While someone else was probably trapped in his comatose body.

“You might not remember him that well,” Aron began speaking. “He used to be my best friend. I told you about him.”

Carter’s eyes just glazed over. All right, this was the strangest, most fucked up dream he had ever had.

“You know, the guy ... the homophobe at our wedding,” Aron added, growing more and more embarrassed as he shifted from one foot to the other.

Now Carter stared at Aron and stared without blinking for about half a minute or so. The homophobe? Oh, that. That he remembered.

***

Aron had just come back to their city after building up a career away from home. Carter had been so excited to get together with his longtime friend. He had been pretty lonely since Aron had left, but it was not like he was going to admit it. He was always surrounded by so-called friends. Guys he didn’t particularly like. Not one like Aron. But now that Aron was back, they were going to have so much fun, hitting the bars together, playing basketball in the summer, hockey in winter, and drinking beer, and all that.

Yeah, things had been looking up until Aron, seated across from him in one of their favorite dives, with a few empty beers in front of him, and more on the way had dropped the bomb on him.

“I’m getting married.”

He had said that matter-of-factly, with a bit of determination in the way he had held his palms flat against his thighs.

“Cool,” Carter had replied with a grin. “Who’s the lucky lady? Does she have a hot sister?”

“Actually,” Aron had replied after a few awkward seconds, as he seemed concentrated on peeling the label off of one of the beer bottles on the table, “it’s not a lucky lady.”

“Oh, she’s not lucky?” Carter had grinned, not getting the gist of the matter. “Of course, she’ll be stuck with your ugly mutt face for the rest of her life. Yeah, I get it why she’s not lucky. But what about the hot sister? Any chances?”

“Carter,” Aron had been a bit too forceful in cutting him short. “It’s a … guy I’m marrying.”

If the dive hadn’t been so busy at that hour, Carter was certain he would have been capable of cutting the silence falling between them with a Swiss knife. Or at least poke at it with a spork.

“You’re joking,” he had said flatly. “Right?”

Aron had stared at him, his original awkwardness now turning into something akin to confusion, just a short stop on the way to anger.

“Is that a problem?” he had asked, his eyes trained on Carter.

“Yeah, it’s a problem. You’re not gay!”

A few other patrons had turned to look at them, and Aron had looked at him with reproachful eyes.

“Big news, Carter. It looks like I am because I’m marrying a guy.”

“Wait, wait, wait,” Carter had raised both his hands off the table. “Where’s the hidden camera? Who asked you to prank me? Was it your idea? Really, Aron?”

“Carter, there’s no hidden camera,” Aron had slowly shaken his head. “Just your best friend who happens to be gay and in love with another man.”

There had been another shocked silence from Carter. He could not face this. No, it could not be right. So he had just stood up and left.

And seen the two at their wedding, which he had crashed while being terribly and helplessly shitfaced. There the memories were getting a tad blurry. He might have spouted a bunch of homophobic shit until some well-built dudes had dragged him outside and thrown him into the street.

And that had been the last time he had seen Aron until today.

***

“The homophobe?” he repeated like he could not believe it still.

From that moment onward, he had often wondered how come he had had no idea he was such a bigot. He could not care less if half the male population on the planet was fucking the other half in the ass. But Aron was a totally different thing. The guy could not be gay. That was just plain fucking wrong. So maybe he was a homophobe only when it came to Aron. Otherwise, he could face an entire pride parade, and maybe even join in for a dance or two.

“Yes,” Aron confirmed, with a tired sigh. “Will it bother you if I go and check on him? He … there is just no one close that could visit him at the moment, that’s all.”

“No, of course not,” he mumbled.

Aron was staring at him like he could not make sense of him. Not of Carter. Of Alex. Because Carter was apparently in a coma, with no high chances of getting up anytime soon.

“I thought you hated him,” Aron spoke softly.

“Well, the guy’s in a coma. What’s he going to do? Get up from the bed just to give me a thrashing? Hey, maybe that can be motivation enough for him to get up off his sick bed,” he said brightly.

Marge burst into laughter again. Funny how funny everything seemed to her. Carter wanted nothing else but to go see the body. His body. Well, it was not like he was dead. Just partially.

“I’m coming with you,” he tried to get out of bed, and this time Marge hurried to push him back in the bed.

“Don’t worry, I’ll check on him,” Aron said, blinking like he could still not understand what was going on.

“No way, I’m going with you,” he began fretting while trying to fight the nurse off. “Marge, I swear, this IV pointy thing will hurt,” he struggled with the small tube hooked into his hand.

Marge pushed his hand away from the other with a quick move and he dropped back on the pillows, with a loud groan. Apparently, he was so weak that he could not even fight a woman. Jeesh.

“Mr. Ruskin, play nice,” she chided him.

“What? I’m no longer ‘dear’ to you?” He jibed.

“You are a dear only when you don’t threaten me with the catheter,” Marge replied dutifully.

“Ah, is that how this is called?” Carter took a look at his hand and examined it carefully. Hmm, it looked like he even had a manicure. “I thought that was the thing that goes into your ...” he swallowed his words, thinking that spouting four-letter words in front of such a nice, yet devious, lady in white, was not exactly advisable.

“When you get better, we’ll go together to see him,” Aron promised him. “If you still want to, of course.”

“Then I should just get better soon,” he said and crossed his arms over his chest, as much as the IV tube was letting him.

“Stop frowning, dear. It will give you wrinkles,” Marge chided him, seemingly more concerned with his complexion and youthful appearance than anything else. That was highly unprofessional of her.

“So what?” he replied.

“So what?!” both Marge and Aron said together in shock.

Oh, right. Alex was some face lotion ad star or something. Great. He was stuck in the body of a total douche who thought his looks were enough to get him everything in life. Including an awesome guy like Aron, as a husband. Who was surely, undoubtedly, completely straight.

Alex must have used some magic on Aron. That was the only explanation. Seeing how he could switch bodies with Carter, just like that, that had to be it. Alex was Harry Potter. A gay Harry Potter. Or something.

TBC

You can read up to ch. 9 of this story on my Patreon.

 https://www.patreon.com/laurasfox

[sincerepinkhibiscusrightear]

So, I finally watched Boku No Mirai. I wasn’t able to the day it came out because I was in class all day. By the time I got home I basically sat in complete exhaustion until I passed the heck out. BUT my feelings under the cut. Note: It is currently 9am, I am sleep deprived and slightly sugar high. It might get a little off track.

I wasn’t sure whether I wanted to watch this last movie or not. I, like the rest of you, am tired. So, so tired. I was afraid that it would make me angrier than I have been. It’s been three years. I just wanted it to end, but I was afraid of it ending.

I loved it. I cried five times throughout the movie. I was able to appreciate Meiko as a character. The thing that I was worried about the most and hated the most about Tri was rectified.

Does that mean I don’t have my problems with Tri? Heck no. But I’ve been angrier at Loss. But let me go through it.

I watched 4 of the 6 movies with my friend and fellow rp partner @spiritxgun and maybe he can speak of his own thoughts and feelings on the movies. We marathoned Digimon 01 together and went straight to Tri. We initially only meant to watch the first two movies. The first because I thought it was good. The second because it centred around Mimi, and she is the whole reason we watched. Since 02 barely has Mimi in it, there was little point in slogging through what I considered a terrible series just for 2 episodes where she was actually featured as a full character and not just seen for 3 seconds.

But Boku no Mirai crept up on us and I asked him to watch with me, and since we were going to watch the ending, why not the whole thing. Cue marathon. Anyways, sorry for the long sidenote.

Going back to the Real World, the kids have a quiet moment as they basically wait for what to do next. There’s a lot of unsureness and waiting. But there was a good scene with Yamato and Gabumon that I’m glad was there.

I’m not sure why Ordinemon preferenced going after Meiko on the pier and not Hikari in the bed. Ordinemon is 50/50 both their partners. Maybe Meiccoomon just held stronger influence. That’s likely it. Now it’s a desperate race to defeat Ordinemon.

I’m actually quite happy that Homeostasis wasn’t made out to be evil. Or that Yggdrasil necessarily went crazy. She was just doing what she thought was best, and I think it was rather kind of her to take the time to warn the children they were going against what she thought was against everyone’s best interests for peace, order and balance. Others may not see it as kindness, but that’s what I took away. These were her charges and while she doesn’t have a full range of human empathy, it is required, I think, to some degree to keep balance.

It just turns out the kids didn’t want her balance if it meant rebooting everything all the time. You know what? Good on them. I was starting to get annoyed that it felt like the kids were just caught between two feuding gods and had no business doing anything. So being proactive and fighting against her wishes was wonderful.

I also loved that Hackmon actually felt the most empathy toward the children. At least that seemed to be what was hinted with his words of ‘this isn’t what I wanted, either.’ Of course I can’t quote verbatim.

Actually, thinking of Hackmon and how James was surprised at Hackmon being Jesmon, I realized that we never saw Alphamon’s other forms. Any of them. Coupled with that, the mystery of the fake Gennai since Gennai was being kept with the 02 kids. Maybe Fake!Gennai is Alphamon?

Both of us wanted Fake!Gennai to die. Both of us thought at the same time how hilarious it would be if he got caught in the crossfire while gloating and just ceased.

I’m glad actually that one of my fears was proven wrong. I was hoping that Tri wasn’t just an excuse to establish the formation of the Royal Knights. That somehow Homeostasis wasn’t going to be overthrown for Yggdrasil, that constantly malfunctioning thing and get established a round table of knights that never seem to get along and always feud with one another and fall apart at the seems, replacing the concept of a Digidestined/Chosen Child for that.

I’m happy that the world isn’t idyllic and perfect like 02′s epilogue depicted. I hated it. Even as a child I thought it was too simplistic and fanficcy. Of course it sucks that everyone but the Chosen detest digimon now, but at best I expect an uneasy acceptance of digimon with fluctuating parts hate, neutrality and like for digimon as the world comes to terms with the idea of the Digital World existing alongside theirs.

I’m also glad that the memories of the digimon were restored. I know a lot of people hate the idea of their memories coming back. But it wasn’t the idea of the memories coming back that irked me. It was the status quo of the relationships not changing. At all. None of the digimon acted any differently or formed different relationships with their partners despite the lack of memories. Gatomon/Tailmon retained her Champion form despite the reboot making it so that in the new Digital World’s history she no longer had to struggle under Myotismon. But it seemed like the reboot wasn’t a complete clean slate. The history still affected the digimon in some way, and I think that was a hint that the memories would return. That something would be restored. I just wish there was a more visible contrast to there being a change in the first place. But I would have been just as angry if the memories had been returned in the same movie it was revealed they were definitely lost.

I’m sorry but Memory Loss for Drama/The Sads just is really a pet peeve of mine. I am who I am because of who I was, and my memories are a testament to that. So such a concept as one’s memories is important to me, personally. I don’t expect anyone else to share my feelings on the matter.

Regarding Wizardmon, I honestly didn’t know what to expect. I think it was great how he was shown, but considering his hat was on the poster I would have liked to see him have more screen time. But seeing him there still made me cry and whisper soundlessly to James and somehow he still heard me through my microphone. How, I have no idea because honestly I was that quiet.

Since we’re talking about characters making appearances, I’ll also talk about the 02 kids. I am one of those people who don’t really give a fuck about the 02 kids. Sorry, but they more annoy me than anything. Except for maybe Iori and MAAAAYBE Ken. Maybe. If I hadn’t known that Tri was supposed to focus on the 01 kids I’d be more upset. But since it was very clearly established it wasn’t going to be on the 02 kids, I was satisfied with the idea that the kids probably wouldn’t actually be SEEN until the 6th movie and lo and behold I was right.

The movies do actually a good job with never letting us forget that the 02 kids are missing. But it was very evident we wouldn’t see them until the end. Why the 01 kids never wondered why they were absent, I’m not sure. I figured they moved to go to different high schools. An explanation just for clarity would have been nice.

The password for unlocking Meiccoomon’s memories was good, man. James was there speculating it would be Meiko’s name. But he figured that would be too simple. When he asked what I thought, I said ‘Ta much’ and TA DA! I win~

On Mimi, I was actually super happy that Mimi was so empathetic and passionate in this movie. I loved how she picked up Koromon. I wanted her to comfort him more. There wasn’t a lot of her in terms of screen time, but I was happy with what was there. It felt very ‘her’ to me, or how I always saw her to be.

The pacing was better than the last two movies. The animation budget seemed to be better, but I think there were a few quirks of what felt like a running-low-on-budget production, but it wasn’t as bad as that frigging montage of stills in Loss. That took both of us out of the story.

The second reboot itself felt a little iffy. Maybe I’d be more pissed if I hadn’t immediately thought of the concept that they already justified such a possibility with their more philosophical discussions previously. Plus it was definitely in line with Homeostasis and what she would do. Going back to Hackmon, I’m glad someone, even if it was Meiko, finally brought up the idea of whether or not Homeostasis even cared about them as people or was heartless, and going after Hackmon. Hackmon, likewise, I’m glad told Meiko to shut up about apologizing. But in a nicer way.

There was no repeat of conversations unlike Symbiosis, which started feeling repetitive. So that was good.

Both Maki and Daigo seemed to have died. Maki I stopped caring about, though I recognize the tragedy of her character. A Chosen fallen into despair and gone astray. She was abused and cracked under pressure of being a pawn. Daigo got his heroic farewell and I wouldn’t have been happier any other way. Even though he was the favourite of the newcomers. I just wanted him to be happy, but if he can’t be alive and happy, I’m glad he’s at least still happy while dead.

Orinemon’s ass shots were distracting. There’s no getting around that. Seriously who fucking flies like that? How is that natural looking in any way shape or form? It’s not aerodynamic by any means. Sure, her wings double as hands doubling as digimon n stuff but feetwings still need aerodynamic everything to fly properly. Legs down and bent over is not that.

I’m glad at least it felt like no other character got that treatment. Lillymon once with the flying I guess. But they could have been so much worse with Angewomon and Rosemon and they weren’t.

Yamato’s quip about shooting for space irked me. I’m sorry but why the fuck? Just a casual ‘lol I guess I’ll be random and quit my music career to 1-Up/Emulate Taichi’. You did NOT earn that! GTFO with it you are still a musician to me and always will be. Shoot for the stars in your music videos you absolute loser dweeb.

[kaiunkaiku]

Would you fucking look at that, it’s an actual fic! I have been working on this for so ridiculously long and I’m so happy I finally managed to finish it! Hope you like some Hunter x Hunter because that’s literally one of my favorite series ever.

Warnings include my dialogue writing bc we have already concluded that I absolutely suck at that, illness, more hurt than comfort for the most part, disgustingly tooth-rotting last few paragraphs and some shipping because I’m literal trash.

This is set a few years into the future from canon so they are not twelve years old anymore. Let’s say late teens.

Killua stares at his reflection in the bathroom mirror. He can’t believe this, just can't, this isn't supposed to happen. He’s a trained assassin, immune to most poisons in the world and able to withstand most of the torture methods known to man. He can work with broken bones and pierced limbs, hell, he can do his job with his arm hanging from his shoulder by little more than a strip of skin (very unpleasant and painful, yes, but he can complete a job). He hasn't been sick since he was two years old.

Now, though, there's a flush on his pale cheeks, and this isn't the type he has when Gon tells him he’s cute or that he wants to introduce him to Ging. This is the kind that has his head swimming full of cotton and eyelids drooping. His stomach is in knots and it’s three in the morning and Gon is sleeping behind the wall to his right in the large double bed. His throat feels funny and his neck feels like he’s been sleeping in a wrong position for hours and hours straight, unmoving, but he hasn't, he hasn't slept all night and it honestly scares him. He’s not used to this, and this is not exciting unfamiliar like the hunter exam was, no, this is his own weapon of a body doing something it isn’t supposed to do and he’s terrified. He’s considered waking Gon up, too, but it’s better if even one of them gets a decent amount of sleep.

The only reason he’s not completely panicking is because he’s seen this - sick people - before. He doesn’t remember any of his family members ever being ill, but he can easily enough recall Leorio standing by Kurapika’s bedside after the whole Phantom Troupe thing in Yorknew City. He remembers the shadows under brown eyes, sheen of sweat on pale skin and Leorio carefully setting a damp cloth onto his forehead.

Killua is exhausted. He stares at his reflection in the mirror and it stares back, eyes glassy and the lack of color on his face matching his hair even better than usually. Under his eyes there are dark circles that blend into the flush on his cheeks.

He looks so much less miserable than he feels.

It takes him a second to realize that his vision is starting to distort. It takes him another second to react, and by then it’s too late - his knees buckle under him and black spots cloud his eyes. The barely-there effort he puts into remaining upright doesn't pay off and he crashes onto the floor, unable to control his fall like he’s used to. His head hits something and the black spots get stars to keep them company for a moment. There's pain, nothing he can't handle but pain regardless, and then footsteps hurrying to the bathroom. Gon’s bare feet against the tiled floor sound louder than they probably are and there’s a weird echo to his voice as he shouts Killua’s name. Warm hands - always warm, Gon is always warm - lift him from his sprawled position on the floor so that his head in resting in Gon’s lap.

Gon’s voice is rambling are-you-okays and what-happeneds and why-didn’t-you-tell-mes at a rapid pace, barely giving Killua enough time to process the questions. The second he manages to make out what he was asked Gon is already going with the next, and Killua’s head feels lead-heavy and feather-light at the same time and he doesn’t want to do this. He squeezes his eyes shut against the bright lights of the bathroom.

Killua feels a hand on his forehead and realizes that the rambling has stopped. He forces his eyes open and finds himself staring right at Gon’s. His hair is a mess and there’s an awfully worried look in his eyes. For a second Killua thinks Gon looks surprisingly alert, but he shakes the thought almost immediately - it would be ridiculous for either of them look sleepy three seconds after a surprise wake-up call.

“Killua, you have a fever,” Gon tells him, as if he hadn’t already come to that conclusion. “Why didn’t you wake me up? How long have you been sick?” There’s a demanding tone to his voice, the kind there is when Gon needs to know instead of just wanting. A little more panicking and it would sound exactly like his demand for Kite’s whereabouts all that time ago.

Killua opens his mouth to answer but only air comes out. It quickly turns into awful, dry coughs, every breath triggering a few new ones and his chest burns. It takes Gon barely a second to turn him on his side, hand resting on his upper back. His throat and chest are both on fire and the whole thing feels to just go on and on and on until he can finally draw a decent breath again. Gon is rubbing his back behind his lungs.

“‘m not supposed to be sick,” Killua rasps, voice rough and barely audible. Gon tilts his head and blinks in confusion.

“What do you mean not supposed to? People get sick all the time, Killua!” Gon’s brows furrow like he’s trying to think about something. Killua props himself on his elbow to get even a little bit off the floor so he can look at Gon better.

“Gon, I haven’t been sick since I was a toddler. I’m immune to basically everything.” His arm is trembling under him, bad, like his legs were when he first recognized Illumi at the hunter exam. He hates it. He’s afraid. He wants it to stop, all of it, from the fuzzy feeling in his head to the pain in his neck and the sudden lack of physical control, he wants it all to just stop and go away. Taking a deep breath, Killua closes his eyes against the spinning world and lowers himself back to the floor. He doesn't crash-land, thank heavens.

And now Gon is scared, too, great fucking job, Killua, he thinks to himself as Gon’s suddenly tightened voice asks him if he got hurt in the fight they had yesterday against these three guys and a kid, a frigging child. Killua is so done with children on the battlefield. He’s been there himself and it sucks.

It takes Killua a second to come up with a reason for Gon to be asking that, because getting injured shouldn't have anything to do with his current condition, until he remembers the shocked look on one guy's face after he got his ankle pierced by some kind of a needle-weapon-thing. At the time he’d thought it could have been because of a mistake in the location of the hit, but now he's starting to realize; he didn't die immediately. The logical conclusion is that the needle was laced with some kind of a deadly poison, but somehow it’s still affecting him.

Lethargically, Killua lifts his leg so that Gon can take a look at his bandaged ankle. He’s tired and there’s a vague feeling of his insides burning and his muscles hurt like they used to when he was six and making his way up the Heavens Arena and it’s absolutely ridiculous how he’s remembering things like this right now.

Gon unwraps his foot gently like only he can, careful not to hurt him. It's clear he’s worried, but he keeps his hands steady as the bandages fall to the tiled floor.

Killua knows he cleaned the wound thoroughly. He's a professional and he knows how to take care of his physical health. Now, though, from what he can see, the area around it looks swollen and red. It doesn't hurt - in fact, he can barely feel the whole foot. Killua wonders when that happened, since he's pretty sure he could still feel it when he came to the bathroom earlier.

All the numbness disappears, however, the second Gon takes a poke at the tissue near the wound itself. His touch is painful, like freezing fire, burning ice, and Killua chokes back a scream. His body jerks and he instinctively tries to pull his foot back from Gon’s grip, away from the pain. A voice at the back of his skull is telling him that he's endured much, much worse in the hands of his family but it doesn't seem to matter. Gon’s hands are strong, thankfully, and used to holding flailing limbs in place thanks to his experience with injured animals. It's not something Killua likes to think of himself as, but it's not like his brain is allowing him to think of anything else, either.

Gon hushes him quietly, keen eyes still observing the obvious infection as his other hand reaches for Killua’s. He squeezes his fingers, offering reassurance, but it does very little to actually help. Killua tries to squeeze back, but even his fingers won’t move on command as they should. He’s cold, colder than he should and Gon is wearing just as little clothing as he is and it’s pretty clear Gon isn’t cold. Not fair, Killua thinks. His ankle hurts.

Gon looks at the injury from all sides, twisting Killua’s ankle as gently as he can, until he finally sets the foot down.

“Killua, let’s get you back to bed, yeah? I’m gonna go call Leorio real quick,” Gon tells as he gathers Killua up from the floor. Killua is trying his best to stand up, is trying his best to remain upright and even take a few steps, but he ends up being practically carried by Gon as his knees refuse to support him. He’s cold, but the blankets feel suffocating and he still feels overall a lot worse than he can remember ever feeling.

Every second seems to make him feel exponentially worse than before. He can hear blood rushing in his ears in a deafening volume and the churning of his insides is getting worse and he’s still getting colder, which probably means that his fever is still rising. Gon is on the phone with Leorio, his tone frantic and worried and his words incomprehensible through the noise in Killua’s head.

Before he knows it, there's a hand shaking his shoulder. He doesn't know when that happened, because he’s sure Gon was just talking on the phone. Large, brown eyes stare into blue, worried.

“Leorio said he’s coming over right now,” Gon tells, words spilling out of his mouth rapidly, almost like he’s afraid Killua will slip away before he manages to finish his sentence. And maybe his fear isn't irrational, at least not completely, because Killua can feel his consciousness fading in and out, and out seems to be winning.

“He’s just a few towns over,” Gon continues, trying to push some reassurance into his voice, “and he said Kurapika is driving, so they’ll be here in no time.” If the reassurance is for Killua or himself, that Gon isn't certain of. Maybe both, maybe neither, perhaps just the other. It is there, though, and that's what Killua clings to, the attempted shred of hope Gon seems to have in this thing ending up okay.

Gon climbs to the bed and gets behind Killua, pressing his face into soft whiteness as his arms wrap around Killua’s torso.

“You're shivering,” he whispers into Killua’s hair. He pulls Killua’s body closer, shivering back against strong chest, as Killua nods shakily.

“Cold,” he whispers. Killua lets his eyes flutter shut - his eyelids feel heavy, or maybe it's his lashes that are pulling them down. He feels like he's freezing, but Gon’s touch is like fire against his skin. He thinks he can hear his own breathing. He's not quite sure, though, since if anything, the blood rushing through his veins sounds even louder than before.

Gon’s hand moves to his forehead, and for a moment Killua can feel Gon’s arms tensing.

“Killua, you're burning up,” Gon tells. “Even worse than before.” He pulls Killua closer, like he’s trying to protect him from something, or someone.

Gon slides his hand into Killua’s hair before promptly getting up, almost jumping off the bed. The sudden absence of warmth makes Killua shiver, but mostly it just makes his head heavier than it already was, sends his vision into a spinning motion and throws him off balance even lying down. He grits his teeth to prevent them from clattering and curls up. He doesn’t have the energy to search for a blanket, even though he knows there are two of them in the bed. His fingers feel icy against his biceps.

He’s slipping again, he knows that, but keeping his eyes open and mind focused on something requires energy his brain isn’t willing to produce. Killua nearly misses the fact that Gon has appeared next to him again.

“We need to get your fever down, Killua,” Gon whispers, hand reaching for Killua’s hair. “So you’re gonna take a bath before Leorio and Kurapika get here, yeah?”

The following moments are, in Killua’s head, nothing but haze and coldness. There’s a series of events starting from somehow getting out of bed, then he's suddenly freezing even worse than before, ice cold water surrounding him even though it’s actually probably lukewarm, a soft towel, Gon yelling, familiar voices. Everything goes by fast, throws his thoughts into a whirlwind of confusion and exhaustion and general haze of not being able to distinguish what’s happening around him.

At some point, he finally passes out.

When he comes to, an indefinite amount of indefinite measures of time later, head throbbing and lungs fighting against breathing, there’s a pair of storm gray eyes observing him from behind a curtain of blond hair. Kurapika has a book in his hand and there are dark circles under his eyes, making Killua wonder if he’s been out for longer than a few hours. Or maybe it’s Leorio’s fault, who knows.

“Good to see you awake, Killua,” Kurapika smiles, setting his book down and standing up gracefully, as he usually does. “How are you feeling?”

Killua turns his eyes to the ceiling, taking a second to assess what his body is doing. He feels exhausted, at least that’s for sure, and it feels like there’s a heavy weight sitting on his chest. His muscles ache all over, especially, well, everywhere, and his head is pulsating along to his heartbeat.

But he isn’t burning and freezing anymore, and the world has stopped spinning even when he moves his head.

“Better,” he whispers in conclusion. Apparently, his throat is still not working. He turns his gaze back to Kurapika, who has moved to stand next to the bed. “What happened?”

Now it’s Kurapika’s turn to look away. His eyes seem to find the bathroom door, behind which Killua can faintly hear water running. He assumes it’s probably Leorio taking a shower. He briefly wonders where Gon might be.

“It appears you were poisoned,” Kurapika answers, not taking his eyes off the door. “I don’t think you would have died, but you’d be in a lot more agony if Gon hadn’t called us.” The water stops running. It takes a few moments for Leorio to emerge from the bathroom, wearing nothing but a towel around his waist. From what Killua can see, he looks quite exhausted, too.

“And I say it’s a miracle you’re still alive,” Leorio says, apparently having heard what Kurapika said. “I hate to say it, kid, but you gotta thank that screwed-up family of yours. If you weren’t immune to most poisons, you’d have died when that happened.” He points at Killua’s tightly bandaged ankle. “Thank your maker that we weren’t in another country,” Leorio finishes, and moves to press a quick kiss to Kurapika’s lips.

Killua can feel his eyelids sliding shut, heavy as if weighed down by something. He still has questions to ask, like where Gon is, what’s going to happen next, why are Kurapika and Leorio always inclined to act so disgusting around other people. But Gon, Gon isn’t here even though he was earlier, and Killua has known for a long time that Gon does stupid things and makes stupid decisions and suddenly he’s scared, terrified, that Gon has gone off to do something profoundly idiotic.

Killua forces his eyes open and tries to sit up. His arms feel like jelly and his surroundings are spinning again, but he makes it to the edge of the bed before there’s a hand on his chest, pale fingers pressing him back and a soft voice telling him that he needs to rest, asking him what’s wrong and the next second yelling for Leorio.

He tries to fight it, but he’s too exhausted to stay upright when Leorio rushes from the other end of the room to prevent him from getting up, he succumbs to his fate of lying down for the time being.

XxX

Kurapika sighs in relief when Killua settles down and doesn’t try to sit up again. His breathing is labored and sounds overall just very difficult, and there’s a new sheen of sweat on his pale face. Leorio moves back to the side of the room where he just ran from to put on a shirt - something that he didn’t quite have the time to do earlier before Killua tried, for some godforsaken reason, sit up right after nearly dying.

Not that there’s anything new in that.

“Killua,” he starts softly. “What’s wrong, aside from the obvious?” Sometimes he just doesn’t understand either of the kids.

Killua peers at him, his eyes barely open. “Gon,” he manages to mumble, or groan, or whatever. It takes Kurapika a second to realize what Killua is trying to get to, until it dawns upon him that Gon indeed is not in the room. He can understand Killua’s distress concerning the topic, though. Kurapika allows him a soft smile.

“Where he is?” he asks, still, to confirm that he really got the question. When Killua provides him with a grunt that could be taken as an affirmation, Kurapika sets his hand to Killua’s shoulder.

“Don’t worry about him, Killua. He just went for a supply run, since we didn’t have time to grab everything when we left. He should be back soon,” he reassures him. Killua seems to be okay with his explanation, because he stops fighting his exhaustion.

Killua falls asleep fast and Leorio takes over the watch, allowing Kurapika some sleep himself.

XxX

When Killua wakes up the next time, there’s sunlight filtering through the blinds. He still doesn’t know what day or time it is, but there’s definite warmth around him. He opens his eyes to see tan, muscular arms embracing him, and when he turns his head, he meets hazel eyes.

“Good morning, Killua,” Gon whispers into his ear, the smile on his face reflecting relief, and Killua allows the corner of his mouth to curl up.

[oneinathousandwords-blog]

The Sacred Blood-Lines ~ A Yu-Gi-Oh! Reader’s Request Fanfiction ~ Chapter 5

The sound of a metal staff slamming into solid flesh.

The crunch of teeth on fragile bones.

Wind like a shadow in the midst of darkness.

The desperate laughter of the doomed and the dying.

Afterwards, Yugi could never remember what the battle looked like (he put this down to the new use of his powers draining him deeper than he had realized). He remembered flashes of black and white, with red blood dripping from both monsters. But it was the sounds that he really characterized their fight by, and the scent of decay rising from the Set animal.

“Destroy.“ The dark figure laughed, its sick voice pitching high with insanity. “Destroy them both!“

The ring of knives edging Yugi and Kaiba closer together didn’t bode well. “What do we do?“ Yugi asked, automatically moving to cover the taller man’s back.

“What we can.“ As hard as he tried, no spurt of power came rushing through Kaiba’s body, and no white dragon came to his side. The white legacy of the dragon was something even he didn’t understand, and he was too inexperienced to know how to call it to him. It would serve him with its life, but even it couldn’t do the impossible. For the dragon to appear, it needed sacrifice, whether it be his blood or something else.

He could sense something, something small and quiet calling to him. But there wasn’t time for small things. He needed a dragon of destruction.

The battle was drawing to a close; there was no doubt about that. Both servants looked exhausted. Tightening his grip on his staff, Dark Magician moved forward for a final lunge. He had no choice. He was going to die, but if he couldn’t take this creature down with him, there would be nothing left of his master.

The Set beast half-heartedly snarled in reply, gathering its body for the last leap. This strike would decide it. Which would win the battle of darkness?

As always, it was light that triumphed.

“Stop!“

A golden bird, with a silver eye and a tawny eye, its belly shining the blue-white color of the sky. Yugi remembered it the most vividly, the only bright thing in the fuzzy black of his memories.

Another person wrapped in a cloak, this one brown. This strange figure was obviously a female, and her hood was down. Her face was covered by a dark, hooked mask with feathers streaming from it. Her mouth was still visible, pulling up into a half-smile as she glanced back at Yugi and Kaiba.

The golden bird stooped between the two warring monsters, its golden wings like a shield around its body. The attacks of both servants slipped harmlessly off the bright bird’s feathers.

“Layla, that’s enough.“ The bird-woman said, pushing her deep brown hair from her eyes.

“What are you doing here, Khepri?“ The dark figure raged. “Master Aswad himself said that I was to be given command of this mission!“

“Yes, you were. However, I was sent to keep an eye on you. He knows how . . . energetic you can be sometimes.“ Khepri held up one finger for silence, the confident smile never leaving her face. “Sirens.“ She said quietly. “The police are coming.“ She pointed at Kaiba’s limo. “You didn’t secure the area before attacking. The driver has called the police. And you know how Master Aswad feels about making a mess with law enforcement.“

“I can still finish them.“ Layla said quickly.

“No time now. There just simply isn’t enough time to clean up your little mess. And even if there was, we aren’t the ones who could do it.“ She glanced back at the two again, keenly. Kaiba noticed her subtle gesture, and wondered at it.

“Is she telling us to pay attention to what she’s about to say?“ He thought, reading her body language and posture.

“They are the descendants of the Pharaohs, who were protected by Set and Horus for thousands of years. Even though we have pledged our lives to the gods in exchange for control over their beasts, the blood-bond they share with the divine is much stronger than the one we have.“

Khepri pointed to Kaiba. “The branch of light, protected by a white dragon and Horus.“

Then she looked to Yugi. “The branch of darkness, protected by a black magician and Set. Even if you had destroyed his magician, your Set animal would have turned against you and killed you for ordering it to attack its true master. I’ve just saved your life.“

Layla stuttered for words, unable to speak. “Then why was I sent on this mission to eliminate them if I cannot harm them?“

Khepri laughed lightly, stepping up onto her bird’s back. “Who knows? Perhaps Master Aswad wanted you to learn collaboration, hmm? Maybe common sense? As it is, both the police and our foolish cousins will be coming soon, and all you have done is awakened one of the spirit protectors of the line. Master Aswad will be quite pleased with your work here, I think.”

Layla growled, the Set animal fading into its shadow. “We’re leaving!“

Before Kaiba or Yugi could move, a flash of darkness overtook every one of their attackers, and they vanished like a shadow on the desert’s midday sands.

“WHAT THE FRIGGING HELL JUST HAPPENED?“ Kaiba asked, not quite sure what the frigging hell had just happened.

“That felt like a plot device.“ Yugi agreed.

“So they’re gone.” Dark Magician said quietly, finally sinking to the ground.

“Dark Magician!“ Yugi knelt beside him, already taking off his jacket to use as a tourniquet. The mage’s arm was mutilated and bloody, crimson stains splattered over his body. The Set animal had taken his arm in its mouth and ripped at the flesh with its teeth. The wounds left behind were not small.

“I’ll be fine.“ The mage looked away quietly, impressed by Yugi’s kindness. “It will heal soon. For now, we need to find the Ishtar family. They’ll be able to help both of you increase your abilities.“

“Found them.“ Kaiba remarked drily, pointing to where Marik, Ishizu, and Rishid were hurrying out of the fast-food restaurant.

“Well done, Yugi.“ Marik called, waving to them.

“We need to leave. The police will ask a lot of questions.“ Kaiba said. The sound of sirens was definitely louder now. They didn’t have long.

“We’ll come with you.“ Ishizu agreed.

Yugi was impressed. The driver didn’t miss a beat when he saw the extra passengers that would be in the backseat. He merely asked, “Kaiba-sama, is everything alright? I called the police to make sure you would be safe.“

“I’m fine.“ The billionaire replied icily. “I don’t have time for their questions. Take us back to Kaiba Corporation headquarters at once.“

“Yes sir.“ He replied, turning the car on and moving it into gear.

As they left the restaurant behind, red and blue flashing lights lit up the ground behind them, alarms blaring as three police cars pulled up. However, they were wasting their time. Besides a few overturned chairs inside the restaurant from the Ishtar family’s own battle, their was nothing left of either attacked or attackers.

Chapter 1 can be found here

Chapter 3 can be found here

Chapter 4 can be found here

And all previous chapters can be found at #ygoSB.

Well well well, another update. This one came really quickly, huh? Hope you all enjoyed! BTW this is still a reader request, so as long as its not a ship or includes Atem, I will include your requests in the story!

[alittleroseandhoneyblog-blog]

DON’T fake it until you make it!

Until recently I would have told you that self love is made up a few moving parts- taking an active interest in what makes you happy (and doing it) and embracing the glorious messes that we are all known to be – to feed those insecurities and build them up to turn them into our biggest assets and most importantly to be so incredibly strong and unapologetically yourself no matter what the peanut gallery has to say – and for someone who preaches self love on a daily basis I am here to tell you that I have gotten it COMPELTELY wrong and although I may have encouraged some (if only one) to maybe love themselves a little more to celebrate their every “flaw” (because you are the only one who sees it) I have failed to realize that self love (care) is beyond skin deep – that self love isn’t just about taking selfies, or going to the gym- it’s not even about celebrating my wins anymore.  

I failed to realize that self love, self care, self anything begins with how we treat ourselves outside of the perfectly staged Instagram photo that is meant to make you think “her life is so perfect” and “she has it all figured out”-

WRONG

She does not have it figured out- its just one of those fake it until you make it kind of things…

We are ALL guilty for it.

But while we are all out there faking it- we are slowly losing who we are and without even realizing it we are causing ourselves more harm then good, and let’s be honest what woman has ever found any joy wanting to fake it–  not to mention the long term effects that not addressing certain feelings, situations, trauma or even certain reactions you may be having can actually seriously f*ck us up and let me tell you no amount of self celebration or selfies can fix the emotional and psychological pain that your body is actually going through internally.

I did not realize how much my own psychological pain was hurting me, (physically) and how bad it has been getting and it wasn’t until recently when I was able to sit down with someone who was able help me understand everything (physically) I have been feeling, I needed to get a better understanding of what was going on inside of me- to be honest, I needed it all to make sense, I needed someone to tell me that I wasn’t going crazy- that’s Insomnia during the bad nights or the nightmares when I could sleep was my way of allowing myself to heal, that being exhausted all the damn time or not being able to concentrate or find desire to do anything was a normal reaction to everything, that panic attacks, or edginess and agitation did not define me and if you read that whole paragraph back you will notice that I used the words “I need” a lot, but that’s exactly what I am talking about- THAT’S self love!!! Putting yourself first - I needed something for myself and instead of taking care of everyone else and allowing those feelings to consume me I asked for help- I got what I needed and for the first time in months I am starting to feel better.  

In my opinion (and many others) I have never been an angry person, I get along with many people – I tend to stay positive and find a reason to smile even through the chaos- I am not easily stressed out and I’ve been taught to account for the monkey wrench, but over the past few weeks Its been made very clear to me that I have become an angrier version of myself, a different Jenna most days-and I am not loving Jenna 2.0 or less then 2.0 at this point- my walls have been built so high that the thought of someone near me, let alone touching me makes my skin crawl – intentional or not – how do you think my husband feels when I ask him not to touch me – (when it’s really all he wants to do)

So, you take those things and you relive them EVERY DAMN DAY – your body constantly feels like you’re on pins and needles – your stomach feels like it’s in your throat and the thought of food makes you so sick that you just don’t want to eat, so you don’t- and the next day you feel the same way, and then the next day and then the next until it becomes so normal to not eat and before you know it you’re dealing with an eating disorder that is made to look like a “healthy” weight loss- and once people start to  compliment you on how good you look it releases happy endorphins that you almost begin to chase that high since it’s the only time you feel good about yourself… but guess what, starving your body isn’t healthy and it f*cks with your head and if there is one relationship you don’t want to ruin it’s your relationship with your food - but here we are -  struggling.

Let’s touch on that for a second though- relationships….

Frig have I ever been wrong about this one - Downfall of a type A personality, you see the good in everyone even when the writing in on the wall.

I used to think that everyone deserved the benefit of the doubt - that if you showed kindness in return kindness will be shown to you – but after having met the devil himself I have come to realize that not everyone comes to your table with the best intentions for you.  (If you’re at my table we best be having a pot luck type of feast!)

I learned that the hard way though both personally and professionally and I am still trying to wrap my head around this one,  I have come to realize that I have been afraid to eat alone and that maybe what people actually thought of me means more to me then what I want to admit or maybe it still does, who knows, but since I can remember, I have held onto relationships that have ended up being so toxic for me-that had no benefit to me, I stayed in relationships, friendships, jobs etc  all because I was always to afraid to do what was best for me- I’ve trusted people that never should have known I had a trusting nature and if I am being honest those experiences have left me questioning who I am as a person to the point where I have no desire to even be myself anymore- I just don’t have the energy anymore.

I can honestly tell you- I don’t know who I am supposed to be right now, the girl who smiles too much especially at a man is quickly assumed to be interested in him and if you do speak to a man confidently or with excitement it is again quickly mistaken as flirty and an invitation to pursue you and if you are simply a driven woman who is confident in her own skin then you are open to unwanted advances and considered difficult if not worse for not entertaining them –

Reality check Jenna 2.0 –

someone ALWAYS has something to say - and I get it, that’s life- people hurt people, and sadly it’s usually the ones you end up putting all that trust into but when you’re already your own worst enemy and already questioning your own self worth it becomes easy for them to “win”,  for them to deliberately break you because they have already found what you’re most insecure about, and they won’t hesitate to hurt you, because again the only person at your table that is hungry enough for YOUR self growth is you, everyone else is just there for the snack.. legit.

And if growing up has taught me anything, it’s that words DO hurt and people use them whenever it suits them and those words (and actions, unfortunately) can follow you for days, months or even years before the psychological effects have worn off, if they ever do? I say this because I am living this right now – I cannot shut down my brain-I keep replying conversations and situations that I wish I could have handled differently – so many things left unsaid and there is no closure -  and I would rather someone just throw a god damn stone for once because at least broken bones heal-It’s been months and I am still waiting for the whole “time heals all”  thing to happen that I keep hearing about-  and yes, I am angry that I have allowed someone to take my identity away from me, that I have allowed someone to make me question my own self worth and my own strength and I forgot for a quick second that I am not this little girl who needs saving, that I AM smart enough and strong enough to stand up and do what is right, and shame on them for being the person that needed to break someone to find even a little joy in their pathetic life. (ugh, there’s that anger again)  But honestly I allowed my own lack of self worth to dictate how I spent my last few month – and I am realizing now that although I may look healthier on the outside– there is a storm inside me that is wild and unmanaged and when pushed even just a little bit - what’s left of that small fuse I have is easily triggered and no one wants to be around someone who just snaps!  And to all my friends and family that have been on the receiving end of my anger (which is mostly my husband) I am sorry and truthfully, I hate the person I have become, and I do not blame any of you for feeling the same way!  

Self love or self care is about ensuring all the dots are connected-that you do the things that make you happy all while embracing the mess – encouraging a healthy relationship with not only your food but with your everyday conversations, the people you allow in your life, your interactions with social media, your body image, your friends and family- even complete strangers- you control ALL of that- and for the first time in a while – I am finally taking back my control!  

I am not sitting over here preaching about anxiety or depression or asking for a pity party for myself – What I am trying to tell you is that self love can go way beyond managing those two things and if left untreated, I can assure you that you will live a miserable life and in return will make those around you just as miserable even if you don’t mean to!  If I can leave you with one thought- there is no shame in asking for help when you are no longer able to help yourself! - The first step starts with you!  #findyourhappy